Raven's
Sight
Raven's
Shadow Book 1
by
R.L. Weeks
Genre:
YA Paranormal Mystery
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.
November 27th, 1861
I sit at the stool and marvel at the
mahogany structure in front of me. Father
converted our spare room into a music
room two years ago. Father loves to play
the piano. I mean, he loved to play the piano and no
longer loves,
for
he no
longer is. Like everyone else in
my family, apart from Grandmother and my
uncle, he is dead.
I lift the heavy lid, and a row of ivory
keys greet me. Father ensured that our
piano had a cast iron frame installed
when it was bought. According to him, it
gives 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 my
black, shiny shoes together. My feet can
almost reach the ground now. Soon, I
will be nine years old, and I will be
able to play the piano much better than
Lissy, who lives down the road. Although,
her mother doesn’t want her playing
with me anymore. Apparently, I’m weird.
Tears blur my vision as I realise for the
first time that I will be turning nine
without Father.
I miss his sparkling blue eyes and
“moments of madness,” as Grandmother
called them. Father is…I mean, was, the owner of a wool
factory. Father said
that his factory was one of the first to recognise
a union, whatever that is, and
his
workers were paid fairly. He was very
proud of his factory which is now owned
his adopted brother who I’ve never met.
All the workers live in small houses in
our small town of Cogsworth.
I used to sneak off and look at the
factory after school. Sparks and flames
would light up the sky that had been
darkened by smoke from the chimneys. I
used to watch the children that worked at
his factory sit on the old wooden fence
and 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 that
he is dead.
Grandmother says not to worry, that
father has left us more than enough
money and that we have enough to last us
for the rest of our lives, but I am much
younger than her.
I must find a good husband when I am
grown up. I just hope Grandmother
lives 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 not
kind to orphans. I know this much from
the books I sneak from Grandmother’s
shelves. You see, Grandmother always
hides the harsh truths from me, unlike
Father, who always told me the truth,
even when I didn’t want to hear it. He
always said that the most important gifts
he had been graced with by God were
his 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 on
the futon. “I know it has been hard with
losing both your parents in one year, but
you 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’t
want to talk about my parent’s deaths
right now. I don’t have time. “I am about
to play a song.”
Her thin lips crack into a small smile.
She nods for me to play, but the song is
not for her. It is for Father. He has
been standing in the doorway waiting for me
to 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 the
words 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 pauses
and 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 accept
it.”
I shake my head and look at Father. He
tilts his head slightly to the left and
drops his arms to his side.
“No Grandmother. Father is standing right
there. He has to go soon, but he is
waiting for me to play for him.”
I press down three keys and hold my
breath so I do not tremble. I start the
lullaby that I used to play with Father.
I have decided that it is most
appropriate; it will be a goodnight to him and my
life with him.
Grandmother marches over to me and grabs
my arm. I miss a note and look up
at her furiously.
“No!” I shout and fall off the stool. I
try to wriggle free, but she pulls me
across 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 grasp
it 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 pull
with all my might. “I hate you. You made
him leave.” A lump forms in my throat
as 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 feel
nothing 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 of
the normal pale blue and gold.
Grandmother sits with my dead
grandfather. They both look younger. A boy
plays on the floor with a wooden horse.
He is only four of five years old. His
eyes sparkle with the same blue color as
Father’s.
Grandmother plays with her wedding ring.
I look down at the same ring in my
hand, and my eyebrows knit together.
The boy runs out of the room with a
mischievous smile. Grandmother runs
after 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 the
floorboards.
“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 seemed
happier when you ran after Father in this
room. When he was a boy,” I said in
clarification.
Grandmother’s worried expression is
replaced with one I have never seen on
her: 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 confused
by the memory as she is. “It felt real.”
The colour 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 freed
themselves 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,” Grandmother
orders.
Nora Bonetta, whose skin is much darker
than ours, looks at me curiously. “Is
the child okay?”
Grandmother paces around in a circle. “I
have seen this happen before, and it
is happening again. We cannot have
another Alice,” she says and stops in front
of me. She pushes me over to Nora. “We
must not let her out the house. If
anyone 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?
R
L Weeks
is the bestselling and award-winning author of the Dead Loves Life
Series, Bloodlust, The Fallen, Willow Woods Academy for Witches,
Cursed, and the owner of Enchanted Anthologies, publisher of
Fractured Fairytales Books 1 & 2, A Deadly World: Vampires in
Paris, Things Only the Darkness Knows, and Christmas Nightmares.
She
lives in a small village in the UK.
When
she's not writing, she's traveling, reading (paranormal, fantasy and
horror being her go to genres) and designing covers for Dark Wish
Designs.
Follow
the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts and a giveaway!
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