A Thief of Nightshade

“Captivating

and

powerful!

J.S.

Chancellor grips the reader through an artist’s delicate hand and expert eye, every stroke giving purpose and life to memorable characters in this magical journey, reminding all of us that no one is ever too old for a great fairy tale nor able to resist the power of true love!”

Sandra Brannan, author of the
Liv Bergen
Mystery Thriller Series

“Chancellor stitches worlds together with a needle sharp enough to prick the dream and prove it real. In
A Thief of
Nightshade
, she quilts with such patterned dexterity that we see the lining of a cloak turned inside-out, more dangerously beautiful than the ordinary way we wear this garment of a universe. To rate this novel by the number of stars it deserves, we’d have to see the constellations mirrored in a reflecting pool. And dive in.”

Ien Nivens, Berkshire Fine Arts
Published by Rhemalda Publishing
P.O. Box 1790, Moses Lake, WA 98837

http://www.rhemalda.com Copyright © 2012 J.S. Chancellor All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any mean without prior permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Edited by Kara Klotz

Cover art by Eve Ventrue Visit artist Eve Ventrue at eve-ventrue.darkfolio.com/

ISBN

978-1-936850-71-6 Hardback 978-1-936850-34-1 Paperback 978-1-936850-35-8 Ebook Library of Congress Control Number: 2011939832

Visit author J.S. Chancellor at www.welcometotheasylum.net

“Fairy tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”

— G.K. Chesterton —

A Thief of

Nightshade

J.S. CHANCELLOR

Rhemalda Publishing

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Reader Guide Questions

AUBREY WRIGHT SELLARS SAT IN THE

MIDDLE
of the front row, tearlessly staring at her husband’s empty coffin. Murmuring bubbled like a trickling brook as the few mourners who had been invited to the graveside service left. She hadn’t heard the priest speak, nor could she remember dropping a handful of earth onto Jullian’s casket, but when she looked down, the lines of her palm were caked with dirt.

Her mother came up behind her, stuffed a moistened tissue into her hand and whispered near her ear, “Wipe your hand, Aubrielle, and for goodness’ sake, get yourself together. Everyone will be asking for you at the house.”

Aubrey breathed a shallow sigh of relief when the weight of her mother’s hand lifted from her shoulder. After a moment, the click of heels on pavement followed by the shutting of a car door indicated that Aubrey would soon be alone. The wind rustled the black fabric of the tent, the metal ties brushing against the poles like the tinkling of a bell. She looked up and listened, hearing for just a hair’s breadth of a second what sounded like a real bell, then used her mother’s tissue to wipe her palm, not the least bit amused by her imaginings. This wasn’t the first. In fact, the volume of odd things she’d started to experience had brought her into a full-blown intervention from her eldest brother Grant the previous night.

She’d never considered herself the imaginative sort, but how else could her hallucinations be explained? They weren’t just auditory either—she’d seen things. A quick glimpse into the mirror would give her more than her own image; a turn of the head would reveal something in the corner of her eye. At times she’d even swear she felt a touch, a hand on her arm, a whisper of breath on the nape of her neck, a brush of lips on her cheek. Once, just as she crossed that thin line between the dreaming and the waking world, she’d heard Jullian call her name.

He’s dead. You’ve got to get a hold
of yourself!

The gold edging on Jullian’s coffin sparkled

in

the

bright

sunlight,

complementing the grain of the dark cherry wood. The whole thing, the memorial service and the graveside event, felt like a great big charade. Everyone knew that nothing remained of Jullian’s body to bury. It seemed ridiculous to go through the motions as though there were. It felt indescribably bizarre and desperate.

She’d held up through the police investigation that had lasted for two months and the privately funded search that had brought more than a little media exposure. She’d even remained composed when they had found his clothes and declared him dead a week ago.

Most

likely

wildlife.

Clear

indication of a mountain lion or bear.

Aubrey

couldn’t

recall

the

expression on the detective’s face as he’d said the words, only the discomfort she’d felt when he’d squeezed her arm.

“I see your mother’s given her condolences,” a loud, sarcastic voice sounded from behind her.

“Sam,” Aubrey sighed. Usually her best friend’s sarcasm served merely to amuse, but on this day it soothed. “Do you have any idea how glad I am to see you?”

Samantha came around a line of perfectly aligned chairs to find a seat next to her. “Judging by the company you’ve kept for the last two hours, I’d say pretty darn glad. You’d think this was a Junior League meeting.” She sat inappropriately sideways, propped up by her elbow, her black skirt a slightly yet jarringly different shade than her shirt.

Aubrey started to laugh, but caught herself. She clamped her hand over her mouth and looked at Sam in horror.

“It’s okay to laugh,” Sam said. “Dr.

Sellars—excuse me, Jullian—would have said so himself.” Samantha had never gotten used to calling Jullian anything but what they’d both called him when he was still their professor, despite how hard Aubrey had tried to break her of the habit.

Aubrey shivered in the chill of the autumn breeze, but made no motion to pull her coat tighter. She closed her eyes, imagining the feel of Jullian’s arms pulling her close as he had done so many times before.

When she opened her eyes, Sam stood in front of her. “Come on Aubs, let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Aubrey followed her to the car. They maintained a comfortable silence during the drive. Aubrey looked beyond the window to the brilliant red, gold and orange

leaves,

remembering

how

mesmerized Jullian had always been by the fall colors. Like a blind man who’d just gained sight, he could never get enough of it.

They eventually turned into a private drive, stopping just long enough at the stone guardhouse for the guards to recognize Sam’s car and open the huge iron gates to Wright Manor. They pulled past the south entrance, a few yards beyond the main entryway, in time to see Aubrey’s older sister Brooke pull Peyton, Aubrey’s three-year-old niece, outside to fuss with her dress.

Aubrey and Sam got out of the car and Aubrey shaded her weary eyes from the sun. “What’s wrong?”

Brooke gave her sister a tight-lipped smile. Although Brooke was only three years older than Aubrey, she wore the years as though there were more between them. “Nothing important. She just manages to ruin any outfit we put her in.”

Aubrey gave a sideways glance at Sam, silently bidding her to keep her comments to herself, and took the little girl’s hand. “Peyton looks fine.”

Brooke stood up straight, smoothed her own dress and tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear. She scrunched her nose as her gaze fell on Aubrey.

“Aubrielle, you have ... is that dirt on your mouth?”

Sam laughed below her breath.

Aubrey

lifted

her

hand,

still

somewhat soiled, for Brooke to see. “I must have touched my mouth with it.” She pulled the tissue from where she’d shoved it into her pocket and wiped her face.

Brooke gave her a terse nod. “I’ll be inside. We have a new au pair, her name is Francine ... I think. I didn’t feel it was appropriate to mention it earlier, but if you get tired of—”

Aubrey cut her off before she could say the child’s name. “It’s fine, Brooke.”

After a long, awkward moment, Brooke retreated through the main entrance of the sprawling Tudor home.

Aubrey knelt down and took Peyton’s chin in her hand. The little girl had the same auburn hair and hazel eyes as Aubrey, the same freckled cheeks. At times, just looking at Peyton felt like gazing into a mirror of her past. “See, even I have dirt on me and I’m a grown-up. Dirt that someone,” she looked to Sam, “could have told me about.”