Dark Soul: Devil Ship Series Book 2

True love never dies… The island of Sainte Isabel seems like a tropical paradise. But Sara Hansen sees a different side to her beautiful home. A sinister legacy of bloodshed and death haunts the crystal blue shores. And her husband is still missing… swept away by the spectral vessel known as the Devil Ship. Struggling to keep her dive resort in business, Sara has no time to mourn her loss. But as she tries to put the past behind her, she finds herself plagued by terrible nightmares. Visions of drowned sailors and rotting corpses haunt her waking hours. And a sinister voice calls to her from the sea… Lemaitre, the spirit of a brutal pirate, and captain of the Devil Ship, draws her to him. As more guests vanish from the island, Sara unearths a dark ritual, cast hundreds of years in the past. The soul of Lemaitre’s lover, Catherine, seeks a new body to occupy. Enlisting the help of a local priestess, Sara must wage a spiritual battle against the undead forces that seek to control her. But as the Devil Ship prepares to sail once more, its captain vows to reclaim his lost love. And he will possess her. Mind, body and soul… PRINT LENGTH AUDIO LENGTH NARRATED BY PRODUCT DIMENSION ISBN LANGUAGE English PUBLICATION DATE August 17, 2020 Read a Sample   Chapter 11: All-Consuming After Ryan and Keri left, Sara went into the bedroom to try to get some sleep. She drew the curtains, kicked off her slippers, and lay on top of the covers. The sound of gulls, waves, and the occasional shout of a vacationer mingled with the air conditioning to distract her. She could switch off the air conditioning, but the room would become stuffy, and she’d have to open the window, which would mean more noise from the beach… Sighing, she turned over and stared at the thing on the table by her bed. The heart of Catherine Le Foix had lain, unsuspected, under Castlereagh for centuries. Had it somehow created the legend of the White Lady? Inspired the grotesque story about the child consumed by wild hogs? Sara shivered in disgust but could not stop thinking about the grotesque object. I should destroy it, she thought. That would kill the spell, right? That’s why I brought it back. So long as it’s on the island, intact, then it lures him in, sets the course of the Devil Ship. Like a guiding star. It seemed logical. But Sara had seen enough of the occult by now to wonder if logic could trump belief, ritual, and above all symbolism. The heart of Lemaitre’s dead lover anchored him to the island, sure. Destroying it somehow would remove that tie—or would it? She closed her eyes, tried to stop thinking in circles. But with sleep no closer, despite her tiredness, she had to act. Sara got up and dressed properly, pulling on jeans, a freshly laundered shirt, comfortable sneakers. Then she gingerly picked up the package, surprised at its lightness, the sheer normalcy of the thing. She carried it into the kitchen and pondered the waste disposal, ruled it out. There was a good chance the heart would disintegrate, but maybe it would simply clog the mechanism. Imagine explaining to a repairman from Port Louis how you’d jammed it up… “I could throw it in the sea,” she said to herself quietly. But then Sara thought of how she would go about throwing the foul relic into the Caribbean. She could not be seen to hurl any kind of garbage into the cove. She could walk a half-mile or so up the coast, along the road toward Castlereagh. It seemed like a plan. But then came doubt. She thought of the rival rituals of light and darkness, Father Bertrand’s barrier and the lure created by Mama Bondurant’s distant ancestor. The sea might be the worst possible place to put the damned thing. Sara looked down at the crudely wrapped parcel. She so wanted to look at it, just to see the object that had kept the Devil Ship returning, month after month, for over three hundred years. Of course, it wasn’t the heart that had the power, she told herself. A long-preserved human organ is just a piece of meat. But in the world of magic, symbols wield power, and is there a more potent symbol of love? She shuddered. Then she put the heart on the countertop and unwrapped it. It was a black lump, and at first, Sara assumed that its dark color was only down to the passage of years. Then she thought about how the boucaniers would have tried to preserve the heart, way back in the 17th century. The very name of their tribe gave the answer. This was smoked meat. Sara gagged, leaned over the sink, but did not throw up her breakfast. After the initial revulsion came another feeling, something like serenity. She looked at the heart again and reached out a tentative hand. When her fingers touched the desiccated tissue, she flinched but only for a split-second. Then she clutched the long-dead organ and lifted it close to her face, sniffed it. It smelled like old leather, with a hint of bacon. What am I doing? A small voice protested but was quickly subdued. A sudden, overwhelming clarity possessed her. She laughed and held the heart to her cheek. She could almost feel it pulsing with new life. Sara put the organ back into its wrapping and, with a new clarity of purpose, got out a skillet, and turned up a ring on the electric hob. Then she found some garlic, olive oil, and a stick of butter. No, this is crazy! Sara was suddenly a spectator inside her own body, watching as her limbs moved deftly to prepare a cannibal meal. The mind that had possessed her, half-melding with her own, was focused and burning with long-thwarted purpose. Despite her revulsion, her silent screams of protest, soon the heart was dropped almost casually into the pan.