Our Lady of the Various Sorrows (Voices of the Dead Book 2) Read online

  Our Lady of the Various Sorrows

  Voices of the Dead: Book Two

  Victoria Raschke

  Our Lady of Various Sorrows - Voices of the Dead: Book Two

  Copyright © 2017 by Victoria Raschke

  Griffyn Ink. All rights reserved. No part of this document may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For further information, please contact:

  Griffyn Ink

  [email protected]

  www.victoriaraschke.com

  Cover Photo: Matic Štojs

  Cover design and book layout: keifel a. agostini.

  Find him at keifelagostini.com.

  The book is typeset in Brisio Pro. The font was chosen specifically for the shape of the letters and support of Slovene character sets.

  First Edition

  ISBN: 978-1-937996-48-2

  for my parents Doris and Bill

  What is remembered, lives.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book has been ushered into the world by many hands.

  I am lucky to have a dedicated and sharp group of early readers. Janet Neely, Mystie Thongs, Heather Smith, A.J. Scudiere, and D.B. Sieders, thank you for making me a better writer.

  Griffyn Ink’s indie publisher badass, Eli Jackson, and her growing band of writers, held my hand through many firsts and continue to keep me on the straight and narrow when I whinge about marketing and writing blurbs and pretty much anything else that isn’t writing.

  The physical book and its digital doppelgänger wouldn’t exist without two very important people. Jennifer Goode Stevens reined in my tendency to wax poetic with her top-shelf editing and proofing. And keifel a. agostini makes me look good, quite literally. His book design and layout is always better than what I thought I wanted. I’m thankful everyday that he is both my partner in this publishing adventure and in life.

  Thank you (again) to A.J. Scudiere for her forensic and medical knowledge. A special thank you to Tisa Šenekar and her canine companion Dakota for trekking to the Ljubljanica springs with a video camera so I could see it more clearly. Thank you to Irena Šumi and to all the Šenekars: Aleksander, Tiha, Brina, Bistra, and Tisa, for Slovenian language help, playing host and tour guide, and sharing their stories and knowledge. My understanding of Slovenia and its history are richer because of them and I hope that translates for readers as well.

  There are too many to list, but thank you to the friends and family who came out to events and book signings, and who bought books for yourselves and to give to other people. Your support means more than I can say. A special thank you and my love to Julian and Ishara for being the adults we all hope our children grow up to be.

  A note on Slovenian pronunciation

  Slovenian uses a few extra characters.

  č is pronounced like the ch in church.

  š is pronounced like the sh in shirt.

  ž is pronounced like the second g in garage.

  Familiar letters are pronounced differently.

  e is most often pronounced like a in bay.

  i is most often pronounced like the e in be.

  j is pronounced like a y.

  r without a paired vowel is pronounced like the ir in skirt.

  CAST

  Jo Wiley - the owner of Renegade Tea, the dead are corporeal in her presence

  Faron Črnigad Wiley - Jo’s son, who may be keeping his own secret

  Helena Belak - Jo’s former lover and current spirit guide

  Matjaž Belak - Helena’s brother, whom Jo is avoiding

  Avgusta Belak - Helena and Matjaž’s bad-tempered mother

  Vesna Kos - Jo’s best friend and business partner who can see auras and the future

  Brother Leo Kos - Vesna’s uncle and a witchfinder, Jo’s friend and confidant

  Gregor Bregant - Jo’s surrogate older bother and business partner

  Ivanka Novak - the oldest of the newly orphaned Novak sisters and Faron’s girlfriend

  Veronika Novak - the middle Novak sister with a chip on her shoulder

  Ana Novak - the youngest Novak sister, the quiet one

  Dušan Črnigad - Faron’s long-absent father and an enigma

  Goran Kralj - a professor of more esoteric things than European domestic arts, Jo’s neighbor

  Gustaf Lichtenberg - Jo’s Observer and neighbor

  Frédéric Berkane - Renegade Tea’s cook and resident voice of reason

  Henry - a ghost of the Slovenian Alps

  “The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially.”

  Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

  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

  About the author

  Chapter 1

  The Violent Femmes enumerated the reasons for taking a drink or drugs, Jo had never figured out which, from a speaker attached to her ancient iPod. She wiped the dust off the dresser with a rag and bent over to open the bottom drawer. It was empty save for a few dust bunnies and the scent of stale cupboard. She took her phone out of her pocket and placed it in the drawer. For the next week, or two, or four, it took for her to come back to some semblance of herself, she had no intention of talking to anyone and didn’t want the temptation. Not that there was much of one.

  The chorus from “Whatever Lola Wants” floated through her thoughts. She appreciated the announcement but not the presence it preceded nor the drop in room temperature.

  When she turned around to look at her spirit guide, Helena Belak looked exactly as she always did. She had enough power as a shade to alter her appearance after death. The toga-like dress she’d been murdered in was no longer crumpled and soiled, as it had been the first time Jo had seen her after death, and Helena’s head was straight where before it had sat misaligned on her broken neck. Her dark hair hung to her jawbone in its shiny bob, and her amber and green eyes greeted Jo with reproach.

  “I don’t understand why you think exile is going to do you any good.” Helena’s gaze moved about the room, stopping at the worn bedside table topped with a neat stack of sketch books and a box of charcoal pencils.

  “I don’t know that anything will do any good.
I just want to remember what it’s like to be alone.”

  “Well, you found a good place for that, love.”

  “Not exactly.” Jo stared at Helena.

  “You don’t expect me to leave you here all by yourself, do you?” Helena’s ability to deadpan remained unaltered by death.

  “I know better than to expect you to do anything. I am asking you to give me some time and some space.” It sounded so much like a conversation between lovers at the end of a relationship. They had been entangled in life, though “lovers” was not the best description of what they had been. Their relationship had ended, but not by their choosing. Death had parted them, and then brought them right back together.

  Helena arched her eyebrow. “I don’t think it will do you any good. I think you need to be around people. Living people. That will get you out of that muddled head of yours.”

  “You’ve made it clear who you think those people should be.” Helena had spent the last few months trying to throw her into the path and bed of her brother, Matjaž. He and Jo were friends — friends who were at least physically attracted to each other — but there were too many reasons for her not to get involved with him. Helena’s insistence itself served as a barrier, but it was one her brother had no clue about.

  Helena pursed her lips. “I’m right. You’re just stubborn.”

  “Whatever.” Jo turned back to the dresser and wiped the drawer handles down. She’d already cleaned the rest of the bedroom, but it still smelled musty. She crossed to the window, ignoring Helena even though she could feel her eyes boring into the back of her neck, to try to figure out how to open it.

  “You’ll freeze.”

  “It isn’t that cold out, and you won’t notice.” Jo pushed the window open despite its protests. She hardly noticed the cold herself.

  “I’ll go. On two conditions.”

  “Why do I feel like I’m not going to like these conditions?” Jo wiped down the window sill with her rag, pausing at the corner to avoid turning around again and facing Helena. It was still light out, and Jo could see down into the valley to the road leading into the gorge and the national park.

  “You might or might not.”

  Jo waited for Helena to speak again.

  “One, you set proper wards. You have no idea who or what is here.”

  “Already done.” Gregor had made her promise before he’d driven off. She’d spent the next half hour walking around the house, lining each window sill and threshold with Piran salt.

  It had been Gregor’s idea for her to get out of Ljubljana and into the countryside. He was her surrogate brother, best friend, and business partner, though he’d been taking the big brother thing a little too seriously for Jo’s liking. He’d purchased the house and farm after its owners had been murdered by a demon, with plans to turn it into a gostilna with rooms. In Gregor’s estimation, it was the perfect place for her to “escape” to and sort herself out.

  Jo turned around and leaned against the open window frame. “What’s the second condition?”

  “When you’ve finished your dark night of the soul nonsense and go back to Ljubljana, you’ll call Matjaž. And–” She put up her hand to stop Jo from interrupting her. “And you’ll at least consider what I’ve said.”

  Jo let out an exasperated sigh. She couldn’t in good conscience agree to the second condition. And she couldn’t lie and say she would, because Helena would know. Her Aunt Jackie, Jo’s source of information on her recently discovered ability to speak with the dead, said it was one of the things about having a guide — you always had to be truthful. Jo was certain, though, it didn’t work both ways. Helena was as coy in death as she had been in the part of her life Jo had known, and Helena was queen of the lie of omission.

  “I can’t agree to that. We’ve had the same conversation at least twenty times. It’s part of why I need you to leave me alone.”

  Helena mocked a pout. “I’m not leaving unless I get my way.” She smiled the same sly smile that used to give Jo butterflies.

  Now that smile let her know there was no way she was winning this argument. She sat on the edge of the newly made bed. “What does ‘calling’ him mean exactly?”

  “A date. For coffee. Or tea. Invite him to the teahouse while you’re working. But you have to go somewhere alone afterward.”

  “Why do you think it will make any difference?”

  “Because I know you two have a connection. If you’d quit throwing work and your high horse in the way, you might realize it, too.”

  Jo already knew it. She had spent the last few months saying no to Matjaž. No explanation. She’d seen him a handful of times, always with Gregor, as they talked about plans for the gostilna and Matjaž’s firm’s handling of the renovations. His occasional smile in her direction catapulted her back to the night he had kissed her on the dark path at the edge of Tivoli Park, when they had both been grieving and raw over Helena’s death.

  But most people were best kept at arm’s length, including Matjaž. Jo’s darkness had always been on her periphery. Now that it had a name, it was easier to keep people at bay; it was for their safety.

  “Has it not occurred to you that my ‘high horse’ has more to do with you than with me?” Helena started to speak, but Jo cut her off. “You slept with my son — while you and I were seeing each other. You kept secrets from me. You talked about me with your brother in some effort to, what? Pawn me off on him? I don’t need you, of all people, to play matchmaker. You slammed the door on any interest I might have had in Matjaž with your incessant bullying.” Jo stood again and paced angrily from the bed to the window and back. “I’m not interested in anyone. No one needs to be involved in this.” She waved her hand around her head to indicate her life and all its complications, including her spirit guide, and plopped back down on the edge of the bed. Jo had a list of omissions, too, though. She didn’t trust herself with her own thoughts on who she was interested in, let alone Helena.

  “You’re lying. At least about not being interested in anyone,” Helena said. “You may believe you’re better off alone, or with that troupe of posers you collect at Niko’s gallery, but I think you’re wrong about that, too.”

  “Whatever interest I may have had in your brother is pretty much academic at this point. He’s your brother, and now he is a business partner. Either would be off limits.”

  “You are beyond stubborn; you’re selfish.”

  “Selfish? Selfish would be dragging him into this fuckery. I can talk to dead people and am a magnet for bad, weird shit. Do you really want Matjaž to know what I am? Do you really want him to know you’re still here?” And most of all, had Helena, of all people, forgotten that Jo’s “gift” meant she left dead people in her wake?

  “He’s already involved.” Helena sighed and sat on the bed.

  “No. He isn’t. He’s in the dark about you and about me. And he’ll be happier and safer to stay that way.”

  Helena took Jo’s cold hand in her colder one. “Just say you’ll call him, and I’ll leave you to your wallowing. I will not let you drive a wedge between yourself and the world, though.”

  “I will call him. I will invite him for coffee. You will not be there. And then I will go back to my fucked-up little life and leave him to his quiet one.”

  “It’s a deal. And this isn’t a condition, but when you get back you might want to consider talking to the people who care about you.”

  Jo pulled her hand away, back into her own lap. “Please, just go. I agreed to your extortion, and now I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

  “Hardly extortion, dear.”

  “Believe what you want.”

  “Like you believe barricading yourself in the mountains and being a Class-A bitch to everyone will somehow protect the people you care about?”

  “We’re done. Go. Now. Do not contact me until I am
back in Ljubljana. However long that is. If I hear even the opening note of that fucking song, I will push you through the first available door into the Next, even if I have to follow you through to do it.”

  Helena stood up. “That’s not funny, Jo.”

  “I didn’t intend for it to be.” Jo stood up next to her and tried to unclench her fists.

  “I meant about threatening to kill yourself.”

  “It wasn’t a threat.”

  “Jo …”

  “Look. I’m not going to off myself. I just want to be alone. Really, truly alone.”

  “Wish granted.” With that, Helena was gone. No pop or ruffle in the cold air.

  Jo threw herself back across the bed. Her mended ribs twinged with the sudden jolt, another reminder of an event she’d rather forget. Whatever control she’d had of her temper had abandoned her weeks ago, and to keep from biting off the heads of everyone around her, she’d stopped talking. Apparently, her courtesy came off as bitchiness. She didn’t have the energy to actually be bitchy. Well, except to Helena. And she had brought out the worst in Jo lately.

  Aunt Jackie had been right when she’d said it was best that a spirit guide not be someone close. It clouded everyone’s judgement. Jo wished someone had informed Helena of that before she’d taken the mantle of Jo’s guide for herself.

  She got up to close the window, but only halfway. She’d rather the room be cold than smelly if she was going to sleep in it. There were more blankets if she needed them; Gregor had insisted on leaving her with enough supplies for a polar expedition.

  Being alone was like putting on a pair of forgotten shoes. They were hers, but they were stiff and unfamiliar. She expected her thoughts to be interrupted. She anticipated another’s intrusion. But there was no one to interrupt or intrude.

  As the days slipped by, there was routine. There was coffee made on the antiquated cookstove. The fire, banked the night before, needed a poke and more wood to boil the water on the griddle plate. It took some getting used to, but tending the fire became part of the ritual of her day as quickly as a walk in the winter-barren landscape or the hike into town. The thing she could not adjust to was being completely alone with her thoughts. They never took her anywhere good.