Coming Soon! The Blended Lives Chronicles A Lady MoonWalker Series book III Chambers Between the Minds.

The image shows a white, ornate vintage key positioned diagonally against a dark red background. Behind the key, there are two circles: one deep red, partially transparent and overlapping with a larger, lighter pink circle. The overall style is minimalist, with the key centralized and standing out due to its bright color contrasted against the solid, rich background and the softer circles behind it. The image evokes a sense of mystery or a symbolic theme.

The Blended Lives Chronicles: A Lady MoonWalker Series

The Blended Lives Chronicles is a speculative fantasy series that blends interplanetary politics, magick, prophecy, and resistance against oppression. At its heart is Lady Laya MoonWalker, a High Priestess, author, and advocate whose life’s work is dedicated to dismantling systems that divide beings by race, creed, ability, or perceived purity.

In Book I, Sides of the Order, Laya, who lives and works on Planet Korponious, travels to Casimia as a respected journalist and spiritual leader, newly aligned with the Blended Lives Federation. What begins as a professional opportunity quickly becomes personal and perilous when she reunites with Derrick Gibbous, a member of the Order of the Night. As old bonds rekindle, hidden loyalties surface, and a violent conflict erupts between forces seeking unity and those driven by segregation and dark magick. Love, trust, and survival collide as Laya and Derrick commit themselves to a cause greater than either of them.

From the upcoming book.

Chapter Six: Investigations and Explanations

Billy Ray sank, exhausted, into his bed in the garage apartment he’d moved into early Saturday morning. His head spun. He had a hard time believing that only a few hours earlier he’d been playing catch with Jake, eating ice cream, and wishing he could work up the courage to ask Sissie Wheeler for a date.

Sheriff Dickson and Deputy Johnson had spent what felt like forever questioning both him and Miss Maisie, then twice as long examining the place at the edge of the woods where Bubba had been attacked and photographing the enormous prints.

At first, neither lawman had wanted to believe a word either of them said. Then they’d gotten a good look at the claw and bite marks on Bubba’s body, along with the tracks behind Maisie’s house, and there’d been no way to deny something very unusual had happened.

Now, try as he might, Billy Ray couldn’t make sense of any of it.

Most of his life he’d tried to stay outside the circle of the magickal, the supernatural, and everything that came with it. Yet somewhere deep inside, it almost felt as though another voice occasionally pushed its way to the surface.

Listen… it’s me. Your future self, I’m tellin’ you, stupid. It’s real. If you don’t get your head outta your ass, you’re gonna regret it.

Then, just as suddenly, the feeling vanished, leaving him wondering if exhaustion had finally caught up with him.

One thing he did know was that this needed to be reported up the chain.

For that, he’d have to convince Miss Maisie.

When they’d gone back into the woods to search for additional tracks, they’d found broken saplings, crushed weeds, and snapped branches, but no trail. It was as though the creature had simply appeared at the tree line… and disappeared again.

After lying awake for another hour, Billy Ray finally threw back the tangled covers, climbed out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans, ran a comb through his unruly hair, and descended the ladder into the garage below. He slipped into a lightweight flannel shirt hanging from a peg beside the door before stepping out into the cool hush of false dawn.

Walking slowly around the house where he, the sheriff, and Deputy Johnson had searched earlier, he drew in the musky, wild scent still lingering in the air.

A chill crept down his spine.

"Definitely not your average wolf," he muttered.

"Can’t sleep?"

Maisie’s voice drifted from the shadowed porch just as he completed another circuit of the yard.

"Leapin’ creepin’ Jesus! Woman! You scared the daylights outta me!"

She laughed softly.

"Sorry. I figured you’d heard the door."

Descending the porch steps, she handed him a steaming mug.

"Oh…" Billy Ray smiled after taking a cautious sip. "That tastes amazing. Thank you."

He drank again, savoring the rich dark roast mellowed by heavy sweet cream.

"How’d you know how I take my coffee?"

"Sissie told me."

She grinned.

"No magik involved."

Billy Ray chuckled.

"I reckon that’s disappointin’."

“Let’s see what you think after we’re done.”

She motioned toward the porch.

"Billy Ray, me and you got to have us a little talk. Come on up here and let’s sit a spell. There’re a few things you ought to know about old Miss Maisie if you’re gonna live and work around these parts."

Once she’d made certain Bubba was comfortable and Billy Ray had topped off both mugs from the coffee pot on the stove, they settled into the old rockers on the screened porch. As always, Mister Meows loudly protested being evicted from Maisie’s favorite chair before stalking off in theatrical indignation.

For several moments they simply rocked and sipped their coffee while the first birds welcomed the coming dawn.

Finally, Maisie spoke.

"Lots of town folk got all kinds of ideas about me—who I am and what I am. I’d like to set the record straight."

Billy Ray shifted uncomfortably.

"Miss Maisie, I don’t really believe—"

"Just hush, son. Listen and gain wisdom," Maisie said firmly.

Billy Ray leaned back, suddenly feeling very much like a schoolboy who’d been corrected by the headmistress.

Continuing, Maisie said, "As you may or may not know, I’m part Indian. Got a mishmash of tribes in my blood, though exactly which ones don’t much matter. Truth be told, havin’ more than one has probably been a blessin’.

"You’ve been wonderin’ how I knew some of the things I knew when you first came to James Landing.

"Some of it’s simple enough. Folks talk. They gossip. I hear things, and I know what those Calhoun boys are liable to tell a newcomer.

"But some of it…"

She paused.

"…some of it’s because I’ve got a strong sixth sense. Sometimes, for good or ill, I simply know things.

"When I was a little girl it frightened me.

"When I got older, I abused the gift.

"Now I’m finally learnin’ to accept who and what I am, and to use it the way the good Creator intended.

"I’m no crazy witch, Billy Ray. I don’t go around castin’ spells or callin’ demons.

"What I do have is good sense, a little gift of knowin’, and generations of knowledge about herbs, the elements, and the ways of the natural world.

"Folks around here fear what they don’t understand.

"So, they invent stories, to help them deal with the unseen things from the other layers of the world. She looked directly at him.

"I hope that sets your mind at ease because, if we’re to work together, we must trust one another without reservation.

"And, Billy Ray, I’m well aware of who you are and where you come from. I also know that, at this point on the Wheel, you’re still tryin’ to figure out where your life’s headed. You’re here to do a job, yes—but you’re also lookin’ for a bit of peace. From where I sit, though, it seems you’ve far more to reconcile than even you realize."

Just then, as if summoned by her words, a long, mournful howl rolled through the woods.

Mister Meows puffed himself into twice his size and hissed.

From his bed, Bubba answered with a deep, warning growl.

Billy Ray slowly set his coffee mug down.

"Miss Maisie…"

He looked toward the dark tree line.

"…I don’t reckon intuition’s workin’ overtime when it comes to knowin’ what we’ve got to do next."

"We report in," Maisie answered.

"We report in," Billy Ray agreed.

"And we let my commander and chief Randall Jennings know exactly what’s happened."

Maisie sat quietly for a long moment before giving a single slow nod.

"I reckon you’re right."

She led him down the hall, through the kitchen, past several closed doors, and stopped before what appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary storage room.

Pressing two fingers against what looked like an innocent knot in the wooden doorframe, she triggered a hidden latch.

A soft click sounded.

The door swung inward.

Billy Ray stepped through and stopped.

For the briefest instant, the room tilted.

A powerful wave of vertigo struck so suddenly that he reached for the doorframe to steady himself. The equipment before him blurred, doubled, and seemed to shift in and out of alignment before snapping back into focus.

With the dizziness came a startling sense of recognition.

For one impossible moment, Billy Ray knew the room.

He knew where the controls were, how the equipment worked, and which switch operated which system. It felt less like entering an unfamiliar place and more like returning to a command post where he had spent countless hours working, planning, and waiting.

Then the sensation vanished.

Billy Ray blinked hard and drew a slow breath.

“Well,” he muttered under his breath. “That was peculiar.”

Shaking it off, he looked around again.

The room felt as though he had crossed not only a threshold, but a century.

Banks of communications equipment lined one wall. Computers hummed quietly beneath shelves filled with storage drives and data cartridges. An old printer occupied a table beside racks of neatly labeled equipment. Hidden machinery vibrated beneath the floorboards with a steady hum.

It was not simply a communications room.

It was a command post hidden inside time itself.

Billy Ray crossed to the primary communicator while Maisie quietly closed the concealed door behind them.

He settled into the chair and began adjusting the controls with practiced ease.

“Sixty-Two Romeo, this is Fifty-Four Mike. Scramble the line and prepare to receive a report.”

The communicator crackled softly.

A moment later, Randall’s familiar voice answered and his face appeared on the screen.

“Fifty-Four Mike, this is Sixty-Two Romeo. Line scrambled. Go ahead.”

Billy Ray leaned toward the microphone.

“We’ve had an incident. Evidence of a large, unidentified predator. Claw and bite marks confirmed on a local animal. Tracks verified by local law enforcement. No clear trail. Behavior suggests the creature appeared and disappeared along the edge of the woods.”

“Describe the prints,” Randall said.

Billy Ray glanced toward his notes.

“Large. Larger than a wolf. Four forward pads and—”

“Pads were too wide for a wolf,” Maisie said from beside him. “Stride was wrong, too.”

There was the briefest pause on the line.

Then Randall spoke.

“Maisie.”

Something in his voice changed. It was slight, but Billy Ray heard it.

“Well now,” Randall continued. “There’s a voice I never expected to hear on this frequency.”

Maisie rested one hand on the edge of the console.

“Well, Randall, life’s full of surprises, you know, like your boy here. Seems you and I are workin’ together again.”

Billy Ray looked from Maisie to the monitor.

There had been no introduction.

No explanation of who she was or why she had entered the conversation.

Neither one needed any.

“You still drink your coffee strong enough to melt the spoon?” Randall asked.

Maisie chuckled softly.

“Some habits survive the centuries.”

A faint smile touched Randall’s face.

Billy Ray’s fingers paused over the controls.

The exchange was too easy. Too familiar.

These were not two people who had merely heard of one another. They spoke with the comfortable rhythm of people who had worked side by side before—and, from the sound of it, had known one another well beyond the confines of a single assignment.

Maisie turned back toward the console.

“Instead of describin’ those prints,” she said, “I reckon it’ll be easier if I just show you.”

She reached across the panel and entered a short command sequence.

The monitor flickered to life.

Images appeared on the screen: clear photographs of the massive tracks, crushed weeds, broken branches, and deep claw marks gouged into the earth near the tree line.

Billy Ray stared.

“You took pictures?”

Maisie never looked away from the monitor.

“Son, I’ve been doin’ this longer than you’ve been alive.”

She tapped another key.

“Take a good look, Randall.”

Silence lingered while Randall studied the images.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said at last, his voice quieter now. “Those match the pattern archived in the first Cleansing research reports.”

For several long seconds, Randall and Maisie simply looked at one another through the monitor.

Something old and unspoken passed between them.

Billy Ray could not name it, but he recognized the weight of shared experience. Whatever Randall and Maisie had once faced together, neither of them had forgotten it.

“That’s what I figured,” Maisie said softly. “Just like before.”

Her expression grew serious.

“You know what this means, Randall?”

“I do.”

Randall’s voice settled back into its usual businesslike tone.

“You’ll need to monitor that area closely. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary.”

“We’ll keep watch,” Maisie said. “And I’m gonna have another talk with Billy Ray here.”

Randall opened his mouth to answer, but Maisie lifted one hand.

“Before you start arguin’ with me, let me just say I believe there’s more fuckery goin’ on around here than we—that is to say, me and mine—first thought. He can’t protect himself if he doesn’t know enough to recognize what’s comin’ after him.”

Randall studied her for a long moment.

Then he gave a small nod.

“I suspected you’d come to that conclusion.”

Billy Ray looked sharply from one to the other.

Randall had not asked what Maisie meant by me and mine.

Maisie had not asked Randall’s permission before deciding what Billy Ray should be told.

Neither had questioned the other’s authority to make such decisions.

Whatever working relationship they had once shared, it had involved trust—and perhaps something more personal than either of them intended to reveal.

Then Randall turned his attention to Billy Ray.

“Billy Ray.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy Ray answered, still careful to remain in character.

“You do one very important thing for me. Try as much as possible to keep a low profile. Which is to say, keep your mouth shut, eyes and ears open. See/hear much say little is good advice for us all. However, you must be careful not to make any changes to that time period. That pocket of time makes James Landing a safe zone the Purified don’t know about. As you know, the Calhouns are only one of several families living there under protection. Caution is always warranted.”

“Yes, sir.”

Billy Ray hesitated.

“If I may, sir, I’d like to make an observation.”

“Go ahead, son. I’ve learned to value your judgment. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be there.”

“The sheriff isn’t stupid. I’m fairly sure he’s made me, Miss Maisie, and Eddie Joe Calhoun. Sons of whom I met on my very first day here. So far, finding that family has been the only thing that’s gone easy. I didn’t know for sure about Miss Maisie here, until we actually spoke the codes in the Hellacious heat of her front yard.”

Randall’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“I was not aware you’d not been fully briefed. I’d have not allowed it. And as far as the Sheriff goes, you’d be right. Sheriff Dickson is observant, and if he knows it, odds are his deputy knows it, too. I’d—”

“No, sir,” Billy Ray interrupted. “Forgive the intrusion, but I believe we’ve got company on the way.”

He pointed toward the radar display.

“The red dot marking the road to Miss Maisie’s house is blinkin’ double-time.”

Randall shifted his attention toward the display.

“Go ahead, son.”

“The sheriff isn’t tellin’ us everything. I could see it while he and Deputy Johnson were investigating near the woods.”

“What did you see?”

“It wasn’t just curiosity, and it wasn’t disbelief. He was evaluatin’ the scene.”

Billy Ray leaned back, organizing his thoughts.

“He examined the ground before he examined Bubba. He watched the deputy without lookin’ like he was watchin’ him. Every so often, he looked toward the woods instead of at the evidence.”

Randall made a slow circling motion with one hand, encouraging him to continue.

“The sheriff has training from somewhere else,” Billy Ray said. “Military, most likely. I’ve spent enough time around trained men to recognize one.”

Maisie’s expression turned thoughtful.

“Sharp observation, Billy Ray,” she said quietly. “Most folks would’ve missed that.”

She looked toward Randall.

“Billy Ray’s right about Sheriff Dickson and his training. He served in the Old Earth Army before he came here, shortly before the first outbreak of the virus and not long after the Clear Bloods surfaced. He’s part of the safety program, and he’s also under an Order of Protection.”

Billy Ray looked at her.

Once again, Maisie had revealed information no ordinary woman living in James Landing should possess.

Randall did not appear surprised.

“And as you can see,” he said, turning his attention back to Billy Ray, “if Miss Maisie tells you something, listen closely. You’ll never go wrong learning from her.”

Maisie laughed softly.

“That so, Randall?”

“You know it is.”

Their eyes met through the monitor.

The words sounded light, but the look between them carried years of history Billy Ray could not begin to measure.

It was now obvious that Randall and Maisie had worked together before. They trusted one another, understood one another, and knew precisely how far each could be pushed.

What was less clear was how much Maisie knew about Billy Ray himself.

She had called him Randall’s boy without asking who he was.

Randall had not corrected her.

Neither of them had spoken the name Marcus Weathers.

Neither needed to.

Billy Ray felt the strange doubling sensation brush the edge of his mind again—not enough to bring the room spinning around him, but enough to leave behind the unsettling certainty that some part of him understood far more than he consciously knew.

He pushed the sensation aside and looked toward the radar display.

The blinking red light on the radar had become impossible to ignore.

Billy Ray leaned toward the microphone.

"Anything further you’d like reported at this time, sir?"

Randall studied him for a moment before answering.

"No."

His voice softened.

"I believe the two of you handled this exceptionally well."

He looked first at Maisie.

"Your instincts haven’t dulled one bit."

Then at Billy Ray.

"And that observation about the sheriff…"

A proud smile crossed his face.

"…was one hell of a catch."

Billy Ray inclined his head.

The compliment meant more than he cared to admit.

"Continue your observations," Randall said.

"Report any changes immediately."

Then his expression grew serious once more.

"And for the Goddess’ sake…"

He looked from Billy Ray to Maisie.

"…look out for one another."

"Don’t go running off alone."

"That would be a deadly mistake."

"Yes, sir," they answered almost in unison.

For just a heartbeat, Randall smiled.

Somehow, hearing them answer together reminded him of another time.

Another place.

Another mission.

The communicator clicked softly as the connection ended.

Silence settled over the room.

Maisie rested one hand on the console for a long moment before quietly stepping away.

Billy Ray powered down the equipment one switch at a time.

Neither spoke.

Neither needed to.

The conversation with Randall had answered questions Billy Ray hadn’t known enough to ask.

It had also raised twice as many.

He glanced toward Maisie.

She busied herself straightening a stack of papers that didn’t need straightening.

She knew.

Not everything.

But far more than she’d been willing to say.

Whether she knew Billy Ray Calhoun…

Marcus Weathers…

…or somehow understood both men at once…

he couldn’t begin to guess.

One thing, however, seemed certain.

Miss Maisie would tell him what he needed to know.

Exactly when she believed he was ready to hear it.

Turning back toward the monitor, Billy Ray noticed the blinking red light had reached the end of the lane.

He smiled crookedly.

"Well…"

He stood.

"Speak of the devil."

"The sheriff and his deputy are back."

Maisie smiled knowingly.

"Let me handle them, Billy Ray."

"You’re supposed to be new in town."

"You’ve no reason to know them…"

"…and they’ve no reason to know you."

Billy Ray grinned.

"That’s not much of a cover."

"No," Maisie agreed with a wink.

"It’s just the truth."

Together they left the hidden communications room, carefully closing the concealed door behind them until the latch disappeared seamlessly into the wall once more.

By the time they reached the kitchen, there was no sign that anything unusual lay hidden beyond the pantry.

Then the doorbell rang.

Its cheerful chime sounded almost absurd after everything that had just transpired.

Maisie smiled.

"Right on time."

The two of them walked calmly up the hallway as though they’d been doing nothing more suspicious than putting away groceries from an early morning delivery.

Beyond the windows, the woods stood silent.

Too silent.

Billy Ray couldn’t shake the feeling that unseen eyes still watched from beneath the trees.

He pushed the thought aside.

For now, they had more immediate company.

A familiar voice drifted through the screen door.

"Hello?" Sheriff Dickson called. "Miss Maisie? Billy Ray? Either one of you home?"

Maisie opened the door with a smile sweet enough to sugar every powdered snowcap in Sissie’s Sweets for a week.

"Well now, Sheriff Dickson," she said warmly. "This is a pleasant surprise. Come on in. I just put a fresh pot of coffee on. I’m sure it ain’t nearly as good as Sissie’s, but you’re more than welcome to a cup."

Sheriff Dickson smiled politely.

"I appreciate that, Miss Maisie. We’ve just got a few more questions to ask about last night.”

Deputy Johnson tipped his hat.

"Mornin’, ma’am."

"Mornin’ to you both."

As Maisie ushered the two lawmen inside and began filling coffee cups, Billy Ray quietly excused himself.

"If y’all don’t mind, I think I’ll check on Bubba. Then, I gotta get to work gathering supplies for the work Miss Maisie the slave driver wants done this week.” He tipped Maisie a wink and pressing his fingers against the unseen button inset into the door facing headed out.

Neither sheriff nor deputy gave it a second thought. They’d noted nothing.

It was exactly the excuse an ordinary young man might make.

Slipping through the back door, Billy Ray crossed the yard toward the garage.

Only after he rounded the corner did he allow himself to breathe normally.

"Follow your instinct, boy."

The words surfaced so suddenly he nearly stopped walking.

His grandfather’s voice.

As clear as if the old man stood beside him.

"Follow your instinct and you’ll not go wrong."

A faint smile tugged at Billy Ray’s lips.

He could almost feel the sting of the switch Grandfather had used exactly once in his entire life.

Billy Ray had been no more than ten.

He’d slipped quietly down to the creek, determined to prove he could fish alone.

Grandfather had found him crouched on the bank, completely unaware that another man had been approaching through the brush behind him.

The switching afterward had been memorable.

Not because it hurt.

Because of what accompanied every stroke.

"Could’ve drowned your sorry hide before you ever knew somebody was there."

"Don’t matter how smart you think you are if you ain’t aware."

"Follow your instinct."

At the time Billy Ray had thought the lesson unfair.

Standing beside the garage now…

…he finally understood.

Awareness wasn’t fear.

It was survival.

He reached his little car and paused with one hand on the door.

Somewhere beyond the trees another breeze stirred.

For just the briefest instant, that same strange sensation he’d experienced in the communications room brushed the edge of his consciousness.

Not vertigo this time.

More like…

Recognition.

An almost imperceptible certainty whispered through him.

You’re learning.

The feeling disappeared before he could grasp it.

Billy Ray frowned.

"Now where in blazes did that come from?"

He chuckled softly at himself.

"Either I’m finally losin’ my mind…"

He opened the driver’s door.

"…or James Landing’s a whole lot stranger than anybody ever let on."

Settling behind the wheel, he started the engine.

The little car sputtered once before settling into its familiar putter.

As he pulled away, he glanced once in the rearview mirror toward Miss Maisie’s house.

The sheriff’s hovercraft cruiser sat quietly beneath the old shade trees.

From inside the house drifted the muffled sound of conversation and laughter.

To anyone passing by, it would have looked like neighbors sharing coffee on an ordinary Sunday morning.

Billy Ray knew better.

The world had shifted beneath his feet.

Whether he was ready or not, he had crossed a line he could never uncross.

And somewhere deep inside…

Marcus Weathers smiled.

Billy Ray didn’t know why.

He only knew one thing.

Life had just become far more complicated.

And somehow…

He suspected old Miss Maisie hadn’t even begun telling him the truth.

Patty L. Fletcher – Author and Content Promoter.

About Patty L. Fletcher

Updated November 2024

Patty L. Fletcher is a woman of passion and exploration.

She studies the art of manifestation and is a seeker of knowledge and the wisdom to know what to do with it when it’s learned.

To learn more visit: https://pattysworlds.com/about/

If you have made mistakes, even serious mistakes, you may have a fresh start from any moment you choose, for this thing we call ‘failure’ is not the falling down, but the staying down.

Mary Pickford