Raven's GhostRaven's Shadow Book 2by R.L. WeeksGenre: YA Paranormal MysteryAward Winning author, R. L. Weeks, brings you Raven's Ghost - Book Two in the Young Adult Victorian Paranormal Mystery Series.
Another serial killer is raising hell on the streets of London and Raven believes it's all her fault. All the victims have blonde hair and blue eyes like her, and the killer is none other than her uncle.
His mind had been warped and twisted by heartbreak and betrayal and his hatred for women is driving him to kill more and more each week.Raven wants to stop him at all costs. However, there is one big problem standing in her way. No one can see, hear, or feel her.
With the help of her new friend, Elizabeth, and Emmett who is desperately trying to contact Raven's Ghost, can Raven find her way back from the other side to save the world from the notorious serial killer?
Or will the Shadow Men, drawn back to their world by darkness, fade her away before she get's the chance?
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Award Winning author, R. L. Weeks, brings you Raven's Sight - a Young Adult Victorian Paranormal Mystery. Book One can be read as a standalone and as part of the series.Raven looks out over the small, industrial town of Cogsworth and imagines a life beyond the confines of her Grandmother's mansion.However, Raven holds a dark secret that prevents her from leaving. One which comes to light after her father's untimely death. Now an orphan, Raven must do her best to hide her gifts of sight if she's to survive the cruel Victorian society she lives in.
However, when a ghost of a child comes to her for help, Raven finds herself in the gas lit streets of London, on the trail of a female serial killer. As she tries to solve the string of murders, she realizes that the murders are almost identical to those from a case left unsolved years before she was born.
In a race against time, Raven is thrown into a world she doesn't know. With her crush, Tom, now a ghost, her friend, Emmett, now a suspect, and an uncle who runs illicit groups and hates women, Raven will have to unravel the mysteries quickly before she becomes their next victim.
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November 27th, 1861I sit at the stool and marvel at the mahogany structure in front of me. Fatherconverted our spare room into a music room two years ago. Father loves to playthe piano. I mean, he loved to play the piano and no longer loves, for he nolonger is. Like everyone else in my family, apart from Grandmother and myuncle, he is dead.I lift the heavy lid, and a row of ivory keys greet me. Father ensured that ourpiano had a cast iron frame installed when it was bought. According to him, itgives a more powerful sound. Father was a very smart man.I suck in a deep breath and dangle my legs off the stool. I tap the heels of myblack, shiny shoes together. My feet can almost reach the ground now. Soon, Iwill be nine years old, and I will be able to play the piano much better thanLissy, who lives down the road. Although, her mother doesn’t want her playingwith me anymore. Apparently, I’m weird.Tears blur my vision as I realize for the first time that I will be turning ninewithout Father.I miss his sparkling blue eyes and “moments of madness,” as Grandmothercalled them. Father is…I mean, was, the owner of a wool factory. Father saidthat his factory was one of the first to recognize a union, whatever that is, and hisworkers were paid fairly. He was very proud of his factory which is now ownedhis adopted brother who I’ve never met. All the workers live in small houses inour small town of Cogsworth.I used to sneak off and look at the factory after school. Sparks and flameswould light up the sky that had been darkened by smoke from the chimneys. Iused to watch the children that worked at his factory sit on the old wooden fenceand eat their dinners before going back to finish their long day.I look down at my little fingers and wonder if I will be put to work now thathe is dead.Grandmother says not to worry, that father has left us more than enoughmoney and that we have enough to last us for the rest of our lives, but I am muchyounger than her.I must find a good husband when I am grown up. I just hope Grandmotherlives long enough for me to marry. If not, I may end up desperate and poor,without anything in the world. I am, after all, an orphan now, and world is notkind to orphans. I know this much from the books I sneak from Grandmother’sshelves. You see, Grandmother always hides the harsh truths from me, unlikeFather, who always told me the truth, even when I didn’t want to hear it. Healways said that the most important gifts he had been graced with by God werehis integrity and honest tongue.I look up at the door and smile at him.“My dear,” my grandmother says crisply. She walks through Father and sits onthe futon. “I know it has been hard with losing both your parents in one year, butyou still have me, and I will always be here for you.”I give her a “mmm” and hover my fingers over the keys of the piano. I don’twant to talk about my parent’s deaths right now. I don’t have time. “I am aboutto play a song.”Her thin lips crack into a small smile. She nods for me to play, but the song isnot for her. It is for Father. He has been standing in the doorway waiting for meto play for almost ten minutes. He is almost transparent and taps his watch,pushing me to hurry.What if I do not play my goodbye well enough for him? How can I put all thewords and memories I wished for us to have into just one small song?I elaborate when she does not leave. “I am playing a song for Father, not you.I must make sure I get it right. I want to play it only for his ears.”Her eyes, a paler blue than mine or Father’s, widen. “Raven…” She pausesand fiddles with the cameo necklace around her neck. “Your father, my poor son,is not coming back. He is with God now. I have told you this. You must acceptit.”I shake my head and look at Father. He tilts his head slightly to the left anddrops his arms to his side.“No Grandmother. Father is standing right there. He has to go soon, but he iswaiting for me to play for him.”I press down three keys and hold my breath so I do not tremble. I start thelullaby that I used to play with Father.I have decided that it is most appropriate; it will be a goodnight to him and mylife with him.Grandmother marches over to me and grabs my arm. I miss a note and look upat her furiously.“No!” I shout and fall off the stool. I try to wriggle free, but she pulls meacross the cold floorboards.“No! Grandmother, please. I must finish!”“Stop being ridiculous, Raven. There are no such things as ghosts.”I pull down on her fingers and accidentally pull off her wedding ring. I graspit in my sweaty palms. I see Father look sadly at us before turning away.“No! Father, No!”I look at the door with desperation as he fades away.“Father!” I scream. Grandmother’s grip remains tight on my arm, and I pullwith all my might. “I hate you. You made him leave.” A lump forms in my throatas despair grips me. “He’s gone.”“Enough, child,” she says and tightens her grip.I kick my legs and scream and scream until my screams are silent. I feelnothing but rage as I kneel on the floorboards holding Grandmother’s ring.Suddenly, the room twists around me, and everything fades to black.The room looks different. The walls are plastered with cream paper instead ofthe normal pale blue and gold.Grandmother sits with my dead grandfather. They both look younger. A boyplays on the floor with a wooden horse. He is only four of five years old. Hiseyes sparkle with the same blue color as Father’s.Grandmother plays with her wedding ring. I look down at the same ring in myhand, and my eyebrows knit together.The boy runs out of the room with a mischievous smile. Grandmother runsafter him, laughing. “Jameson, get back here,” she says through her laughter.The memory fades from me as I feel the ring topple from my hand onto thefloorboards.“Raven?”I open my eyes and look into my Grandmother’s hard expression.“Raven, are you okay?” Tears have formed in her eyes.I can feel the pain from where her nails were digging into me. “You seemedhappier when you ran after Father in this room. When he was a boy,” I said inclarification.Grandmother’s worried expression is replaced with one I have never seen onher: fear. “You and your imagination.”I pick up her ring and give it back to her. I stand up and rub my arm. “I saw it.He was playing with a wooden horse. I think it was real,” I say. I am as confusedby the memory as she is. “It felt real.”The color leaves her face. “He must have told you about the wooden horse.”I shake my head.“This is the last time we can let this happen.” Strands of her hair have freedthemselves from her tight bun and now dangle wildly around her face. “Nora!”She calls for our maid.I look at her as she runs in the room, looking flushed. “Yes, Ma’am.”“Take Raven to her room and do not let anyone in the house,” Grandmotherorders.Nora Bonetta, whose skin is much darker than ours, looks at me curiously. “Isthe child okay?”Grandmother paces around in a circle. “I have seen this happen before, and itis happening again. We cannot have another Alice,” she says and stops in frontof me. She pushes me over to Nora. “We must not let her out the house. Ifanyone finds out what she is…”Nora nods, seeming to understand what I do not.Who is this girl—I have forgotten her name already—that we cannot have another of, and what am I?
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