Damned and Desolate Read online

  “If I’m not a medium, what am I?”

  “You’re a phantom,” said a voice behind her. There was an accent to his words she couldn’t place, but that didn’t surprise her. She wasn’t well-versed in accents.

  Sorsha spun around so fast she felt her balance wobble and she dropped the blackened playing card. The orange smoke around her hands faded as Private Thaddeus left.

  Once she had corrected her balance and returned her gaze to the speaker, she felt her breath catch in her throat. It was the man from the motel who’d been watching her.

  He stood with his back to the outer wall of the monument, leaning against it with his hands crossed over his chest and a knowing grin on his cocky face. His dark eyes met hers and she felt warmth bubble in the pit of her stomach. This was different than the warmth her powers gave her though. It felt like when she’d first met Preston.

  She grit her teeth. No. She refused to have that feeling again.

  Her body ignored her. She felt her heartbeat race, and it wasn’t because he’d just scared her nearly to death.

  Damned and Desolate

  Damned and Dangerous Quartet

  S.D. Hegyes

  Damned and Desolate

  Damned and Dangerous Quartet (Book One)

  Some find salvation at Shaded Glade. Sorsha finds only hell.

  For the last eight years Sorsha Johnston has lived in Shaded Glade, her own personal hell. Her father brought the family to Shaded Glade because of Sorsha's affliction.

  In this place where men provide, women raise the family, and children do as they're told until they are married off at age eighteen, Sorsha, and her ability to interact with ghosts, isn't like the other eighteen-year-olds.

  On the horizon is an arranged marriage to a man who hates her as much as she hates him. Sorsha must escape Shaded Glade before it's too late. A stranger in town might just be the key—if she can trust him.

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  Copyright © 2020 by Brimstone Books

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Text © by S.D. Hegyes

  Cover © by Fantasia Cover Designs

  Artwork © by Ricky Gunawan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For anyone in a situation they want to escape.

  Sometimes we all need a little help.

  There’s always hope.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by S.D. Hegyes

  1

  Eyes closed, the young woman sat cross-legged in the center of the Indian Memorial. She listened to the wind whistling across the land overhead and her own shuffling. Only when cards threatened to slip from her hand did she look at them.

  Power rippled through her, like the sound of a dozen whispers. She scrunched her brows together, tuning them out. It didn’t make a difference.

  Sorsha couldn’t tune out the whispers of the ghosts carrying out various activities. The tourists were gone for the evening.

  The hair on her arms stood on end and the hair on the back of her neck prickled.

  She blew out a breath and looked up, careful not to direct her gaze at anything particular.

  The walls of the monument rose up around her—names, images, and history etched into the stone. Across from her was the sculpture of three Native American warriors on horseback. Trailing behind the third rider was a woman standing on the ground and passing a shield up to him. A lover? A sister? A mother? She didn’t know.

  Between her and the sculpture though was the translucent outline of a soldier. His weapon sat at an angle so that it rested in the palm of one hand and the crook of his opposite elbow.

  She didn’t know a lot about history, but she knew enough to know he’d been a soldier for the United States Seventh Cavalry Regiment. She’d toured the monument and walked through the museum enough times to understand that much.

  Sorsha had been able to see ghosts for as long as she could remember, since she was a child. She didn’t need to look at her hands to see the thin sliver of orange smoke. It twirled around her hands in lazy drifts.

  “I’ve seen you around here before,” he said with almost a wistful tone that portrayed a loneliness she felt deep in her bones.

  His speech sounded strange. Not unusual considering the time-period he died in. Still, she could tell he’d picked up pieces of speech here or there from the tourists.

  Keeping her eyes trained on the sculpture beyond him, she couldn’t help but study him. He looked young, but his voice was that of a man much older.

  She looked back up at the ghost before her, taking in his appearance. He was translucent, yes, but color still stood out, even if it was washed out.

  He wore a dark blue uniform shirt and a pair of lighter blue trousers, a yellow stripe running along either side. His dark hair was pulled back and hidden under the blue hat atop his head.

  She glanced down at her cards, straightening them and shuffling them again. Her brows scrunched together as she laid the cards out for a game of solitaire.

  “And I you, Private,” she said in a calm voice. Usually, she didn’t respond to the ghosts she saw. The wistful tone in his voice and her own desire for company tugged at her. She responded against her better judgement.

  His black eyes widened as they met hers.

  “Your eyes. They’re orange.”

  “They generally are when I see ghosts.” Not to mention the dozens of voices that whispered through her veins.

  She flipped over a card and started moving them around. She stacked them over one another as she found their matching suits and correct order.

  “So, you’re a medium,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what I am.” She glanced up at him. For a young man, he looked more mature than she’d expected, but maybe that was because men aged differently back then.

  And died younger, she thought, but she didn’t say it aloud.

  He frowned. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Private Thaddeus.” She looked up at him again, ignoring the sudden rush of warmth that washed through her and the slight increase in volume of the whispers inside her. “You fought in the Battle of Little Bighorn with General Custer.”

  He nodded. “I was part of Company C.”

  “I know.” She moved around a couple more cards before she went back to studying her options.

  “You’re the first person who’s seen me, spoken to me.” She couldn’t be certain, but he almost sounded reverent.

  Her hand froze with the Jack of Spades in her hand, hovering over the Queen she’d been about t
o move it to. “I’m a freak.”

  She spat the words, unable to shake the conversation that had led her to hide away in the cemetery to begin with.

  “Maybe to normal people, but there’s a lot of people like me who’d think you’re a godsend.”

  “And what about you?” She cocked her head to the side and brushed her long black hair away from her face with her free hand. “What do you think of me?”

  Private Thaddeus paused, considering his words before he spoke. “You look like a child, and yet there is age and wisdom in your eyes that speak of a maturity beyond your years.” He glanced over her. “You don’t dress like the women I was raised with, but you seem to look like most of the tourists that come through here.” He gestured to her and she glanced down at herself.

  She wore a black tank top and a pair of black jeans with rips that revealed tanned knees.

  He frowned. “You don’t look anything like anyone I know though. Even the others buried here after I was don’t look like you.”

  “So, you're buried here?”

  “I must be,” he replied, tucking his weapon tight against his chest even as he slapped one closed fist into the palm of his other hand. “We’re tied to our graves and can’t stray too far from them. The older ones can go miles before they hit the end of their—” He sputtered for a moment, looking for the correct word. “—tether, I guess you could say.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t remember how far my tether was when I first came here, but I can go miles out now.”

  He gestured to the open air surrounding the Indian Monument. The monument had been built down into the land, the earth carved around it until it formed a bowl. Every time she entered or left, Sorsha could feel the hair on her body stand on end and her power whispered to her.

  “What brings you here? I’ve seen you many times. If you’ve seen me before, you’ve never said anything.”

  “I don’t speak to the dead unless I have to.” She knew it sounded cryptic and something out of a horror movie, but she didn’t care. It was true.

  She’d had too many bad experiences with ghosts. Unconsciously, she reached up and brushed her hand across old scars on her bicep. They were remnants of an incident she no longer fully remembered. Memory loss seemed to happen a lot when it came to her and ghosts, but she hadn’t figured out why yet.

  “So, had I spoken to you first, you would have replied?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. A noncommittal answer was generally the safest approach. “Maybe.” Too many times, ghosts she spoke to grew violent, and this was a soldier, a man trained to kill.

  She continued her game of solitaire, moving cards around as she finished full suits and moved them out of her way. It didn’t take long for her to realize if she’d succeed or fail in grouping all the suits together.

  A small curse escaped her lips as she realized she’d fail. She gathered the cards and shuffled them once more.

  The private watched her in silence. After a few minutes, he asked, “What’s with the cards?”

  She stopped shuffling and looked up at him. “It helps me.” She shrugged one shoulder. It did help, most of the time. If she didn’t keep her mind occupied, she’d try to figure out what her power was trying to say. She didn’t know if she wanted to know.

  “Know how to play poker?”

  “Can you hold cards, Private Thaddeus?” He was a ghost after all. While she could interact with ghosts, she had yet to discover one who could engage with other objects.

  She smiled at him, hoping that would cool the sting she knew her words would cause. She noticed the orange smoke around her hands brightened and moved faster than normal. Her power hummed. Odd.

  He sighed and his shoulders sagged. “No. I’d love to play a game of poker. Or even a game of go fish. Never played, but it would be something to do other than watch tourists.” He sneered, as if the word “tourists” filled him with disgust.

  The cemetery, despite several ghosts and her power going haywire, still felt more peaceful than her home. She’d take watching tourists all day if it meant she didn’t have to return to Shaded Glade.

  “I don’t think I agree, Private Thaddeus,” she told him. Warmth spread through her again, and the whisper of magic grew louder. Usually, she could tune it out, but now it buzzed like flies, making that impossible. She grit her teeth in annoyance and covered her ears.

  The buzzing died down after a moment, and she sighed with relief.

  “What was that about?” the private asked.

  She shrugged. “Something like, ‘With great power comes great responsibility,’ or something like that.”

  The soldier shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Of course he didn’t. Sorsha sighed. She was quoting someone from her time and age, and if he couldn’t go far from his burial ground, he had no idea who she quoted. She knew for a fact that the tour didn’t include a discussion on superheroes.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “Since you can’t hold the cards, I’ll just keep playing solitaire. You can tell me if I’m missing something. Sound good?”

  The ghost sighed. “I guess it will have to do. It beats watching tourists, at least.” Then he frowned, watching her as she laid out the cards. “Why are you here so often anyway? Where do you come from?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Anything to keep from talking about Shaded Glade. Still, he asked a fair question.

  “Shaded Glade,” she told him. “It’s a gated community down the road. Not far from here.”

  “I’ve heard others talk about so-called gated communities, but I don’t know what they meant. Would you explain?”

  She told him gated communities were groups of homes and houses enclosed in a fenced area. They were private and not intended for uninvited guests.

  “That sounds nice honestly. What’s wrong with yours?”

  She sneered and her mouth twisted in disgust. “It’s basically a cult. You’re a ghost.”

  He nodded. “I believe I am. I don’t know for sure. There aren’t many like me here. Not compared to the number of graves at least.” He seemed forlorn at the notion, but Sorsha didn’t press.

  “In Shaded Glade, talking to you finds me locked in a room and my soul prayed for for hours on end.”

  “God has allowed me to remain here. I’m glad he has finally given me someone to talk to, someone who can see and understand me.”

  “That’s just it though,” she said and sighed again because she knew she wasn’t explaining it correctly. “Shaded Glade is deeply religious. Anything mystical or supernatural is bad. My speaking to you? Bad. Very bad. I wasn’t kidding about being locked in a room. It’s happened.” She didn’t suppress the shudder that ran through her. “Several times.”

  He gave her another once over. She laid the cards down, forgotten. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she were cold, but her eyes were drawn and distant, stuck in the horrors of her past.

  “How old are you?”

  She blinked and looked up at him. “Eighteen, as of today. It’s why I’ve come here.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “My dad believes women should be quiet, obedient.” She gazed up at the ghost, who seemed more relaxed in her presence, enough to sit down across from her, at least. “If you haven’t noticed by now, I’m not really either of those things.”

  He laughed at that. “No.”

  “Tell me more about Shaded Glade.”

  She obliged him. It felt good to talk to someone, anyone about it. She knew she couldn’t talk to her parents. Her mother was her father’s property and didn’t do anything without his permission. Her father was the reason they’d moved to Shaded Glade in the first place. He was the reason Sorsha was in a hurry to escape, any way she could.

  “Since I’m now eighteen, my father feels confident he can marry me off to another young man in the community.”

  The private lay his weapon across his lap and crossed his arms over
his chest. “Even in my day, we were free to marry whom we chose.”

  Sorsha shook her head. “I’m afraid, with my affliction as my father likes to call my powers, I no longer have that luxury. He’ll marry me off to the first man willing to take me and get rid of me. The sooner, the better.”

  Thaddeus fell silent for a bit. When he finally spoke, his eyes lit up with an idea. “You could join the military.”

  “What?”

  He nodded. “In my day, women couldn’t serve, but I’ve seen plenty of women in today’s uniform to know that times have changed. Women serve alongside men. Why not join? You could get away from Shaded Glade, and you could make a life of your own elsewhere.”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking about his words. “That could work. If nothing else, it’s another attempt to rebel. If I get married, I’ll be nothing more than a homemaker, expected to have and raise children.” She scoffed at the thought. “Can you imagine me raising babies?”

  “No,” the private admitted, and there was a grin on his face.

  “Thank you,” Sorsha said in a sincere voice, making the ghost’s smile fall as he accepted her solemn words with a nod.

  The private clapped his hands, as if chasing away the seriousness of the moment. “So, solitaire?”

  “Right.” She gave him a nod and returned her attention to the cards. A quick glance at the cards already out and she decided to start over.

  The pair talked as she set out the cards, drawing from the cards in her hand when she couldn’t move the other cards. The conversation moved smoothly as they seemed to play a game of twenty questions with each other. One asked the other a question that was answered before the reverse happened.