In The Color Of Evil by Lori R. Lopez, a mysterious woman appeals to a Nun at a Convent for help with her strange affliction. Sister Grace believes that Ginger is the subject of an Ancient Prophecy and poses an enormous danger for the world.
The Warrior-Nun summons fellow members of a Color Guard with representatives embedded around the globe in various religions and institutions. They don Armor, brandish swords and daggers, determined to slay this grave threat to all.
Ginger is less convinced she is Evil, or even a bad person. She begs for mercy, but the Sisters of the strict Order are unyielding. She has no choice but to fight for her life. However, she gains a surprising ally, a ghost in the room who can relate to the woman’s plight.
Look for the author’s upcoming Ghost Collection, Spooktacular Tales, which will feature many ghostly goings-on in verse and prose!
“The room shuddered, cloaked in a lugubrious atmosphere.”
“Look, Sister, there’s a lot about my life lately I don’t understand. What I need is answers. I don’t need more questions, so start explaining.”
~ from The Color Of Evil
Clad in a dingy raincoat, a drab scarf covering most of her hair, a nervous woman slipped through the narrow gate into a private well-tended Garden of flora and benches, a fountain and birdbath. She paused to latch the entrance, then straightened a pair of sunglasses on an overcast day. Quickly the woman approached a Nun kneeling in front of a flowerbed, digging up weeds with a spade. Bright crimson lipstick lent the lady a glamorous demeanor below her shades. Footsteps resounded. The hollow forlorn cadence of a solitary pedestrian, trekking a dismal lane.
From the branch of a tree a bird screeched, making the woman jump a bit. She lingered, indecisively staring at the Nun. A hoarse appeal: “Sister, I need help.” The supplicant’s volume increased. “Everything’s the wrong color! My doctor told me by phone it’s Psychosomatic, I’m imagining it. He said to call him in a week. I can’t wait that long. I think it’s something evil. I think I must be cursed!”
Heaving a sigh, the Sister pushed to her feet, serving a strict order of Nuns in full black and white Habit. She turned, tall and sedate, a cold smile on her lips. Unfriendly eyes glared at the stranger.
Who continued in a rush: “I’ve racked my brain for answers. It isn’t Allergies. I’m not dreaming. It can’t be what I ate. The last meal was a bowl of soup, thirteen hours ago. I don’t think I have Chromophobia. Colors never bothered me in the past.”