Distant Thunder

By Elissa Wilds

Shambhala, GA is not your average small town. And Raye Pierson isn’t your average resident...

Raye is living a quiet, peaceful life in the infamous Spiritualist town of Shambhala, GA, the perfect place to blend in and keep her own magical abilities under wraps. But peace is shattered when her ex-boyfriend shows up demanding to know the daughter he abandoned 15-years ago. Then her neighbors start behaving in ways that make their psychic abilities seem downright boring. As if that weren't enough to keep her up at night, Raye’s teaching job is threatened when she's linked to a student's tragic accident. Enter Drake Mitchell, the new School Administrator. Their connection is immediate and intense. But how can she think about romance when her whole world is topsy turvy?

And then there’s the matter of the ancient crystal skull buried in her backyard. A skull which is much more than just a beautiful ancient object. This skull has a soul. A soul who insists it's up to Raye and Drake to protect it at all costs from powerful forces intent on destroying it, the town, and ultimately, humankind.

All small town’s have secrets.
But this town’s secrets hold the keys
to our evolution...or our extinction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elissa Wilds
• Release date: Jan 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310884610

Elissa Wilds

Elissa Wilds is multi-published in paranormal romance by Dorchester Publishing, Running Press, and Montlake Publishing. Her work has received rave reviews and has garnered a number of awards including placement in the prestigious 2009 Published Maggie Award of Excellence Contest and the Grand Prize win in the 2010 Laurie’s Best Published Contest. Elissa loves to investigate and write about all things paranormal. In her spare time, she's been known to ghost hunt, sing karaoke, and attempt to play guitar.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book and the world of Shambhala would not have come to be without certain people who helped in its formative stages with plotting, research, critiquing, and wine. Lots of wine. But most importantly, these same people continued to encourage me to create this world and the characters who live there no matter the naysayers who told me the story was too niche, too unusual for paranormal romance. Try telling that to the characters who demand to be heard. They don’t listen very well.

So, to Erica Ridley, Cheryl Wilson, Jean Mason, and Wendi Christner, I say thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. As friends, writers, and people, you’re some of the best I’ve met.

Special thanks to my husband, Michael Babb, who loves to come up with weird plot ideas (some of which I actually use) and gives great massages. The fact that he can do all sorts of techie computer-type stuff too, only serves to increase his sexy hubby appeal. I love you.

CHAPTER ONE

Somewhere in the Smoky Mountains

The disk-shaped object hovered over dense woods and mountainous terrain, cloaked in the veil of night. It drifted side to side, the visitor at its helm searching, seeking.

Then, a thump, thump, thump, like a heartbeat beneath the soil. The inhabitants of the craft felt the aberration, an energetic vibration which made their bodies pulse in response.

The craft halted and rotated slightly. A thread of energy, faint, but unmistakable, snaked through the earth, lightning quick.

The same exact thought reverberated in the visitors’ minds. There. East. Then, South. Farther South. The commander at the helm of the ship smiled and punched coordinates into the glowing grid in front of him.

They were close. So close now.

The object picked up speed and raced toward the source.

* * *

Shambhala, GA, Present Day

It was Friday night, the witching hour, midnight on a full moon. The perfect time to conjure a love spell. Raye Pierson’s chest tightened with nervous excitement and more than a hint of fear.

She frowned. No good. One must not perform magic in fear. At least, that’s what her witchcraft books said. She bit her lip. Some fresh air would no doubt help ground her.

She crossed to the window near her bed and caught her reflection in the glass. Thick, cherry red hair, large, almond-shaped eyes, and a bow-shaped mouth stared back at her, transparent as a ghost. It was not the face of a woman who would necessarily need to perform a love spell, she decided, allowing herself a rare moment of self-appreciation.

No, if a man was all she wanted, a man she could certainly have. The problem was finding the right man.

Raye lifted her bedroom window and shivered as the cool breeze drifted over her skin and mingled with the shadows dancing in the corners of the room. That same breeze twisted through the magnolia and maple trees that peppered her yard. Two trees swayed toward each other, their limbs brushing, twining, like dancing lovers.

From her second story bedroom, she had an excellent view of the tiny town she called home. She watched the last of the lights in the shops on Main Street go out. That would be Holly closing up the town’s one and only diner.

The rest of the businesses, which included four New Age gift shops, a rock and gem dealer, a tiny general store, and a bookstore, closed at nine p.m. The church would be empty by now, the last table-tipping séance over hours ago.

Lights flickered and bobbed behind the church, indicating the end of a ghost tour. The attendees had reached their final destination (which Raye found rather amusing in a macabre sort of way) at the graveyard. She wondered if the resident ghost, Edward, would make an appearance. The tourists would certainly think they’d gotten their money’s worth then! Edward was a fickle fellow and one never knew when he’d show himself. Or what mood he’d be in.

The majority of the residents of Shambhala would be asleep by now, the psychics and mediums that lived and worked there tucked away in their tiny wood-frame houses, exhausted from entertaining the tourists and doing their part to keep the town alive.

About the only place that would have any activity at this time of night would be the Lamplight Inn, the small ten-room bed and breakfast with the tiny bar that boasted Shambhala’s only nightlife.

The wind tickled the chimes that hung from Raye’s front porch directly beneath her bedroom. The chimes emitted a delicate and whimsical tune. The melody seemed to underscore the end of her brief reprieve.

Raye sighed. No more stalling. Back to the task at hand.

She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, and envisioned herself smiling and happy, held tight in the arms of her perfect mate. Whomever he may be. By the time she opened her eyes, a quiet calm had settled over her.

At thirty-two years old, she was finally ready for love.

She’d spent the past fifteen years concentrating on everything but her love life. She’d put herself through college and had established herself as one of the most respected teachers at Willow Grove Academy. And she had raised an intelligent, witty (if a bit precocious) daughter.

For months, she’d experienced a stirring of loneliness no amount of adoring students or parenting could erase. It was time to do something about it.

Raye crossed to the center of the room. Her makeshift altar sat atop a glass table. A number of implements crowded the surface. A black-handled, silver-bladed knife her books referred to as an athame, chalice filled with burgundy wine, numerous colored votive candles, censer of burning vanilla incense, ceramic bowl of consecrated water, and a lighter. She’d been gathering the supplies for months and had spent hours composing what would be her first formal attempt at spell-casting. She’d planned this moment carefully, meticulously. Earlier, she’d draped the table with a silk cloth and had arranged two ruby red roses.One for me, one for my lover.

She removed a piece of paper from the pocket of her robe and placed it on the table, then released the belt on her robe. The garment fell to the floor in a wash of red satin.

She stood, nude, next to the table and righted a single pink candle. The sweet scent of the rose and orange oils she’d earlier consecrated the candle with tickled her nose.

Raye breathed in deeply then exhaled, focusing her intent. She could do this. She’d practiced the ritual for weeks and she’d always had a fantastic memory. She’d remember the words. And the ritual would work. She knew it in her gut.

As if to confirm her thoughts, the air around her stirred and slithered over her naked flesh. Goosebumps pricked her arms. She was suddenly very aware of her nakedness and was tempted to put her robe back on, but the books she’d read on spell craft indicated ritual work was best done in the nude. It was the way we came into the world, and thus the most pure and natural state of being. She decided, chilly or not, she could handle nakedness for the length of her ritual. 

She lifted her athame high and turned to the east. More tingles of energy tickled her arms and legs. She shivered with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation at the indication of magic emerging.

I cast this night, this circle round, so that this space is hallowed ground. No uninvited beings may enter here; only those of light may gather near. She spoke softly, since her daughter slept just down the hall.

The athame’s blade emitted a sparkling blue stream of light that shimmered in the air and formed a protective barrier around the perimeter of the room as she circled to the south, west, and north.

She grabbed her broom and swept the circle to symbolically clear of it any negative or stagnant energy then returned to the east.

Guardians of the east, element of air. I summon, stir, and call you forth. Help me choose the right words and speak my truth. She drew an invoking pentagram in the air then knelt, lifted a lighter, and lit a yellow candle.

Hail and welcome.

She moved to the south. Guardians of the south, element of fire. I summon, stir, and call you forth. Infuse me with the fires of passion. She drew an invoking pentagram and lit a red candle.

Hail and welcome. 

She pivoted west. Guardians of the west, element of water. I summon, stir, and call you forth. Grant me the wisdom to know what I want and the courage to ask for it. Another invoking pentagram and a sweep of the lighter over a blue candle.

Hail and welcome.

By the time Raye turned to the north, the atmosphere of the room had taken on a full, thick texture. Although she’d only experienced this type of energy once before and very long ago, Raye recognized it for what it was. A very clear and decisive sign of magic afoot. She shivered, both nervous and excited, and pressed onward.

Guardians of the North, element of earth. I summon, stir, and call you forth. Lend me strength and the ability to stay grounded even while losing my heart. One last invoking pentagram and a green candle’s flame flared.

She knelt before the altar and tucked her feet beneath her bare bottom. The wood floor was uncomfortably hard beneath her knees, but she was too excited to pay attention to any discomfort.

Lord and Lady come to me now. Lend your power to my spoken vow. She lit the final two candles, one silver, one gold.

The space within the circle wavered and shifted as though it were stirred by a giant, cosmic spoon. A delicious frisson of electricity filled Raye. Her flesh tingled in response.

She lit the only remaining candle, a pink one, lifted the piece of paper she’d earlier placed on her altar, and began to read:

I am with the perfect man for me. By will of the Gods, so mote it be. This man is kind, compassionate, intelligent, puts his family first, must be the father my daughter never had… Once she’d made it through all fifty-four items on the list of her future lover’s required traits, (Raye was leaving nothing whatsoever to chance) she chanted once again: I am with the perfect man for me. By will of the Gods, so mote it be.

She closed her eyes and spent the next ten minutes visualizing the type of man she wanted to bring into her life. Satisfied her intent had been made clear, Raye raised her arm and drew a pentagram in the air above the pink candle. A sparkling five pointed star shimmered above the candle’s flame.

Just then, a gust of wind pushed through the open window and snuffed out the candle. The trail of smoke wove through each line of the five-pointed-star.

Raye knew without a doubt that her spell, carefully seeded, would bear sweet, delectable fruit.

* * *

If she had to listen to one more poem about unrequited love, Raye would scream. What did fourteen-year-olds know about love anyway? Twelve hours had passed since she’d performed her spell and love, or the lack thereof, was all she—or any of her students, apparently—could think about. She sighed and rested her head on her chin eyeing the students of her friend Lana’s Freshman Creative Writing class. 

Who was she to talk? She’d only been in love once. Look how well that had turned out.

Debbie Mayes, a straight-A student who, Raye was coming to realize, took herself and her love life very seriously, finished reciting her poem and returned to her seat. Raye rubbed her eyes and forced a smile. She would be very, very glad when Lana James returned from her leave of absence. For the most part, she enjoyed the class, but it had been difficult to add it to her already full teaching schedule.  Due to budget cutbacks, the school was utilizing less and less substitute teachers, and the staff was being asked to take on more work. Raye worried she wasn’t giving the students in this extra class as much attention as they needed.

Thank you, Debbie. Can you elaborate on the subject? Perhaps tell us how death came to inspire a poem about love?

Sure Ms. Pierson. When my – uh – I mean, the object of the poem’s boyfriend dumps her she’s so upset she wants to die. Or maybe kill someone.

Raye frowned. Note to self, do not let Sloane spend time with Debbie Mayes.

She cleared her throat and stood from her desk. Twenty students, in various modes of wakefulness, watched her. As usual, a couple of students in the back of the classroom had fallen asleep, heads draped over their arms, mouths agape.

Love, and the loss of it, elicits strong emotion. I applaud your effort to harness those emotions on paper…

But likening a break-up to having a your heart cut out with a dull butter knife, chopped into a million pieces, and fed to rabid dogs was a bit graphic.

Then again, maybe the kid had a point.

The bell rang and Raye was saved from further discussion. The students scrambled to pack up their bags and get out the door.

One student, Roger Banes, stayed behind. He shuffled toward her, baggy jeans making a swishing sound on the tile floor. He paused at her desk, slid open his backpack, and reached inside.He dropped a piece of notebook paper onto her desk. A red F glared accusingly from the front of the page. I think I deserved a better grade on this project.

Raye glanced at the paper in question.

I wish I could have given you a higher grade, but you didn’t follow the assignment.

It’s a short story about a famous person.

It’s an autobiographical account of your last game. She left off the part about it reading eerily familiar to the article in the school newspaper which had followed that particular game.

Some people might say I’m famous.

She allowed a small smile. It was supposed to be about a famous person in history. A key literary figure. And it was supposed to be fiction.

Roger scowled. I put a lot of time into this.

I don’t doubt that.

If I don’t get at least a C in this class, I can’t be in the playoffs.

She realized how important football was to Roger, but regardless, she was a stickler for equality. She couldn’t give special favors to Roger that she wouldn’t allow anyone else.

Hopefully, that won’t happen. There’s at least one more large assignment before the end of October, which could help boost your grade.

Roger swiped the paper back with a scowl. I can’t wait for Ms. James to come back.

Raye resisted the urge to mutter me neither as he disappeared out the door.

She glanced at the clock. Three-thirty already?

She stood and stuffed some files into her book bag. A few remaining students rushed past in a flurry of laughter and chatter. Finally, she was alone. She sighed, reveling in the blessed silence. 

She rubbed her temples and silently willed away the twinges she always felt when a migraine was on the way.

How’s it going?

She jumped at the male voice from out of nowhere and whirled around.

The very tall, very handsome School Administrator stood next to her, hands in the pockets of his black slacks, light blue polo shirt tucked casually into his pants. His thick, blond hair was combed neatly back from his angular face, the long strands secured in a ponytail.

There was something about the man that defied classification. He was an intriguing combination of hippie and businessman and the wire framed glasses he wore added a bit of sophisticated sexiness to his look. His full lips curled in a smile and momentarily pulled her gaze from his piercing golden brown eyes.

Drake Mitchell had been on the job less than two months but in that short time he’d managed to set the heart of every single, and even some not so single, female teacher at the school a flutter.

He smelled yummy too. Sandalwood and spice.

I’m good, you? Raye finally found her voice. She pushed a wayward curl from her eyes and fixed him with her most dazzling smile. Well, as dazzling as it could be at the end of a long day teaching high school students.

Not bad.

What can I do for you? she asked.

Actually, it’s what I can do for you, Drake told her, his words tinged with a warmth she hadn’t heard from him before. Not that she’d spent much time with Drake. Mostly they’d exchanged greetings when they passed in the halls. From what she knew of the man, he kept to himself.

She arched one eyebrow. Oh?

I heard you were in charge of Halloween Bash.

I am.

And that you could use some help organizing it.

Well, it’s a month away and I’ve only a handful of students and one other teacher helping at this point, so, yes, help would be good. She cocked her head to one side. You have some volunteers for me?

One.

One’s better than none. Who do you have in mind?

Me.

That gave her pause. You?

Hard to believe?

It’s just you don’t usually see the School Administrator offering to help with this stuff.

Well, I’m not the usual, he told her.

She blinked. The tone of his voice, the look in his eyes...was he flirting with her? She shifted from foot to foot, suddenly unsure of herself, then cleared her throat and grabbed a slip of paper to scribble her address and phone number.

Hoping to convey an air of quiet confidence, she gave a polite smile and handed him the paper.

If you really mean it, come by my house Sunday afternoon around one p.m.

Drake grinned. Did he think this was a date? Heat infused her cheeks. She hated it when she blushed. She hoped he didn’t notice.

For the planning committee meeting, she clarified just in case he’d gotten the wrong idea. She slipped her bag over her shoulder. Bring a munchie.

And with that she breezed out the door, ignoring the way her heart pounded against her chest. Yes. She was one of those teachers. The ones who found Drake sexy.

CHAPTER TWO

Fire the witch.

Drake Mitchell eyed the heavy-set, bald man in front of him, careful to keep his expression blank. Jon Masters, Chairman of the School Board and Willow Grove Academy’s most important benefactor, was out for blood. In his jeans, checkered shirt, and baseball cap, you’d never guess Mr. Masters to be the powerful man that he was. He gave the appearance of being mild-mannered and easy going.

Appearances were deceiving.

Although he’d yet to have any personal interaction with the man, he’d had been warned to keep Mr. Masters happy. In Drake’s opinion, it was risky business to rely so much on one man to keep a school afloat, and he believed they needed to start looking at other ways to raise money. Regardless, he had no choice but to deal with the man for now.

Drake glanced at his boss. Frank Clancy, Headmaster of Willow Grove Academy, hovered in the corner of the office, sweat stains dampening the underarms of his dress shirt. Frank refused to meet his gaze. Drake was clearly on his own.

Drake shifted in his chair and weighed his words carefully. We can’t fire a teacher in October. It would be impossible to find a replacement at this late date. All the schools have completed their hiring by the time fall semester starts.

The others will have to carry her load.

Drake frowned. He could just imagine the response that decree would elicit from the staff.

We’d be leaving Ms. Pierson with no means of finding another teaching position until next fall.

The trials and tribulations of witches don’t concern me, Mr. Mitchell. I won’t continue to support a school that employs such an unseemly person.

Ms. Pierson is a highly respected teacher. She’s a favorite of the students… Drake paused, thinking of the accolades Raye received from many of the students’ parents. She had a knack for taking even the most troubled student and turning them around. …and the parents, for that matter.

Mr. Masters lifted his chin, eyes narrowed. "I’ll be doing them a favor. If they knew what sort of person was teaching their children. A witch."

There was that word again.

Masters continued, Her dismissal will be for the greater good.

With all due respect, Mr. Masters, her name is Ms. Pierson. Are the insults truly necessary? The words jumped out of Drake’s mouth before he could stop them. Normally, Drake could hold his tongue, but everything about Masters grated his nerves. Simple men who used inherited money to bully people didn’t impress him.

Mr. Masters’s face turned an ugly shade of red. Drake’s boss cleared his throat noisily from his corner of the room.

My daughter is lying in a hospital bed because of that woman! Masters roared and pointed his finger so close to Drake’s face, he had to pull back to keep from losing his wire-framed glasses.

Frank snapped to life at these words and leapt to his feet. Mr. Masters, I can assure you we will handle this situation to your satisfaction. A full investigation will be performed.

Masters huffed and bent his big body over Frank’s, forcing the smaller man to take a step backward. It had better be, Clancy. I’ll be meeting with the rest of the Board at the end of this month. We’ll need a full accounting of Miss Pierson’s involvement.

Before Frank could formulate a reply, Masters straightened and said, I’ll call you tomorrow to hear your plan.

Frank nodded and escorted the temporarily pacified man out the door.

Drake ran his hand through his hair, as he usually did when aggravated. A few of the strands pulled loose from the ponytail that kept his thick locks restrained during the day. He unfolded his limbs and stood, shaking his left leg. His muscles had been so tense while Masters was in the room, he’d developed a cramp in his calf. He took his seat again, massaging his leg through his slacks, and waited for his reprimand.

Frank returned a few minutes later. Nice going, Mitchell.

Sorry, Drake said, even though he wasn’t.

Frank’s lips pursed. Yeah, sure.

What exactly is going on here? Drake asked. Frank had just been about to fill Drake in on the situation when Masters, a half hour early for their scheduled meeting, pushed his way through the door.

Frank sighed. Rumor is Raye Pierson’s a witch. The Masters think she coached their daughter in spell casting. Without their permission, of course. Not exactly the curriculum she’s been assigned to teach. Poor kid set herself on fire trying to conduct a spell.

Drake frowned. So, Masters hadn’t been insulting Ms. Pierson. He really thought she was a witch?

Frank, he began with hesitancy.

I know what you’re going to say. Frank spoke before could.

Do you?

Yes. That there is no proof.

You’re right. I mean, what exactly did Katie say Raye did?

Nothing. Well, other than that she learned how to conduct spells from Ms. Pierson. She’s been mute on the subject other than that. The parents think Raye threatened to curse her or something if she talked about it.

Drake’s brows rose. Seriously?

Could I make something like that up? Frank snapped. I should have known better than to hire someone who lives out in Shambhala. Damn town is full of table tippers and ghost whisperers. Shoulda known no normal person would live there.

Drake sighed, pushed a pile of papers out of the way, and perched on the edge of his desk. How do we know Katie is telling the truth?

Frank let out a sarcasm-laced laugh. You want to tell Masters his daughter is a liar?

Drake lifted his glasses from his nose and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger. His head was beginning to throb.

Assuming Katie is telling the truth, we don’t know for sure how this thing went down. Even if Raye did give Katie witchcraft pointers, to blame her for the accident is still quite a stretch.

To the Masters it’s not a stretch at all. Need I remind you that you and me ain’t writing the checks to keep this school open? Without the Masters’s donations, this place wouldn’t last a year.

And as the Chairman of the School Board, Masters had ample power to see Miss Pierson terminated. Frank didn’t say it. He didn’t have to. Drake was well aware of the man’s clout.

Frank’s gaze slanted toward the floor. Masters is stubborn as hell, and once he’s made his mind up about something you have about as good a chance of changing it as you’d have keeping a cat from covering its shit.

Drake raised an eyebrow. He didn’t like the turn of conversation. At all.

Are you insinuating Masters will sway the Board against Raye without due process?

Frank cleared his throat. That’s not what I said.

But it was what he’d inferred. Drake didn’t want to think the Board would be so corrupt, but he’d certainly heard stories of such goings on at other private schools.

So what’s our plan?

We schedule a meeting with Ms. Pierson tomorrow to see what she knows about this situation.

Agreed.

And then I’d like Lane to interview some of the students to see what they know.

Drake nodded his approval. The school guidance counselor was a good choice for that particular task. He had a calm, easy-going manner the kids seemed to warm to quickly, and Lane Reynolds could be trusted to keep a tight lid on the situation.

I’ll talk to Lane about getting started. Any particular kids? Drake asked.

Do some digging. I’m thinking friends of her daughter, Sloane, would be a good start. And some of her students.

Anything else?

I want you to start shadowing Pierson. Maybe sit in on some of her classes, get involved in school activities she’s heading. Frank paused. Do you have any other suggestions?

Drake frowned. Well, he’d already intended to get to know Raye better. Though his initial intention had nothing to do with investigating accusations of witchcraft. So much for romance.

He shook his head. "No. This sounds