THE SHADOWED ONYX: A DIAMOND ESTATES NOVEL

Readers, you may be seeing a theme in these acknowledgments, in that I always mention my friend and critique partner, Valerie Comer. I have to give her top billing in this book though. Not that order of mention has anything to do with it…. Oh, I’m digging myself a hole, aren’t I? Anyway, Val, at this very moment, is squinting at her computer monitor trying to finish the last of the critique a mere seventy minutes before the book is due. I feel guilty, but ever so grateful. I’m going to do my very best to never put her in that position again. But it’s cool to know that she’ll stick with me even if I do.

I also want to acknowledge my family. This book came as the wrap-up to a slew of book contracts that piled up at the same time. It was exciting trying to put together so many projects at the same time, but it definitely took its toll on the family. I appreciate them for sticking in there with me as I pursued something they won’t even get to hold for another eight months. Talk about delayed gratification.

A huge thank-you to my friends and prayer partners who kept me and my family in prayer while I wrote this book. Researching and delving into the world of spiritual warfare and the paranormal is unnerving and downright scary at times. Your prayers kept me grounded in truth and focused on the goal. We definitely saw spiritual fallout from my efforts with this story. But we also proved over and over that our Daddy is WAY bigger.

As always, my writer-sister-friends: Jenny B. Jones, Cara Putman, Kim Cash Tate, Cindy Thomson, Marybeth Whalen, and Kit Wilkinson. Thank you for the prayers and the refocusing efforts. I love you all.

Chip MacGregor, thank you for your efforts in pursuing this series, which was so important to me.

Friends at Barbour Publishing—you guys are amazing to work with. Every encounter I have is a pleasant one. From editors to designers to the sales team—you guys are awesome!

Special note to Kelly McIntosh. Thank you for working to bring materials to the YA audience and for going to bat for
The Shadowed Onyx
when it looked like it might slip through the cracks. You think maybe someone didn’t want this story told?

Frank and Pam Smith, my real-life Ben and Alicia Bradley. Thank you both for your hearts of service—to have embraced me as a sarcastic teenager, with all my troubles, and to still love me today, as your adopted daughter. And thank you for teaching me about spiritual warfare by living it out right in front of me. I love you.

A
re there any spirits in this room with us?”

Joy Christianson stared at Raven, whose face glowed in the candlelight from the black tapers flanking the game board on the floor between them. Raven’s eyes drifted closed, and her fingers danced atop the same wooden triangle that lay motionless beneath Joy’s.

The tallest candle flickered, casting a somber spotlight, illuminating the letters that would spell messages from beyond. The flame bent to the left as though a birthday child begged for a wish.

Peeling her gaze from the candle, Joy followed her new friend’s instructions and squeezed her eyes shut. It was Raven’s house, after all. Her house, her rules.

The game piece—that’s all it was, right?—trembled and then slithered across the Ouija board. Joy’s eyes snapped open, and she jerked back. “Very funny, Raven.” Joy inched away as though gnarled fingers would reach from underneath, grab her ankles, and pull her to the great beyond. “I don’t even believe in this stuff.” She slid her hands under her legs. No way she’d put them back on that thing.

Raven raised one eyebrow and cocked her head. “Oh? You don’t, huh? Then I suppose that’s someone else’s heartbeat I can hear all the way over there? What about the rapid breathing and …” She yanked on Joy’s arm and inspected her hand. “Sweaty palms?” She returned to the ready position and waited. “People aren’t usually scared of things they don’t believe in.”

Something
was
out there. Joy could feel it in her bones.

Something existed beyond the reality she knew. Something other than what she’d always believed in, other than God. But did she want to communicate with whatever—whoever—it was? “I don’t know, Ray. I … I might not be ready for something like this. Besides, it’s just a game.” Joy needed to get out of there. Pronto.

“It is so not just a game.” Raven shrugged. “You can think that if you want to. But then you might as well give it a try, if it’s only for fun, that is.”

Okay, now what? Joy could play along and pretend she didn’t believe in that stuff, or she could admit her terror of all things supernatural and leave Raven’s house immediately. The whole Ouija-board thing was probably totally fake, but then why the shivers, and, most importantly, why had that thing moved?

Perfectly explainable. The shivers were simply a product of her own nervousness, and the triangle thingy moved because Raven pushed it on purpose. Joy really didn’t know Raven all that well. She certainly hadn’t been someone Joy spent time with before … well, before. Until they locked sad eyes across a crowded lunchroom. Had it been a mistake to strike up a friendship with Raven just so Austin wouldn’t bother her?