The 13th Room

The 13TH ROOM When a family curse is too much, the owner offloads the problem in a prize draw. The winner might be a loser, but they’re also the answer. Kelly doesn’t believe in the supernatural or that a game of Faro could be so deadly, but it could be the death of her. A big win, a lost room and a statue coalesce as the past and present collide. By Katrina Deverill This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. THE 13TH ROOM First edition. February 12, 2023. Copyright © 2023 Katrina Deverill. ISBN: 979-8215283769 Written by Katrina Deverill. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Also by Katrina Deverill The Enchanted The Valediction The GOD.docx File The 13th Room Watch for more at Katrina Deverill’s site. Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Also By Katrina Deverill ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS PREFACE THE 13TH ROOM 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 ABOUT THE AUTHOR Sign up for Katrina Deverill's Mailing List Also By Katrina Deverill ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Special thanks to my husband and Pip my muse for their patience and to my beta readers. Also, a big thank you to Victoria Danahar for her attention to detail. PREFACE Edinburgh is the capital of Scotland in the United Kingdom. Although Brae House is set in Liberton on the outskirts of Edinburgh, the house is fictional. The architecture and beauty of this great City led me to write THE 13TH ROOM, which takes historic facts about gambling fever and Faro, moulding it into a contemporary tale, a mystery with a paranormal edge. I love Scotland and it remains close to my heart. THE 13TH ROOM A loss, a curse, a big win, a secret room, and a statue coalesce as the past and present collide. But there’ll be no future if the past isn’t laid to rest. Chapter 1 It started in Edinburgh, in 1825, with a game of Faro, while Scotland’s gripped by gambling fever. Many families suffer. Their Estates lost in a simple card game. Although, one cadaver cannot rest, wreaking havoc - waiting. For soon, the past and the present will collide.... 197 years later - Edinburgh 2022 I’m stuck in a rut, maybe I should say we, but I’m not sure if we are even a thing, it’s a mess. The depth of my problems drowning me, pulling me deeper into a wealth of despair; it’s the only thing I’m rich in. It’s not like I can look forward to another August Bank Holiday weekend, when we’re broke; so, another boring day, more of the same bickering. Us doing nothing extraordinary. Our marriage is on the verge of a storm. This isn’t living, it’s survival. Not a life, an existence. ‘Please.’ he said, hand out, waiting for my response. As I stretched across to pass Jack the marmalade, he scoots the butter dish across the breakfast bar, a habit I loathe. ‘Thanks.’ I say, but my heart isn’t in it. I’d been busy scrolling through the news when my phone interrupted the miserable silence. My heart fell further. I felt disgruntled at the impromptu interruption. Toast forgotten; I dropped it back onto my plate. A dark cloud seemed to hang over us like the sword of Damocles. Crumbs scattered across the breakfast bar; runny marmalade dripped off the edge of my plate. Jack opened one eye ‘Who’s that?’, as I stared at the screen. I answered him, ‘Unknown number’, without looking up. ‘Scam call, probably.’ he said, yawning. ‘Yeah,’ as I ignored the ring tone crescendo. Not a fan of soggy toast, I take a fresh piece from the toast rack, a wedding present from one of Jack’s relatives. The handle, shaped like a heart, made me wince. If only our marriage was as substantial, I thought. My mind wandered as I pulled the jar towards me, my stomach making strange noises heralding its need for food. He’d used his knife, putting marmalade and crumbs on the butter again, and I felt my hackles rise. ‘Jack Brennan, you slovenly pig, there’s marmalade all over the butter again!’ ‘Nag, nag, nag... and it’s not nine O’clock yet.’ ‘Ah. What’s the point?’ He really tried my patience. I grabbed the jar and stared in before dipping the preserve spoon in to extract a portion. I’d had to check the marmalade jar for butter infestation. As expected, I found butter and golden crumbs in it. Yuck. Typical, I thought, but bit my lip and carried on. At least one of us cared about etiquette. I ran my hand over the area in front of me, collecting the mess I’d made with my hand, smearing sticky goo everywhere, until I had no choice other than to grab a cloth. The edges of my mind frayed from the impromptu interruption and Jack’s disgusting table manners. The unyielding weight, my black mood, just a normal day in the Brennan household. I settled back on my stool to finish my fresh slice of toast, only to decide I wasn’t hungry anymore, after Jack belched a good one; I held my tongue, deciding to try harder, a softer, kinder person and less judgemental. He hadn’t changed. We’d hit a bad patch, that’s all. ‘What do you fancy doing today?’ ‘Ask me again when I’m awake.’ Jack said, bleary-eyed. ‘Oh great, we get a long weekend, and you can’t drag yourself awake long enough to enjoy it.’ ‘Give us a break, Kell.’ Jack gave a weak smile as I grumped. ‘Fine, have it your way sleepy head.’ I knew I couldn’t bite my lip for long. So now annoyed with myself, I went back to reading the news. Anger simmering my heart somewhere between