The Collector (Emergence Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by Kelly Lynn Colby

  Cursed Dragon Ship Publishing, LLC

  4606 FM 1960 Rd W, Suite 400, Houston, TX 77069

  [email protected]

  Cover © 2020 by Stefanie Saw

  Developmental Edit by Ashley Hartsell

  Copy Edit by Kailey Urbaniak

  ISBN 978-1-951445-16-4

  ISBN 978-1-951445-15-7 (ebook)

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This books is a work of fiction fresh from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or places is mere coincidence.

  To all of those who think they’re alone, you’re not. You just haven’t found your people yet.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Kelly Lynn Colby

  Also by Kelly Lynn Colby

  Also by Cursed Dragon Ship

  Chapter One

  I’d rather visit my OB/GYN than step into one more secondhand store. A minefield offered just as many lovely surprises as a shop built into a historic home. If I was really lucky, there’d be a bit of residual alcohol in my system from last night’s overindulgence to keep things numb.

  Even though Gina and Amelia called it “antique shopping,” I hadn’t seen anything I’d put that label on yet. The repurposed, turn of the century buildings peddled little more than trinkets and handmade jewelry. The attempt at pulling off a quaint town center, circa Little House on the Prairie, fell apart after crossing the heavily trafficked road.

  Since most of these stores carried innocuous junk—not old possessions—I hadn’t come across any bombs yet. Still, I hadn’t touched anything all day. Just in case. All kinds of baggage could be left behind on a true family keepsake, on something of value to the person who held it. A shiver coursed through my veins as unpleasant memories that weren’t even mine threatened to darken the sunny day. I tucked my gloved hands deeper into my crossed arms.

  I’d be fine as long as I didn’t touch anything. It was bad enough to get hints of strangers’ emotions; I had to avoid the complete immersion into some long-dead person’s memory. They weren’t suffering anymore. Why should I?

  Gina waved at me from the porch of another shop. Even back in a ponytail, her shiny dark hair framed her oval face that she somehow managed to keep smooth and as bright as bleached beach sand even though she ran miles every day in the unforgiving Houston sun. Her deep brown eyes reflected her mother’s Vietnamese heritage in both shape and kindness while her exuberance and pension for using “y’all” came from her European-descendant father from east Texas. “Fauna, Amelia, come on. This one’s my favorite.”

  Her hair bounced as she stepped over the threshold. She obviously didn’t drink the bottle and a half of wine I did last night.

  Amelia propped a foot on the bottom step to re-tie her shoe. “I do love shopping, but I can’t seem to match Gina’s energy level.”

  “Maybe we should start running marathons with her.”

  Amelia scoffed. Her short-cropped ginger head had darkened over the years, but the color still emphasized her freckles. After freshman year, she’d learned make-up tricks to hide what she had considered flaws in her skin. Recently, she’d taken on a “love me as I am or go fuck yourself” attitude. I kind of loved the change. “Never. My lounging time is sacred.”

  The tiny bell on the door jangled as Gina shook it back and forth, encouraging us to hurry.

  I hopped around Amelia. “I’m coming.”

  I wished I could be myself and disregard what others felt about me. It was a whole different matter when you could actually feel what they thought about you. Not for the first time, I was grateful that I couldn’t read minds. Experiencing others’ emotions was confusing enough.

  The old home’s fresh paint brightened the siding. A carved wooden sign reading “Finishing Touches” swung from the door. The stair railing solidly held my weight without the squish of rotten wood. At least the owner maintained this place. A quick glance in the window showed eclectic, but obviously new, Halloween decorations next to stylized jack-o-lanterns. They seemed to be imitating a craft store’s holiday display, only with a funkier selection and less hot glue.

  This store should be relatively safe. Maybe I’d find something unique to display at Chipped. My computer slash cellphone repair store could use some seasonal flair. I mean, I’d never decorated before, but there could be a first. Maybe Gina’s enthusiasm was rubbing off on me. A little.

  I caught the door as Gina released it. The smell of mildew and retirement savings hit me in the face. A light squirmy feeling rolled my stomach. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten those nachos with the questionable cheese.

  Gina rocked back and forth from heel to toe, then pointed at my hands. “I don’t know how you stand those things when it’s ninety degrees outside.”

  Amelia closed the door and pushed her sunglasses to sit on her head like an extra set of eyes. “Says the girl wasting air conditioning by leaving the door open.”

  I displayed the soft brown leather like a surgeon with freshly scrubbed hands. “Better safe than sorry.”

  My friends thought I was some sort of germaphobe since I never went without my layer of protective wear. Bacteria had no emotions; at least, none that I could feel. I had no fear of them whatsoever, but I let everyone believe as they wished. The truth was so much harder to explain. Since I’d never met anyone else like me, I’d decided long ago it was better to be seen as neurotic than full-on crazy.

  To assure my friends I was fine, I changed the subject. “Isn’t this where you bought those cute snowmen last year?”

  Gina squeaked in excitement. “Yes! The little ceramic snowmen dressed up like the three bears with Goldilocks trying on their noses. I couldn’t get enough of it. Dorian, the owner, gave me the artist’s name and he just sent a newsletter announcing his new shipment. I must add to my collection.” Her fingers fluttered together as if she were a classic villain plotting to take over the world.

  As I followed excited Gina and protective Amelia to the register, a tingle touched the back of my neck. Our years of friendship allowed me such familiarity with their typical feelings that they floated on the surface behind my consciousness like a security blanket. What I felt now was wholly different. Maybe this place wasn’t as innocuous as I imagined. Whatever this person experienced had to be so overwhelming that it leaked from their pores and filled the air like rolling fog.

  I closed my eyes and rubbed my arms, trying to calm my nerves. The feelings aren’t mi
ne. My lungs tightened, and red spots impaired my vision. With every step, the assault intensified. Why couldn’t people keep control of their emotions instead of sending them into the universe to torture me?

  I was no martyr. Feeling this stressed person’s emotions wouldn’t relieve them of the pain anyway; so, I focused on escape. Right now.

  I turned toward the exit.

  “Wait, Fauna.” Amelia peeked around the corner. Her flip flops smacked her feet in an eager rhythm. “You’ve got to see this old furniture. Apparently, it belonged to the original owner of this historic home. They use them to display the art now.”

  I flinched as she touched my shoulder, a reflex I’d tried to overcome through the years. Yet, the overemotional person hovering in the store somewhere had me on edge. I took a breath and allowed Amelia’s familiarity to quell the panic. I could do this. People came into Chipped all the time completely distraught about losing a term paper or getting locked out of their laptop. As long as I didn’t touch them, I was fine. I could handle whatever waited around the corner as well.

  As Amelia guided me, a turbulent wall of unbound emotion stopped me cold. No way this could be from one person. It felt like an entire family reunion of strong emotions trying to take over my psyche.

  Amelia’s eyebrows knit. “What’s wrong?”

  “I…” I heard murmurings in my head like I’d touched an impression, a really strong one that was passed from person to person until the conglomerate of emotions exploded from its surface into its surroundings. What kind of store was this? “I don’t feel so good.”

  “Sit.” Amelia tossed off a “do not sit on the furniture” sign and guided me toward the seat.

  I tried to fight her, but fighting off the swirling emotions in the air was all I had the energy for. I fell into the cushion, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Amelia coughed, but it didn’t bother me. I was hardly breathing as it was.

  My hands covered my head as I tried to block the onslaught of energy. My mood swung uncontrollably from elation to devastation to sorrow. I’d never felt anything so intense. I received no images or specifics, just voices and emotions. Nothing like this had happened to me since I was young and my curse first manifested.

  I had to get it under control before I passed out. I focused on my own grounding memory of my mother singing her favorite hymns. Her angelic voice filled my mind like a safe barrier that drove back the attack. As the memory of Mom’s voice filled the space in my head, the onslaught of rogue emotions faded to a slight humming in the back of my head.

  Amelia squatted in front of me until my eyes met hers. One deep breath later, I nodded that I was okay.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. You can’t sit on that. It’s an antique.” An older woman crossed her arms and stared down at us over the frames of her reading glasses stuck on the end of her nose. Her white, permed hair and big, red apron tied around a round body reminded me of Mrs. Claus. Her stern expression reminded me of my college librarian.

  Amelia sprang to her feet, standing between me and Mrs. Claus.

  From around the corner, Gina sized up the situation with one look. It wouldn’t be the first time these two amazing friends had saved me. They think it’s migraines. If only that were the problem.

  Gina tapped the disapproving older woman on the shoulder. “Dorian, I’m really interested in these pumpkins reenacting little red riding hood. Do you have a box for them?” She held up the ceramic piece.

  Dorian’s face lightened as she turned to her potential customer. “Of course, my dear. I’ll go fetch it for you.” She gestured to a display around the corner, but kept her feet firmly planted. “Did you see the scarecrows in a Rapunzel pose? The details of the straw hair are brilliant.”

  I leaned forward and pushed myself up from the sunken chair. That seemed to satisfy Dorian. She pivoted on her Sketchers and headed to the back. Gina winked at me as she followed.

  I would have winked back, but the voices were so distracting—a deep baritone, a screaming child, a pathetic moaning.

  I had to get out of there. Rushed and disoriented, I wasn’t sure which way was which and I must have headed deeper into the store.

  Amelia stepped around a display case to keep up with my pace. “Fauna? Are you sure you’re okay? We could leave.”

  As much as I wanted to explain what was happening to me, where would I even start? Normal people didn’t sense others’ emotions. They certainly didn’t experience memories left behind on objects. And I wasn’t talking about loving events, like birthday parties or family dinners. No. For a memory to stick around, it had to be strong, like on the life-changing level. Those kinds of remnants were rarely pleasant.

  My skin tingled with the tiny pressure of hundreds of crawling ants. I resisted the urge to itch. I’d never experienced anything so dramatic without having touched the source. My muscles didn’t twitch. My gut didn’t roil. Wherever these originated, it wasn’t from a living source.

  A strong voice rose above the noise. Don’t fight it. Embrace your gift and come find me.

  I turned in a circle trying to see all around me at once. “Who was that?” Why was someone shouting in aa mostly empty store?

  Amelia shrugged. “Just Dorian, the owner. Apparently, she’s a bit protective of her inventory.”

  I shook my head. “No, I mean the man’s voice.”

  Amelia’s forehead wrinkled, and her head cocked in a perfect reflection of my own confusion. She hadn’t heard anything.

  What I heard wasn’t a customer.

  Don’t fight it. Embrace your gift and come find me. The message repeated, more like a recording than a trapped memory.

  My fear subsided as curiosity took over. Where is that coming from?

  Gina’s delighted giggle ahead warned me of Dorian’s presence. “These are adorable!”

  I didn’t want to run into the stuffy owner. Turning the other direction, with Amelia at my heels, I pushed past an awkwardly placed faux fireplace to a wall of overstuffed curio cabinets. In the corner, between displays crammed with inventory, stood the torso of a wooden man on a thigh-high pedestal, his piecemeal face level with my own. The impressions radiated from him, warping the surrounding air like heat waves. That had to be why my skin itched.

  I’d had this ability as far back as I could remember. But this—I had never felt anything like it. And I had certainly never seen waves of memories vibrating around an object.

  I swallowed my fear as I drew near the statue. Like one of those old Hitchcock movies, the rest of the room turned into a tunnel and the statue moved toward me. What could this thing be that was so powerful it attracted my attention all the way from the door?

  Various elements of wood and metal had been melded into one cohesive piece, the upper body of a man. It reminded me of an automaton I’d seen at a fair once. Instead of an emotionless machine, it exuded intense remnants left behind by people.

  Who could put together such a piece? And why? One gloved hand rubbed my nose as I contemplated the possibilities.

  Maybe there was someone else like me, another cursed person. How else could they gather so many items impressed with memories? I had never met anyone like me. I had been certain I was the only one.

  Hope weakened my fear. Maybe I wasn’t alone in this isolating quirk. I had to find the artist. I had to know this impossible collection wasn’t just a coincidence.

  Chapter Two

  The voice repeated the invitation. Don’t fight it. Embrace your gift and come find me.

  It definitely emanated from the automaton.

  Or this was the latest manifestation of my insanity. The hymn on repeat in my head grew as annoying as the disembodied voices. Yet, I didn’t know what would happen if I relinquished my only tool to control the onslaught. I had to figure out what was going before I truly lost it.

  There had to be a clue on the statue itself. If I touched it with my bare skin, my mind would plummet into the scene with me starring in the first-person role. Hopefully
, understanding would bleed through without having to torture myself. My gloved hand hovered a breath away from an arm that looked like half a child’s baseball bat. A blur of a swing followed by triumphant joy prickled in the back of my mind. This remnant was too old to be the source of the voice on repeat, because that deep baritone sounded fresh and, somehow, modern.

  It had to be coming from somewhere. The guts of a music box stood in for the vocal cords. I guess that would make logical sense. I got as close as I could without touching the pieces surrounding it.

  Four or five images swirled in my head, followed by a bout of dizziness. I puffed out a breath of air with my eyes closed. Too many impressions fought for attention. I’d have to touch a piece to drive the rest away. I hated this part, but couldn’t think of a way to avoid it and still get answers. How badly did I want to find someone else like me?

  As I hesitated, my eye twitched, pulling my focus behind me.

  Too close to block completely, Amelia’s worry added to the chaos. “Are you okay?”

  I had to get her to back off. Her fresh and vibrant stress rippled through the summoning voice. As much as I appreciated her concern for me, I needed space before I completely lost it.

  “Just a little dehydrated. Do you think Gina has a water bottle?” She always carried a Mary Poppins bag that seemed to magically hold whatever we needed. Hopefully, searching Gina out would distract Amelia long enough for me to interpret the message in the statue.

  “Probably. I’ll go check.” Amelia’s bobbed hair fluffed in waves as she quickly turned back to me. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”