Rania Algafari never asked to be different, and when she escaped the war in Syria and moved to the UK, her only goal was to live her life in peace. Get up, go to work, avoid talking to the dead—that sort of thing.
But not everyone dies quietly, and Rania’s soon being pestered by one ghost, blackmailed by another, and distracted by a handsome private investigator who’s got his own reasons for wanting to solve a particularly gruesome murder.
While Will Lawson doesn’t mind using unorthodox methods to crack a case, he’s never had to contact his witnesses via a seance before. But the clock is ticking, and Will and his unlikely sidekicks need to hunt down a killer before he’s dispatched to join the spirit world himself.
Cursed is a standalone paranormal romantic suspense novel in the Electi Series—no cliffhanger!
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Excerpt 1 – The beginning…
I knew something was wrong the instant I reached the ornate iron gates of Daylesford Hall. Not because I could see the crowd next to the front doors or the police officers traipsing in and out, but because the spirit perched on the moss-covered boulder at the top of the winding driveway told me so.
Lucy had been sitting in the same spot since a carelessly driven carriage clipped her in 1883, causing her to lose her balance and hit her head on that very rock.
“Rania! You’ll never guess what’s happened.”
I checked around for watchful eyes, then smiled. Lucy was one of the few spirits I’d come across who didn’t make me want to run screaming. Not that I ran out of fear—more from frustration.
“What?” I whispered, careful not to move my lips.
“Something big’s happened. Six cars with flashing lights have driven past this morning, and a big yellow van, but that left a while ago.”
“Flashing lights… Do you mean police cars?”
“The lights were blue, and the cars had words on them.”
As a servant girl, Lucy had never learned to read, and with Daylesford Hall hidden away at the end of a winding lane in the sleepy English village of Enderby, she wouldn’t have come across the police too often. So why were they here?
“How long ago did they arrive?”
“This morning, a little after first light.”
At this time of year, late November with patches of snow still left on the ground, that meant around eight a.m. The cold snap started in October and hadn’t let up since, and while I’d been fascinated by its icy beauty at first, the novelty soon wore off. Crisp white sheets turned to grey sludge, and the walk from the bus stop down the road took twice as long and left me with a bruised ass on one occasion. Back home in Syria, the flurries lasted a day or two at most, and the snow rarely settled.
“I’ll take a look and see what’s going on,” I said.
“Please, tell me. I do wish I could see for myself.”
If the situation was serious enough to warrant six police cars and, I presumed, an ambulance, it probably wasn’t something either of us wanted to see, but Lucy loved to gossip and I was the only person she had to talk to now. I closed my eyes for a second, imagining her back in Victorian times, very much alive and chatting with the other household staff in the huge old kitchen at Daylesford Hall. I hadn’t met any of them myself, but in the summer months when the evenings were warmer, Lucy had told me about her life in bite-sized chunks, a minute or two each day.
“I’ll give you an update on my way out,” I promised.
She smiled, and when I glanced back, I saw her settle onto the boulder again—an illusion, because she could have passed right through it if she’d chosen to. At least ghosts didn’t feel the cold.
Not like me as I tucked my gloved hands into my pockets and traipsed up the gentle hill to the hall. Once home to a wealthy family, it had been converted to the headquarters of my current employer, The Weston Corporation, a firm of engineering consultants headed up by Lloyd Weston and his two children—Anthony and Helene. Rumour had it the older man would be retiring soon, but every time I’d seen him, he still seemed sprightly.
As I rounded the kink in the drive, my worst fears came to life. Or rather, death. Two men wheeled a black body bag out the front doors on a gurney, slowing to lift their cargo carefully down the steps. A groan escaped my lips, but I forced myself to keep walking towards the cluster of people gathered in front of the blue-and-white tape that fluttered in the breeze.
A woman turned in my direction, and I recognised Martha, the receptionist who spent more of her time reading gossip websites than answering the phone.
Her eyes widened as she saw me. “Rania, I’m so sorry. I thought I’d called everybody, but I forgot about you.”
Of course she did. I was just the cleaner, invisible to everyone unless they had a spill that needed clearing up or an overflowing wastebasket. Well, almost everyone. A handful of the building’s occupants noticed me, and today it looked as if that count might increase by one.
“What happened?” I asked.
She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Helene Weston died.”
Excerpt 2 – Will & RJ…
“Did you find the lost dog?” RJ asked.
“Yeah.”
“Want a beer?”
“Yeah.”
“Thought I’d order hookers tonight. You want one or two?”
“Yeah.”
RJ slammed the lid on my laptop, ignoring my glare.
“What the fuck?” I growled.
“I’m the one who should be asking that question, Will. You’ve been on a different planet this evening. Girl trouble? That blonde from last night?”
No, well, yes. Valerie, the blonde, had messaged me three times today and called twice. She might have been hot in the sack, but I didn’t need that kind of clingy.
“The blonde’s history.”
“Shame. She made good coffee.”
“Why don’t you ask her out, then?”
“Sloppy seconds? Not my thing, man.” I moved to open my laptop again, but RJ kept his hand on the top. “What’s up? Tell Auntie RJ all about it.”
RJ was Randall James Wilkinson-Shields, my best mate since we’d got detention together on our first day of boarding school for putting a live frog in the French teacher’s pencil case. Not our fault nobody locked the biology lab at lunchtime. Rather than become known as Randy the Third for our entire school career, he’d shortened his name to RJ Shields and played a lot of rugby to avoid claiming the “geek” crown for his love of computers.
And now he was my housemate.
Well, sort of. RJ’s father had bought him the three-bedroom townhouse as a gift for passing his university entrance exam, while mine kicked me out of the house for choosing the police academy over a career in law, and I’d been camping out in RJ’s spare room ever since. Eight years on, and we bickered like an old married couple.
And if I didn’t talk to him, he’d change the Wi-Fi password until I did. I sat back in my chair and sighed.
“I got offered a new case.”
“And? What’s the problem? You need the work, yes?”
I did, so badly I couldn’t afford to turn any job away. And that bothered me.
When I didn’t reply, RJ drummed his fingers on the desk. “Cheating husband? Stolen lawnmower? Another missing pet? You know those are your favourite.”
Yeah, right. I’d spent the past fortnight tracking down Muffy, my godmother’s best friend’s elderly poodle who’d taken fright at some fireworks and run off on her evening walk. Another little old lady had claimed ownership under the “finders keepers” rule, and I’d got caught in the crossfire as the two women hurled doggy treats at each other. Then Muffy bit me on the arm when I picked her up.
Now I had a bandage, a sore arse from the tetanus shot, and a potential nightmare of a new case.
“No, this one’s a murder investigation.”
RJ gave a low whistle. “Bit of a step up. Are you going to take it?”
“Not sure I’ve got a choice.”
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