Opening the Veil
New Sight Series; Book 1
by C.L. Clark
Release Date: 03/21/15
When Cassie agrees to go on a date with her gorgeous new neighbor, she doesn’t expect the night to end with a glimpse into eternity. Within twenty-four hours she discovers not only are young women being brutally murdered around her beloved town, but an ancient evil is using her new neighbor like a puppet to do the killing.
Knowing the police won’t believe her without solid proof, she makes it her mission to find the evidence they need. Add to that how her cat has started talking to her, along with seeing ghosts around town, and it’s no surprise that she’s beginning to question her sanity.
This is the first book in the New Sight Series - paranormal series about a young woman whose eyes are opened to the hidden world around her and her compulsion to help the dead seek answers and justice.
Imaginatively entertaining with light humor and a quickening pace, C. L. Clark’s interesting new twist on paranormal fantasy is a book series that readers will not want to pass up.
Another interesting turn of events came when I was standing in front of the man’s door, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, and heard a knock on the door that had not come from either of my knuckles. I looked over at Stacey, who had her hands wrapped around each other, staring at the door in anticipation. I wasn’t fooled. I knew she had somehow made the knock at the door, but I couldn’t question her on it because the door opened.
A tall man with messy brown hair stood in the doorway dressed in gray sweats and an Arctic Monkeys t-shirt, as if he had just climbed out of bed. He looked at me and then at Allie with questioning eyes and a bit of a frown.
“Yes?” His voice had a pleasant, deep sound, despite being a little hoarse.
I glanced at Stacey who reached out and touched the man’s arm. Too many emotions to choose from tangled her features in a mad war. Her man reached his hand over and scratched at the exact spot where her hand was still placed.
“Is there something I can help you with?” He asked again, seeming more concerned than angry at my slow response time.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized, shaking my head and trying to smile. “My name’s Cassie, I’m from up the highway in Kensington Falls. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes.”
“I’m not interested in whatever religion you’re selling. Thanks anyway.” He sighed as he started to shut the door.
Sticking my foot in the way, I continued in a rush, moving a little bit into the space that Stacey was occupying. Cold slid up my side and made my scalp tingle.
“I’m not selling anything. I’m here about Stacey.”
That did it. He pulled the door open again with a much more annoyed look on his face and I took a step back. Even Allie reacted by shifting in my arms and making a slight sound.
“Where do you people get off?” He started at an almost yell.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I placated, waving my free hand in a close approximation to surrender. “I’m not with the Press or anything like that, I promise. I knew one of the victims in Kensington Falls and I was trying to get some information on the others and . . . and . . .I’m trying to help someone, too.” Dang why wasn’t this as easy as it always seemed to be on television!
“Who?” He asked, leaning on the door frame and watching me with skeptical curiosity, his hand still holding the door in a way that he could quickly slam it in my face.
“Who are you trying to help? Do you know something about the killer?”
“That’s a longer story,” I moaned with a heavier sigh than I had intended. “At this particular moment, I’m trying to help Stacey.”
The last of the anger drained out of his face and left in its wake a sad emptiness that I wouldn’t want to see on anyone’s face ever again.
“Stacey’s gone. There’s nothing you can do to help her now.”
“That’s not entirely true.” I glanced at Stacey again who was still staring at her boyfriend, mirroring his pain. “This may sound crazy and a couple of days ago I would have agreed with you, but that doesn’t change the fact that today what I’m about to tell you is the honest truth. Stacey’s spirit is here right now and she needs something, but I don’t know what that is.”
His face twisted up as if he’d smelled something unpleasant, but I could see in his eyes that he wanted to believe what I was saying. When he started to shake his head, Stacey caught my attention. Looking back and forth between us, she repeatedly tapped at the base of her throat.
“Did she have something wrong with her throat?” I asked with no confidence whatsoever. I’ve never been good at charades.
“No. What’s your game? Why are you doing this?”
“Gimme a second,” I huffed at him, holding up my free hand in a firm ‘stop’ so I could think. “I’m not sure what she means.”
Out of the corner of my eye I could see him looking back and forth between me and Stacey, who was only empty space as far as he could tell. I knew I didn’t have much time to figure this out, but she kept smacking her hand on her throat and getting so frustrated with me that I was beginning to panic.
“Necklace,” Allie calmly spoke up in my head.
“Necklace?” I questioned, looking at Allie who hadn’t moved and was still curled up comfortably in my arm. I looked back at Stacey and then at her boyfriend who was staring at me like I had just grown a second head right there in front of him. “Did Stacey have a necklace? Maybe something special?”
“Yeah,” he barely breathed out the word. “I gave her a silver swan that looked like one of those paper origami ones, but from silver.” He turned his eyes from me to the empty space beside me, unwittingly staring straight at Stacey who literally glowed in pulsing lavender as she stared back at him. “She used to make those all the time and leave little, you know, love notes in them for me. So I gave her one she could keep with her since I didn’t know how to fold them.”
“I take it she wasn’t buried with it?”
He looked back at me with a stunned expression.
“No. They never found it.” He looked back to where Stacey was standing. “Is she here, right now?”
About the Author:
C. L. Clark has been a lifetime resident of the Twilight Zone – seeing every day occurrences and banal objects through slightly skewed, dark, and creepy glasses. The question usually on her mind is “What if?” followed by any number of strange ideas which quickly become stories that must be shared.
When asked about where her story ideas come from, she usually smiles mischievously and remarks, “My fingers have a mind of their own.” Often found peeking under rocks, wandering through graveyards, and poking her nose into abandoned haunted houses, she has a particular love for black cats, breaking mirrors, and running with scissors.