My novel, Shattered shells will be released soon by Solstice Publishing
Telepathic Liliha owns a ring that allows her to link with another person. But she melds with a local thief which brings trouble. Here's a short excerpt of one of Liliha's sojourns which shows the harm one mother is doing to her child.
Liliha untied her apron. Was trouble the only thing her employer cared about? She unlatched the gold neck chain from her neck, removed her ring, and slid the comforting weight onto her finger before reaching for her bag and coat.
On the approach toward the fire door, the first signs of dizziness came over her. A waft of lily perfume drifted by.
A vision already? Too quick. Reach a safe place. Liliha staggered to the area between the shop and kitchen and eased the door open. Inside, she pressed her spine against the rear wall behind the shop counter. Weak hands dropped her coat and bag. A quick glance revealed the customer gazing outside before Liliha tilted within the deviation toward another place.
* * * *
I peer below with my telescopic vision and ignore the fuzzy edges and the surreal floating sensation. Below, occasional cars roar along a wide road on the right-hand side. Concentrating on this area, I hover under bright, late morning sun and get my bearings. To one side, stores line the roadside and people stroll along the pavement.
Ahead of a line of traffic, a car slows. The horn sounds.
A child stumbles along the edge of the road—a toddler on unsteady legs, dressed in pink trousers and top. More cars reduce speed.
I zoom toward the closest pedestrian and meld with a middle-aged woman. "Pay attention to the road."
With me inside her, she turns her head and notices the toddler. Her first instinct is to help, but she hesitates. I read a deep-seated problem inside her consciousness.
'Quick. Get the child before a car runs her over'.
Overcoming uncertainty, we dart forward and swoop the little one up in our arms. "Well done," she whispers to herself. "When I tell my husband, he'll say, 'Good for you, Daphne'."
We speak louder to the child to penetrate the traffic noise. "What are you doing on the road? Where's Mommy?"
The girl points.
Our gaze swings to a woman lying prone close to the gutter between cars, face tilted sideways. We tuck the child on our hip, hurry over, and lean close, adjusting our burden to compensate. "What's wrong?"
The disheveled woman mumbles. A strong smell of alcohol rises from her slack lips.
"Mommy, Mommy." The child squeals and wriggles. We lower her to the ground.
Worry seeps into Daphne's mind. Unless she reports the incident to the police, the child will be in very real danger and she can't remain with her. She's on her way to pick up her young grandchildren from school.
She doesn't want to call the authorities. Flashes of her unhappy childhood with foster parents rise to the surface. Welfare services took her from her own lackadaisical mother. She wouldn't wish a similar future on any child.
The slumped woman stirs, but then sags.
'Call the police', I whisper inside Daphne's mind. 'Things might not turn out the same way for this child'.
The toddler tries to wander off again. When we grasp her, our gaze falls on the watch. We have to go. We scan the area for someone else to take over.
I issue a strong certainty to her. 'You must call'.
We flick open the phone and ask for help.
An American female voice says, "An officer will be with you very soon. There is one just around the corner. Please remain with the child."
The little girl struggles, but we keep a firm hold on her dress strap. With a squeal of tires, a motorbike stops. A uniformed officer dismounts, removes his helmet and strides over.
I'm released. I float up and keep watching.
After explaining, Daphne alerts him about her need to leave while he bends to examine the woman. She blurts, "What will happen to the child?"
"Don't worry, Ma'am. We'll keep them both safe for the night, and if all is well, they'll be released in the morning."
Daphne hurries away to meet her grandchildren.
The scene fades.
* * * *
Soft sounds in the tearooms eased Liliha's passage—the hum of the refrigerator, an occasional muffled clink. She'd love to find out what happened to the mother and little pink toddler—so innocent alone on the street. The child had no control over the circumstance of her birth. However, the mother's intoxication was a worry. She might pull herself together after the humiliating experience of being locked up for the night.
Acknowledging how Daphne had overcome her past pain to help the child, Liliha blinked away the lingering incident. The clock hand had advanced five minutes.
Each novel stands alone, but I suggest reading Still Rock Water & Tidal Surge as soon as possible. Click to link with an Amazon near you.
Still Rock Water: http://bookgoodies.com/a/B009KNQ4RG
Tidal Surge: http://bookgoodies.com/a/B00DX5YLXQ