Curse of the Nandi (Society for Paranormals Book 5) Read Online Free Page A

inquisitiveness and my bladder compelled me to bundle myself up and step out of the tent and into the brisk dawn air.
    Our camp was at the edge of the lakeshore, hemmed in on one side by water and the other by an acacia forest. The surface of the lake glowed with the golden red of sunrise. The water’s smoothness was undisturbed except for a patch nearby where a herd of hippos resided, their large square heads barely visible, ears twitching as they studied me in turn.
    “I doubt it was your tongues that caused the fuss,” I said and turned in time to see Jonas chasing a giraffe and waving a frying pan fiercely over his head in time to a string of Swahili words. Judging by the tone and his countenance, those words were best left untranslated.
    The giraffe loped away, unfazed by the diminutive man who barely stood as tall as its large, knobby knees. A red-eyed, blue-headed bird cheerfully pecked at the loaf of bread carelessly left unattended near the campfire.
    Despite the prospect of holes in my toast, I released a contented sigh, for it had been a blissful several days, untainted by Plague, brainless heads, decapitated corpses, revenge-driven Praying Mantis, or anything remotely dangerous, aside from a couple of firefly vampires, the hippos and Jonas’ cooking.
    “Positively enchanting,” I pronounced the trip.
    “Agreed,” a voice rumbled behind me as Mr. Timmons wrapped me in his arms and kissed my neck. Utterly pleased with himself, he strolled off into the undergrowth.
    I could only hope that Gideon, my dead husband, wasn’t haunting nearby. That would indeed be awkward.
    You’ll have to deal with it sooner or later , I reprimanded myself, although later would be preferable to sooner.
    Such cowardliness was uncharacteristic of me, for in matters of life, death, and maintaining one over the other by whatever means required, I was of a stout constitution. When however I was involved in matters of the heart, I preferred to shrink away and sharpen my blades or practice archery. It’s no small wonder then that despite my reluctant heart, I’d managed to marry twice within the span of a few years.
    A shrill exclamation of outrage interrupted my rumination, for the giraffe had, not unpredictably, outrun the little man pursuing it.
    “Jonas, do stop hounding the wildlife and come along,” I shouted after him. “We leave this morning and I don’t intend to travel on an empty stomach and without a pot of tea.”
    He stomped back, although with bare feet the stomping was less than impressive. I ignored his grumblings, which made discontented references to my stomach and giraffes, although how the two should be connected was lost on me.
    While Jonas muttered over breakfast preparations, I returned to the tent and attempted to make myself presentable. This was more out of habit after living with Lilly and Mrs. Steward for so many years; neither woman would vacate their rooms without dressing up as if in expectation of a spontaneous invite to a tea party.
    I exited the tent, anticipating a serene breakfast, in contrast to what surely awaited us back in the village of Nairobi: the Bubonic Plague, a brain-eating monster and of course Mrs. Steward.
    Instead, I saw a familiar form floating through the firewood. His soft brown hair waved across his angelic face, the delicate features translucent in the rays of sun that slipped between overhanging branches.
    “Gideon,” I chided him.
    “Morning, Beatrice,” Gideon called out.
    “You shouldn’t be here,” I said, my features as firm as I could make them, for I had never been very convincing when scolding him.
    “Oh, don’t fuss, my pet, I won’t cause any bother. I’m happy for you,” Gideon insisted.
    I looked aslant at him. He appeared anything but happy.
    Catching my eye, he grinned impishly like the rogue he was. “Although I must admit I’m a tad disappointed.”
    “Gideon, I have a right to enjoy marriage with a man who isn’t dead,” I said in a huff,