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  Psychic Surveys Book Five, Descension, Copyright Shani Struthers 2018

  This Kindle edition published 2018

  The right of Shani Struthers to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved in all media. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, photocopying, the Internet or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. It may not be given away or re-sold to other people.

  www.shanistruthers.com

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  All characters and events featured in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to any person, organisation/company, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover credits: Shutterstock/Adobestock – Design by RoseWolf Design

  * * *

  Psychic Surveys Book Five:

  Descension

  Dedication

  For Mum (who inspired the character of Theo) – flying free at last. Have fun until we meet again. Love you.

  As much as I love writing, building a relationship with readers is even more exciting! I occasionally send newsletters with details on new releases, special offers and other bits of news relating to the Psychic Surveys series as well as all my other books.

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  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  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

  Acknowledgements

  Also by the author

  Prologue

  Her body rigid, her breath caught in her throat, she watched as he retreated. He was a dark figure, darker than the night that bore down on them, and far more threatening. Not once did he turn back, he didn’t even falter. Arrogant! That’s what he was. So sure of himself, of his plans, his wants, his needs and his desires. How dare he come here and threaten what was already such a fragile situation? One more crack, that’s all it would take, and all she held together would break apart.

  Refusing to stare any longer, to give him that satisfaction, she closed the door. There was no slam, although certainly there was anger behind the gesture. Turning, she slumped against it. All was quiet in the house. Some might even say peaceful. Able to breathe now, she had to fight to keep it steady. She inhaled for a count of four and exhaled for a count of four, but still tremors coursed through her.

  Where should she go? What should she do? She felt at a loss, unable to cope.

  You have to cope. You have no choice!

  Not true. There were always choices.

  Straightening, she headed up the narrow stairs, thirteen of them. On the landing, she stopped. Her damned breathing, her thumping heart, she had to get them under control. On the right was her bedroom. Everything she needed was in there. Avoiding the floorboards that would protest under her weight, she glided on silent feet. In her room, she closed yet another door on the world. It wasn’t just that her breathing was laboured; her eyes stung too with tears begging to be released. But now was not the time for crying. Time was running out.

  Across the room was an antique bureau. Going to it, she opened the writing desk to reveal several storage drawers and pigeonholes. On the desk itself were notes she’d written, everyday lists and quite benign. In other bundles were papers she had often referred to: precious papers. That wasn’t solely her opinion; many in the arcane world considered them precious too. In a locked drawer, a secret drawer that only she had the key to, was yet more reading matter, that which she’d been avoiding.

  Her breathing still ragged, she turned on a desk lamp. She’d need at least a glimmer of light if she was going to delve into such darkness. The key wasn’t hidden; it was in amongst the jumble. Sheets rustled as she searched. Finding it at last, she inserted it into the lock and liberated what had lain hidden for so long.

  Using both hands to smooth the handwritten notes, she started to read, noting the triangles and the pentagrams that accompanied the words. Symbols of power some might call them, those who believed, though many scoffed. Reading on, she became only too aware that this was very real. As real as the threat that faced her.

  Her legs no longer able to support her, she sank onto the chair and, desperate for a touch more light, adjusted the lamp slightly. The words jumped before her eyes: dangerous words – loaded words – with belief at their core; something she and the man who’d come calling shared. One hand reaching upwards, she rubbed at her chest as her heart continued to beat frantically. Some words appeared hastily scribbled; others were more precise, as though hewn from stone. How did it make the scribe feel to write them; to know; to sit by a desk such as this one, her hand and mind focused? How was it possible to come this close to the wire and remain sane? Yet the scribe had been the most down-to-earth person she’d ever known.

  It wasn’t difficult, that was the biggest revelation. None of it was difficult.

  It was all so easy.

  Which made it all the more frightening.

  A sigh escaping her, she closed her eyes – needing that break, that relief.

  Could she do it? Was she capable?

  She opened her eyes. Yes, she was capable. Love made her so. Ironically.

  Although the light seemed to recede, she continued to read, having to squint, to stop in places to decipher the handwriting when it became garbled. An astute pupil, she read and she learnt – she devoured the lesson.

  Everyone has choices.

  And she had made hers.

  Chapter One

  The pub cellar stank. Not overly fond of beer anyway, the stench was enough to put Ruby off for life. Combine it with cleaning fluids and it was just so… sour. Beside her, her friend and colleague, Theo, held her gossamer scarf over her nose for protection, whereas Ness and Corinna, the remaining half of the Psychic Surveys quartet, simply wore pained but stoic expressions. As for Jed, a ghost dog that had attached itself to her two years before, he’d bolted, and rightly so. Joining Cash upstairs perhaps, in the more hospitable bar area. Cash, her boyfriend and occasional fifth team member when his own freelance work as an IT specialist permitted, had been intending to join them downstairs. He’d been gung-ho about it, in fact, intrigued by what resided there. But then he’d spied the dazzling array of ales on tap and swiftly changed his mind, settling at the bar for a pint of Steamship instead. Ruby could hardly complain, it wasn’t as if she paid him a wage. And anyway, they were managing perfectly well on their own. Kind of.

  “Look out!” Corinna shouted as something flew their way. A wine cork, by the looks of it, only small, but nonetheless everyone shielded their faces and ducked.

  An annoyed hiss accompanied the hurling of the cork, and then a shuffling soun
d, as though someone was dragging their feet along the flagstone floor.

  Ruby straightened up. “So, what do you think, team? One spirit? Two? Three even?”

  “Spirits…” Corinna stifled a laugh. “Sorry, it’s just that whole being in a pub thing – you know, rum, vodka, make it a double…? I’ll shut up, shall I?”

  Ruby suppressed a smirk too whilst Ness, straight-faced as ever, glanced around her. “There are several spirits here,” she answered. “Mischievous spirits.”

  “Mischievous?” Theo mused. “Not angry? Not lost? Not feeling terribly abandoned perchance?”

  Ness also shot her a look.

  “Oh well, I don’t blame them,” Theo muttered, at least as amused as two of her colleagues. “There are probably far worse places to be grounded, the stench aside.”

  The landlord of The Waterside Inn, which overlooked the River Adur in Shoreham, had called them in because of increasing paranormal activity in the pub. Thankfully, it was confined to the cellar. Not so great was that bar staff refused point-blank to go down there alone. As well as sudden temperature drops, and Ruby could vouch for that as it was arctic in several dark corners, there’d been hissing, grunting – the works. There’d also been tinkering with the gas pump, which had been mysteriously turned off several times, causing the beer to go flat and customers to seek more aerated beverages elsewhere. Ness was right. These spirits were mischievous indeed.

  “Ruby, do you want to make the address or shall I?” It was Ness asking her, Ness whom she’d met a few years ago, in a similar situation, in the cellars of the Harveys brewery in their hometown of Lewes; another cold, confined and smelly space. Ah, this job, it was all glamour, glamour, glamour!

  “Go ahead, Ness. The rest of us can focus on visualising white light; after all, it might not be a cork that comes at us next time. It could well be a bottle.”

  All of them joining hands, they formed a circle to draw light straight from source, universal source that is, a means of psychic protection – a spiritual barrier at least.

  Ness cleared her throat. “Spirits, we know you’re here, we can sense you. We can also suffer harm if you throw stuff at us. Please refrain from doing so again.”

  At her words the bottles in one of the racks gave a warning rattle, followed by the hint of a giggle – a female voice this time, someone having a laugh at their expense.

  “Whilst you may think this is funny,” Ness continued, “we don’t. Nor do the staff that work at this Inn. In fact, you’re frightening them. I’m not sure how many of you there are and I don’t know how long you’ve been here, but this is something of an historic pub, so a fair while I’ll bet. The reasons you’re grounded aren’t clear to me at this stage, but this is not a place to linger. It’s time to journey onwards to the next stage of your existence, to go towards the…”

  Before she could finish, the already dim light bulb overhead began to flicker.

  Ness spoke more acerbically. “That’s right, the light.”

  “Perhaps we should try and single out one spirit?” suggested Theo.

  “The ringleader?” quizzed Ruby.

  Theo nodded. “Someone’s leading this merry little band.”

  “Merry’s the right word,” agreed Corinna. “Imagine spending the afterlife continually drunk!”

  “No wonder they don’t want to leave,” Ness remarked. “This is a non-stop party.”

  “The thing is,” Ruby reminded them, “they’re being a total nuisance.”

  “As drunkards often are,” lamented Theo.

  “I’ll try again,” Ness decided.

  “Atta girl,” Theo was grinning again. “Fill your boots.”

  It was a sigh that accompanied Ness’s words this time, rather than a throat clearance. Theo’s somewhat relentless teasing did tend to irk her. “I don’t sense malevolence here, I don’t sense unhappiness. Nonetheless, holding onto the past, to what’s been, and what can never be again, that’s no existence, not really. Why wouldn’t you embrace what’s before you, the excitement of it, the glory? This isn’t the end. On the contrary, there are new challenges ahead; an opportunity to grow, to develop. The light,” she tilted her head slightly, clearly expecting the party trick to continue, “is what we call home. In short, it’s where you belong; where loved ones are waiting for you. If you’re scared, or confused, or just plain bewildered, we understand. Death can be confusing. But in the light that confusion will fade. Please, connect with us, talk to us. We can walk with you to the light if you’d like us to.”

  They were such wise words, full of kindness and hope. Words that sometimes the spirits accepted, and were grateful for even; a bit of guidance when it was needed. There were some, however, who took exception. They didn’t want to be told what to do, although that was never the team’s intention. They weren’t dictators.

  As another cork went whistling past her head; as a bottle finally shook free of its rack and smashed to the floor; as a hissing and a grunting resounded in her ears, Ruby winced. In the cellar of The Waterside Inn, taking exception was the name of the game.

  “Project white light,” Theo continued.

  “No chinks in it, mind,” said Corinna, doing a cheeky impression of Theo’s usual follow-up.

  “Keep it nice and strong,” added Ruby, following Corinna’s example.

  Even Ness joined in. “Let nothing penetrate it.”

  Except something did: a full can of beer was hurled straight at Ruby’s foot.

  “Ow!” she yelled, hopping about. “That’s it! You’ve gone too far this time!”

  “Darling,” Theo interrupted, her ‘jolly elf’s face’ as Ruby often thought of it, rather ashen, “where do you think the best place is to take cover?”

  “Cover?”

  Theo merely pointed. Another can was on its way.

  Spying a handy row of barrels, Ruby shouted: “Everyone, over here!”

  As they all ran and hid, Theo groaned with the effort of crouching low, and who could blame her? She was seventy now and as rotund as what was in front of her.

  Ruby swore she could hear giggling again. Not just giggling, there was guffawing and snorting too, even a slapping of thighs.

  Are they really drunk?

  “I think so,” Ness replied, catching Ruby’s thought, a peculiar talent of hers, which Theo shared. “Or at least they’re presenting as drunk.”

  Despite the physical danger they were in, Corinna was still in good humour. “Spirits drunk on spirits? That has got to be a first!”

  Cash would be clutching his sides too if he’d bothered to come down here.

  “Ruby…” said Ness, sounding deeply concerned. In her mid-fifties, she was the second most senior of the team, and if she was worried, there was reason to be.

  “Okay,” Ruby said, responding to her concern. “I’ll take the address this time.” Adopting a suitably authoritative tone, she lifted her head an inch or two above the barrels. “Please, don’t hurl anything else,” she began, “you could hurt one of us, badly I mean, and I don’t think that’s your intention. Who are you?”

  Sod off!

  “Charming,” Ruby sighed, glancing at Ness and Theo. “Did you catch that?”

  Both nodded. To Corinna who could sense spirits well enough but not yet hear or see them, she whispered a quick explanation before continuing.

  “The thing is, this cellar doesn’t belong to you—”

  Oops, that had been the wrong thing to say. A roar sounded in her ear.

  Of course it does. We’ve been ‘ere longer!

  Ruby seized the moment. “How long?”

  Longer than them upstairs, blast their eyes!

  A hiccup, then a squeal, accompanied the words as if someone had been groped.

  “Not me,” Theo said when Ruby caught her eye. “More’s the pity.”

  Suddenly, Ness’s head jerked. “Molly. One of them’s called Molly.”

  “Hang on…” Theo seemed to hear something too. “Ned, that’s ano
ther.”

  “And Joel!” added Corinna.

  Ruby, Ness and Theo gazed at her in amazement. “Seriously?” Ruby asked.

  “Seriously,” Corinna replied. “The name just sort of… popped into my head. Wow, that’s another first! He’s a pirate.”

  “A pirate?” questioned Ness.

  “Yeah, a pirate, a smuggler, it’s the same thing, isn’t it? I can see him… Well, not see him – sense him, strongly though, as if we’ve… got a connection somehow. They’re all pirates, I think. There’s several more apart from those we’ve named.”

  Theo piped up. “It makes sense. As I’m sure you’re all aware, Shoreham, like so many southern coastal towns, has a huge smuggling history. In fact, Ruby, you grew up in the most renowned smuggling town of all, Hastings.” Ruby nodded that this was in fact correct. “I remember reading that pirates pulled off a massive heist here in the mid 1800s. It’s quite a story actually, but to summarise, a travelling circus had come to town, and its excited inhabitants flocked to see the show, every last one of them, including the town’s coastguards. Taking advantage of the coast being unusually clear, pirates swooped down on a vessel stuffed to the gunwales with tobacco. They used barges to sail the contraband up the Adur to the village of Beeding, where the booty was soon sold and spirited away. Such was the fury of the King’s Revenue men, all of Shoreham’s coastguards lost their jobs.”

  When she finished, the clinking of ghostly glasses accompanied a loud cheer.

  Theo shook her head. “Well done, boys, well done! You too, Molly, because you were also involved, weren’t you? You all seized the day!” Braver than Ruby, Theo rose fully to her feet. “You’ve had your fun by the sound of it, a lot of fun, but it’s time for you all to leave. The landlord doesn’t appreciate you using his cellar for your carousing. Go to the light, where…” she coughed again, “… your sins will be forgiven.”

  Sins, you old hag? It’s the Revenue what’s the sinners! The taxes they put on everything!