A Shade of Innocence (The Illuminati Book 1) Read online

  A Shade of Innocence

  The Illuminati Series — Book 1

  Jane West

  Copyright (C) 2017 Jane West

  Layout design and Copyright (C) 2017 by Creativia

  Published 2017 by Creativia

  Cover art by Cover Mint

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  Table of Contents

  Lousiana's Lingo

  Journey

  Seriously

  The Foreshadower

  Dreams and Dreamy Boys

  Strange and Eerie

  A Message from the Dead

  Buried Secrets

  Third Encounter

  The Gangs All Here

  Stalker

  Fireflies

  Confessions from the Dead

  My Life Sucks

  My Life Sucks!

  Lies

  Aftermath

  Forget Him

  Otherworldly

  Misunderstanding

  Longing

  Man-in-Black

  Evidence

  Kicking Rocks

  I Didn't Invite You

  Wayward Woes

  Castle Manière

  Meet the Staff

  Kiss My Eyes

  King of the Castle

  La vie du Chateau

  Flames of Magick

  For-Get-Me-Nots

  Secret Passages and Unexpected Allies

  Untouchable

  The Love of a Mother

  Only You

  The Other Woman

  The Knowing Eye

  Feast of the Beast

  Treachery

  Lilies of Decay

  We Belong

  Magick's in the Air

  The Rose

  Duplicity

  Lousiana's Lingo

  I have captured the Louisiana's lingo, I purposely misspelled some words. This is the list of words that I have used.

  ta = to

  da = the

  'em = them

  mofo = motherfuc….

  y'at = you at

  y'all = you all

  magick = magic

  Momma = Mom'n'em

  gul = girl

  gurrrlfriend = girlfriend

  her' = here

  fer = for

  git = get

  her' = here

  Journey

  Isn't it funny when fate throws you a wrench and the perplexity of life forces its ironclad hand upon your chest? When confronted with the truth so profound that you can't fathom how you came to this very point in your journey? And with the unrequited question that caresses your parched lips and taunts your every dream is not who you are… but what you are.

  It began in midsummer. The smell of honeysuckle wafted through the air. I'd been hanging with my two BFFs, Laurie and Becky. We'd gone to the movies and watched a super crappy film, an alien takeover sci-fi. The only good thing about it was the lead actor, a cute boy. The three of us had a blast eating popcorn and laughing over the lame lines. Poorly written romances really sucked!

  Later, we went to grab a bite at Big Boy's Bar-B-Que, messy, but the best in Sweetwater, Texas.

  We were sitting at a booth eating our sandwiches when Logan Hunter sauntered into the small diner. He carried the impressive title of the all-star linebacker for the last two years at Sweetwater High. He was a senior, a grade higher than I was. Logan had the cutest smile of any boy I'd ever met, and I, Stephanie Ray, had the biggest crush ever.

  The door jangled and I happened to look up. Fretfully, I twirled in my seat, about to have a cow. I jabbed Beck, who sat next to me, in the ribs. “Don't look up!”

  She snapped her blonde head up and asked, “Why?”

  Of course, she did exactly what I asked her not to do—looked!

  “He's here! Logan,” I whispered frantically.

  Laurie had just come back from the restroom, sliding into her seat. “What's wrong?” Her blue eyes bounced between Beck and me.

  I leaned over the table, “Logan,” I whispered feverishly as my eyes rounded for her not to repeat his name aloud.

  She laughed, swatting her hand at me. “Pfff pleaseeee! Stevie, chill-out for Christ's sake! I invited him to your birthday party tomorrow night.”

  Beck started jumping in her seat, ecstatic. “No, you didn't!”

  Laurie poked back, “Oh-yes-I-did!” She threw a fry at Beck, laughing.

  I hunkered down in my seat. The gratitude for sitting next to the wall fluttered through me, easier to hide.

  “Y'all need to get over yourselves,” Laurie practically yelled.

  I shushed her, “He'll hear you!” I fretted, watching my life go down the crapper in only a matter of seconds. Logan stopping by our table and I'd spill food on myself or choke on my drink. I mean, the possibilities of me screwing this up were endless.

  Laurie, the level headed one of us three, leaned over the table, parting words of wisdom. “I don't know why you hide from him. He likes you, and you like him,” she laughed. “Besides, you owe it to all us girls.”

  I scoffed jokingly, “Owe you what?”

  She rolled her eyes. “We can all live vicariously through you and your hot sexy make-out sessions.”

  My mouth dropped open. “I'm not going to share details about my sex life with y'all,” I whispered at Laurie, appalled, mortified, but laughing inwardly.

  Beck jabbed me with her elbow. “That's because you don't have a sex life.”

  Laurie fell out of her seat, roaring with laughter, and Beck lay over in my lap, screaming with chortles while I sat there with a blistering face.

  My lovely friends knew I was a virgin. I think they were hoping I'd get laid on my eighteenth birthday by the one and only Logan Hunter. They were throwing me a party tomorrow night. That was why my girls invited Sweetwater High's all-star football player, and, well… I think the fact that I liked him had a big impact on their decision-making too.

  I didn't voice my thoughts. Hands down, Logan was the best-looking boy at school. His humorous smile never wavered, a rarity with meatheads, a term of endearment I used often. Most jocks usually thought they were the cock of the walk.

  Not Logan. He was different. There was intelligence behind his soulful browns. A kiss or two from him would be any girl's dream. Yet bumping it up to the next level? I wasn't quite ready for such a serious move. Oh, I was crushing big time on the all-star football player. I mean, look at him, a handsome, compact boy who walked with a spring in his step, his shoulders, a yard wide and tall like a towering spruce and his soft blond curls reminded me of golden honey. I exhaled starry-eyed ogling Logan standing at the food counter. “He's a He-Man.” I let out a long sigh, instantly covering my mouth, eyes gone wide. “Tell me I didn't say that out loud?” I swear I was about to die of shame.

  “He-Man!” Beck cackled, and Laurie followed.

  * * *

  Then my small window of happiness came to a screeching halt like a plane nose-diving into the Atlantic Ocean. Sara, my mother, decided it was time to bugger off, pack our bags and vamoose to the next dive town, another town, another school, another miserable life. I didn't know why I thought Sweetwater would've been any different. Sara never stayed anywhere for long. Since Dad's death, we'd been
living out of a suitcase.

  I was eight years old when a hit-and-run driver had taken Dad's life and just like that, our world had changed forever.

  To this day, Dad's case sat cold, collecting dust on a shelf somewhere along with other cold files. The police had never found the driver. For ten years, the thought of Dad's killer running amok grated against me worse than a spit-bath. I refused to let it go until the authorities caught the killer and he was sitting in jail, rotting.

  As long as I lived, I'd never forget Sara's harsh words.

  “Mom, this isn't fair,” I snapped. Sara's bi-polar must be on the brink. “I don't want to move to Louisiana!”

  “Tough! Get over it.” Her tone bulldozed me down with a heavy dose of asperity.

  “What about my birthday party this evening? My friends, Laurie and Becky went through a lot of trouble. You haven't bothered buying me a cake!”

  “Don't get an attitude with me, young lady!” She cut her eyes at me, inhaling a calm breath, though the ice on her tongue never melted. “I'm sure there's a Wal-Mart somewhere between here and Louisiana.” Sara turned back to her packing as if she were preparing for some tropical vacation. Bright-colored swimwear spread across the bed, along with shoes and other light dress wear.

  As I stared at the luggage, a scowl crept across my face. That tattered suitcase had seen more towns than most people saw in a lifetime. My stomach writhed every time I laid eyes on it too. It represented everything I hated… starting over.

  “That's not exactly my idea of a birthday, Mom!” I blew out a frustrated breath. “What's wrong with this town? I like Sweetwater. You have that great job at Fashion Boutique. It doesn't make sense moving again.”

  “Why does it have to make sense? Besides, I hate Texas,” Sara shrieked as if she wanted to throttle me.

  I couldn't wrap my head around it, but this move felt different from the other times. I mean, we were always rushing out of town for some tucked-away reason. Either Sara got caught in bed with her married boss or we were getting evicted. Apart from the usual get-out-of-town-before-I-get-arrested list of reasons, this time seemed eerily aberrant. It was as if some compelling force had Sara by the hair like a breechcloth Neanderthal dragging her off to the land beyond. It baffled me. “Can't we leave in the morning,” I tried to reason, “We'll both have a good night's sleep, and I can go to my birth—”

  “I've made my mind up.” Sara spun on her heels, glaring at me. “We're leaving today before nightfall.” Lines etched deep across her forehead like grooves carved in petrified wood. Turning back to her fanatical packing, my loving mother dismissed me like a disposed tampon.

  I rolled my eyes right before the words spewed from my heedless mouth like a toddler puking, “Mom, moving's wacko!”

  Sara quickly pointed her combative eyes at me. “Are you saying I'm crazy?”

  I stepped back out of range of her reach. I liked my teeth. “That's not what I meant.” I backpedaled. “I'm sorry.”

  “I've about had it with you!”

  I blinked back at her, wondering who the adult in this family was. Sara often struggled with her adult role. From her miniskirts to her blatant behavior mimicking a spoiled child, the lines often blurred. I'd become the designated adult, forced to keep track of rent and worrying we'd become homeless. “Mom, I have friends here. The school is great. My grades are dope. Doesn't that have any weight?”

  It was as though my reasoning went straight to voicemail without box-set-up. “You'll make new friends. You're young. You'll adapt. We're moving, and that's final!”

  “Do you care at all how I feel?” I bit back what I really wanted to say, selfish, self-absorbed, self-serving, self-centered, something like that.

  “Oh, don't be ridiculous!”

  “Every time we move it eats at me.”

  “You're such a drama queen!”

  “No, I'm not!” I defended myself, pointing to the suitcase. “Normal people don't behave irrational, moving from town to town, living in a suitcase… never knowing where their next meal is coming from.” Most of the time, I kept my mouth shut. But this time, my raw feelings slipped right passed my lips. “No, Mom, only you prefer living like a gypsy!”

  “Irrational and a gypsy! Unlike your stuffy self, I'm adventurous!” Sara picked up a mirror checking her cherry-red lipstick. Then she tossed the mirror on the bed and with an attempt to reel the voice of reason into this insanity, she spoke, “Look! Try to look at this as a going-away birthday.” She forced a smile as fake as her hot pink fingernails.

  “I hope you're not planning another excursion, camping in the city? Or should I say homeless?”

  “I don't know what you're talkin' about!” whenever Sara's tongue spilled lies, her Southern accent seemed more conspicuous.

  “If Dad were alive, we wouldn't be having this conversation. We certainly wouldn't be bouncing from town to town chasing rainbows and unicorns either.”

  Bringing up Dad was fighting dirty. And watching Sara flinch over the mention of him gave me a spike of triumph. Memory lane for Sara was like sticking your hand over an open fire and holding it for a good ten minutes. The mention of Dad's name seemed to bother her. I think she'd put Dad's memories in a shoebox and stuffed it away in a dank basement so she wouldn't have to face the stab. She even went as far as forbidding me to speak his name. I reckoned Sara hadn't gotten over Dad's death. Nonetheless, at times, I didn't mind twisting the proverbial knife.

  “Well, your dad's dead!” she spat. “You can call your friends when we get on the road. Go pack! I want to be on the road by sundown.”

  “I'm tired of getting dragged off to these flea-bitten towns.” Determination became my fuel to get my point across or else die trying. “I want to have a normal teenage life. Do stuff with my friends.” I threw my hands in the air. “I can't do this again! I won't go!”

  “You don't have a say!” Sara shouted, hands to her side, flexing. Then she paused, taking a deep breath, dousing an extra coat of honey on her lies. “Sweetie, you're going to love this little town. I promise it's our last move.”

  “What's so special about this town? It's not even on the map!”

  “I heard the town is real good, friendly folks, and cheap living too!”

  I stood there, eyeballing her suspiciously. “What's the real reason, Mom?”

  She dropped her clothes and flopped down on the edge of the bed. She reminded me of someone giving confession, shoulders slumped, eyes fixed to the floor. “Okay, don't get mad.” She sighed. “We don't have the money to pay rent.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I used it on a psychic. Legend Red is famous!”

  Sara had to be off her meds. Why today of all days?

  “Don't you know psychics are cons?” I couldn't believe she fell for the oldest trick in the book! I gawked at her in disbelief.

  “Not Red!” Sara's hazel eyes gleamed as if she was defending her lover. “He's real.”

  “Mom, he's no more a psychic than Miss Cleo on television.” I refuted. “Remember her? She got canned for fraud. He ain't no different!”

  “Look! Red foresaw us in this little town living on easy street, baby!” She scrunched her shoulders together appearing childlike.

  “Homelessness isn't easy street!”

  “Stop killing my buzz!” Her tone suddenly morphed into a razor, springing to her feet, acting as if she was going to Donnybrook me.

  Lucky for me, I was quicker on my feet. I spun on my heels and stormed out of her bedroom. I'd had a belly full.

  “Stevie Ray! Don't you walk—”

  As her bellow nipped at my heels, I sprinted out the front door. I couldn't listen to her anymore. Flying by the seat of your pants half-cocked to these dead-end towns might be her idea of happiness, but I sure as hell didn't share the same aspirations.

  * * *

  Since Dad's death, dealing with Sara's bipolar hadn't been a cakewalk. Merely a child myself, I was ill equipped. It was near impossible t
o handle her highs and lows. As I became older, age didn't really make it any easier dealing with Sara's manic episodes. I still struggled and dreaded every waking day.

  Looking back, some might say it was a stroke of luck that I'd made it this far. I called it Survival 101. Until I was old enough to work a secular job, I did odd jobs for the neighbors from babysitting to dog walking. The cash came in handy for school lunches. I would've qualified for the free meal lunch program, but Sara felt it'd give folks the wrong impression. I reckoned she didn't realize they already knew we were poor. My faded clothes were a dead giveaway.

  When I became old enough to hold a secular job at McDonald's, I worked after school and full time in the summer. It helped with the bills, but it didn't do much for my social life.

  Getting to hang out with friends was a rare treat. Between school, work, and then riding out the waves of Sara's roller-coaster episodes, there wasn't much time for fun stuff. It sucked too.

  As reality spun its bitter web, I discovered far worse things. Sleeping in a cardboard box in the middle of winter under a bridge was on top of my do-not list. In my opinion, a life no child should ever have to know.

  Attending school in the same dirty clothes day after day taught me the cruelties of life at a very early age. I was easy pickings for other kids. After a few bloody noses and bloodstained clothes, I began to fight back and I got where I could hold my own.

  Despite the harshness of my life, what kept me hopeful were my studies. I was smart, and my scores reflected it too. I understood that if I ever wanted to get out of poverty, an education was my meal ticket.

  Looking back, I thought eighteen would be the magic number. Free from bondage, no longer burdened to worry over Sara. The problem that stuck like oatmeal to my gut was my conscious. It wouldn't let me walk away. Sara's incompetency rode heavily on my shoulders. If something happened to her, I'd never forgive myself. Considering all things, despite my aversion toward my mother, I loved her. She was the only family I had left.

  Though my heart wanted to be elsewhere, knowing I was doing the right thing helped me get through the bad times.

  When my dad was alive, he'd often say, “A family sticks together through thick and thin.” If Dad were alive today, he'd be proud of my endeavors. For that reason, I held my head high, enduring Sara's manic outbursts.