On a Caribbean dive vacation, five friends discover a centuries old shipwreck – and a karmic debt past due.
Wall Eddington has always done the correct thing. It’s part of being British, part of family tradition. Yet somehow someone drowned.
Now, half a world away, he’s diving off an old sailboat with four American friends. As a vacation it’s a bit primitive, but just what his soul craves.
Until they find a shipwreck.
Untouched and impossibly preserved, the thing bewitches with promises of gold. Their rush to claim it bogs down with odd accidents and petty arguments – and Wall is not the only one with dark dreams of pain and torture. Dreams of a captain called Sadico.
In fleeing his personal demon, Wall has run straight to its lair.
This trap was laid centuries ago, for five souls moved on to new lives and new loves. Set by the one soul they left behind.
Targeted Age Group:: Adult
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
Life, reincarnation, and recognizing an old soul pal.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
They began as a few observations of people – but somehow grew into full beings in their own right.
Book Sample
Rows of shiny covers flashed in the sun, temporarily blinding her. Squeezing her eyes squeezed out the bright light, and when she opened them again she was able to focus.
Conversations with Seth, Views of Reincarnation from Every Religion, and Past Lives, Past Pain. Not a decent bodice ripper among them.
"This one is for you."
Melanie looked up, to find a third old woman – this one a crone with straw hair and hooked nose. The old biddy lacked only a wart to be straight out of the Hansel and Gretel fairytale.
Her gnarled hand clutched a heavy tome with ragged binding: Repeating the Past.
"I'm more a Clive Cussler type," Melanie pushed the book away.
"You're more a Scottish laird ravishing silly blondes," the crone chuckled, thumping the book against Melanie's chest. "But this is the one you're living."
She automatically clasped the book, and her spine prickled with ice.
A caftan woman rose from the bench, her voice loud and sharp. "How many women do you see?"
The crone cackled.
Caftan woman approached, firm tread belying age. Grasping Melanie's skull, she yanked it down to study her eyes. "How many women do you see?"
"Three!" Melanie cried, breaking free.
Clucking like a hen, the woman turned, scanning the surrounding tables. And snatched up something dark.
It was a black velvety cord, from which dangled a crystal pendant. A tiny, clear shaft of crystal wrapped in a silver vine, delicately wrought with three leaves. The top leaf was hollow with the cord strung through.
"Rubies are my thing," Melanie told her, feeling her pulse race. "My birthstone…July…" Releasing a deep breath, she added, "So much better than rough crystals."
"Avoid rubies. They are bad for you." The woman looped the cord over Melanie's head and pressed the crystal against her heart. It was all Melanie could do not to leap backwards in her best Jill imitation.
"This vibrates with pure energy," the caftan woman said. "This protects. Worn long enough, this purifies. Raises your own vibration."
Intending to fling it from her, Melanie snatched at the thing – and went still. Heat radiated from it, near to burning her hand.
"Your vibration needs raising, my dear. Now, how many women do you see?"
Startled, Melanie gaped. The smirking crone had vanished.
"Do not take that off," the elder told her.
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