The Kingdom
The Kingdom
Amanda Stevens
Deep in the shadowy foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains lies a dying town… My name is Amelia Gray. They call me the Graveyard Queen. I’ve been commissioned to restore an old cemetery in Asher Falls, South Carolina, but I’m coming to think I have another purpose here. Why is there a cemetery at the bottom of Bell Lake?Why am I drawn time and again to a hidden grave I’ve discovered in the woods? Something is eating away at the soul of this town—this withering kingdom—and it will only be restored if I can uncover the truth.“I love this book! Amanda Stevens's The Restorer gives the reader a fascinating character—who interacts with more fascinating characters! Ms. Stevens has managed the difficult feat of combining charm and chills.” —New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Heather Graham
Deep in the shadowy foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains lies a dying town…
My name is Amelia Gray. They call me The Graveyard Queen. I’ve been commissioned to restore an old cemetery in Asher Falls, South Carolina, but I’m coming to think I have another purpose here.
Why is there a cemetery at the bottom of Bell Lake? Why am I drawn time and again to a hidden grave I’ve discovered in the woods? Something is eating away at the soul of this town—this withering kingdom—and it will only be restored if I can uncover the truth.
Praise for
AMANDA
STEVENS
and
The Graveyard Queen Series
“The beginning of Stevens’ Graveyard Queen series left this reviewer breathless. The author smoothly establishes characters and forms the foundation of future story lines with an edgy and beautiful writing style. Her story is full of twists and turns, with delicious and surprising conclusions. Readers will want to force themselves to slow down and enjoy the book instead of speeding through to the end, and they’ll anxiously await the next installment of this deceptively gritty series.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Restorer, 4.5 stars
“Top Pick”
“The Restorer is by turns creepy and disturbing, mixed with mystery and a bit of romance. Amelia is a strong character who has led a hard and—of necessity—secret life. She is not close to many people, and her feelings for Devlin disturb her greatly. Although at times unnerving, The Restorer is well written and intriguing, and an excellent beginning to a new series.”
—Misti Pyles, Fort Worth Examiner
“I could rhapsodize for hours about how much I enjoyed The Restorer. Amanda Stevens has woven a web of intricate plot lines that elicit many emotions from her readers. This is a scary, provocative, chilling and totally mesmerizing book. I never wanted it to end and I’m going to be on pins and needles until the next book in The Graveyard Queen series comes out.”
—Fresh Fiction
The
Kingdom
Amanda Stevens
Contents
Chapter One (#ub4ed7440-1f38-5dc2-9834-47940aada8e5)
Chapter Two (#u6fea42ba-f816-571c-845a-9d68a67b8b55)
Chapter Three (#u9beb973f-d852-5ee9-a436-6eb9251d7b93)
Chapter Four (#uf55bd0aa-682f-580d-957d-dc156ae59431)
Chapter Five (#u9fc3e1de-9fa2-5e17-83c6-b63cbd04fe95)
Chapter Six (#u2a37d14a-24bf-52de-9c67-f232a15c5ec7)
Chapter Seven (#u1f4c3900-70d8-5914-8bf7-018ae1cc2d16)
Chapter Eight (#u6702b306-272d-5268-b168-c17b903f0e8d)
Chapter Nine (#uacb51dce-2efe-5e8e-8d3a-b58ec2e8cc91)
Chapter Ten (#uf17ae72c-b7d1-59d6-82af-f1a70eb47c10)
Chapter Eleven (#ufe7dd3ff-39d9-5ecb-9c0b-7bd366312c03)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)
One
The breeze off the water carried a slight chill even though the sun had barely begun its western slide. It was still hours until twilight. Hours until the veil between our world and the next would thin, but already I could feel the ripple of goose bumps at the back of my neck, a sensation that almost always signaled an unnatural presence.
I resisted the temptation to glance over my shoulder. Years of living with ghosts had instilled in me an aberrant discipline. I knew better than to react to those greedy, grasping entities, so I leaned against the deck rail and stared intently into the greenish depths of the lake. But from my periphery, I tracked the other passengers on the ferry.
The intimate murmurs and soft laughter from the couple next to me aroused an unexpected melancholy, and I thought suddenly of John Devlin, the police detective I’d left behind in Charleston. This time of day, he would probably still be at work, and I conjured up an image of him hunched over a cluttered desk, reviewing autopsy reports and crime scene photos. Did I cross his mind now and then? Not that it mattered. He was a man haunted by his dead wife and daughter, and I was a woman who saw ghosts. For as long as he clung to his past—and his past clung to him—I could not be a part of his life.
So I wouldn’t dwell on Devlin or that terrible door that my feelings for him had opened. In the months since I’d last seen him, my life had settled back into a normal routine. Normal for me, at least. I still saw ghosts, but those darker entities—the Others, my father called them—had drifted back into their murky underworld where I prayed they would remain. The memories, however, lingered. Memories of Devlin, memories of all those victims and of a haunted killer who had made me a target. I knew no matter how hard I fought them off, the nightmares would return the moment I closed my eyes.
For now, though, I wanted to savor my adventure. The start of a new commission filled me with excitement, and I looked forward to the prospect of uncovering the history of yet another graveyard, of immersing myself in the lives of those who had been laid to rest there. I always say that cemetery restoration is more than just clearing away trash and overgrowth. It’s about restoration.
The back of my neck continued to prickle.
After a moment, I turned to casually glance back at the row of cars. My silver SUV was one of only five vehicles on the ferry. Another SUV belonged to the couple, a green minivan to a middle-aged woman absorbed in a battered paperback novel, and a faded red pickup truck to an elderly man sipping coffee from a foam cup. That left the vintage black sports car. The metallic jet paint drew my appreciative gaze. In the sunlight, the shimmer reminded me of snake scales, and an inexplicable shiver traced along my spine as I admired the serpentine lines. The windows were tinted, blocking my view of the interior, but I imagined the driver behind the wheel, impatiently drumming fingers as the ferry inched toward the other side. To Asher Falls. To Thorngate Cemetery, my ultimate destination.
Brushing my hand against the back of my neck, I turned again to the water, mentally rummaging through the tidbits I’d gleaned from my research. Located in the lush Blue Ridge foothills of South Carolina, Asher Falls had once been a thriving community, but in the mid-eighties, one of the town’s most prominent citizens, Pell Asher, had struck an unsavory bargain. He’d sold acreage to the state to be used as a reservoir, and when the dam opened, the area flooded, including the main highway leading into Asher Falls. Already bypassed by a new freeway system, the town sank into oblivion. The only way in and out was by ferry or back roads, and the population soon withered. Asher Falls became just another statistic in a long line of dying rural communities.
I’d never set foot in the town, even to conduct a preliminary assessment of the cemetery. I’d been hired sight unseen by a real estate agent named Luna Kemper, who also happened to be the town librarian and the sole administrator of a generous donation made anonymously to the Daughters of our Valiant Heroes, a historical society/garden club for the beautification of Thorngate Cemetery. Luna’s offer couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. I needed a new project and a change of scenery, so here I stood.
As we approached the dock, the engines powered down and we came to a near standstill. The heavy shadows cast by towering trees at the shoreline deepened the water to black. At no point could I see the bottom, but for a moment, I could have sworn I saw something—someone—just below the surface. A pale face staring up at me… .
My heart took a nosedive as I leaned over the railing, searching those blackish depths. People without my ability would have undoubtedly wondered if the play of light and shadow on the water had tricked them. Or worse, if they might have spotted a body being washed ashore in the ferry’s wake. I thought instantly of a ghost and wondered who on board might be haunted by the golden-haired apparition floating underneath the water.
“I believe this is yours.”
A man’s voice pulled me back from the railing, and I turned reluctantly from the lake. I knew at once he belonged to the sports car. He and the vehicle had the same dark, sleek air. I thought him to be around my age—twenty-seven—with eyes the exact shade of a tidal marsh. He was tallish, though not so tall as Devlin, nor as thin. Years of being haunted had left the magnetic police detective hollow-eyed and gaunt while the stranger at my side appeared to be the picture of health—lean, sinewy and suntanned.
“I beg your pardon?”
He extended his hand, and I thought at first he meant to introduce himself, but instead he uncurled his fingers, and I saw my necklace coiled in his palm.
My hand went immediately to my throat. “Oh! The chain must have snapped.” I plucked the necklace from his hand and examined the links. They were unbroken, the clasp still securely closed. “How strange,” I murmured, unlatching the claw fastener and entwining the silver strand around my neck. “Where did you find it?”
“It was lying on the deck behind you.” His gaze slid downward as the polished stone settled into the hollow of my throat.
Something cold gripped my heart. A warning?
“Thank you,” I said stiffly. “I would have hated to lose it.”
“It’s an interesting piece.” He appeared to study the amulet intently. “A good luck charm?”
“You might say that.” Actually, the stone had come from the hallowed ground of a cemetery where my father had worked as caretaker when I was a child. Whether the talisman retained any of Rosehill’s protective properties, I had no idea. I only knew that I felt stronger against the ghosts when I wore it.
I started to turn back to the water, but something in the stranger’s eyes, a mysterious glint, held me for a moment longer.
“Are you okay?” he asked unexpectedly.
“Yes, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
He nodded toward the side of the ferry. “You were leaning so far over the railing when I came up, and then I saw your necklace on the deck. I was afraid you might be contemplating jumping.”
“Oh, that.” I gave a negligible shrug. “I thought I saw something in the water. Probably just a shadow.”
The glint in his eyes deepened. “I wouldn’t be too sure. You’d be surprised at what lies beneath the surface of this lake. Some of it occasionally floats to the top.”
“Such as?”
“Debris, mostly. Glass bottles, bits of old clothing. I even once saw a rocking chair drifting to shore.”
“Where does it all come from?”
“Flooded houses.” As he turned to stare out over the water, I studied his profile, drawn by the way the late afternoon sunlight burnished his dark hair. The coppery threads gave him an aura of warmth that seemed to be absent from the midnight-green of his eyes. “Before the dam was built, the lake was half the size it is now. A lot of property was destroyed when the water rose.”
“But that was years ago. You mean the houses are still down there?” I tried to peer through the layers of algae and hydrilla, but I could see nothing. Not even the ghostly face I’d spotted earlier.
“Houses, cars…an old graveyard.”
My gaze shot back to him. “A graveyard?”
“Thorngate Cemetery. Another casualty of the Asher greed.”
“But I thought…” Uneasiness crept over me. I was good at my job, but recovering an underwater cemetery wasn’t exactly my area of expertise. “I’ve seen recent pictures of Thorngate. It looked high and dry to me.”
“There are two Thorngates,” he said. “And I assure you that one of them does rest at the bottom of this lake.”
“How did that happen?”
“The original Thorngate was rarely used. It was all but forgotten. No one ever went out there. No one gave it a second thought…until the water came.”
I stared at him in horror. “Are you telling me the bodies weren’t moved before they expanded the lake?”
He shuddered. “Afterward, people started seeing things. Hearing things.”
I fingered the talisman at my throat. “Like what?”
He hesitated, his gaze still on the water. “If you look for this basin on any South Carolina map, you’ll find the Asher Reservoir. But around here, we call it Bell Lake.”
“Why?”
“In the old days, coffins were equipped with a warning system—a chain attached to a bell on the grave in case of a premature burial. They say at night, when the mist rolls in, you can hear those bells.” He glanced over the railing. “The dead down there don’t want to be forgotten…ever again.”
Two
A tremor shot through me a split second before I saw the gleam of amusement in the stranger’s eyes.
“Sorry,” he said with a contrite smile. “Local folklore. I couldn’t resist.”
“It’s not true then?”
“Oh, the cemetery is down there all right, along with cars, houses and God knows what else. Some claim they’ve even seen coffins float to the surface after a bad storm. But the bells…” He paused. “Put it this way. I’ve fished on this lake since I was a boy, and I’ve never heard them.”
What about the face I’d seen under the surface? I wondered. Was that real?
His lingering gaze made me uneasy, though I had no idea why. His eyes were just a little too murky, a little too mysterious—like the bottom of Bell Lake.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the railing. He wore jeans and a black pullover sweater that hugged his toned torso. An unexpected appreciation skimmed along my nerve endings, and I glanced quickly away because the last thing I needed was a romantic complication. I wasn’t over Devlin, might never be over him, and an attractive stranger could do nothing more than momentarily ease my intense longing. Assuage an almost physical ache that had settled deep inside my chest since the night I’d fled the house Devlin had shared with the very beautiful and the very dead Mariama.
“So what brings you to Asher Falls?” the stranger asked. “That is, if you don’t mind my asking. We don’t get a lot of visitors. We’re pretty well off the beaten track.”
His voice was pleasant enough, but I detected a slight edge to the question. “I’ve been hired to restore Thorngate Cemetery. The high and dry one.”
He didn’t respond, and after a moment, his silence drew my reluctant gaze. He was staring down at me, his eyes still gleaming, though not with amusement or even curiosity, but with a spark of what I could only name as anger. The emotion faded, but I knew I hadn’t imagined his irritation.
I tried not to read too much into it. I often encountered local opposition. People were protective and sometimes overly superstitious about their graveyards. I started to reassure him that I knew my business. Thorngate would be in good hands. But then I decided that might be a job best left to the woman who had hired me. She would know how to address the concerns of her community far better than I.
“So you’re here to restore Thorngate,” he murmured. “Whose idea was that?”
“The name of my contact is Luna Kemper. If you have questions, I suggest you direct them to her.”
“Oh, I will,” he said with a tight smile.
“Is there a problem?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“Not yet, but I can foresee some tension. Thorngate—the high and dry Thorngate—used to be the Asher family cemetery. After the original graveyard flooded, the burial site was donated to the town, along with enough land for expansion. A lot of people still have strong feelings about it.”
“The Ashers gave away their family cemetery? That seems a bit extreme. Why didn’t they just donate land for a new one?”
“Because a gesture was needed after what the old man did.” The green eyes darkened. “An atonement, if you want to know the truth. The irony, of course, is that the ostentatious memorials and family mausoleum only serve to highlight the divide between the Ashers and everyone else in town.”
“Is Pell Asher still alive?”
“Oh, yes. Very much so.” I saw another flicker of emotion before he glanced back at the water.
“What do you do in Asher Falls…if you don’t mind my asking?” I mimicked his earlier question, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I drink,” he said. “And I bide my time.” He turned with a look that sent another shiver skittering along my backbone. There was something in his voice, a dark undercurrent that made me think of drowned cemeteries and long-buried secrets. I wanted to glance away, but his heavy-lidded eyes were disarmingly hypnotic. “I’m Thane Asher, by the way. Heir apparent to the shriveling Asher Empire, at least until Grandfather rewrites his will. He tends to go back and forth between my uncle and me. I’m the fair-haired child this week. If he kicks the bucket before next Thursday, I’m golden.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I merely extended my hand. “Amelia Gray.”
“A pleasure.” He took my hand and squeezed. His was the warm, smooth palm of the privileged, unmarred by the calluses I’d acquired over the years from clearing brush and lifting headstones.
My thoughts turned to Devlin once again, and I imagined the stroke of his long, graceful fingers down my back.
Suppressing a shudder, I tried to pull away from Thane Asher’s grip, but he held me for a moment longer, his gaze locked with mine until the ferry docked with a slight jolt and he freed me.
“Here we are,” he said cheerfully. “Asher Falls. Welcome to our kingdom, Amelia Gray.”
Three
Disembarking behind the minivan, I pulled to the side of the road to reset my navigation system. My windows were down, and a cool wind swept through, carrying the verdant, piney scent of the Upcountry. The dog days had extended into September, and the bee balm and hedge nettle were still blooming, carpeting the meadows in lavender. Rising above the gentle hills of the Piedmont, the area was beautiful, but the landscape of looming mountains, deep shadows and the green-black forest of pine and hemlock was foreign to me. My beloved Lowcountry, with its steamy marshes and briny breezes, seemed a long way from here.
The roar of an engine drew my attention from the scenery, and I glanced at the road as the black sports car zoomed past my window, leaving a thin cloud of dust and exhaust in its wake.
“Welcome to our kingdom,” I muttered as I watched Thane Asher take a sharp curve without slowing. It was an impressive maneuver of reckless abandon, squealing tires and shimmering metallic paint. Then with a whine of the powerful motor, he was gone, and the quiet that settled around me seemed heavy and ominous, as if weighted by some dark enchantment.
I glanced in the rearview mirror at the ferry, mentally retracing my route to Charleston. To Devlin. But I was here now, and there was no turning back.
Pulling onto the road, I trailed Thane Asher into town.
* * *
Asher Falls had once been a picturesque town of cobblestone streets and classic revival-style buildings situated around a formal square shaded and shrouded by live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. Quaint was the word that came to mind, and it was only on second glance that one noticed the deteriorating vital signs of a dying community—boarded windows, sagging gutters, the stopped clock in the beautiful old tower.
I saw no one as I drove around the square. If not for a few scattered vehicles, I might have thought the place deserted. The streets were as silent as a tomb, the storefronts dark and lonely. The whole town had the quiet, forlorn air of the abandoned.
I pulled into a parking space and got out. Luna had emailed me the address of her real estate office, and I located it easily. But the door was locked, and I saw no sign of life through the window. Pecking on the glass, I waited a moment, then headed next door to the library, an impressive three-story structure with arches and columns reminiscent of some of my favorite buildings in Charleston.
A girl of about sixteen stood behind the counter sorting through a stack of books. She glanced up as I stepped inside but didn’t offer a smile or a greeting. Instead, she went back to her work, the pixie cut of her silver-blond hair revealing an anemic-looking face.
I took a moment to enjoy the familiar library scent before approaching the counter. I’d always loved the smell of old books and records and could happily immerse myself for hours in musty archives. Proper research was vital to a successful cemetery restoration, and as I took in the sagging bookshelves and shadowy alcoves, I felt a pulse of excitement at what I might discover—in the library and in Thorngate Cemetery.
The ancient floorboards creaked beneath my boots as I walked over to the counter. The blonde lifted her gaze but not her head. Her eyes were crystalline-blue, the clear, rinsed cyan of a spring sky. She was very slight, but I didn’t think her fragile. She had a presence about her, a subtle gravitas that seemed unusual and a bit unsettling in a girl of her age.
She still said nothing, but I didn’t take her silence for insolence. Rather, she seemed guarded and wary, like those of us who spend too much time in our own little world.
“My name is Amelia Gray. I’m here to see Luna Kemper. She’s expecting me.”
The girl spared a brief nod before finishing with the books. Then she turned and strode to a closed door, rapped once and slipped inside. A moment later she reappeared and motioned me around the counter. As she stepped aside to allow me to enter the room, I saw that her eyes were focused—not on me—but on a point just beyond my shoulder. I had the strangest feeling that if I followed her gaze, I would find nothing there. It was a disquieting sensation because, with few exceptions, I’m the one who sees what others cannot.
Before I had time to ponder her odd behavior, Luna Kemper rose, shooing aside a gorgeous gray tabby as she came around her desk to greet me. The scent of wildflowers suddenly filled the room as though she exuded the fragrance through her very pores. A vase of purple foxglove—Papa called them witch’s bells—sat on the corner of her desk, but I didn’t think the smell came from them. I’d never known that particular flower to have such a pungent perfume.
Luna looked to be in her early forties, a sensuous brunette with a lustrous complexion and eyes the color of a rain clouds. “Welcome, Amelia. I’m so happy to finally meet you in person.” She extended her hand and we shook. She wore a charcoal pencil skirt and a lavender sweater accentuated with a large moonstone pendant. Her easy smile and friendly demeanor were a welcome contrast to her subdued assistant, who was dressed similarly to me—black T, jeans and a lightweight jacket.
“How was your trip?” Luna asked, leaning a shapely hip against her desk.
“It was great. I haven’t been up this way in a long time. I’d forgotten how beautiful the foothills are this time of year.”
“You should take a trip up to the falls if you get a chance. It’s the most beautiful spot in the whole state, though, I expect I’m biased. I was born and raised in the foothills. My mother used to say I’d wither away without the mountains and the woods to roam in, but I love the occasional weekend jaunt to the beach. I have a cousin who has a place on St. Helena. Do you get down that way much?”
“No, not really. I stay pretty busy.”
“I sympathize. Running a business doesn’t leave much time for play. I can’t remember the last time I had a real vacation. Maybe next summer… .” She trailed off, her gaze moving to the door where the blonde still lurked. “Sidra, this is Amelia Gray, the cemetery restorer I told you about. Sidra Birch. She helps out in the library after school and sometimes on weekends.”
I glanced over my shoulder and nodded. “Hello, Sidra.”
She still said nothing but tilted her head and studied me so intently I grew uncomfortable. There was something about that girl. Something at once familiar and off-putting. She had the air of someone who knew dark things. Like me.
I suppressed a shudder as I turned back to Luna.
“I’m sure you’re anxious to get settled in,” she said briskly. “I’ve arranged for you to stay in Floyd Covey’s house while he’s in Florida tending to his mother. She’s laid up with a broken hip so I expect he’ll be gone for a couple of months at the very least—”
A sound from the doorway drew both our gazes. Sidra was staring at Luna with an expression I couldn’t begin to fathom.
“What’s wrong?” Luna asked.
“Why’d you put her way out there?”
“Why not?” Luna asked with a note of irritation.
Sidra’s blue gaze fell on me, then darted away. “It’s creepy.”
“Nonsense. It’s a lovely place right on the lake and the location is perfect. It’s halfway between town and the cemetery,” Luna explained. “I think you’ll be very comfortable there.”
“I’m sure I will be.” But Sidra’s comment, along with Thane Asher’s tale of restless souls beneath Bell Lake had planted an insidious seed.
Luna straightened from the desk. “Why don’t you make yourself at home while I run next door and fetch the key? We can go over the contracts and permits and then I’ll take you out to see the house.”
Sidra had already disappeared, and I assumed she’d gone back to her work behind the counter. After Luna left, I wondered if I should go out there and ask the girl what she’d meant about the Covey place. Then I decided it was probably best to wait and form my own opinion.
Killing time, I glanced around Luna’s office. It was one of those eclectic, overstuffed places that I’d always been drawn to. So many interesting and unusual treasures to admire, from the hand-carved pedestal desk to the brass ship’s bell mounted over the doorway. I hadn’t noticed the bell before, but now I detected the faintest ting, as if a draft had stirred the clapper. There was a second, narrow door with an arched top and an ornate keyhole plate that made me wonder where it led to.
Slowly, I circled the room, admiring the bric-a-brac in mahogany cabinets, everything from blown-glass figurines to antique pocket watches, from fossils and shells to an assortment of oddly shaped knives. Framed photographs covered the walls, most of them local historical buildings, but the people shots interested me more. One in particular caught my attention—a picture of three young women, arms entwined as they stared dreamily into the camera. I recognized a teenage Luna, and one of the other girls bore an uncanny resemblance to Sidra, but I knew it couldn’t be her. A good twenty-five years separated their ages, and besides, the hairstyles and clothing screamed the eighties. Sidra wouldn’t have even been born then.
A fourth girl hovered in the shadowy background, her wavy hair floating about her in a breeze as she glared into the lens. I felt an odd tightening in my chest as I studied that stony face, and for the longest time, I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, couldn’t tear my eyes from that fiery glower.
“Are you all right?”
I took a step back, Sidra’s voice breaking whatever hold the photograph had on me. I turned to find her watching me from the doorway. Light from the window picked up the silvery threads in her hair, creating an ethereal illusion that, along with her paleness, made me wonder if she might be a ghost. I’d been fooled before, but since Luna could interact with her, too, the likelihood seemed slim.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked with a frown.
“Was I staring? I’m sorry,” I managed to say calmly. “I was just thinking how much you resemble the girl in this picture.”
She came over to stand beside me. “That’s my mother, Bryn.” Pointing to the redhead on her mother’s right, she said, “That’s Catrice, and, of course, you know Luna. The three of them were best friends in high school. Still are, I guess.”
“Do they all live here in Asher Falls?”
She hesitated. “You heard what Luna said. She’d wither away if she left the mountains. My mother would, too, I think. None of them would last long out in the real world.”
“This isn’t the real world?”
“God, I hope not,” she said with a shiver.
“You don’t like it here?”
“Like it? This place is a ghost town,” she said, and something in her voice made me shiver.
“Sounds as if Luna manages to stay busy.”
“Oh, yes. Luna is a very busy woman.”
We were both staring at the photograph, and I could see Sidra’s pale refection in the glass.
“I like her name,” I said. “It’s unusual but it suits her. And yours is unusual, too.”
“I’m named for her. Sidra means ‘of the stars,’ and Luna means moon, so…” She shrugged. “Kind of cheesy, but they’ve always been into that mystical stuff.”
“Who’s the fourth girl?”
I heard her breath catch and glanced over to find her in the grip of some strong emotion—eyes wide, hand pressed to her heart—but then she swallowed and tried to recover. “What girl?” she asked in a thin voice.
“The one in the background. Her.” I put a finger over the glass and felt a rush of something unpleasant go through me.
Sidra said nothing. In the ensuing silence, I heard the bell again, so faintly I wondered if my imagination had supplied the sound.
“There’s no one else in the picture,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I could clearly see an angry countenance in the background, but suddenly I understood. Whoever she was, she’d already been dead when the picture was taken. The photographer had captured her ghost.
It was the clearest shot of an entity I’d ever seen. But…if I was the one who saw ghosts, why was Sidra so distressed?
“It’s just a shadow or some trick of the light,” she insisted. “There’s no one else in the picture.”
Our gazes met and I nodded. “Yes, that must be it,” I agreed, as icy fingers skated up and down my spine.
Four
As I followed Luna’s Volvo through town a little while later, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Sidra’s face when I mentioned the fourth girl in the photograph. I’d always assumed my ability to see ghosts was a rare thing, and because of Papa’s warnings, I’d lived a solitary existence. I had no close friends, no confidante, no one other than Papa with whom I could share my secret. I’d spent most of my life behind cemetery walls, cloistered and protected in my graveyard kingdoms. And at times I’d been unbearably lonely.
But now I had to wonder if Sidra could see them, too, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that possibility. The ghosts were a heavy burden. I didn’t wish such a dark gift on anyone.
My mind drifted back to my first encounter. I could remember that twilight so well…the glimmering aura beneath the trees in Rosehill Cemetery and the peculiar way the old man’s form had become clearer to me as the light faded. Somehow, I’d known he was a ghost, but I hadn’t been so frightened until Papa had sat me down and grimly explained our situation. Not everyone could see them, he’d told me, and it was important that we do nothing to give ourselves away. Ghosts were dangerous to people like us, because the one thing they craved above all else was acknowledgment, so they could feel a part of our world again. And in order to sustain their earthly presence, they attached like parasites to the living, draining away energy and warmth in much the same way a vampire fed on blood.
Papa had spent a lot of time teaching me how to protect myself from the ghosts. He’d given me a set of rules by which I had always lived my life: never acknowledge the dead, never stray far from hallowed ground, never associate with those who are haunted and never, ever tempt fate.
And then I’d met John Devlin. I’d lost myself in Devlin, lost all sense of reason. I’d allowed his ghosts into my world, strayed too far from hallowed ground and, because of my weakness, because of our passion, a door had been opened.
If only I’d listened to Papa’s warning… .
If only I’d followed his rules… .
But I’d foolishly let down my guard, and now I could not unsee what I’d witnessed the night I fled Devlin’s house.
He was still my weakness, and if I’d learned anything in the past few months, it was the necessity of shoring up my defenses against him…and his ghosts. No matter what I had to do.
As I kept pace with the Volvo, I caught a flash of metallic jet paint and vintage lines out of the corner of my eye. Thane Asher’s car was parked in front of a place called the Half Moon Tavern, and I thought instantly of what he’d told me on the ferry. “I drink,” he’d said. “And I bide my time.” I couldn’t imagine a more depressing existence, but I knew nothing of his family or his background, and it wasn’t my place to judge.
As the tavern receded in my rearview mirror, I tried to purge Thane Asher—and Devlin—from my thoughts by concentrating on the passing scenery. Edged by the forest on either side, the road narrowed and the quaint gingerbread houses I’d noticed earlier disappeared. For the longest time, I saw no sign of humanity other than an abandoned grain elevator and the occasional dilapidated shed. I rolled down my window, and a faint but ubiquitous smell of mildew and compost seeped in.
Up ahead, Luna turned left onto a single-lane trail that led straight back into the woods. Where the trees had been thinned, I could see the points of a roof.
A moment later, I pulled up beside her and got out of the car as my gaze traveled over the arched windows and steep gables of the house. Luna waited for me on the front porch, key in hand, but I took my time joining her. I needed to orient myself to the surroundings.
Hugging my arms to my body, I let the deep silence settle over me. We were sheltered by woods and the looming mountains in the distance, but there were no bird calls from the trees, no scampering feet in the underbrush. I heard no sound at all except for the faint whisper of a breeze through the leaves.
I turned back to Luna. She stood watching me with the oddest expression, her thumb caressing the moonstone cabochon she wore at her throat. She looked…bemused, as though she couldn’t quite figure me out.
“Well?” She folded her arms and leaned a shoulder against a newel post. “What do you think of the place?”
“It’s so quiet.”
She smiled dreamily, lifting her face to the sky. “That’s what I love about it.”
Her voice held a husky timbre I hadn’t noticed before, and she looked very different to me now. No, not different, I amended. She looked…more. Her figure appeared fuller, her skin creamier, her hair so darkly lush I had to wonder if she’d donned a wig in the car. Everything about her—the sparkle of her eyes, the enigmatic curve of her lips, that earthy sensuality—seemed heightened by the natural setting.
For some reason, I was reminded of that photograph in her office and the furious visage lurking in the background. And then I heard, very faintly, the wind in the trees again as I glanced up at the house.
“Was this place once a church?”
She cocked her head in surprise. “How did you know that?”
“The architecture—carpenter Gothic, isn’t it?—was commonly used for small churches in the nineteenth century.” I couldn’t help but wonder about the selection for my temporary quarters. The hallowed ground of churches and some cemeteries offered protection from ghosts. But how would Luna Kemper know about that?
“What happened to it?” I asked.
Those gray eyes gave me a curious appraisal. “Nothing sinister. The congregation dwindled until it became more feasible to attend one of the larger churches in Woodberry. The place stood empty for a number of years, and then Floyd Covey bought it and gave it a complete renovation. All the modern amenities. You should be quite…cozy here.”
I noted the slight hesitation as I nodded and followed her into the house, pausing just over the threshold to allow the peace of a hallowed place to envelop me. I would be cozy here, but more important, I would be safe from ghosts. Which once again begged the question as to why Luna Kemper had picked this particular house for me.
“You mentioned something on the phone about an anonymous donation,” I said as I watched her move gracefully about the room. She seemed to bask in the late-afternoon sunshine pouring through the pointed arched windows. She reminded me of the gray tabby in her office—sleek, exotic and a bit superior. “I was just wondering how involved this person was in making the arrangements. I’m not the only cemetery restorer in the state. Was the decision to hire me yours or the donor’s?”
She smiled. “Does any of this really matter?”
“I suppose not. But I am curious how it all came about.”
“There’s no big mystery. It really is as simple as I explained it,” she said.
“And this house…was that your idea, as well?”
“I’m the only real estate agent in Asher Falls. Who would know the available property better than I? But if you’re dissatisfied with the accommodations—”
“No, it’s not that. This place is perfect, actually.”
Her smile seemed knowing. “Then let me show you the rest.”
Once again, I obligingly followed her lead. The bedrooms and bath were located on one side of the house, the living room and large eat-in kitchen on the other. A screened porch had been added to the back, and already I looked forward to having my morning tea out there watching the sunrise.
We walked single file down a flagstone trail to the water and strolled along a private dock. As the sun dipped below the treetops, I felt a familiar bristle of apprehension, that eerie harbinger along my backbone that preceded every twilight. The veil was lifting. Soon, the ghosts would come through.
A boat bobbed in the gentle waves at the end of the pier, but I saw no other movement. Heard nothing at all. In that in-between moment of light and dark, the night creatures hadn’t yet stirred.
The air turned chilly, and I was glad for my jacket as I stood contemplating the water. I saw something float to the surface and thought it might be an apparition before realizing in relief it was my own reflection.
I turned to say something to Luna, then stilled as I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye. A scrawny brown mutt—part German shepherd—stood at the end of the wooden dock gazing down at us. The dog was so emaciated, the outline of his ribs was clearly visible beneath the coarse fur. But what disturbed me even more was the wretched creature’s deformity. His ears were missing, and his snout and mouth were horribly scarred from some trauma.
“What happened to that poor dog’s face?” I kept my voice soft so as not to spook the animal, but he started when Luna whirled.
She scowled in distaste. “Looks like a bait dog.”
“A what?”
“Do you know anything about dog fighting?”
My stomach turned over. “I know it’s illegal. And it sickens me.”
She nodded absently. “Bait dogs often have their ears cut off to avoid unnecessary injuries, and their jaws are wired shut so they can’t bite the fight dogs. When the owners have no more use for them, they turn them loose.”
A wave of rage washed over me. “How could anyone be that cruel?”
“This isn’t Charleston,” she warned. “You’re apt to see a lot of things around here you don’t understand.”
“What’s not to understand?” I asked in disgust. “Someone has abused this dog and we need to get him to a vet.”
“A vet? There isn’t one for miles. Best just to leave him be. He’ll go back into the woods eventually.”
“But he needs help.” When I would have started toward him, Luna caught my arm.
“I wouldn’t do that. He could be rabid for all you know.”
“He doesn’t look rabid, he looks hungry.”
“For God’s sake, don’t feed the creature!”
Her vehemence startled me, and I glanced at her as a rush of fresh anger warmed my cheeks.
Before I could stop her, she clapped loudly, scaring the poor dog. “Get out of here! Go on, get!”
“Don’t do that!”
Now it was I who caught her arm, and she spun, eyes blazing. We faced off, the malicious curl of her lips chilling me to the bone. I almost took a step back from her, but I caught myself. Our gazes clashed for the longest moment, then her expression softened so rapidly I thought I might have imagined the whole troubling confrontation.
“Strays are common around here, I’m afraid.” She gave a regretful shrug. “You can’t feed them all, nor can you allow yourself to get overly sentimental. But I expect you’ll have to learn the hard way.”
I didn’t care to argue, so I let the matter drop. The dog had already retreated to the edge of the woods where he watched warily from the shadows. He observed us for a moment longer before slinking back into the trees.
Luna glanced at her watch. “I should be getting back to town. I have a meeting tonight.”
We walked around the house to the driveway.
“If you need anything, you have my number.” She opened her car door, anxious to be on her way. “Tilithia Pattershaw is your nearest neighbor. Everyone calls her Tilly. She’s been keeping an eye on the place while Floyd is away. I asked her to come by yesterday to clean the house, and she left some food in the refrigerator. She’s just down that path.” She waved toward the woods. “She may drop by now and again to check up on you. Don’t be alarmed. She’s a little peculiar, but she means well.”
“I’ll be on the lookout for her.”
Luna smiled as her eyes strayed to the woods. “Oh, you won’t see Tilly until she’s ready to be seen.”
I followed her gaze to the trees. Was the woman out there right now? I wondered.
“The cemetery is a mile or so up the road,” Luna said. “There’s a turnoff just after you round the first curve. You’ll see it.”
“Thanks.”
She climbed into her car, started the ignition and waved as she drove off. The sound of the engine faded, the silence deepened, and I turned once again to scour the trees.
Five
After Luna left, I carried my bags into the house, then made one last trip to the car to make sure I had everything. As I turned from the vehicle, I felt that warning tingle again and realized that twilight was upon me. The evening was still but no longer silent. I could hear the trill of a loon somewhere out on the lake and, even more distant, the eerie howl of a dog. I thought about the mutt that had crept out of the woods earlier and wondered where he’d gone off to.
Inside, I headed straight for the bedroom where I unpacked my clothes and toiletries, and then I made another trip through the house, familiarizing myself with all the nooks and crannies while making sure all the doors and windows were secure. Ending my tour in the kitchen, I checked the refrigerator to see what Tilly Pattershaw had left for dinner. Peeling back the foil on a mysterious casserole, I sniffed, grimaced and quickly recovered. Thankfully, the crisper yielded enough fresh vegetables to assemble a salad, and I settled down to eat my dinner at a small table that looked out on the lake. I also had a view of the woods, and I could just make out the path to Tilly’s house that Luna had mentioned. The stir of the low-hanging branches over the trail caught my attention, and my scalp prickled a warning. It wasn’t that I saw anything specific, but more a gnawing suspicion that something was out there. Tilly?
I didn’t want to stare directly into the forest for fear that the watcher might not be of this world. So I pretended to admire the last shimmer of light on the water while I studied the woods from my periphery. A few moments later, a shadow detached from the black at the tree line and moved toward the house.
My heart thudded until I realized it was the battered dog. Evidently, he had retreated into the woods, waiting for Luna to depart before making another cautious foray into the yard. He sniffed the ground and rooted through dead leaves, then finding nothing of interest, plopped down in my direct line of sight between the house and the lake. Even in the fading light, I could see the protrusion of his rib cage and the mutilated head and face. And yet, despite everything he’d been through, he carried himself with great dignity, with great soul.
I got up and searched through the refrigerator again, throwing together an unappetizing bowl of casserole and rice, and carried it outside. Ever aware of the gathering dusk, I moved carefully down the steps and placed the food halfway between the porch and where he lay. He didn’t move until I’d retreated behind the screen door, and then he trotted over to smell the contents. Within a matter of moments, the bowl was licked clean, and he stood staring at me with dark, limpid eyes.
Without thought to the danger—from him, from the twilight—I opened the door and eased down the steps. He looked at the empty bowl, gave a little whine, then finally came over to nuzzle my hand. I rubbed behind the nubs where his ears should have been and cupped his scarred snout in my hands. He whimpered again, this time more in contentment, I thought, as I ran my hand along his side, feeling his bones.
“Still hungry? Well, don’t worry. There’s plenty more where that came from. We’ll wait a bit, though, so we don’t make you sick. Tomorrow I’ll drive into town and get you some proper food.”
His nose was cool and moist against my hand.
“What’s your name, I wonder. Or do you even have one? You look like an Angus to me. Strong and noble. Angus. Has a nice ring to it.”
I prattled on in a soft voice until he plopped down at my feet, and I had to lean over to scratch him. We stayed that way for the longest time until I felt him tense beneath my hand. The hair along his back quilled as he emitted a low, menacing growl.
I continued to pet him even when he rose warily and slanted his head toward the lake. Beneath my lashes, I glanced past him and saw nothing at first. Then my own hair lifted as my eyes adjusted to the twilight.
She was there at the end of the dock, a diaphanous form wavering like a reed in a current. I kept my expression neutral even though my heart had started to pummel my chest. Somehow I managed to soothe the dog even as he whirled toward the water and bared his teeth. Animals—both domestic and feral—are highly attuned to ghosts. They not only see them, but also can sense them. That was one of the reasons Papa had never allowed me to have a pet. I’d had a hard enough time learning to ignore the ghosts, let alone an animal’s reaction to them.
“What’s the matter?” I asked Angus. “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you? Nothing out there but squirrels and rabbits and maybe a possum or two.”
And a ghost.
I couldn’t see her face, but I had the impression she’d been young when she died. She had long, wavy hair that blew over her shoulders in a nonexistent breeze, and she wore a black dress that seemed much too austere for her willowy frame. But she was exactly how one might want to envision a ghost—ephemeral and lovely, with no outward sign of any physical distress she might have suffered in life.
And then she turned her dead gaze on me. I wasn’t staring at her but I could feel it. Like an icy command. Look at me!
Which was crazy because she couldn’t know that I saw her. I’d done nothing to give myself away. And yet I felt something inside my mind, a nebulous tentacle that gave me the blackest of chills. I’d never experienced anything like it, even with Devlin’s ghosts. Shani, the child entity, had made contact on at least two occasions, and Mariama’s specter had tried to manipulate me in Devlin’s house. But nothing like this had ever happened. What I felt now wasn’t a possession, but some strange telepathic link that allowed me to sense the ghost’s bewilderment. The connection terrified me, and I had to use all my willpower not to jump to my feet and dart inside the house. But I knew better. The most dangerous thing I could do was acknowledge the presence of the dead.
Angus, meanwhile, had placed his quivering body firmly between the apparition and me. Strong and noble, indeed. I couldn’t have loved him more at that moment had we been lifelong friends, because I was pretty sure he would have liked nothing more than to turn tail and run for the woods.
“Good boy,” I whispered.
A light wind rippled through the leaves and the trees began to whisper. Who are you? Why are you here?
Presently, I got up to go inside. The ghost was still there at the end of the pier, staring after me. Angus whimpered, and I opened the screen door so that he could come up on the porch. As I turned to secure the latch, another breeze sighed through the trees.
Is it really you?
* * *
For almost as long as I could remember, ghosts had been a part of my world. Papa used to take me out to the cemetery on Sunday afternoons, and I would help him tidy graves as we waited for twilight, waited for the veil to thin so the ghosts could come through. At first, I’d tried to avoid the excursions, but then I realized it was Papa’s way of teaching me how to live with our gift. After a while, I grew so accustomed to those floating specters I never reacted to their presence even when I felt the chill of their breath down my back or their wintry fingers in my hair. I could even walk among them and not give myself away.
But then Devlin had come along, and Papa’s rules could no longer protect me. My defenses had been breached by his ghosts. And now another phantom had entered my world, one with an ability that had allowed me to sense her confusion as I suspected she could sense mine. This intuitive connection was new and frightening because I not only had to guard my physical reaction but also now my thoughts. What would I have to protect next…my soul?
I lay awake that night for the longest time, dwelling on all the old questions. I’d never understood my place in this world or the next. Why had I been given this gift if not for some larger purpose? Papa never had answers. He didn’t like to talk about the ghosts. It was our secret, he would say. Our cross to bear. And we must never, ever tell Mama. She wouldn’t understand.
Looking back, I could see how easily he’d put me off…about the ghosts, about my birth, about everything. He and Mama had taken me in when I was only a few days old, but I still knew nothing of how I had come to them or of my biological parents. All my queries had been met with a wariness that had made me so uncomfortable I’d finally stopped asking. But I knew there were things they hadn’t told me. Especially Papa. He’d never even mentioned that realm of unseen ghosts—the Others—until it was too late, until I’d already fallen for Devlin. Now I had to wonder what else he’d kept from me. What other terrors lay in wait for me?
My thoughts churned on and on. Eventually, I drifted off, only to be awakened by the distant toll of bells. In my hazy, half-asleep state, I wondered if the faint tinkle might be a wind chime somewhere in the woods—at Tilly Pattershaw’s perhaps. But each peal was separate and distinct, as if from a chorus of ringers. Far from melodic, however, the notes were random and discordant, almost angry.
I got up and padded barefoot through the darkened house, glad that I’d taken the time to familiarize myself with the layout. I moved easily from room to room with only the moonlight to guide me.
Pausing at the kitchen window, I glanced out on the back porch where I’d left Angus. He, too, had been roused by the bells. Or by something. He’d planted himself in front of the door, and I almost expected to see a ghost peering in through the screen. But his maimed head was lifted as he looked out over the yard and down the stepping-stones to the lake where a thick mist had fallen over the water. Or had it risen from the underworld?
The bells were muffled by that mist. I could barely hear them now. Only a faint peal every so often until the sound faded entirely.
I stood there shivering on my little piece of hallowed ground as I watched the lake. The night was very still, but some infinitesimal breeze stirred the mist. Through that swirling miasma, I thought I detected a humanlike form, the writhe of some restless spirit.
And I realized then that the underwater graveyard lay just beyond my doorstep.
Six
The light was still gray when I arose the next morning, but a golden aura hovered just above the horizon. If dusk fed my fears, dawn brought a sense of anticipation, and I luxuriated in the knowledge that the whole day stretched before me without ghosts.
After a quick shower, I carried a cup of tea out to the porch to watch the sun come up. Ribbons of mist hung from the treetops, but most of the haze had already burned off the lake. The air was crisp and clean, like the smell of line-dried laundry, and for the first time, fall seemed inevitable. Overnight a patchwork of crimson and gold had been woven into the dark green backdrop of the woods.
I coaxed Angus off the porch with the rest of the casserole and left him to enjoy his breakfast while I packed up my gear and headed for the cemetery. It was so early I had the road to myself. Although, for all I knew, there was never any traffic. Like the town, the countryside appeared deserted, but I wasn’t completely alone. As I rolled down the window, I caught a whiff of wood smoke from someone’s chimney. It was such a beautiful day. I didn’t want to sully my mood with midnight doubts. A fresh project was a time for renewal. A time for restoration.
As I came out of the first curve, I spotted the turnoff. The cemetery was nestled on the side of a steep, craggy hill and half-hidden by a thicket of cedar, an evergreen long associated with coffins and funeral pyres because of its spicy aroma and resistance to corrosion.
The trees were so thick in places the sun was almost completely blocked, but every now and then a shaft of light would angle just right through the feathery boughs to blind me. I found myself creeping along so that I wouldn’t hit a bounding rabbit. The grove teemed with wildlife. I even saw the dart of a fox between two hemlocks, and as I came to a stop in front of the entrance, the flutelike trill of the wood thrushes filled the air.
Armed with cell phone, camera and sketch pad, I got out of the SUV. There was a gate, but it wasn’t locked. Luna had told me the day before that the cemetery used to close after dark, but no one bothered with it anymore. However, she’d supplied me with copies of permits and other pertinent paperwork just in case anyone challenged my presence. I wondered if she knew of any specific objections to the restoration. Thane Asher had hinted at trouble.
I closed the gate behind me and then glanced around. Thorngate was smallish for a public cemetery but large for a family burial site. It was easy to spot the delineation between the two. The terrain nearest the gate had been flattened and the markers placed flush to the ground to accommodate lawn mowers. There were no fences or walls to separate the plots, no excessive adornment on the stones, though I did spot personal mementoes on some of the mounded graves. It was a modern, space-saving cemetery that did little to inspire the self-reflection and tranquility of my favorite old graveyards. By contrast, the original family site was lush and Gothic, clearly influenced by Victorian perceptions of romance, death and melancholy.
The first order of business was to walk the grounds, recording any special features and anomalies that would be included on the new site map. As I wandered through the public area, I spotted a couple of markers with familiar names—Birch and Kemper. I also saw a fresh grave near the fence. The dirt was mounded and covered with dying flowers.
As I passed through the old arched lych-gate into the Asher section, the sparse landscaping gave way to mossy stepping-stones, curling ivy and the remnants of what I thought might be a white garden inside a circle of magnificent stone angels. The heads tilted eastward, toward the rising sun, and the hanging branches of a cedar dappled the early-morning light that fell upon their faces. But the expressions were neither serene nor forlorn as I’d come to expect from cemetery angels. Instead, I found them arrogant. Maybe even defiant. And these statues marked the resting places of the lesser Ashers. The remains of the immediate family were interred in a large mausoleum decorated with elaborate reliefs and stained-glass portals.
The door was unlocked, and I shoved it open to peer inside, noting at once the absence of wall crypts. The mausoleum was a façade for an underground tomb, but I would save that inspection for later when I was better equipped to deal with any snakes that might be looking for a place to hibernate. Burial chambers were notorious lairs—not to mention a breeding ground for spiders. A childhood encounter with a black widow had left me with a nasty infection and lingering arachnophobia, an inconvenient anxiety for someone in my field, but I’d learned to cope.
Backing out of the mausoleum, I closed the door and turned as I brushed imaginary cobwebs from my hair. Then I froze. A man stood just inside the fence, staring across the headstones at me. He reminded me of the old man’s ghost that haunted Rosehill Cemetery. From a distance, he had a similar appearance—tall, withered, dressed in black. But this man’s hair was gray and fell in limp hanks past the shoulders of a heavy wool overcoat. I’d already shed my lightweight jacket, so I thought his choice of outerwear on such a warm day a bit peculiar.
I didn’t think him a ghost, but the rules had changed since I met Devlin. This man’s lack of an aura didn’t make him human any more than his strange appearance or statuelike stillness made him a specter.
As I hovered indecisively on the mausoleum steps, he did something that was neither human nor ghostlike. He dropped to the ground and slithered underneath the fence where he rose on hands and feet to scurry like a spider into the thicket.
I stared after him in astonishment, my skin crawling in distaste. How bizarre and utterly unnerving that he should mimic my thoughts about snakes and spiders. I shuddered. A coincidence, surely. But coming on the heels of the ghost I’d seen on the pier last night, I was thoroughly shaken and couldn’t get the man’s grotesque behavior out of my mind. It left me with a terrible feeling, as if a message had been sent, but I didn’t know how to interpret it.
The premonition lingered as I finished my walk. All the while, I kept a constant vigil and a can of mace handy, just in case. I was always careful in isolated cemeteries, but more so now than ever. My experience with a killer a few months earlier had left me wary and cautious. And now the appearance of that strange man. I couldn’t help shivering every time I thought of him.
Working well into the afternoon, I used colored flags to stake a grid that would help me keep track of the graves once I started to photograph. Hunger finally drove me back to my car. After a bite to eat, I decided to head into town to do a little research at the library. I also thought now might be a good time to drop in at the police station and make my presence known. Apart from my own safety, an introduction was common courtesy. In these small communities, people often became apprehensive when they saw a stranger poking about in a graveyard, and suspicion could often be averted by developing a cordial relationship with local law enforcement.
As I drove down the hill, I saw the gray-haired man again. He walked along the side of the road, pulling a rusted toy wagon behind him. His coat was so long it dragged the ground, and the tail billowed in the slight breeze. He turned to stare at me as I drove past, and though I didn’t return his scrutiny, I had the impression of pale eyes, jutting cheekbones and a hawklike nose. My window was down, and I caught the scent of rotting flesh a split second before I saw the animal carcass in his wagon. I couldn’t tell what it was, but the body looked to be the size of a possum or raccoon.
Quickly, I raised the window, trapping a fly that pestered me all the way into town.
* * *
As I entered the town proper, I noticed yet again the empty streets. A few cars were parked around the square, but I didn’t see anyone as I crossed over to the library. Inside, silence enveloped me. It wasn’t the usual library hush, but the deep stillness of an abandoned place. Which was crazy because I’d met Sidra and Luna in there yesterday. I assumed Sidra was still in school and Luna was probably next door at the real estate office. I told myself there was nothing sinister about their absence, but I found myself wincing at those creaking floors.
I had no idea where to look for the cemetery records, but I decided to do a little browsing. The color-coded signs tacked to the end of the bookshelves led me past fiction, nonfiction and biographies to the religion and history aisles where I scanned titles searching for something local. Alongside copies of The South Carolina Travel Guide and Wildflowers of the Blue Ridge Mountains were more esoteric titles: Mountain Magic, Folklore of the Appalachians and Frazer’s The Golden Bough, which I’d read in one of my anthropology classes for extra credit. As I pulled it from the shelf to skim the introduction, I heard someone laugh—a low, throaty female chortle that gave me goose bumps.
Turning, I glanced behind me. Nothing. I walked around to the next aisle. No one.
Then I glanced up. The gray tabby I’d seen in Luna’s office blinked down at me from the top shelf.
I went back to my reading, and now I heard a man’s voice, taunting and furtive. The library was empty, but I wasn’t alone. I walked along the wall, gazing down each row of bookshelves. When I got to the end, the voices grew louder, and my gaze dropped to an ornate grill that covered an old vent. Someone was in another room, and the air shaft carried their sound straight to me. Had I been standing in another part of the library, I probably wouldn’t have heard them at all.
Should I say something? I wondered. Or at least clear my throat to alert them of my presence?
As I stood there contemplating the proper etiquette, the murmurs turned to moans. Husky, sexual and extremely aggressive.
I backed away from the vent, but the sound followed me. Quickly, I shelved The Golden Bough only to dislodge another book. To my dismay, the heavy volume fell to the floor with a bang that sounded to me as loud as a shotgun blast.
“What was that?” The masculine voice sprang out of the air shaft, and I jumped. “I thought you said no one comes in here this time of day.”
“No one does,” the woman replied. “It was probably a bird flying into a window.”
“That does seem to happen when you’re around.”
“A lot of things happen when I’m around.”
“Yes,” he said. “And not much of it good.”
I was pretty sure the woman was Luna, but I didn’t wait around to hear her response. As quietly as I could, I exited the building and closed the door behind me. I’d recognized something in the male voice, too, and that familiarity niggled at me. I found myself looking up and down the block for a flash of metallic black paint. If Thane Asher’s car was parked nearby, I couldn’t spot it. Not that it mattered. If he had a relationship with Luna Kemper, it was none of my business.
But the echo of those feral moans followed me as I hurried away from the library.
* * *
I found the police station a few blocks over, housed in a grand old building that had been the county courthouse in more prosperous times. Despite an overall air of decay, there was still something dignified and a little awe-inspiring about the carved motifs and towering columns. As I approached the front entrance, my gaze rose to the scene depicted in the entablature—an eagle with a palmetto branch in its clutches. A popular sentiment during Reconstruction and one that appeared on a number of public buildings all over the state.
Inside, I followed the signs down a long corridor and through a set of tall wooden doors marked Police Headquarters. No one manned the front desk, nor did I see anyone milling about in the tiled lobby. I didn’t want a repeat of the library situation, so I called out, “Hello?”
Someone appeared in the doorway of one of the back rooms, the light hitting him in such a way that I could see little more than the silhouette of an average-size man. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, hello. I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself. I’m Amelia Gray. I’ll be working in Thorngate Cemetery for the next few weeks, and I thought it a good idea to let you know in advance in case you get calls or complaints.”
“What are you doing in the cemetery?” The voice coming from that featureless face was curiously unsettling. He spoke in a pleasant enough tone, but I detected a disagreeable edge.
“I’ll be restoring it,” I told him.
“Restoring it? You mean, clearing away brush, that sort of thing?”
“More or less…” I trailed off as he walked out to the counter, and I got my first good look at him. I judged him to be in his mid-forties, with dark hair swept back from a wide forehead and deep-set blue eyes fringed with thick lashes. No doubt, those eyes had once been the focal point of a ruggedly handsome face, but now the gaze was drawn to the scars—five jagged ridges that ran from the lower right eyelid back into the hairline and all the way down to his neck. Claw marks, I thought at once. Something had very nearly taken the side of his face off. Sweet Jesus.
Accepting the premise that the exceedingly attractive always had an easier path, I had to wonder what this man’s life had been like before and after the attack. Given his natural good looks, it couldn’t have been a painless adjustment. But this passed through my mind in a flash. I’d had years of practice in schooling my expression, and I knew none of my shock showed on my face as our eyes met across the desk.
“By whose authorization?” he asked.
“Luna Kemper contacted me.”
“Luna’s behind this? I might have known.” The contempt in his voice took me by surprise.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Where’s the money coming from?” he demanded.
I didn’t see how the financial arrangements could possibly be any of his business. “I’m sorry. You seem a little concerned about this project. Is there some problem, Officer…” I glanced at the name tag clipped to his uniform pocket. Wayne Van Zandt.
“It’s chief,” he said in a cool tone.
“I assure you, all of the permits are in order…Chief Van Zandt.”
He made a dismissive gesture that was at once graceful and oddly menacing. “I’m not concerned about permits. What I do care about is how people are going to react. Feelings still run strong about that cemetery.”
“So I hear. And that’s why I came to see you. I don’t want to cause any problems for you or the community. I’d just like to do my work in peace.”
His mouth tightened, emphasizing his disfigurement. “It might help me keep the peace if I know who’s behind it.”
I thought about that for a moment and nodded. Maybe he had a point. “The local historical society is funding the project.”
“Historical society?”
“The Daughters of our Valiant Heroes.”
He stared at me for a moment. “You think Daughters is a historical society?”
“Isn’t it?”
He laughed.
I didn’t get the joke. Chief Van Zandt obviously had a chip on his shoulder, and considering what he must have been through, I was empathetic enough to cut him some slack. “I won’t take up any more of your time. If you do get calls or have any questions, you know where to find me. Oh, and one more thing.” I stepped back up to the desk. “I saw a man in the cemetery this morning. He was acting pretty strange.”
“Like how?”
“When he saw me, he slithered under the fence and crawled off into the bushes.”
A brow rose. “Slithered?”
“Slithered, wiggled, whatever you want to call it. I saw him later hauling a dead animal down the hill in a child’s wagon.”
He shrugged. “Sounds a mite peculiar, but these mountains are full of odd folk. Mostly, they just want to be left alone. Some of them don’t see another living soul for months at a time, and when they finally emerge, they don’t know how to act.”
“You think he’s a hermit?”
“I think some weirdo with a little red wagon is the last thing you need to be worried about in these hills.” His pleasant voice was now edged with something that sounded very much like a warning. Or was it a threat?
“What do you mean?”
“The woods around here are full of wild animals…” He let his words trail off, a deliberate lingering as he traced a finger down one of his scars.
“What kind of wild animals?”
“Mountain lions, coyotes…” Another hesitation. “Been a lot of black bear sightings this year, too.”
I glanced at his facial scars. I couldn’t help myself. “Black bears don’t normally attack humans, do they?”
“Animals are unpredictable. You ask the experts, they’ll tell you wolves have been gone from this part of the country for decades, but they’re still out there. I’ve seen them.”
I thought about that eerie howl I’d heard last evening. “Speaking of animals,” I said, “I’m staying in Floyd Covey’s house. A stray came out of the woods last night. He’d been horribly abused. Luna called him a bait dog.”
“She did, did she?” He stroked another scar. “Best you forget what she said. Best you forget about that stray, too.”
“I can’t forget about dog fighting,” I said indignantly. “I assumed if it’s going on in your jurisdiction, you’d want to know about it.”
He shrugged. “I’ll ask around, see if I get wind of any kennels. About all I can do. People tend to be closemouthed about that sort of thing around here, even if they’re not directly involved. They don’t want any trouble. And they don’t cotton to a lot of questions, especially from strangers.”
The warning note in his voice was unmistakable now. “I’ll remember that,” I said coolly.
“In the meantime…” His gaze swept over me. “You want me to come out there and take care of that problem for you?”
“What problem?”
“The stray.”
“Take care…you mean put him down?” I asked in horror.
A muscle twitched at the corner of one eye. “Think of it as a kindness.”
I wanted to tell him that Angus didn’t need his brand of kindness, and how would he like it if someone had tried to do the same to him?
But I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t trust Wayne Van Zandt. Not in the slightest. It was instinct, like an animal’s hackles rising when danger was near.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” I said. “I’m sure that dog is long gone by now.”
Seven
On my way home, I stopped by a small market I’d spotted earlier to stock up on fresh produce for me and dog food for Angus. There wasn’t much of a selection for either of us, but we’d just have to make do until I found time to take the ferry across the lake to shop.
When I came out of the store, I saw Sidra and another girl standing near my car. They were dressed in identical school uniforms, but the resemblance ended with the plaid skirts and navy blazers. The other girl towered over Sidra. Her hair was dark and sleek and she eyed me with sullen curiosity through a long curtain of bangs. I nodded and said hello as I went to put my bags in the back. When I came around the car, she was leaning against the fender, smoking. I noticed then the smudged liner around her eyes and the pale lip color on her sulky mouth. It looked very dramatic against her tanned skin. Despite the prim uniform, she looked cool, edgy and bored, the kind of girl that would have terrified me in high school had I not been so preoccupied with ghosts.
“Can you give us a ride?” she drawled, releasing a cloud of blue smoke that curled up into her thick lashes.
“Sure. If you don’t mind putting that out.”
She discarded the cigarette with a deliberate flick.
I glanced at Sidra, who seemed to shy away from her dominant companion. She didn’t look intimidated or cowed, but her demeanor was definitely anxious, as if she wanted to extricate herself from an awkward situation but didn’t know how.
“Where do you want to go?” I asked.
“You can drop us at Sid’s place.”
“I already told you…my house is out of her way,” Sidra said.
“I really don’t mind.” It wasn’t like I had a clock to punch or someone to go home to. Besides, the company of two teenagers might be just the thing to dilute the bad taste left by my visit to the police station. “Hop in.”
“Merci beaucoup.” The dark-haired girl sent me a treacly smile as she strode around the car and climbed into the front. Sidra reluctantly got into the back, and as I slid behind the wheel, I glanced in the rearview mirror, hoping a smile would reassure her that a lift wasn’t a problem. But she’d turned to the window and sat motionless, making me wonder yet again if she could see something outside that I couldn’t.
I started the ignition. “I’ll need directions.”
“Head north, take a right at the first intersection and then keep going until I tell you to stop,” the dark-haired girl instructed. “I’m Ivy, by the way.”
“Amelia.”
“I know who you are.” She turned to give me a frank assessment between narrowed lids. “Sid says you work in graveyards or something.”
“I’m a cemetery restorer.”
“Sounds…interesting.”
I smiled politely. “It is to me.”
“You don’t get spooked?”
“Sometimes. But mostly I find cemeteries peaceful. Some of the really old churchyards were built on hallowed ground.” I shot a look in the mirror to gauge Sidra’s reaction, but her eyes were still riveted on the window.
“Thorngate isn’t,” Ivy said. “Built on hallowed ground, I mean.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s built on Asher ground and everything that family touches is cursed.”
“Ivy.”
The warning note in Sidra’s voice startled me, but Ivy just shrugged.
I gave her an uneasy glance. “What do you mean by cursed?”
She waved a hand toward the window. “Look around you. See all the boarded-up buildings? All those caved-in roofs? And that stink in the air? That’s the smell of the damned,” she said with calculated nonchalance as she unzipped one of her boots to examine what appeared to be a fresh tattoo on her ankle.
When she saw that I’d noticed—which I had a feeling was her intent—her smile turned smug. “You don’t know what that is, do you?”
“I can’t really see it from here.”
“It’s one of the symbols carved into the cliff at the falls. No one knows where they came from or what they mean, but I think this one makes a pretty cool tat, don’t you?”
She didn’t give me a chance to respond.
“I had to sneak over to Greenville to get it. Mother would have a cow if she knew. Which is so hypocritical since she has one herself. But she thinks I’m too young and I think she’s too old.” She admired the ink for a moment longer before rezipping her boot.
I glanced in the mirror, startled to find Sidra staring back at me this time. What was she thinking? I wondered. And why had she tried to silence Ivy about the Ashers?
Ivy fell back against the seat. “Personally, I find the whole idea of hallowed ground laughable.”
It took me a moment to redirect my train of thought. “Why?”
“How can a place be sacred just because people died there or because some priest sprinkled a little holy water over it? If you’re really into spiritual places, you should go up to the falls.”
“I hear it’s really beautiful up there.”
“It’s more than beautiful. People say it’s a thin place.”
I turned in surprise. “A thin place?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what that is, either.”
She seemed to enjoy her superiority, so I allowed her to keep it. “Why don’t you tell me?”
She lowered her voice. “It’s where the living world and the dead world connect. It’s where…well, never mind. Anyway, people used to go up there because they hoped to catch a glimpse of heaven. Now they stay away because they’re afraid of—” She broke off and turned to glance at Sidra in the backseat. I watched the girl in the mirror and saw her shake her head.
“They’re afraid of what?” I pressed.
“Nothing. Speak of the devil,” Ivy muttered as she sat up in the seat.
I followed her gaze to Thane Asher’s car parked at the curb. He was hunkered in front of the rear wheel well changing a flat tire, and my mind shot back to the library. I could still hear those animalistic moans in some back recess of my mind.
“We should stop,” Ivy said.
“I thought you said the Ashers were cursed.”
She slanted me a withering look as she lowered the window and called out to him. When he glanced over his shoulder, there was nothing I could do but pull up beside him and stop.
He rose and came over to the car, bending slightly to glance in the window. He wore a dark green shirt that deepened his eyes to moss and a brown leather jacket that had cracked and faded over the years. His car also showed signs of wear and tear that I hadn’t noticed on the ferry. Looking past the dazzle of metallic paint, I could see a dent here and there and the odd speck of rust.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello,” I responded with a noncommittal smile.
Ivy gaped at him. I suspected she had a crush, which explained why she’d so easily tossed aside the notion of a curse. I could empathize. Hadn’t I done the same thing with Devlin? Thrown caution aside for passion? And Thane Asher did look ridiculously attractive in that leather jacket. Not darkly handsome like Devlin, of course, but there was something about him that I could appreciate. For one thing, he didn’t have ghosts hovering nearby. That was a definite plus. But then I reminded myself that I couldn’t know whether or not he was haunted until I saw him after twilight.
“Having car trouble?” Ivy drawled.
“A flat. Must have picked up a nail somewhere.”
“We thought you might need a ride.”
“Thanks, but I’ll have it changed in no time.”
Ivy tossed her hair over her shoulder and gazed up at him through those thick, curly lashes. “Are you sure you don’t need help with the lug nuts? They’re always so hard to get off.”
I didn’t know how she managed to pack so much sexual innuendo into two simple sentences, but she did.
Thane looked bemused…and wary. He glanced at his watch. “Shouldn’t you girls still be in school?” His tone was devoid of inflection, but I had a feeling the question was a conscious attempt to put Ivy in her place. A valiant effort, but one that seemed to sail right over the girl’s head as she twirled a dark strand of hair around one fingertip.
“We left early,” she said. “We had better things to do, right, Sid?” The two exchanged another glance, and Ivy grinned.
Thane’s gaze was on me, those green eyes gleaming with something dark. Something just for me. I didn’t know how to feel about that look. I was just as wary of him as he was of Ivy but for a very different reason. “And what part did you play in these shenanigans?”
“None at all. I’m just giving them a lift home.”
“Let’s hope the truant officer sees it your way,” he said ominously, but his eyes were still teasing. “How goes the cemetery restoration?”
“I’ve hardly begun. It’s only been one day.”
“Maybe I’ll drop by sometime. I haven’t been up there in years.”
Ivy’s grin faded, and she gave me a hard stare. She wasn’t the type of girl who would be comfortable sharing the spotlight, let alone relinquishing it to someone like me. “What is so fascinating about a bunch of old headstones?” she asked with an eye roll.
“It’s history,” Thane said. “How can you know who you are if you don’t know where you come from?”
How strange that his question should mirror the doubts and the uncertainties of my adoption that I’d pondered just last night. The insight made me uneasy.
I put a hand on the gearshift. “We should let you get back to that tire.”
His eyes lingered as he nodded. “You ladies take care.”
He stepped away from the curb, and as I drove off, I refused to look in the mirror. But I had a feeling he was staring after us. I was almost certain of it.
Ivy whirled. “How do you know Thane Asher?”
“I don’t really know him. We met yesterday on the ferry.”
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
I shrugged. “There was no reason to.”
She folded her arms. “I wouldn’t go getting any ideas if I were you. Thane would never choose someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“An outsider,” she said with disdain.
“I guess it’s lucky I’m not here to socialize, then. I just want to finish my job and go home.”
“You should do that. Go home, I mean.”
The whole conversation was starting to make me feel very uncomfortable. I couldn’t wait to drop them off and drive back to the Covey house. Although at that moment, I would have liked nothing more than to heed Ivy’s advice and head home to Charleston.
Something was seriously amiss in this town. I’d felt it the moment I crossed Bell Lake. The shadows seemed deeper, the nights longer, the secrets older. Even the wind felt different here. And I couldn’t forget the repugnant man in the cemetery who had mimicked my worst fears or the ghost who had somehow let me sense her confusion.
According to Ivy, Asher Falls was located near a thin place. Could that explain the bizarre nature of the town and the people who inhabited it? Maybe there was hyper supernatural activity in the area. I’d have to ask Dr. Shaw next time I went home. He ran the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies and usually had answers for all my questions, whether or not they were the ones I wanted.
With an effort, I turned my attention back to the road. As we passed a gray stone building shrouded in vines, I noticed several girls dressed in the same uniform as Ivy and Sidra ambling out a side door.
“Is that your school?” I asked.
“Oh, damn!” Ivy slid down in her seat. “Hurry and get past before someone sees us. We’re supposed to be home sick.”
“Both of you?”
“There’s a bug going around. They were sending kids home all day. We left after lunch.”
“Pretending to be sick?”
“It’s easy enough to fake illness when the school nurse is half-blind.” She laughed at her own cleverness.
“So where did you go?”
“We’ve just been hanging out. But if Sid’s mother finds out we didn’t go straight home, we’re dead.”
“She probably already knows,” Sidra said gloomily. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into leaving school, much less going up there—”
“Shush.” Now it was Ivy who issued a warning look. “At least you won’t get expelled.”
“I almost wish I would,” Sidra muttered.
“Why would one of you get expelled and not the other?” I asked.
“Sid’s mother is the headmistress at Pathway,” Ivy explained. “A real witch, if you know what I mean. She’d like nothing better than to get rid of me. I’m such a bad influence and all.”
“And you left school, anyway? That was brave.” I glanced in the mirror to gauge Sidra’s reaction to such a harsh critique of her mother. She looked agitated, but I didn’t think the name-calling had much to do with it.
“It wasn’t brave, it was stupid,” she said.
Ivy shrugged. “No one twisted your arm. And, anyway, I don’t care if I do get expelled. I’ll just call my father. He’s a very important man. One of the most powerful lawyers in the state.” The last was said for my benefit, I was certain.
“Pathway is a private school?” I asked.
“Private and très exclusif,” Ivy said. “The local kids who can’t afford the tuition have to ride the ferry across the lake and catch the bus into Woodberry.”
So there was no public school, no veterinarian clinic and no supermarket in Asher Falls, but the withering town could support a private school for children of the privileged. The place was getting stranger and stranger by the minute.
We rode in silence after that until Sidra said from the backseat, “That’s my house on the corner. The white one.”
I pulled up to the curb in relief, and as the girls climbed out, I lowered my window to admire the three-story Victorian with spindle-work trim along the veranda. The garden was still lush and green, but the witch hazel had started to turn, and I could see squirrels foraging for fruit in the silver bell tree that grew at the corner of the porch. As my gaze lifted to the front gable, I saw a blonde woman in one of the upstairs windows a split second before the lace curtain fell back into place.
Uh-oh. The girls had been made, it seemed.
After a muttered thank-you, Ivy strode up the walkway without a backward glance, but to my surprise, Sidra came over to my window. Her eyes were very clear and very blue, her alabaster skin almost translucent in the afternoon sunlight. She wore no makeup, nor did she need any. Cosmetic enhancement would have only detracted from the ethereal quality that made her so arresting.
“Did you forget something?” I asked.
“No…I need to tell you something.”
Her gaze met mine and I felt a prickle of foreboding. “What is it?”
“You’ve seen the old clock tower in the square?”
“Yes. It’s very beautiful.”
“It’s built on hallowed ground. A battle was fought there or something. Anyway, I thought you should know.” She turned to scurry off.
“Wait! How do you know the ground is hallowed?”
Pausing on the walkway, she glanced over her shoulder, her expression enigmatic. I would never know what she intended to reveal, though, because just then the woman I’d seen at the upstairs window came out on the front porch and called to her.
Sidra froze.
“Is that your mother?”
“She’s home early. Now she knows we didn’t come straight home.”
“Will you be in much trouble?”
“I don’t know. I’d better go in.”
The girl looked terrified and no wonder. As the woman’s gaze met mine, I felt an awful chill go through me.
Eight
Could Sidra see ghosts? Why else had she felt compelled to tell me about the clock tower? And why else would she have waited until Ivy was out of earshot? If she could see ghosts—or something—that required her to seek hallowed ground for protection, she might not want anyone else to know, especially her mother, given everything I’d observed. That I could understand. The fact that she’d shared the knowledge with me should have been a comfort, but instead I felt uneasy and more out of my element than ever.
And yet as I drove back through town, I had a vague sense of familiarity, of destiny, as if maybe I’d been brought here for a reason. Which didn’t really make sense because I’d never been to Asher Falls, and I’d never met anyone from here. It was a lonely place, isolated by a haunted lake. Was it any wonder the people were so strange?
As I turned onto the highway, my gaze lifted to the distant mountains where a dark cloud had formed against the blue haze. As I watched, the cloud drifted lower, swooping down over the treetops until I realized it wasn’t a cloud at all but a flock of blackbirds flying south for the winter.
There was a nip in the wind that blew in through my open window. Despite the warm days, fall was just around the corner, and I dreaded the loneliness that winter always brought. I wouldn’t look ahead, though. What was the point? Right now, it was still hours until twilight, the road was empty and I was free to let my mind wander.
I forced my thoughts back to Sidra and Ivy. What an odd pair—Sidra, with her cropped, silver-gold hair and waiflike demeanor, and Ivy, with her hard edges and exaggerated ennui. I wished now that I’d pressed them for more information about the falls. I really wanted to know why people were afraid to go up there, especially since Luna had recommended that I make the trip. Was that where they’d gone today? I wondered.
I knew all about thin places, of course. Those in-between times and landscapes where the veil between our world and the spirit world was at its thinnest. The Celts believed those places were not only passageways for ghosts but also for demons. On the night of Samhain, they donned horrific masks to placate the forces of chaos. As I dredged up all those old legends Papa used to tell me, I had a sudden image of Wayne Van Zandt’s scarred visage. I seriously doubted he’d clawed his own face in order to mollify evil spirits and yet—
My thoughts shattered as something hit the windshield with a sickening thud. I shrieked and automatically threw a hand up to protect my face. Then I realized what it was. A bird had flown into the glass. I glanced in the mirror and saw a pile of feathers in the middle of the road. A blackbird or a crow, by the looks of it.
Pulling to the shoulder, I got out and approached slowly. The feathers weren’t moving, but I held out hope that the bird might just be dazed. I’d seen them drop like stones after hitting windows, only to rally a few minutes later and fly off. But colliding with a moving vehicle would have a lot more impact than flying into a static pane of glass.
Still, I couldn’t see any blood, and the neck didn’t appear to be broken. I didn’t know what else to do but carefully lift the tiny body from the road and carry it to the shoulder where I nestled it in a bed of clover. I sat there with it for the longest time until something drew my gaze upward where dozens of crows had silently lit on branches and power lines. I caught my breath at the eerie sight, and then I thought of that dark cloud swooping down from the mountains. There were more of them out there. Hundreds more. I wasn’t afraid of an attack, but the fact that they were gathering to watch me made my heart jerk uncomfortably.
Slowly, I got to my feet and eased back to the car. I started the engine, rolled up the windows and pulled onto the road. Thankfully, the birds didn’t follow.
As I neared the turnoff, I took myself sternly to task. I was letting my imagination get the better of me. The crows had probably been there all along. I just hadn’t noticed them. And if I were wise, I wouldn’t place too much importance on the old wives’ tale that claimed birds were not only harbingers of death but also of insanity. I wouldn’t try to connect a murder of crows to all the strange things that had happened since my arrival in Asher Falls. I wouldn’t dwell on the disturbing behavior of the man at the cemetery or Chief Van Zandt’s warning of dangerous animals roaming the woods. I wouldn’t obsess on why I’d been chosen for this job or why Luna Kemper had arranged accommodations for me in a hallowed place.
Above all, I wouldn’t give a second thought to that random meeting with Thane Asher.
* * *
Late that afternoon, I called my mother, but she didn’t feel well enough to talk after her chemo session. Since her diagnosis last spring, she’d spent most of her time in Charleston with my aunt Lynrose so that she could be near the hospital for her treatment. I’d been a little hurt that she hadn’t wanted to stay with me, but given my long hours and travel, this arrangement made more sense. Lynrose was retired and could devote herself completely to my mother’s recovery. And truth be told, the two of them were closer than my mother and I would ever be, though I loved her dearly.
I chatted with my aunt for a few minutes, then afterward Angus and I had dinner on the back porch. He didn’t seem concerned about the quality of his dog food any more than I minded the overripe banana in my fruit salad. He cleaned his bowl, and later we sat out on the back steps to watch the sunset. Despite all the disturbing things that had happened since my arrival in Asher Falls, it was a moment of deep contentment. I’d bonded with Angus in a way I rarely connected with humans. He was the perfect companion. Noble, loyal and I didn’t have to hide my secret from him. He already knew about the ghosts.
I said his name softly, testing his hearing. He turned at the sound of my voice and rested his snout on my knee, giving me that soft, soulful stare. I scratched behind his severed ears and then lay my cheek against his head. His coat was rough and matted, and he wasn’t the sweetest-smelling dog in the world. But I wanted to earn his complete trust before I drove the dark wedge of a bath between us.
We sat there for the longest time, my hand absently stroking his back as I admired the shifting patterns of light and color on the lake. But by the time dusk fell, I was already inside, safe and sound from the ghosts. I listened to music and read for a while, then turned in early, falling asleep without much trouble. If the bells pealed beneath the lake or a ghostly face peered into my window, I wasn’t aware of them. But I dreamed about both.
Nine
The next morning I took Angus with me to the cemetery. After my conversation with Wayne Van Zandt, I wanted the dog close by so that I could keep an eye on him. I also thought he could serve as an early warning system in case that strange man or anyone else showed up.
Considering everything the poor mutt had been through, I’d assumed it would take weeks if not longer to build up his strength. But I was amazed at how frisky he seemed when I let him out of the car that morning. While he chased squirrels, I began the time-consuming task of photographing each grave and headstone from every angle in order to create a prerestoration record for the archives. It was a tedious job for one person. The new part of the cemetery went quickly, but once I moved into the Asher portion, the shade from all the trees and shrubbery slowed me down. Where lichen and moss obscured the inscriptions, I had to use a mirror to angle light onto the stones. Ideally, this was a two-person job, but I’d learned to make do alone.
I worked steadily all morning and broke for lunch around one. I opened the back door of the SUV and sat on the bumper munching an apple while I tossed treats to Angus. He gobbled them with unseemly gusto. I gave him fresh water, and then he found a sunny spot to snooze while I went back to work. The afternoon passed uneventfully, and I became so engrossed in shooting all those strange, angelic faces that I lost track of time. The sun had already started to dip below the treetops when I packed up my equipment and headed back to the car. I had just stepped through the gate when I heard Angus barking. The sound came from somewhere in the woods.
Alarmed, I stored my equipment in the back of the SUV, then walked over to the corner of the fence to call for him. His barking grew even more frantic when he heard my voice, but he still didn’t come.
The tree line lay in deep shadows. I would have preferred not to explore any farther, but I couldn’t leave Angus. Something was keeping him from me. Maybe he’d treed a squirrel or a possum. Or a mountain lion or a bear… .
“Angus, come!”
I heard a howl then and couldn’t tell if it came from the dog or something else. One of those elusive wolves perhaps. The eerie wail completely unnerved me. I had my cell phone and that tiny container of mace in my pocket, but I shuddered to think how close I would need to be to someone—or something—to use it.
A narrow trail led back into the woods, but I had to constantly veer off to avoid fallen branches. The smell of rotting leaves and damp earth mingled with the woodsy aroma of the evergreens. As I began to descend on the other side of the mountain, the cedar and hemlocks thinned, and I found myself tunneling through a heath bald where rosebay rhododendron and mountain laurel grew so dense it was easy to become disoriented. Papa had told me once about getting lost in such a thicket. Laurel hell, he called it. The maze hadn’t been more than a mile square, he said, but it had taken him the better part of a day to find his way out. And this from a man who’d been born and raised in the mountains.
As I picked my way along, the stunted rhododendrons tangled in my hair and pulled at my clothing. The canopy hung so low that very little light seeped through the snarled branches. It was very eerie inside that place. Dark and lonely. As I stopped and listened to the silence, a feeling of desolation crept over me. I heard no birdsong from the treetops, no rustling in the underbrush, nothing at all except the distant rush of a waterfall. I wondered if there was a cave nearby, because I could smell the sulphury odor of saltpeter.
To break the quiet, I called out to Angus again, and his answering bark filled me with relief. Scrambling down a rocky ridge, I finally spotted him. His gaze was fixed on the cliff behind me, and I turned, hoping to come face-to-face with nothing more menacing than a cornered raccoon, although they could be vicious creatures when threatened. As I scoured our surroundings, I didn’t see anything at first, just a straggly stand of purple foxglove that had managed to survive in the hostile environment. Then I noticed the patterns of stones and seashells on slightly mounded ground, and I realized I was looking at a grave, hidden and protected by a rocky overhang. I had no idea how Angus had managed to find it. I didn’t think the grave was fresh. Other than the odor of saltpeter, I couldn’t detect a smell.
I walked over for a closer look, noticing at once that the surrounding soil had been scraped, not recently, but frequently enough in the past to discourage growth. The banishment of grass was a burial tradition that had fallen out of favor—though I had seen it recently in the Georgia Piedmont—and the meticulous upkeep was yet another curiosity.
Carefully, I cleared away dead leaves and debris to reveal a marker. The stone had been sunk into the earth, making it nearly invisible unless one knew where to look. I pulled a soft-bristle brush from my pocket and gently dusted off a thick layer of grime so that I could read the inscription. But there was no name, no date of birth or death. The only thing etched into the stone’s surface was a thorny rose stem with a severed bloom and bud, a symbol sometimes used for the dual burial of mother and child. But why had they been laid to rest out here in such a lonely location?
The isolation, as well as the north-south orientation of the grave, might once have been an indication of suicide, but the tradition of remote burials for those who had taken their own lives had also been obsolete for years. Judging by the condition and modern style of the marker, I didn’t think the grave was that old, twenty or thirty years at most. Well within the timeframe when the custom had mellowed, even within the Catholic Church. So why this desolate spot when Thorngate was so nearby?
As I traced a finger along the severed stem, my chest tightened painfully, and I felt a terrifying suffocation. Gasping for air, I put a hand out to steady myself as a wave of darkness rolled over me. The next thing I knew, Angus was nuzzling my face with his wet nose. I opened my eyes and looked around. I was lying flat on my back on the ground. I had no idea what had happened, but it must have been only a momentary blackout. I wasn’t the least bit disoriented. As soon as I opened my eyes, I knew exactly where I was.
But the air had changed. I could feel a shift in the wind, as something cold and dank and ancient swept down from the mountains.
An angry gust swirled the dead leaves over the grave, and I could have sworn I heard the whisper of my name through the trees. The hair on my nape bristled as my heart started to hammer. I scrambled to my feet and glanced around in dismay. I hadn’t been confused when I first opened my eyes, but now I couldn’t seem to pinpoint the trail I’d followed into the bald. The shrubbery was too dense, and I felt hopelessly trapped.
Then I called Angus’s name, and he came to my side at once. “Run!” I commanded, and he bounded around me to take the lead. Even in his weakened state, he could have easily outpaced me, but he measured his stride, slowing when I stumbled and pausing now and then to growl at that thing at our backs.
As we fought our way through the laurel and rhododendron, I began to have serious doubts we would ever get out of that awful place. It was like swimming through mud. By the time we emerged, my legs had gone wobbly and my lungs felt ready to explode, but the woods offered only a brief respite. Here, roots and dead branches tripped me up, and the dense leaf covering blocked the sun so that the landscape lay in premature twilight.
On and on we ran. When we finally burst from the trees, I gave a sob of relief. But the wind didn’t let up. It swirled dirt in front of us, a gritty dust-devil that nearly blinded me. As we sprinted for the car, I dug the remote from my jeans and hit the unlock button. The moment I opened the door, Angus sailed past me into the front seat. I climbed in behind him and slammed the door. Somehow my shaky hand started the ignition, and I pressed the accelerator to the floor, sending a shower of gravel over the fence to pepper nearby graves.
The heavy SUV trembled in the wind. For a moment I thought we might be blown off the road, but I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and hardened my resolve. We were getting out of there one way or another.
By the time we hit the highway, the wind had died away. The setting sun peeped through the treetops, and the countryside looked as pastoral as I’d ever seen it.
I glanced at Angus. He was riding shotgun, eyes peeled on the road.
“I didn’t imagine that back there, did I?”
He whimpered and settled down in the seat. I put my hand on his back. We were both still trembling and no wonder. Something had been after us in the bald. An amorphous evil that I dared not put a name to. It hadn’t been my imagination. Angus had sensed it, too. And he was still just as shaken as I was.
My inclination now was to keep driving until we were far, far away from this place. I needed to be home in Charleston, in my own sanctuary where I would be protected from whatever had driven that wind to me. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I had a job to do here and a dire sense of purpose that I didn’t yet understand. I would stay for now, and I would manage my fear. I’d had years of practice, after all. As a child, I’d learned to quickly settle myself after a ghostly encounter because I knew of no other way to survive such a burden.
I drew on that experience now as I touched the amulet at my throat. Something had protected me in that thicket. Whether it had been the stone from Rosehill Cemetery that I wore around my neck, or Angus or even my own strength, I didn’t know. But I was safe and, except for a few nasty scratches on my arms, no worse for the wear.
As we neared the turnoff to the Covey place, my heart rate slowed and I began to calm. The closer we got to hallowed ground—my temporary sanctuary—the stronger I felt.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, more to myself than Angus.
Ten
Thane Asher was waiting for me on my front porch when I got home. As I opened the car door to climb out, Angus shot past me before I could grab him. I called to him sharply, but I needn’t have bothered. After a warning bark and a wary sizing up, he settled right down and allowed Thane to scratch the back of his neck.
Some guard dog you are, I thought. But then I remembered how he’d placed himself between me and the ghost on that first night, and how just minutes ago, he’d matched his stride to mine as he guided me back to the car. What would I have done without him? I might still have been stumbling around in that thicket, hopelessly lost.
“Who’s this?” Thane asked as I approached the porch.
“Angus.” Hearing his name—or perhaps my voice—he trotted over to my side, and I leaned down to pet him.
“What happened to him?”
“Luna Kemper said he’d probably been used as a bait dog.”
Thane’s expression never changed, but I thought I saw something dark and vicious fleet across his face, making me wonder if there might be a layer of razor wire beneath that smooth, impenetrable façade. He looked straight at me then, an electrifying glance that caught me completely off guard. Without another word, he knelt beside the dog, running a gentle hand down the emaciated rib cage as he murmured something reassuring to Angus. I had no idea what he said, but Angus nuzzled against him appreciatively.
I picked at one of the scratches on my arm. The sting was oddly reassuring. “I told Chief Van Zandt about the dog fighting. I thought he’d want to know.”
“What did he say?” Thane examined the dog’s ears, then cupped the snout to check his teeth. Angus endured the examination without so much as a whimper.
“He said he’d keep a lookout for any kennels in the area, but I don’t know if I believe him.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Thane stood and dusted his hands on his jeans. He had on the same black sweater he’d worn when I first met him, and I couldn’t help but notice how tautly it pulled across his broad shoulders. I couldn’t help but wonder how formidable he might be if crossed. “If there’s dog fighting in the area, I’ll find it and put a stop to it.”
“How?”
He glanced at me again, his eyes vividly intent. “Best not to concern yourself with the details.”
Something in his voice alarmed me, a miniscule crack that exposed the razor wire. I’d been angry, too, when I found out about Angus, but Thane Asher was a man of unlimited resources in these parts. I had no idea how he might unleash his fury.
I buried my hand in Angus’s fur so that he wouldn’t see how badly I still trembled. I’d had a bad scare in the thicket, and I wasn’t yet over the shock. But I was good at hiding my feelings, and I didn’t flinch as Thane’s gaze lingered on my grimy appearance. I thought I detected a softening of his features, but it may only have been my imagination.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
I had no intention of telling him anything. If he’d never had a supernatural encounter, he wouldn’t understand. My description of an evil wind would undoubtedly elicit laughter or pity, and I didn’t like opening myself up to ridicule. I was a private person, and my ability to see ghosts was by necessity and desire a very personal thing. Nor was I ready to reveal the discovery of the grave. Not quite yet. Not until I’d had time to think it through calmly.
So I ran a hand through my gritty hair and shrugged. “I tangled with a briar patch. Occupational hazard.”
“You should probably go in and put something on those scratches.”
“I will later,” I said with a shrug.
“And by later, you mean after I’m gone.”
I smiled thinly. “You’ll have to excuse my manners. I just got home from work and I wasn’t expecting company.”
My own subtle rebuke had the intended effect, and for a moment he looked suitably contrite. “I apologize for just dropping by this way, but I won’t take much of your time.” He motioned to the porch. “If we could just sit for a minute?”
I hesitated. The sun was well below the treetops. It would be dusk soon, and even though I knew how to protect myself from ghosts, I’d never lived so close to a desecrated cemetery before. I had no idea what might rise from that lake. It was best not to take any chances.
“I promise I won’t stay long,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you about Thorngate.”
I gave an inward sigh. All I wanted at that moment was a hot bath, a soothing cup of chamomile and Angus keeping watch from the back porch. But I was my mother’s daughter, and the Southern social graces were as deeply ingrained in my nature as my father’s rules. I nodded and smiled politely as I moved over to the steps.
The air had chilled as the sun had gone down, and the woods crowded in on us. I could smell the evergreens as they loomed thick in the fading light, rank upon rank of towering sentinels. I drew Angus close as Thane and I sat side by side on the porch.
“What’s this about Thorngate?” I asked.
He paused for a moment as his gaze scoured the landscape. I had a feeling he was searching for something to say. “I haven’t been up there in years. How bad is it?”
“I’ve seen worse.” I gave him a puzzled glance. He faced straight ahead, and I could divine nothing from his profile. But instinct told me that the cemetery was the furthest thing from his mind, and I began to feel a little apprehensive. Why was he really here?
He turned suddenly and caught me staring. I glanced away as warmth stole up my neck. “I’ll tell you a little secret about Thorngate,” he said. “The only way to fully appreciate it is by moonlight. There’s an area near the mausoleum that was specifically designed for nighttime viewing.”
I thought about the stone angels with their strange, upturned faces and the silvery overgrowth of sage, wormwood and moonshine yarrow. “I recognized the remains of a white garden,” I told him. “I have one at home so I can well imagine how beautiful the cemetery would be in moonlight. Especially with all those statues. The faces are extraordinary.”
“Yes,” he said dryly. “We Ashers have always been very good at erecting handsome monuments to ourselves.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I suppose, except our ego has taken ostentation to a whole new level. I sometimes wonder if all that money spent on the dead might not have been put to better use on the living.”
“But cemeteries are for the living,” I said. “And those who pay tribute to the dead usually have a commensurate respect for life.”
He gave me a look that I couldn’t begin to interpret. “You really don’t know very much about us, do you?”
A brittle edge in his voice made me wonder again about his relationship with his family, but I merely shrugged.
Angus had planted himself in the middle by this time so that neither of us had to reach too far to pet him. He was no fool. I scratched behind one of the ear nubs while Thane ran his hand along the sharp ridge of his backbone. The rhythmic motion was very soothing, and I began to relax.
“How did you get involved in the cemetery business?” he asked.
“My father was a caretaker for many years. He taught me early on an appreciation for old Southern graveyards. When I was a kid, I used to think the cemetery by our house was enchanted. It was my favorite place to play. I called it my kingdom.”
“Is that why you’re known as The Graveyard Queen?”
“How in the world did you find out about that?” I asked in surprise.
“I looked you up.”
“And?”
“You’re accomplished for someone so young. Undergraduate degree in anthropology from the University of South Carolina, a master’s in archeology from Chapel Hill and you spent two years in the State Archeologist’s office before opening your own business. All very impressive.”
“It seems you’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to check me out,” I said coolly.
“Not really. It was all there on your website.”
“Oh. Right.”
He grinned, and I couldn’t help noticing how young and appealing he looked when he smiled. He should do more of that, but then…the same could undoubtedly be said about me.
“Were you worried about my credentials?” I asked.
“No. I was curious about you.”
That silenced me. I wasn’t looking at him, but I knew his eyes were on me. I could feel that gaze just as surely as I felt the sting of all those scratches.
“Actually, I did a little more than read your website,” he confessed. “I came across a newspaper account of the cemetery restoration in Charleston last spring.”
“Oak Grove,” I said and felt the familiar hitch in my breath when I remembered.
The knife scar from my struggle with a killer tingled on my upper arm even though the cut had healed months ago. But the wounds on the inside ran deeper. The fear had subsided, at least during daylight hours, but the memory of my entrapment would fester for years, gnawing at me relentlessly on nights when sleep was hard to come by.
Thane must have sensed my reluctance to dredge up that particular nightmare because he said nothing else on the subject. But his gaze on me was soft and so gently inviting that I found myself wanting to confide in him. I suddenly had an intense need to let everything that had happened all those months ago come pouring out, but I barely knew the man. I couldn’t talk to him about personal things. Especially not about Devlin.
We didn’t speak again for several long moments. Thane continued to stroke Angus’s back, and I felt myself slide even more deeply into relaxation. Maybe after the ordeal in the thicket, I was simply too bone tired to fight it. Had it not been getting on dusk, I would have been content to remain as we were, but it was long past time I learned the real purpose of his visit.
“You didn’t come here to talk to me about Thorngate, did you?” I asked. “Why are you really here?”
The hand stilled on Angus’s back and he glanced up. “I need a favor.”
I frowned. “What kind of favor?”
“What are your plans for the evening?”
I hadn’t anticipated that question. The amity I’d felt moments before vanished, and I found myself pulling away. “Early dinner, early bedtime,” I said stiffly. “I get up at the crack of dawn.”
“Could you make an exception just this once? I’d like you to come to a small dinner party at Asher House tonight. We have them every so often. My grandfather started the tradition a long time ago when the community first fell on hard times. Jobs were drying up, people were moving away. He wanted to find a way to show solidarity with the townspeople. A noble enough sentiment, I guess, but over the past few years, the evenings have degenerated into the same handful of guests. It’s become tiresome. We’re in dire need of fresh blood.”
The chill in the breeze made me shiver. “Thank you, but I’m not much on dinner parties. And even if I were, I don’t have anything suitable to wear. I packed mostly work clothes.”
His gaze drifted over me. “You can come as you are as far as I’m concerned.”
I gave an awkward laugh to cover my uneasiness. “I think I could at least manage a shower.”
“Is that a yes, then?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I’m really not in the mood for a party. It’s been a long day.” And I needed time alone to digest everything that had happened in the laurel bald.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to be a little more persuasive,” he said slowly.
“Meaning?”
“I believe I have something you want.”
My pulse quickened at his ominous tone, even though I suspected he was teasing me. “And what would that be?”
“A lot of the old cemetery records are stored at Asher House. I could arrange for you to have a look at them.”
“Luna told me the records were stored at the library in town.”
“Some of them are, but not the ones you’ll want to see. If you come to dinner, I’ll make sure you have full access.”
“That sounds very much like a bribe,” I accused.
He grinned. “Would it pique your interest to know there are pictures—actual photographs—of the cemetery from the late 1800s? The original site map should still be around, too, and who knows? We may even be able to dig up the family Bible.”
I thought about that hidden grave once again and wondered if any record of it might be included in the Asher family archives. I wanted to know who was buried there. In fact, I had to know. Unidentified graves were anathema to me.
“You drive a hard bargain,” I said with a sigh.
The green eyes gleamed. “Shall I pick you up at quarter of eight?”
“No, thank you. I’d rather drive.”
He gave me a knowing look. “So you can leave whenever you want?”
I shrugged.
He nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll see you at eight, then. You can’t miss the house. It’s just past the cemetery. Cross the creek and you’re there.”
Eleven
If the cemetery statuary was a tribute to Asher ego, then I could only surmise the house must pay homage to the family’s hubris. The place was massive, a towering cliff-top behemoth with three stories of verandas and half a dozen gleaming columns that seemed at least a mile high. I had expected something large but nothing quite so grand. Nor was I prepared for the floating illusion created by moonlight and clever illumination.
A circular drive swept me up and around to the front of the house, and my first inclination was to make the arc and keep going. For some inexplicable reason, I found myself intimidated, and I didn’t understand why. Status meant nothing to me. I’d been brought up by a gentle mother who embodied the more refined qualities of a Southern belle, but also by a father who came from the mountains of North Carolina and worked with his hands. I was a product of both and proud of it.
So why the nervous hesitation? Why that foreboding that warned me to stay away from this house and the Ashers?
My gaze traveled up the mansion’s façade as I climbed out of the car. The ground floor veranda was well lit, but the upper balconies lay in darkness. Even so, I fancied I could see a shadow way up high staring down at me. A ghost? I wouldn’t be surprised. Not in this house. Not in these hills. The whole area seemed afflicted by some dark spell, some evil enchantment. I knew how daft that would sound to anyone other than my father, but I couldn’t discount my instincts. Too many strange things had happened in the short time I’d been in Asher Falls.
I climbed the steps and rang the bell, feeling a little underdressed. The only decent outfit I’d brought with me was a plain black sheath that I often wore when invited to speak or give interviews. If I’d been back home in Charleston, I could have accessorized it with pearls and pumps, but tonight I had to make do with flats and a cardigan.
A uniformed maid answered the door and gave a little curtsy as I relinquished my bag. I had only a brief impression of crystal chandeliers illuminating a magnificent double staircase before I was ushered down a spacious hallway. As I walked along behind her, my gaze was drawn to the faded paintings on the walls—generations of Ashers, I presumed—and I couldn’t help but notice the curl of the brocade wallpaper and the water-stained ceiling. Despite its grandeur, the house smelled old and musty, and the air had the damp chill of a tomb. A place where time had stood still. A home more suited to the dead than the living.
The maid waved me through the arched doorway, and the room fell silent as I entered. I hastily searched the small crowd for Thane, and my gaze lit upon Luna Kemper, breathtakingly lovely in lavender chiffon. She smiled and nodded, but I had the distinct impression she was shocked to see me. She was flanked by two women. I recognized Sidra’s mother from the day before and the redhead from the photograph in Luna’s office. The picture had captured a hovering ghost in the background, and I searched the window behind them now for that scowling countenance. But I saw nothing more menacing than reflected candlelight.
Sidra’s mother wore a white sheath with coils of silver chain around her throat and the redhead, a vintage brocade cocktail dress in emerald-green. They watched me warily, the way one might observe something suspect in a petri dish, and I saw Sidra’s mother touch Luna’s arm and murmur something in her ear. I grew even more anxious and wished that I’d followed my initial inclination to circle the drive and head back home. Or that I’d at least taken a little more care with my makeup. Done something different with my hair. Then I told myself I was being ridiculous. When had the way I looked become such a pressing concern? Like my father, I worked with my hands. I had no need of frills in my wardrobe. As lovely as those dresses were, they wouldn’t suit me at all. But I knew the tension that knotted my stomach really had little to do with my appearance. The worry over my plain attire was merely a manifestation of some darker uneasiness that plagued me.
The three women had grouped themselves around a tall, broad-shouldered man who had his back to the door. He was the only one who hadn’t turned when I arrived. There was a fourth woman, but she blended so seamlessly into the background I nearly missed her. She was slight and nondescript, and her unfortunate choice of brown velvet all but swallowed her. She looked uncomfortable and so out of her element that I felt an instant kinship.
All of this was but a brief assessment before Thane materialized at my side, handsomely bedecked in a charcoal suit with a narrow green tie that complemented his eye color.
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Amanda Stevens
Deep in the shadowy foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains lies a dying town… My name is Amelia Gray. They call me the Graveyard Queen. I’ve been commissioned to restore an old cemetery in Asher Falls, South Carolina, but I’m coming to think I have another purpose here. Why is there a cemetery at the bottom of Bell Lake?Why am I drawn time and again to a hidden grave I’ve discovered in the woods? Something is eating away at the soul of this town—this withering kingdom—and it will only be restored if I can uncover the truth.“I love this book! Amanda Stevens's The Restorer gives the reader a fascinating character—who interacts with more fascinating characters! Ms. Stevens has managed the difficult feat of combining charm and chills.” —New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Heather Graham
Deep in the shadowy foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains lies a dying town…
My name is Amelia Gray. They call me The Graveyard Queen. I’ve been commissioned to restore an old cemetery in Asher Falls, South Carolina, but I’m coming to think I have another purpose here.
Why is there a cemetery at the bottom of Bell Lake? Why am I drawn time and again to a hidden grave I’ve discovered in the woods? Something is eating away at the soul of this town—this withering kingdom—and it will only be restored if I can uncover the truth.
Praise for
AMANDA
STEVENS
and
The Graveyard Queen Series
“The beginning of Stevens’ Graveyard Queen series left this reviewer breathless. The author smoothly establishes characters and forms the foundation of future story lines with an edgy and beautiful writing style. Her story is full of twists and turns, with delicious and surprising conclusions. Readers will want to force themselves to slow down and enjoy the book instead of speeding through to the end, and they’ll anxiously await the next installment of this deceptively gritty series.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Restorer, 4.5 stars
“Top Pick”
“The Restorer is by turns creepy and disturbing, mixed with mystery and a bit of romance. Amelia is a strong character who has led a hard and—of necessity—secret life. She is not close to many people, and her feelings for Devlin disturb her greatly. Although at times unnerving, The Restorer is well written and intriguing, and an excellent beginning to a new series.”
—Misti Pyles, Fort Worth Examiner
“I could rhapsodize for hours about how much I enjoyed The Restorer. Amanda Stevens has woven a web of intricate plot lines that elicit many emotions from her readers. This is a scary, provocative, chilling and totally mesmerizing book. I never wanted it to end and I’m going to be on pins and needles until the next book in The Graveyard Queen series comes out.”
—Fresh Fiction
The
Kingdom
Amanda Stevens
Contents
Chapter One (#ub4ed7440-1f38-5dc2-9834-47940aada8e5)
Chapter Two (#u6fea42ba-f816-571c-845a-9d68a67b8b55)
Chapter Three (#u9beb973f-d852-5ee9-a436-6eb9251d7b93)
Chapter Four (#uf55bd0aa-682f-580d-957d-dc156ae59431)
Chapter Five (#u9fc3e1de-9fa2-5e17-83c6-b63cbd04fe95)
Chapter Six (#u2a37d14a-24bf-52de-9c67-f232a15c5ec7)
Chapter Seven (#u1f4c3900-70d8-5914-8bf7-018ae1cc2d16)
Chapter Eight (#u6702b306-272d-5268-b168-c17b903f0e8d)
Chapter Nine (#uacb51dce-2efe-5e8e-8d3a-b58ec2e8cc91)
Chapter Ten (#uf17ae72c-b7d1-59d6-82af-f1a70eb47c10)
Chapter Eleven (#ufe7dd3ff-39d9-5ecb-9c0b-7bd366312c03)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)
One
The breeze off the water carried a slight chill even though the sun had barely begun its western slide. It was still hours until twilight. Hours until the veil between our world and the next would thin, but already I could feel the ripple of goose bumps at the back of my neck, a sensation that almost always signaled an unnatural presence.
I resisted the temptation to glance over my shoulder. Years of living with ghosts had instilled in me an aberrant discipline. I knew better than to react to those greedy, grasping entities, so I leaned against the deck rail and stared intently into the greenish depths of the lake. But from my periphery, I tracked the other passengers on the ferry.
The intimate murmurs and soft laughter from the couple next to me aroused an unexpected melancholy, and I thought suddenly of John Devlin, the police detective I’d left behind in Charleston. This time of day, he would probably still be at work, and I conjured up an image of him hunched over a cluttered desk, reviewing autopsy reports and crime scene photos. Did I cross his mind now and then? Not that it mattered. He was a man haunted by his dead wife and daughter, and I was a woman who saw ghosts. For as long as he clung to his past—and his past clung to him—I could not be a part of his life.
So I wouldn’t dwell on Devlin or that terrible door that my feelings for him had opened. In the months since I’d last seen him, my life had settled back into a normal routine. Normal for me, at least. I still saw ghosts, but those darker entities—the Others, my father called them—had drifted back into their murky underworld where I prayed they would remain. The memories, however, lingered. Memories of Devlin, memories of all those victims and of a haunted killer who had made me a target. I knew no matter how hard I fought them off, the nightmares would return the moment I closed my eyes.
For now, though, I wanted to savor my adventure. The start of a new commission filled me with excitement, and I looked forward to the prospect of uncovering the history of yet another graveyard, of immersing myself in the lives of those who had been laid to rest there. I always say that cemetery restoration is more than just clearing away trash and overgrowth. It’s about restoration.
The back of my neck continued to prickle.
After a moment, I turned to casually glance back at the row of cars. My silver SUV was one of only five vehicles on the ferry. Another SUV belonged to the couple, a green minivan to a middle-aged woman absorbed in a battered paperback novel, and a faded red pickup truck to an elderly man sipping coffee from a foam cup. That left the vintage black sports car. The metallic jet paint drew my appreciative gaze. In the sunlight, the shimmer reminded me of snake scales, and an inexplicable shiver traced along my spine as I admired the serpentine lines. The windows were tinted, blocking my view of the interior, but I imagined the driver behind the wheel, impatiently drumming fingers as the ferry inched toward the other side. To Asher Falls. To Thorngate Cemetery, my ultimate destination.
Brushing my hand against the back of my neck, I turned again to the water, mentally rummaging through the tidbits I’d gleaned from my research. Located in the lush Blue Ridge foothills of South Carolina, Asher Falls had once been a thriving community, but in the mid-eighties, one of the town’s most prominent citizens, Pell Asher, had struck an unsavory bargain. He’d sold acreage to the state to be used as a reservoir, and when the dam opened, the area flooded, including the main highway leading into Asher Falls. Already bypassed by a new freeway system, the town sank into oblivion. The only way in and out was by ferry or back roads, and the population soon withered. Asher Falls became just another statistic in a long line of dying rural communities.
I’d never set foot in the town, even to conduct a preliminary assessment of the cemetery. I’d been hired sight unseen by a real estate agent named Luna Kemper, who also happened to be the town librarian and the sole administrator of a generous donation made anonymously to the Daughters of our Valiant Heroes, a historical society/garden club for the beautification of Thorngate Cemetery. Luna’s offer couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. I needed a new project and a change of scenery, so here I stood.
As we approached the dock, the engines powered down and we came to a near standstill. The heavy shadows cast by towering trees at the shoreline deepened the water to black. At no point could I see the bottom, but for a moment, I could have sworn I saw something—someone—just below the surface. A pale face staring up at me… .
My heart took a nosedive as I leaned over the railing, searching those blackish depths. People without my ability would have undoubtedly wondered if the play of light and shadow on the water had tricked them. Or worse, if they might have spotted a body being washed ashore in the ferry’s wake. I thought instantly of a ghost and wondered who on board might be haunted by the golden-haired apparition floating underneath the water.
“I believe this is yours.”
A man’s voice pulled me back from the railing, and I turned reluctantly from the lake. I knew at once he belonged to the sports car. He and the vehicle had the same dark, sleek air. I thought him to be around my age—twenty-seven—with eyes the exact shade of a tidal marsh. He was tallish, though not so tall as Devlin, nor as thin. Years of being haunted had left the magnetic police detective hollow-eyed and gaunt while the stranger at my side appeared to be the picture of health—lean, sinewy and suntanned.
“I beg your pardon?”
He extended his hand, and I thought at first he meant to introduce himself, but instead he uncurled his fingers, and I saw my necklace coiled in his palm.
My hand went immediately to my throat. “Oh! The chain must have snapped.” I plucked the necklace from his hand and examined the links. They were unbroken, the clasp still securely closed. “How strange,” I murmured, unlatching the claw fastener and entwining the silver strand around my neck. “Where did you find it?”
“It was lying on the deck behind you.” His gaze slid downward as the polished stone settled into the hollow of my throat.
Something cold gripped my heart. A warning?
“Thank you,” I said stiffly. “I would have hated to lose it.”
“It’s an interesting piece.” He appeared to study the amulet intently. “A good luck charm?”
“You might say that.” Actually, the stone had come from the hallowed ground of a cemetery where my father had worked as caretaker when I was a child. Whether the talisman retained any of Rosehill’s protective properties, I had no idea. I only knew that I felt stronger against the ghosts when I wore it.
I started to turn back to the water, but something in the stranger’s eyes, a mysterious glint, held me for a moment longer.
“Are you okay?” he asked unexpectedly.
“Yes, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
He nodded toward the side of the ferry. “You were leaning so far over the railing when I came up, and then I saw your necklace on the deck. I was afraid you might be contemplating jumping.”
“Oh, that.” I gave a negligible shrug. “I thought I saw something in the water. Probably just a shadow.”
The glint in his eyes deepened. “I wouldn’t be too sure. You’d be surprised at what lies beneath the surface of this lake. Some of it occasionally floats to the top.”
“Such as?”
“Debris, mostly. Glass bottles, bits of old clothing. I even once saw a rocking chair drifting to shore.”
“Where does it all come from?”
“Flooded houses.” As he turned to stare out over the water, I studied his profile, drawn by the way the late afternoon sunlight burnished his dark hair. The coppery threads gave him an aura of warmth that seemed to be absent from the midnight-green of his eyes. “Before the dam was built, the lake was half the size it is now. A lot of property was destroyed when the water rose.”
“But that was years ago. You mean the houses are still down there?” I tried to peer through the layers of algae and hydrilla, but I could see nothing. Not even the ghostly face I’d spotted earlier.
“Houses, cars…an old graveyard.”
My gaze shot back to him. “A graveyard?”
“Thorngate Cemetery. Another casualty of the Asher greed.”
“But I thought…” Uneasiness crept over me. I was good at my job, but recovering an underwater cemetery wasn’t exactly my area of expertise. “I’ve seen recent pictures of Thorngate. It looked high and dry to me.”
“There are two Thorngates,” he said. “And I assure you that one of them does rest at the bottom of this lake.”
“How did that happen?”
“The original Thorngate was rarely used. It was all but forgotten. No one ever went out there. No one gave it a second thought…until the water came.”
I stared at him in horror. “Are you telling me the bodies weren’t moved before they expanded the lake?”
He shuddered. “Afterward, people started seeing things. Hearing things.”
I fingered the talisman at my throat. “Like what?”
He hesitated, his gaze still on the water. “If you look for this basin on any South Carolina map, you’ll find the Asher Reservoir. But around here, we call it Bell Lake.”
“Why?”
“In the old days, coffins were equipped with a warning system—a chain attached to a bell on the grave in case of a premature burial. They say at night, when the mist rolls in, you can hear those bells.” He glanced over the railing. “The dead down there don’t want to be forgotten…ever again.”
Two
A tremor shot through me a split second before I saw the gleam of amusement in the stranger’s eyes.
“Sorry,” he said with a contrite smile. “Local folklore. I couldn’t resist.”
“It’s not true then?”
“Oh, the cemetery is down there all right, along with cars, houses and God knows what else. Some claim they’ve even seen coffins float to the surface after a bad storm. But the bells…” He paused. “Put it this way. I’ve fished on this lake since I was a boy, and I’ve never heard them.”
What about the face I’d seen under the surface? I wondered. Was that real?
His lingering gaze made me uneasy, though I had no idea why. His eyes were just a little too murky, a little too mysterious—like the bottom of Bell Lake.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the railing. He wore jeans and a black pullover sweater that hugged his toned torso. An unexpected appreciation skimmed along my nerve endings, and I glanced quickly away because the last thing I needed was a romantic complication. I wasn’t over Devlin, might never be over him, and an attractive stranger could do nothing more than momentarily ease my intense longing. Assuage an almost physical ache that had settled deep inside my chest since the night I’d fled the house Devlin had shared with the very beautiful and the very dead Mariama.
“So what brings you to Asher Falls?” the stranger asked. “That is, if you don’t mind my asking. We don’t get a lot of visitors. We’re pretty well off the beaten track.”
His voice was pleasant enough, but I detected a slight edge to the question. “I’ve been hired to restore Thorngate Cemetery. The high and dry one.”
He didn’t respond, and after a moment, his silence drew my reluctant gaze. He was staring down at me, his eyes still gleaming, though not with amusement or even curiosity, but with a spark of what I could only name as anger. The emotion faded, but I knew I hadn’t imagined his irritation.
I tried not to read too much into it. I often encountered local opposition. People were protective and sometimes overly superstitious about their graveyards. I started to reassure him that I knew my business. Thorngate would be in good hands. But then I decided that might be a job best left to the woman who had hired me. She would know how to address the concerns of her community far better than I.
“So you’re here to restore Thorngate,” he murmured. “Whose idea was that?”
“The name of my contact is Luna Kemper. If you have questions, I suggest you direct them to her.”
“Oh, I will,” he said with a tight smile.
“Is there a problem?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“Not yet, but I can foresee some tension. Thorngate—the high and dry Thorngate—used to be the Asher family cemetery. After the original graveyard flooded, the burial site was donated to the town, along with enough land for expansion. A lot of people still have strong feelings about it.”
“The Ashers gave away their family cemetery? That seems a bit extreme. Why didn’t they just donate land for a new one?”
“Because a gesture was needed after what the old man did.” The green eyes darkened. “An atonement, if you want to know the truth. The irony, of course, is that the ostentatious memorials and family mausoleum only serve to highlight the divide between the Ashers and everyone else in town.”
“Is Pell Asher still alive?”
“Oh, yes. Very much so.” I saw another flicker of emotion before he glanced back at the water.
“What do you do in Asher Falls…if you don’t mind my asking?” I mimicked his earlier question, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I drink,” he said. “And I bide my time.” He turned with a look that sent another shiver skittering along my backbone. There was something in his voice, a dark undercurrent that made me think of drowned cemeteries and long-buried secrets. I wanted to glance away, but his heavy-lidded eyes were disarmingly hypnotic. “I’m Thane Asher, by the way. Heir apparent to the shriveling Asher Empire, at least until Grandfather rewrites his will. He tends to go back and forth between my uncle and me. I’m the fair-haired child this week. If he kicks the bucket before next Thursday, I’m golden.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I merely extended my hand. “Amelia Gray.”
“A pleasure.” He took my hand and squeezed. His was the warm, smooth palm of the privileged, unmarred by the calluses I’d acquired over the years from clearing brush and lifting headstones.
My thoughts turned to Devlin once again, and I imagined the stroke of his long, graceful fingers down my back.
Suppressing a shudder, I tried to pull away from Thane Asher’s grip, but he held me for a moment longer, his gaze locked with mine until the ferry docked with a slight jolt and he freed me.
“Here we are,” he said cheerfully. “Asher Falls. Welcome to our kingdom, Amelia Gray.”
Three
Disembarking behind the minivan, I pulled to the side of the road to reset my navigation system. My windows were down, and a cool wind swept through, carrying the verdant, piney scent of the Upcountry. The dog days had extended into September, and the bee balm and hedge nettle were still blooming, carpeting the meadows in lavender. Rising above the gentle hills of the Piedmont, the area was beautiful, but the landscape of looming mountains, deep shadows and the green-black forest of pine and hemlock was foreign to me. My beloved Lowcountry, with its steamy marshes and briny breezes, seemed a long way from here.
The roar of an engine drew my attention from the scenery, and I glanced at the road as the black sports car zoomed past my window, leaving a thin cloud of dust and exhaust in its wake.
“Welcome to our kingdom,” I muttered as I watched Thane Asher take a sharp curve without slowing. It was an impressive maneuver of reckless abandon, squealing tires and shimmering metallic paint. Then with a whine of the powerful motor, he was gone, and the quiet that settled around me seemed heavy and ominous, as if weighted by some dark enchantment.
I glanced in the rearview mirror at the ferry, mentally retracing my route to Charleston. To Devlin. But I was here now, and there was no turning back.
Pulling onto the road, I trailed Thane Asher into town.
* * *
Asher Falls had once been a picturesque town of cobblestone streets and classic revival-style buildings situated around a formal square shaded and shrouded by live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. Quaint was the word that came to mind, and it was only on second glance that one noticed the deteriorating vital signs of a dying community—boarded windows, sagging gutters, the stopped clock in the beautiful old tower.
I saw no one as I drove around the square. If not for a few scattered vehicles, I might have thought the place deserted. The streets were as silent as a tomb, the storefronts dark and lonely. The whole town had the quiet, forlorn air of the abandoned.
I pulled into a parking space and got out. Luna had emailed me the address of her real estate office, and I located it easily. But the door was locked, and I saw no sign of life through the window. Pecking on the glass, I waited a moment, then headed next door to the library, an impressive three-story structure with arches and columns reminiscent of some of my favorite buildings in Charleston.
A girl of about sixteen stood behind the counter sorting through a stack of books. She glanced up as I stepped inside but didn’t offer a smile or a greeting. Instead, she went back to her work, the pixie cut of her silver-blond hair revealing an anemic-looking face.
I took a moment to enjoy the familiar library scent before approaching the counter. I’d always loved the smell of old books and records and could happily immerse myself for hours in musty archives. Proper research was vital to a successful cemetery restoration, and as I took in the sagging bookshelves and shadowy alcoves, I felt a pulse of excitement at what I might discover—in the library and in Thorngate Cemetery.
The ancient floorboards creaked beneath my boots as I walked over to the counter. The blonde lifted her gaze but not her head. Her eyes were crystalline-blue, the clear, rinsed cyan of a spring sky. She was very slight, but I didn’t think her fragile. She had a presence about her, a subtle gravitas that seemed unusual and a bit unsettling in a girl of her age.
She still said nothing, but I didn’t take her silence for insolence. Rather, she seemed guarded and wary, like those of us who spend too much time in our own little world.
“My name is Amelia Gray. I’m here to see Luna Kemper. She’s expecting me.”
The girl spared a brief nod before finishing with the books. Then she turned and strode to a closed door, rapped once and slipped inside. A moment later she reappeared and motioned me around the counter. As she stepped aside to allow me to enter the room, I saw that her eyes were focused—not on me—but on a point just beyond my shoulder. I had the strangest feeling that if I followed her gaze, I would find nothing there. It was a disquieting sensation because, with few exceptions, I’m the one who sees what others cannot.
Before I had time to ponder her odd behavior, Luna Kemper rose, shooing aside a gorgeous gray tabby as she came around her desk to greet me. The scent of wildflowers suddenly filled the room as though she exuded the fragrance through her very pores. A vase of purple foxglove—Papa called them witch’s bells—sat on the corner of her desk, but I didn’t think the smell came from them. I’d never known that particular flower to have such a pungent perfume.
Luna looked to be in her early forties, a sensuous brunette with a lustrous complexion and eyes the color of a rain clouds. “Welcome, Amelia. I’m so happy to finally meet you in person.” She extended her hand and we shook. She wore a charcoal pencil skirt and a lavender sweater accentuated with a large moonstone pendant. Her easy smile and friendly demeanor were a welcome contrast to her subdued assistant, who was dressed similarly to me—black T, jeans and a lightweight jacket.
“How was your trip?” Luna asked, leaning a shapely hip against her desk.
“It was great. I haven’t been up this way in a long time. I’d forgotten how beautiful the foothills are this time of year.”
“You should take a trip up to the falls if you get a chance. It’s the most beautiful spot in the whole state, though, I expect I’m biased. I was born and raised in the foothills. My mother used to say I’d wither away without the mountains and the woods to roam in, but I love the occasional weekend jaunt to the beach. I have a cousin who has a place on St. Helena. Do you get down that way much?”
“No, not really. I stay pretty busy.”
“I sympathize. Running a business doesn’t leave much time for play. I can’t remember the last time I had a real vacation. Maybe next summer… .” She trailed off, her gaze moving to the door where the blonde still lurked. “Sidra, this is Amelia Gray, the cemetery restorer I told you about. Sidra Birch. She helps out in the library after school and sometimes on weekends.”
I glanced over my shoulder and nodded. “Hello, Sidra.”
She still said nothing but tilted her head and studied me so intently I grew uncomfortable. There was something about that girl. Something at once familiar and off-putting. She had the air of someone who knew dark things. Like me.
I suppressed a shudder as I turned back to Luna.
“I’m sure you’re anxious to get settled in,” she said briskly. “I’ve arranged for you to stay in Floyd Covey’s house while he’s in Florida tending to his mother. She’s laid up with a broken hip so I expect he’ll be gone for a couple of months at the very least—”
A sound from the doorway drew both our gazes. Sidra was staring at Luna with an expression I couldn’t begin to fathom.
“What’s wrong?” Luna asked.
“Why’d you put her way out there?”
“Why not?” Luna asked with a note of irritation.
Sidra’s blue gaze fell on me, then darted away. “It’s creepy.”
“Nonsense. It’s a lovely place right on the lake and the location is perfect. It’s halfway between town and the cemetery,” Luna explained. “I think you’ll be very comfortable there.”
“I’m sure I will be.” But Sidra’s comment, along with Thane Asher’s tale of restless souls beneath Bell Lake had planted an insidious seed.
Luna straightened from the desk. “Why don’t you make yourself at home while I run next door and fetch the key? We can go over the contracts and permits and then I’ll take you out to see the house.”
Sidra had already disappeared, and I assumed she’d gone back to her work behind the counter. After Luna left, I wondered if I should go out there and ask the girl what she’d meant about the Covey place. Then I decided it was probably best to wait and form my own opinion.
Killing time, I glanced around Luna’s office. It was one of those eclectic, overstuffed places that I’d always been drawn to. So many interesting and unusual treasures to admire, from the hand-carved pedestal desk to the brass ship’s bell mounted over the doorway. I hadn’t noticed the bell before, but now I detected the faintest ting, as if a draft had stirred the clapper. There was a second, narrow door with an arched top and an ornate keyhole plate that made me wonder where it led to.
Slowly, I circled the room, admiring the bric-a-brac in mahogany cabinets, everything from blown-glass figurines to antique pocket watches, from fossils and shells to an assortment of oddly shaped knives. Framed photographs covered the walls, most of them local historical buildings, but the people shots interested me more. One in particular caught my attention—a picture of three young women, arms entwined as they stared dreamily into the camera. I recognized a teenage Luna, and one of the other girls bore an uncanny resemblance to Sidra, but I knew it couldn’t be her. A good twenty-five years separated their ages, and besides, the hairstyles and clothing screamed the eighties. Sidra wouldn’t have even been born then.
A fourth girl hovered in the shadowy background, her wavy hair floating about her in a breeze as she glared into the lens. I felt an odd tightening in my chest as I studied that stony face, and for the longest time, I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, couldn’t tear my eyes from that fiery glower.
“Are you all right?”
I took a step back, Sidra’s voice breaking whatever hold the photograph had on me. I turned to find her watching me from the doorway. Light from the window picked up the silvery threads in her hair, creating an ethereal illusion that, along with her paleness, made me wonder if she might be a ghost. I’d been fooled before, but since Luna could interact with her, too, the likelihood seemed slim.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked with a frown.
“Was I staring? I’m sorry,” I managed to say calmly. “I was just thinking how much you resemble the girl in this picture.”
She came over to stand beside me. “That’s my mother, Bryn.” Pointing to the redhead on her mother’s right, she said, “That’s Catrice, and, of course, you know Luna. The three of them were best friends in high school. Still are, I guess.”
“Do they all live here in Asher Falls?”
She hesitated. “You heard what Luna said. She’d wither away if she left the mountains. My mother would, too, I think. None of them would last long out in the real world.”
“This isn’t the real world?”
“God, I hope not,” she said with a shiver.
“You don’t like it here?”
“Like it? This place is a ghost town,” she said, and something in her voice made me shiver.
“Sounds as if Luna manages to stay busy.”
“Oh, yes. Luna is a very busy woman.”
We were both staring at the photograph, and I could see Sidra’s pale refection in the glass.
“I like her name,” I said. “It’s unusual but it suits her. And yours is unusual, too.”
“I’m named for her. Sidra means ‘of the stars,’ and Luna means moon, so…” She shrugged. “Kind of cheesy, but they’ve always been into that mystical stuff.”
“Who’s the fourth girl?”
I heard her breath catch and glanced over to find her in the grip of some strong emotion—eyes wide, hand pressed to her heart—but then she swallowed and tried to recover. “What girl?” she asked in a thin voice.
“The one in the background. Her.” I put a finger over the glass and felt a rush of something unpleasant go through me.
Sidra said nothing. In the ensuing silence, I heard the bell again, so faintly I wondered if my imagination had supplied the sound.
“There’s no one else in the picture,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I could clearly see an angry countenance in the background, but suddenly I understood. Whoever she was, she’d already been dead when the picture was taken. The photographer had captured her ghost.
It was the clearest shot of an entity I’d ever seen. But…if I was the one who saw ghosts, why was Sidra so distressed?
“It’s just a shadow or some trick of the light,” she insisted. “There’s no one else in the picture.”
Our gazes met and I nodded. “Yes, that must be it,” I agreed, as icy fingers skated up and down my spine.
Four
As I followed Luna’s Volvo through town a little while later, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Sidra’s face when I mentioned the fourth girl in the photograph. I’d always assumed my ability to see ghosts was a rare thing, and because of Papa’s warnings, I’d lived a solitary existence. I had no close friends, no confidante, no one other than Papa with whom I could share my secret. I’d spent most of my life behind cemetery walls, cloistered and protected in my graveyard kingdoms. And at times I’d been unbearably lonely.
But now I had to wonder if Sidra could see them, too, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that possibility. The ghosts were a heavy burden. I didn’t wish such a dark gift on anyone.
My mind drifted back to my first encounter. I could remember that twilight so well…the glimmering aura beneath the trees in Rosehill Cemetery and the peculiar way the old man’s form had become clearer to me as the light faded. Somehow, I’d known he was a ghost, but I hadn’t been so frightened until Papa had sat me down and grimly explained our situation. Not everyone could see them, he’d told me, and it was important that we do nothing to give ourselves away. Ghosts were dangerous to people like us, because the one thing they craved above all else was acknowledgment, so they could feel a part of our world again. And in order to sustain their earthly presence, they attached like parasites to the living, draining away energy and warmth in much the same way a vampire fed on blood.
Papa had spent a lot of time teaching me how to protect myself from the ghosts. He’d given me a set of rules by which I had always lived my life: never acknowledge the dead, never stray far from hallowed ground, never associate with those who are haunted and never, ever tempt fate.
And then I’d met John Devlin. I’d lost myself in Devlin, lost all sense of reason. I’d allowed his ghosts into my world, strayed too far from hallowed ground and, because of my weakness, because of our passion, a door had been opened.
If only I’d listened to Papa’s warning… .
If only I’d followed his rules… .
But I’d foolishly let down my guard, and now I could not unsee what I’d witnessed the night I fled Devlin’s house.
He was still my weakness, and if I’d learned anything in the past few months, it was the necessity of shoring up my defenses against him…and his ghosts. No matter what I had to do.
As I kept pace with the Volvo, I caught a flash of metallic jet paint and vintage lines out of the corner of my eye. Thane Asher’s car was parked in front of a place called the Half Moon Tavern, and I thought instantly of what he’d told me on the ferry. “I drink,” he’d said. “And I bide my time.” I couldn’t imagine a more depressing existence, but I knew nothing of his family or his background, and it wasn’t my place to judge.
As the tavern receded in my rearview mirror, I tried to purge Thane Asher—and Devlin—from my thoughts by concentrating on the passing scenery. Edged by the forest on either side, the road narrowed and the quaint gingerbread houses I’d noticed earlier disappeared. For the longest time, I saw no sign of humanity other than an abandoned grain elevator and the occasional dilapidated shed. I rolled down my window, and a faint but ubiquitous smell of mildew and compost seeped in.
Up ahead, Luna turned left onto a single-lane trail that led straight back into the woods. Where the trees had been thinned, I could see the points of a roof.
A moment later, I pulled up beside her and got out of the car as my gaze traveled over the arched windows and steep gables of the house. Luna waited for me on the front porch, key in hand, but I took my time joining her. I needed to orient myself to the surroundings.
Hugging my arms to my body, I let the deep silence settle over me. We were sheltered by woods and the looming mountains in the distance, but there were no bird calls from the trees, no scampering feet in the underbrush. I heard no sound at all except for the faint whisper of a breeze through the leaves.
I turned back to Luna. She stood watching me with the oddest expression, her thumb caressing the moonstone cabochon she wore at her throat. She looked…bemused, as though she couldn’t quite figure me out.
“Well?” She folded her arms and leaned a shoulder against a newel post. “What do you think of the place?”
“It’s so quiet.”
She smiled dreamily, lifting her face to the sky. “That’s what I love about it.”
Her voice held a husky timbre I hadn’t noticed before, and she looked very different to me now. No, not different, I amended. She looked…more. Her figure appeared fuller, her skin creamier, her hair so darkly lush I had to wonder if she’d donned a wig in the car. Everything about her—the sparkle of her eyes, the enigmatic curve of her lips, that earthy sensuality—seemed heightened by the natural setting.
For some reason, I was reminded of that photograph in her office and the furious visage lurking in the background. And then I heard, very faintly, the wind in the trees again as I glanced up at the house.
“Was this place once a church?”
She cocked her head in surprise. “How did you know that?”
“The architecture—carpenter Gothic, isn’t it?—was commonly used for small churches in the nineteenth century.” I couldn’t help but wonder about the selection for my temporary quarters. The hallowed ground of churches and some cemeteries offered protection from ghosts. But how would Luna Kemper know about that?
“What happened to it?” I asked.
Those gray eyes gave me a curious appraisal. “Nothing sinister. The congregation dwindled until it became more feasible to attend one of the larger churches in Woodberry. The place stood empty for a number of years, and then Floyd Covey bought it and gave it a complete renovation. All the modern amenities. You should be quite…cozy here.”
I noted the slight hesitation as I nodded and followed her into the house, pausing just over the threshold to allow the peace of a hallowed place to envelop me. I would be cozy here, but more important, I would be safe from ghosts. Which once again begged the question as to why Luna Kemper had picked this particular house for me.
“You mentioned something on the phone about an anonymous donation,” I said as I watched her move gracefully about the room. She seemed to bask in the late-afternoon sunshine pouring through the pointed arched windows. She reminded me of the gray tabby in her office—sleek, exotic and a bit superior. “I was just wondering how involved this person was in making the arrangements. I’m not the only cemetery restorer in the state. Was the decision to hire me yours or the donor’s?”
She smiled. “Does any of this really matter?”
“I suppose not. But I am curious how it all came about.”
“There’s no big mystery. It really is as simple as I explained it,” she said.
“And this house…was that your idea, as well?”
“I’m the only real estate agent in Asher Falls. Who would know the available property better than I? But if you’re dissatisfied with the accommodations—”
“No, it’s not that. This place is perfect, actually.”
Her smile seemed knowing. “Then let me show you the rest.”
Once again, I obligingly followed her lead. The bedrooms and bath were located on one side of the house, the living room and large eat-in kitchen on the other. A screened porch had been added to the back, and already I looked forward to having my morning tea out there watching the sunrise.
We walked single file down a flagstone trail to the water and strolled along a private dock. As the sun dipped below the treetops, I felt a familiar bristle of apprehension, that eerie harbinger along my backbone that preceded every twilight. The veil was lifting. Soon, the ghosts would come through.
A boat bobbed in the gentle waves at the end of the pier, but I saw no other movement. Heard nothing at all. In that in-between moment of light and dark, the night creatures hadn’t yet stirred.
The air turned chilly, and I was glad for my jacket as I stood contemplating the water. I saw something float to the surface and thought it might be an apparition before realizing in relief it was my own reflection.
I turned to say something to Luna, then stilled as I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye. A scrawny brown mutt—part German shepherd—stood at the end of the wooden dock gazing down at us. The dog was so emaciated, the outline of his ribs was clearly visible beneath the coarse fur. But what disturbed me even more was the wretched creature’s deformity. His ears were missing, and his snout and mouth were horribly scarred from some trauma.
“What happened to that poor dog’s face?” I kept my voice soft so as not to spook the animal, but he started when Luna whirled.
She scowled in distaste. “Looks like a bait dog.”
“A what?”
“Do you know anything about dog fighting?”
My stomach turned over. “I know it’s illegal. And it sickens me.”
She nodded absently. “Bait dogs often have their ears cut off to avoid unnecessary injuries, and their jaws are wired shut so they can’t bite the fight dogs. When the owners have no more use for them, they turn them loose.”
A wave of rage washed over me. “How could anyone be that cruel?”
“This isn’t Charleston,” she warned. “You’re apt to see a lot of things around here you don’t understand.”
“What’s not to understand?” I asked in disgust. “Someone has abused this dog and we need to get him to a vet.”
“A vet? There isn’t one for miles. Best just to leave him be. He’ll go back into the woods eventually.”
“But he needs help.” When I would have started toward him, Luna caught my arm.
“I wouldn’t do that. He could be rabid for all you know.”
“He doesn’t look rabid, he looks hungry.”
“For God’s sake, don’t feed the creature!”
Her vehemence startled me, and I glanced at her as a rush of fresh anger warmed my cheeks.
Before I could stop her, she clapped loudly, scaring the poor dog. “Get out of here! Go on, get!”
“Don’t do that!”
Now it was I who caught her arm, and she spun, eyes blazing. We faced off, the malicious curl of her lips chilling me to the bone. I almost took a step back from her, but I caught myself. Our gazes clashed for the longest moment, then her expression softened so rapidly I thought I might have imagined the whole troubling confrontation.
“Strays are common around here, I’m afraid.” She gave a regretful shrug. “You can’t feed them all, nor can you allow yourself to get overly sentimental. But I expect you’ll have to learn the hard way.”
I didn’t care to argue, so I let the matter drop. The dog had already retreated to the edge of the woods where he watched warily from the shadows. He observed us for a moment longer before slinking back into the trees.
Luna glanced at her watch. “I should be getting back to town. I have a meeting tonight.”
We walked around the house to the driveway.
“If you need anything, you have my number.” She opened her car door, anxious to be on her way. “Tilithia Pattershaw is your nearest neighbor. Everyone calls her Tilly. She’s been keeping an eye on the place while Floyd is away. I asked her to come by yesterday to clean the house, and she left some food in the refrigerator. She’s just down that path.” She waved toward the woods. “She may drop by now and again to check up on you. Don’t be alarmed. She’s a little peculiar, but she means well.”
“I’ll be on the lookout for her.”
Luna smiled as her eyes strayed to the woods. “Oh, you won’t see Tilly until she’s ready to be seen.”
I followed her gaze to the trees. Was the woman out there right now? I wondered.
“The cemetery is a mile or so up the road,” Luna said. “There’s a turnoff just after you round the first curve. You’ll see it.”
“Thanks.”
She climbed into her car, started the ignition and waved as she drove off. The sound of the engine faded, the silence deepened, and I turned once again to scour the trees.
Five
After Luna left, I carried my bags into the house, then made one last trip to the car to make sure I had everything. As I turned from the vehicle, I felt that warning tingle again and realized that twilight was upon me. The evening was still but no longer silent. I could hear the trill of a loon somewhere out on the lake and, even more distant, the eerie howl of a dog. I thought about the mutt that had crept out of the woods earlier and wondered where he’d gone off to.
Inside, I headed straight for the bedroom where I unpacked my clothes and toiletries, and then I made another trip through the house, familiarizing myself with all the nooks and crannies while making sure all the doors and windows were secure. Ending my tour in the kitchen, I checked the refrigerator to see what Tilly Pattershaw had left for dinner. Peeling back the foil on a mysterious casserole, I sniffed, grimaced and quickly recovered. Thankfully, the crisper yielded enough fresh vegetables to assemble a salad, and I settled down to eat my dinner at a small table that looked out on the lake. I also had a view of the woods, and I could just make out the path to Tilly’s house that Luna had mentioned. The stir of the low-hanging branches over the trail caught my attention, and my scalp prickled a warning. It wasn’t that I saw anything specific, but more a gnawing suspicion that something was out there. Tilly?
I didn’t want to stare directly into the forest for fear that the watcher might not be of this world. So I pretended to admire the last shimmer of light on the water while I studied the woods from my periphery. A few moments later, a shadow detached from the black at the tree line and moved toward the house.
My heart thudded until I realized it was the battered dog. Evidently, he had retreated into the woods, waiting for Luna to depart before making another cautious foray into the yard. He sniffed the ground and rooted through dead leaves, then finding nothing of interest, plopped down in my direct line of sight between the house and the lake. Even in the fading light, I could see the protrusion of his rib cage and the mutilated head and face. And yet, despite everything he’d been through, he carried himself with great dignity, with great soul.
I got up and searched through the refrigerator again, throwing together an unappetizing bowl of casserole and rice, and carried it outside. Ever aware of the gathering dusk, I moved carefully down the steps and placed the food halfway between the porch and where he lay. He didn’t move until I’d retreated behind the screen door, and then he trotted over to smell the contents. Within a matter of moments, the bowl was licked clean, and he stood staring at me with dark, limpid eyes.
Without thought to the danger—from him, from the twilight—I opened the door and eased down the steps. He looked at the empty bowl, gave a little whine, then finally came over to nuzzle my hand. I rubbed behind the nubs where his ears should have been and cupped his scarred snout in my hands. He whimpered again, this time more in contentment, I thought, as I ran my hand along his side, feeling his bones.
“Still hungry? Well, don’t worry. There’s plenty more where that came from. We’ll wait a bit, though, so we don’t make you sick. Tomorrow I’ll drive into town and get you some proper food.”
His nose was cool and moist against my hand.
“What’s your name, I wonder. Or do you even have one? You look like an Angus to me. Strong and noble. Angus. Has a nice ring to it.”
I prattled on in a soft voice until he plopped down at my feet, and I had to lean over to scratch him. We stayed that way for the longest time until I felt him tense beneath my hand. The hair along his back quilled as he emitted a low, menacing growl.
I continued to pet him even when he rose warily and slanted his head toward the lake. Beneath my lashes, I glanced past him and saw nothing at first. Then my own hair lifted as my eyes adjusted to the twilight.
She was there at the end of the dock, a diaphanous form wavering like a reed in a current. I kept my expression neutral even though my heart had started to pummel my chest. Somehow I managed to soothe the dog even as he whirled toward the water and bared his teeth. Animals—both domestic and feral—are highly attuned to ghosts. They not only see them, but also can sense them. That was one of the reasons Papa had never allowed me to have a pet. I’d had a hard enough time learning to ignore the ghosts, let alone an animal’s reaction to them.
“What’s the matter?” I asked Angus. “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you? Nothing out there but squirrels and rabbits and maybe a possum or two.”
And a ghost.
I couldn’t see her face, but I had the impression she’d been young when she died. She had long, wavy hair that blew over her shoulders in a nonexistent breeze, and she wore a black dress that seemed much too austere for her willowy frame. But she was exactly how one might want to envision a ghost—ephemeral and lovely, with no outward sign of any physical distress she might have suffered in life.
And then she turned her dead gaze on me. I wasn’t staring at her but I could feel it. Like an icy command. Look at me!
Which was crazy because she couldn’t know that I saw her. I’d done nothing to give myself away. And yet I felt something inside my mind, a nebulous tentacle that gave me the blackest of chills. I’d never experienced anything like it, even with Devlin’s ghosts. Shani, the child entity, had made contact on at least two occasions, and Mariama’s specter had tried to manipulate me in Devlin’s house. But nothing like this had ever happened. What I felt now wasn’t a possession, but some strange telepathic link that allowed me to sense the ghost’s bewilderment. The connection terrified me, and I had to use all my willpower not to jump to my feet and dart inside the house. But I knew better. The most dangerous thing I could do was acknowledge the presence of the dead.
Angus, meanwhile, had placed his quivering body firmly between the apparition and me. Strong and noble, indeed. I couldn’t have loved him more at that moment had we been lifelong friends, because I was pretty sure he would have liked nothing more than to turn tail and run for the woods.
“Good boy,” I whispered.
A light wind rippled through the leaves and the trees began to whisper. Who are you? Why are you here?
Presently, I got up to go inside. The ghost was still there at the end of the pier, staring after me. Angus whimpered, and I opened the screen door so that he could come up on the porch. As I turned to secure the latch, another breeze sighed through the trees.
Is it really you?
* * *
For almost as long as I could remember, ghosts had been a part of my world. Papa used to take me out to the cemetery on Sunday afternoons, and I would help him tidy graves as we waited for twilight, waited for the veil to thin so the ghosts could come through. At first, I’d tried to avoid the excursions, but then I realized it was Papa’s way of teaching me how to live with our gift. After a while, I grew so accustomed to those floating specters I never reacted to their presence even when I felt the chill of their breath down my back or their wintry fingers in my hair. I could even walk among them and not give myself away.
But then Devlin had come along, and Papa’s rules could no longer protect me. My defenses had been breached by his ghosts. And now another phantom had entered my world, one with an ability that had allowed me to sense her confusion as I suspected she could sense mine. This intuitive connection was new and frightening because I not only had to guard my physical reaction but also now my thoughts. What would I have to protect next…my soul?
I lay awake that night for the longest time, dwelling on all the old questions. I’d never understood my place in this world or the next. Why had I been given this gift if not for some larger purpose? Papa never had answers. He didn’t like to talk about the ghosts. It was our secret, he would say. Our cross to bear. And we must never, ever tell Mama. She wouldn’t understand.
Looking back, I could see how easily he’d put me off…about the ghosts, about my birth, about everything. He and Mama had taken me in when I was only a few days old, but I still knew nothing of how I had come to them or of my biological parents. All my queries had been met with a wariness that had made me so uncomfortable I’d finally stopped asking. But I knew there were things they hadn’t told me. Especially Papa. He’d never even mentioned that realm of unseen ghosts—the Others—until it was too late, until I’d already fallen for Devlin. Now I had to wonder what else he’d kept from me. What other terrors lay in wait for me?
My thoughts churned on and on. Eventually, I drifted off, only to be awakened by the distant toll of bells. In my hazy, half-asleep state, I wondered if the faint tinkle might be a wind chime somewhere in the woods—at Tilly Pattershaw’s perhaps. But each peal was separate and distinct, as if from a chorus of ringers. Far from melodic, however, the notes were random and discordant, almost angry.
I got up and padded barefoot through the darkened house, glad that I’d taken the time to familiarize myself with the layout. I moved easily from room to room with only the moonlight to guide me.
Pausing at the kitchen window, I glanced out on the back porch where I’d left Angus. He, too, had been roused by the bells. Or by something. He’d planted himself in front of the door, and I almost expected to see a ghost peering in through the screen. But his maimed head was lifted as he looked out over the yard and down the stepping-stones to the lake where a thick mist had fallen over the water. Or had it risen from the underworld?
The bells were muffled by that mist. I could barely hear them now. Only a faint peal every so often until the sound faded entirely.
I stood there shivering on my little piece of hallowed ground as I watched the lake. The night was very still, but some infinitesimal breeze stirred the mist. Through that swirling miasma, I thought I detected a humanlike form, the writhe of some restless spirit.
And I realized then that the underwater graveyard lay just beyond my doorstep.
Six
The light was still gray when I arose the next morning, but a golden aura hovered just above the horizon. If dusk fed my fears, dawn brought a sense of anticipation, and I luxuriated in the knowledge that the whole day stretched before me without ghosts.
After a quick shower, I carried a cup of tea out to the porch to watch the sun come up. Ribbons of mist hung from the treetops, but most of the haze had already burned off the lake. The air was crisp and clean, like the smell of line-dried laundry, and for the first time, fall seemed inevitable. Overnight a patchwork of crimson and gold had been woven into the dark green backdrop of the woods.
I coaxed Angus off the porch with the rest of the casserole and left him to enjoy his breakfast while I packed up my gear and headed for the cemetery. It was so early I had the road to myself. Although, for all I knew, there was never any traffic. Like the town, the countryside appeared deserted, but I wasn’t completely alone. As I rolled down the window, I caught a whiff of wood smoke from someone’s chimney. It was such a beautiful day. I didn’t want to sully my mood with midnight doubts. A fresh project was a time for renewal. A time for restoration.
As I came out of the first curve, I spotted the turnoff. The cemetery was nestled on the side of a steep, craggy hill and half-hidden by a thicket of cedar, an evergreen long associated with coffins and funeral pyres because of its spicy aroma and resistance to corrosion.
The trees were so thick in places the sun was almost completely blocked, but every now and then a shaft of light would angle just right through the feathery boughs to blind me. I found myself creeping along so that I wouldn’t hit a bounding rabbit. The grove teemed with wildlife. I even saw the dart of a fox between two hemlocks, and as I came to a stop in front of the entrance, the flutelike trill of the wood thrushes filled the air.
Armed with cell phone, camera and sketch pad, I got out of the SUV. There was a gate, but it wasn’t locked. Luna had told me the day before that the cemetery used to close after dark, but no one bothered with it anymore. However, she’d supplied me with copies of permits and other pertinent paperwork just in case anyone challenged my presence. I wondered if she knew of any specific objections to the restoration. Thane Asher had hinted at trouble.
I closed the gate behind me and then glanced around. Thorngate was smallish for a public cemetery but large for a family burial site. It was easy to spot the delineation between the two. The terrain nearest the gate had been flattened and the markers placed flush to the ground to accommodate lawn mowers. There were no fences or walls to separate the plots, no excessive adornment on the stones, though I did spot personal mementoes on some of the mounded graves. It was a modern, space-saving cemetery that did little to inspire the self-reflection and tranquility of my favorite old graveyards. By contrast, the original family site was lush and Gothic, clearly influenced by Victorian perceptions of romance, death and melancholy.
The first order of business was to walk the grounds, recording any special features and anomalies that would be included on the new site map. As I wandered through the public area, I spotted a couple of markers with familiar names—Birch and Kemper. I also saw a fresh grave near the fence. The dirt was mounded and covered with dying flowers.
As I passed through the old arched lych-gate into the Asher section, the sparse landscaping gave way to mossy stepping-stones, curling ivy and the remnants of what I thought might be a white garden inside a circle of magnificent stone angels. The heads tilted eastward, toward the rising sun, and the hanging branches of a cedar dappled the early-morning light that fell upon their faces. But the expressions were neither serene nor forlorn as I’d come to expect from cemetery angels. Instead, I found them arrogant. Maybe even defiant. And these statues marked the resting places of the lesser Ashers. The remains of the immediate family were interred in a large mausoleum decorated with elaborate reliefs and stained-glass portals.
The door was unlocked, and I shoved it open to peer inside, noting at once the absence of wall crypts. The mausoleum was a façade for an underground tomb, but I would save that inspection for later when I was better equipped to deal with any snakes that might be looking for a place to hibernate. Burial chambers were notorious lairs—not to mention a breeding ground for spiders. A childhood encounter with a black widow had left me with a nasty infection and lingering arachnophobia, an inconvenient anxiety for someone in my field, but I’d learned to cope.
Backing out of the mausoleum, I closed the door and turned as I brushed imaginary cobwebs from my hair. Then I froze. A man stood just inside the fence, staring across the headstones at me. He reminded me of the old man’s ghost that haunted Rosehill Cemetery. From a distance, he had a similar appearance—tall, withered, dressed in black. But this man’s hair was gray and fell in limp hanks past the shoulders of a heavy wool overcoat. I’d already shed my lightweight jacket, so I thought his choice of outerwear on such a warm day a bit peculiar.
I didn’t think him a ghost, but the rules had changed since I met Devlin. This man’s lack of an aura didn’t make him human any more than his strange appearance or statuelike stillness made him a specter.
As I hovered indecisively on the mausoleum steps, he did something that was neither human nor ghostlike. He dropped to the ground and slithered underneath the fence where he rose on hands and feet to scurry like a spider into the thicket.
I stared after him in astonishment, my skin crawling in distaste. How bizarre and utterly unnerving that he should mimic my thoughts about snakes and spiders. I shuddered. A coincidence, surely. But coming on the heels of the ghost I’d seen on the pier last night, I was thoroughly shaken and couldn’t get the man’s grotesque behavior out of my mind. It left me with a terrible feeling, as if a message had been sent, but I didn’t know how to interpret it.
The premonition lingered as I finished my walk. All the while, I kept a constant vigil and a can of mace handy, just in case. I was always careful in isolated cemeteries, but more so now than ever. My experience with a killer a few months earlier had left me wary and cautious. And now the appearance of that strange man. I couldn’t help shivering every time I thought of him.
Working well into the afternoon, I used colored flags to stake a grid that would help me keep track of the graves once I started to photograph. Hunger finally drove me back to my car. After a bite to eat, I decided to head into town to do a little research at the library. I also thought now might be a good time to drop in at the police station and make my presence known. Apart from my own safety, an introduction was common courtesy. In these small communities, people often became apprehensive when they saw a stranger poking about in a graveyard, and suspicion could often be averted by developing a cordial relationship with local law enforcement.
As I drove down the hill, I saw the gray-haired man again. He walked along the side of the road, pulling a rusted toy wagon behind him. His coat was so long it dragged the ground, and the tail billowed in the slight breeze. He turned to stare at me as I drove past, and though I didn’t return his scrutiny, I had the impression of pale eyes, jutting cheekbones and a hawklike nose. My window was down, and I caught the scent of rotting flesh a split second before I saw the animal carcass in his wagon. I couldn’t tell what it was, but the body looked to be the size of a possum or raccoon.
Quickly, I raised the window, trapping a fly that pestered me all the way into town.
* * *
As I entered the town proper, I noticed yet again the empty streets. A few cars were parked around the square, but I didn’t see anyone as I crossed over to the library. Inside, silence enveloped me. It wasn’t the usual library hush, but the deep stillness of an abandoned place. Which was crazy because I’d met Sidra and Luna in there yesterday. I assumed Sidra was still in school and Luna was probably next door at the real estate office. I told myself there was nothing sinister about their absence, but I found myself wincing at those creaking floors.
I had no idea where to look for the cemetery records, but I decided to do a little browsing. The color-coded signs tacked to the end of the bookshelves led me past fiction, nonfiction and biographies to the religion and history aisles where I scanned titles searching for something local. Alongside copies of The South Carolina Travel Guide and Wildflowers of the Blue Ridge Mountains were more esoteric titles: Mountain Magic, Folklore of the Appalachians and Frazer’s The Golden Bough, which I’d read in one of my anthropology classes for extra credit. As I pulled it from the shelf to skim the introduction, I heard someone laugh—a low, throaty female chortle that gave me goose bumps.
Turning, I glanced behind me. Nothing. I walked around to the next aisle. No one.
Then I glanced up. The gray tabby I’d seen in Luna’s office blinked down at me from the top shelf.
I went back to my reading, and now I heard a man’s voice, taunting and furtive. The library was empty, but I wasn’t alone. I walked along the wall, gazing down each row of bookshelves. When I got to the end, the voices grew louder, and my gaze dropped to an ornate grill that covered an old vent. Someone was in another room, and the air shaft carried their sound straight to me. Had I been standing in another part of the library, I probably wouldn’t have heard them at all.
Should I say something? I wondered. Or at least clear my throat to alert them of my presence?
As I stood there contemplating the proper etiquette, the murmurs turned to moans. Husky, sexual and extremely aggressive.
I backed away from the vent, but the sound followed me. Quickly, I shelved The Golden Bough only to dislodge another book. To my dismay, the heavy volume fell to the floor with a bang that sounded to me as loud as a shotgun blast.
“What was that?” The masculine voice sprang out of the air shaft, and I jumped. “I thought you said no one comes in here this time of day.”
“No one does,” the woman replied. “It was probably a bird flying into a window.”
“That does seem to happen when you’re around.”
“A lot of things happen when I’m around.”
“Yes,” he said. “And not much of it good.”
I was pretty sure the woman was Luna, but I didn’t wait around to hear her response. As quietly as I could, I exited the building and closed the door behind me. I’d recognized something in the male voice, too, and that familiarity niggled at me. I found myself looking up and down the block for a flash of metallic black paint. If Thane Asher’s car was parked nearby, I couldn’t spot it. Not that it mattered. If he had a relationship with Luna Kemper, it was none of my business.
But the echo of those feral moans followed me as I hurried away from the library.
* * *
I found the police station a few blocks over, housed in a grand old building that had been the county courthouse in more prosperous times. Despite an overall air of decay, there was still something dignified and a little awe-inspiring about the carved motifs and towering columns. As I approached the front entrance, my gaze rose to the scene depicted in the entablature—an eagle with a palmetto branch in its clutches. A popular sentiment during Reconstruction and one that appeared on a number of public buildings all over the state.
Inside, I followed the signs down a long corridor and through a set of tall wooden doors marked Police Headquarters. No one manned the front desk, nor did I see anyone milling about in the tiled lobby. I didn’t want a repeat of the library situation, so I called out, “Hello?”
Someone appeared in the doorway of one of the back rooms, the light hitting him in such a way that I could see little more than the silhouette of an average-size man. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, hello. I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself. I’m Amelia Gray. I’ll be working in Thorngate Cemetery for the next few weeks, and I thought it a good idea to let you know in advance in case you get calls or complaints.”
“What are you doing in the cemetery?” The voice coming from that featureless face was curiously unsettling. He spoke in a pleasant enough tone, but I detected a disagreeable edge.
“I’ll be restoring it,” I told him.
“Restoring it? You mean, clearing away brush, that sort of thing?”
“More or less…” I trailed off as he walked out to the counter, and I got my first good look at him. I judged him to be in his mid-forties, with dark hair swept back from a wide forehead and deep-set blue eyes fringed with thick lashes. No doubt, those eyes had once been the focal point of a ruggedly handsome face, but now the gaze was drawn to the scars—five jagged ridges that ran from the lower right eyelid back into the hairline and all the way down to his neck. Claw marks, I thought at once. Something had very nearly taken the side of his face off. Sweet Jesus.
Accepting the premise that the exceedingly attractive always had an easier path, I had to wonder what this man’s life had been like before and after the attack. Given his natural good looks, it couldn’t have been a painless adjustment. But this passed through my mind in a flash. I’d had years of practice in schooling my expression, and I knew none of my shock showed on my face as our eyes met across the desk.
“By whose authorization?” he asked.
“Luna Kemper contacted me.”
“Luna’s behind this? I might have known.” The contempt in his voice took me by surprise.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Where’s the money coming from?” he demanded.
I didn’t see how the financial arrangements could possibly be any of his business. “I’m sorry. You seem a little concerned about this project. Is there some problem, Officer…” I glanced at the name tag clipped to his uniform pocket. Wayne Van Zandt.
“It’s chief,” he said in a cool tone.
“I assure you, all of the permits are in order…Chief Van Zandt.”
He made a dismissive gesture that was at once graceful and oddly menacing. “I’m not concerned about permits. What I do care about is how people are going to react. Feelings still run strong about that cemetery.”
“So I hear. And that’s why I came to see you. I don’t want to cause any problems for you or the community. I’d just like to do my work in peace.”
His mouth tightened, emphasizing his disfigurement. “It might help me keep the peace if I know who’s behind it.”
I thought about that for a moment and nodded. Maybe he had a point. “The local historical society is funding the project.”
“Historical society?”
“The Daughters of our Valiant Heroes.”
He stared at me for a moment. “You think Daughters is a historical society?”
“Isn’t it?”
He laughed.
I didn’t get the joke. Chief Van Zandt obviously had a chip on his shoulder, and considering what he must have been through, I was empathetic enough to cut him some slack. “I won’t take up any more of your time. If you do get calls or have any questions, you know where to find me. Oh, and one more thing.” I stepped back up to the desk. “I saw a man in the cemetery this morning. He was acting pretty strange.”
“Like how?”
“When he saw me, he slithered under the fence and crawled off into the bushes.”
A brow rose. “Slithered?”
“Slithered, wiggled, whatever you want to call it. I saw him later hauling a dead animal down the hill in a child’s wagon.”
He shrugged. “Sounds a mite peculiar, but these mountains are full of odd folk. Mostly, they just want to be left alone. Some of them don’t see another living soul for months at a time, and when they finally emerge, they don’t know how to act.”
“You think he’s a hermit?”
“I think some weirdo with a little red wagon is the last thing you need to be worried about in these hills.” His pleasant voice was now edged with something that sounded very much like a warning. Or was it a threat?
“What do you mean?”
“The woods around here are full of wild animals…” He let his words trail off, a deliberate lingering as he traced a finger down one of his scars.
“What kind of wild animals?”
“Mountain lions, coyotes…” Another hesitation. “Been a lot of black bear sightings this year, too.”
I glanced at his facial scars. I couldn’t help myself. “Black bears don’t normally attack humans, do they?”
“Animals are unpredictable. You ask the experts, they’ll tell you wolves have been gone from this part of the country for decades, but they’re still out there. I’ve seen them.”
I thought about that eerie howl I’d heard last evening. “Speaking of animals,” I said, “I’m staying in Floyd Covey’s house. A stray came out of the woods last night. He’d been horribly abused. Luna called him a bait dog.”
“She did, did she?” He stroked another scar. “Best you forget what she said. Best you forget about that stray, too.”
“I can’t forget about dog fighting,” I said indignantly. “I assumed if it’s going on in your jurisdiction, you’d want to know about it.”
He shrugged. “I’ll ask around, see if I get wind of any kennels. About all I can do. People tend to be closemouthed about that sort of thing around here, even if they’re not directly involved. They don’t want any trouble. And they don’t cotton to a lot of questions, especially from strangers.”
The warning note in his voice was unmistakable now. “I’ll remember that,” I said coolly.
“In the meantime…” His gaze swept over me. “You want me to come out there and take care of that problem for you?”
“What problem?”
“The stray.”
“Take care…you mean put him down?” I asked in horror.
A muscle twitched at the corner of one eye. “Think of it as a kindness.”
I wanted to tell him that Angus didn’t need his brand of kindness, and how would he like it if someone had tried to do the same to him?
But I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t trust Wayne Van Zandt. Not in the slightest. It was instinct, like an animal’s hackles rising when danger was near.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” I said. “I’m sure that dog is long gone by now.”
Seven
On my way home, I stopped by a small market I’d spotted earlier to stock up on fresh produce for me and dog food for Angus. There wasn’t much of a selection for either of us, but we’d just have to make do until I found time to take the ferry across the lake to shop.
When I came out of the store, I saw Sidra and another girl standing near my car. They were dressed in identical school uniforms, but the resemblance ended with the plaid skirts and navy blazers. The other girl towered over Sidra. Her hair was dark and sleek and she eyed me with sullen curiosity through a long curtain of bangs. I nodded and said hello as I went to put my bags in the back. When I came around the car, she was leaning against the fender, smoking. I noticed then the smudged liner around her eyes and the pale lip color on her sulky mouth. It looked very dramatic against her tanned skin. Despite the prim uniform, she looked cool, edgy and bored, the kind of girl that would have terrified me in high school had I not been so preoccupied with ghosts.
“Can you give us a ride?” she drawled, releasing a cloud of blue smoke that curled up into her thick lashes.
“Sure. If you don’t mind putting that out.”
She discarded the cigarette with a deliberate flick.
I glanced at Sidra, who seemed to shy away from her dominant companion. She didn’t look intimidated or cowed, but her demeanor was definitely anxious, as if she wanted to extricate herself from an awkward situation but didn’t know how.
“Where do you want to go?” I asked.
“You can drop us at Sid’s place.”
“I already told you…my house is out of her way,” Sidra said.
“I really don’t mind.” It wasn’t like I had a clock to punch or someone to go home to. Besides, the company of two teenagers might be just the thing to dilute the bad taste left by my visit to the police station. “Hop in.”
“Merci beaucoup.” The dark-haired girl sent me a treacly smile as she strode around the car and climbed into the front. Sidra reluctantly got into the back, and as I slid behind the wheel, I glanced in the rearview mirror, hoping a smile would reassure her that a lift wasn’t a problem. But she’d turned to the window and sat motionless, making me wonder yet again if she could see something outside that I couldn’t.
I started the ignition. “I’ll need directions.”
“Head north, take a right at the first intersection and then keep going until I tell you to stop,” the dark-haired girl instructed. “I’m Ivy, by the way.”
“Amelia.”
“I know who you are.” She turned to give me a frank assessment between narrowed lids. “Sid says you work in graveyards or something.”
“I’m a cemetery restorer.”
“Sounds…interesting.”
I smiled politely. “It is to me.”
“You don’t get spooked?”
“Sometimes. But mostly I find cemeteries peaceful. Some of the really old churchyards were built on hallowed ground.” I shot a look in the mirror to gauge Sidra’s reaction, but her eyes were still riveted on the window.
“Thorngate isn’t,” Ivy said. “Built on hallowed ground, I mean.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s built on Asher ground and everything that family touches is cursed.”
“Ivy.”
The warning note in Sidra’s voice startled me, but Ivy just shrugged.
I gave her an uneasy glance. “What do you mean by cursed?”
She waved a hand toward the window. “Look around you. See all the boarded-up buildings? All those caved-in roofs? And that stink in the air? That’s the smell of the damned,” she said with calculated nonchalance as she unzipped one of her boots to examine what appeared to be a fresh tattoo on her ankle.
When she saw that I’d noticed—which I had a feeling was her intent—her smile turned smug. “You don’t know what that is, do you?”
“I can’t really see it from here.”
“It’s one of the symbols carved into the cliff at the falls. No one knows where they came from or what they mean, but I think this one makes a pretty cool tat, don’t you?”
She didn’t give me a chance to respond.
“I had to sneak over to Greenville to get it. Mother would have a cow if she knew. Which is so hypocritical since she has one herself. But she thinks I’m too young and I think she’s too old.” She admired the ink for a moment longer before rezipping her boot.
I glanced in the mirror, startled to find Sidra staring back at me this time. What was she thinking? I wondered. And why had she tried to silence Ivy about the Ashers?
Ivy fell back against the seat. “Personally, I find the whole idea of hallowed ground laughable.”
It took me a moment to redirect my train of thought. “Why?”
“How can a place be sacred just because people died there or because some priest sprinkled a little holy water over it? If you’re really into spiritual places, you should go up to the falls.”
“I hear it’s really beautiful up there.”
“It’s more than beautiful. People say it’s a thin place.”
I turned in surprise. “A thin place?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what that is, either.”
She seemed to enjoy her superiority, so I allowed her to keep it. “Why don’t you tell me?”
She lowered her voice. “It’s where the living world and the dead world connect. It’s where…well, never mind. Anyway, people used to go up there because they hoped to catch a glimpse of heaven. Now they stay away because they’re afraid of—” She broke off and turned to glance at Sidra in the backseat. I watched the girl in the mirror and saw her shake her head.
“They’re afraid of what?” I pressed.
“Nothing. Speak of the devil,” Ivy muttered as she sat up in the seat.
I followed her gaze to Thane Asher’s car parked at the curb. He was hunkered in front of the rear wheel well changing a flat tire, and my mind shot back to the library. I could still hear those animalistic moans in some back recess of my mind.
“We should stop,” Ivy said.
“I thought you said the Ashers were cursed.”
She slanted me a withering look as she lowered the window and called out to him. When he glanced over his shoulder, there was nothing I could do but pull up beside him and stop.
He rose and came over to the car, bending slightly to glance in the window. He wore a dark green shirt that deepened his eyes to moss and a brown leather jacket that had cracked and faded over the years. His car also showed signs of wear and tear that I hadn’t noticed on the ferry. Looking past the dazzle of metallic paint, I could see a dent here and there and the odd speck of rust.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello,” I responded with a noncommittal smile.
Ivy gaped at him. I suspected she had a crush, which explained why she’d so easily tossed aside the notion of a curse. I could empathize. Hadn’t I done the same thing with Devlin? Thrown caution aside for passion? And Thane Asher did look ridiculously attractive in that leather jacket. Not darkly handsome like Devlin, of course, but there was something about him that I could appreciate. For one thing, he didn’t have ghosts hovering nearby. That was a definite plus. But then I reminded myself that I couldn’t know whether or not he was haunted until I saw him after twilight.
“Having car trouble?” Ivy drawled.
“A flat. Must have picked up a nail somewhere.”
“We thought you might need a ride.”
“Thanks, but I’ll have it changed in no time.”
Ivy tossed her hair over her shoulder and gazed up at him through those thick, curly lashes. “Are you sure you don’t need help with the lug nuts? They’re always so hard to get off.”
I didn’t know how she managed to pack so much sexual innuendo into two simple sentences, but she did.
Thane looked bemused…and wary. He glanced at his watch. “Shouldn’t you girls still be in school?” His tone was devoid of inflection, but I had a feeling the question was a conscious attempt to put Ivy in her place. A valiant effort, but one that seemed to sail right over the girl’s head as she twirled a dark strand of hair around one fingertip.
“We left early,” she said. “We had better things to do, right, Sid?” The two exchanged another glance, and Ivy grinned.
Thane’s gaze was on me, those green eyes gleaming with something dark. Something just for me. I didn’t know how to feel about that look. I was just as wary of him as he was of Ivy but for a very different reason. “And what part did you play in these shenanigans?”
“None at all. I’m just giving them a lift home.”
“Let’s hope the truant officer sees it your way,” he said ominously, but his eyes were still teasing. “How goes the cemetery restoration?”
“I’ve hardly begun. It’s only been one day.”
“Maybe I’ll drop by sometime. I haven’t been up there in years.”
Ivy’s grin faded, and she gave me a hard stare. She wasn’t the type of girl who would be comfortable sharing the spotlight, let alone relinquishing it to someone like me. “What is so fascinating about a bunch of old headstones?” she asked with an eye roll.
“It’s history,” Thane said. “How can you know who you are if you don’t know where you come from?”
How strange that his question should mirror the doubts and the uncertainties of my adoption that I’d pondered just last night. The insight made me uneasy.
I put a hand on the gearshift. “We should let you get back to that tire.”
His eyes lingered as he nodded. “You ladies take care.”
He stepped away from the curb, and as I drove off, I refused to look in the mirror. But I had a feeling he was staring after us. I was almost certain of it.
Ivy whirled. “How do you know Thane Asher?”
“I don’t really know him. We met yesterday on the ferry.”
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
I shrugged. “There was no reason to.”
She folded her arms. “I wouldn’t go getting any ideas if I were you. Thane would never choose someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“An outsider,” she said with disdain.
“I guess it’s lucky I’m not here to socialize, then. I just want to finish my job and go home.”
“You should do that. Go home, I mean.”
The whole conversation was starting to make me feel very uncomfortable. I couldn’t wait to drop them off and drive back to the Covey house. Although at that moment, I would have liked nothing more than to heed Ivy’s advice and head home to Charleston.
Something was seriously amiss in this town. I’d felt it the moment I crossed Bell Lake. The shadows seemed deeper, the nights longer, the secrets older. Even the wind felt different here. And I couldn’t forget the repugnant man in the cemetery who had mimicked my worst fears or the ghost who had somehow let me sense her confusion.
According to Ivy, Asher Falls was located near a thin place. Could that explain the bizarre nature of the town and the people who inhabited it? Maybe there was hyper supernatural activity in the area. I’d have to ask Dr. Shaw next time I went home. He ran the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies and usually had answers for all my questions, whether or not they were the ones I wanted.
With an effort, I turned my attention back to the road. As we passed a gray stone building shrouded in vines, I noticed several girls dressed in the same uniform as Ivy and Sidra ambling out a side door.
“Is that your school?” I asked.
“Oh, damn!” Ivy slid down in her seat. “Hurry and get past before someone sees us. We’re supposed to be home sick.”
“Both of you?”
“There’s a bug going around. They were sending kids home all day. We left after lunch.”
“Pretending to be sick?”
“It’s easy enough to fake illness when the school nurse is half-blind.” She laughed at her own cleverness.
“So where did you go?”
“We’ve just been hanging out. But if Sid’s mother finds out we didn’t go straight home, we’re dead.”
“She probably already knows,” Sidra said gloomily. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into leaving school, much less going up there—”
“Shush.” Now it was Ivy who issued a warning look. “At least you won’t get expelled.”
“I almost wish I would,” Sidra muttered.
“Why would one of you get expelled and not the other?” I asked.
“Sid’s mother is the headmistress at Pathway,” Ivy explained. “A real witch, if you know what I mean. She’d like nothing better than to get rid of me. I’m such a bad influence and all.”
“And you left school, anyway? That was brave.” I glanced in the mirror to gauge Sidra’s reaction to such a harsh critique of her mother. She looked agitated, but I didn’t think the name-calling had much to do with it.
“It wasn’t brave, it was stupid,” she said.
Ivy shrugged. “No one twisted your arm. And, anyway, I don’t care if I do get expelled. I’ll just call my father. He’s a very important man. One of the most powerful lawyers in the state.” The last was said for my benefit, I was certain.
“Pathway is a private school?” I asked.
“Private and très exclusif,” Ivy said. “The local kids who can’t afford the tuition have to ride the ferry across the lake and catch the bus into Woodberry.”
So there was no public school, no veterinarian clinic and no supermarket in Asher Falls, but the withering town could support a private school for children of the privileged. The place was getting stranger and stranger by the minute.
We rode in silence after that until Sidra said from the backseat, “That’s my house on the corner. The white one.”
I pulled up to the curb in relief, and as the girls climbed out, I lowered my window to admire the three-story Victorian with spindle-work trim along the veranda. The garden was still lush and green, but the witch hazel had started to turn, and I could see squirrels foraging for fruit in the silver bell tree that grew at the corner of the porch. As my gaze lifted to the front gable, I saw a blonde woman in one of the upstairs windows a split second before the lace curtain fell back into place.
Uh-oh. The girls had been made, it seemed.
After a muttered thank-you, Ivy strode up the walkway without a backward glance, but to my surprise, Sidra came over to my window. Her eyes were very clear and very blue, her alabaster skin almost translucent in the afternoon sunlight. She wore no makeup, nor did she need any. Cosmetic enhancement would have only detracted from the ethereal quality that made her so arresting.
“Did you forget something?” I asked.
“No…I need to tell you something.”
Her gaze met mine and I felt a prickle of foreboding. “What is it?”
“You’ve seen the old clock tower in the square?”
“Yes. It’s very beautiful.”
“It’s built on hallowed ground. A battle was fought there or something. Anyway, I thought you should know.” She turned to scurry off.
“Wait! How do you know the ground is hallowed?”
Pausing on the walkway, she glanced over her shoulder, her expression enigmatic. I would never know what she intended to reveal, though, because just then the woman I’d seen at the upstairs window came out on the front porch and called to her.
Sidra froze.
“Is that your mother?”
“She’s home early. Now she knows we didn’t come straight home.”
“Will you be in much trouble?”
“I don’t know. I’d better go in.”
The girl looked terrified and no wonder. As the woman’s gaze met mine, I felt an awful chill go through me.
Eight
Could Sidra see ghosts? Why else had she felt compelled to tell me about the clock tower? And why else would she have waited until Ivy was out of earshot? If she could see ghosts—or something—that required her to seek hallowed ground for protection, she might not want anyone else to know, especially her mother, given everything I’d observed. That I could understand. The fact that she’d shared the knowledge with me should have been a comfort, but instead I felt uneasy and more out of my element than ever.
And yet as I drove back through town, I had a vague sense of familiarity, of destiny, as if maybe I’d been brought here for a reason. Which didn’t really make sense because I’d never been to Asher Falls, and I’d never met anyone from here. It was a lonely place, isolated by a haunted lake. Was it any wonder the people were so strange?
As I turned onto the highway, my gaze lifted to the distant mountains where a dark cloud had formed against the blue haze. As I watched, the cloud drifted lower, swooping down over the treetops until I realized it wasn’t a cloud at all but a flock of blackbirds flying south for the winter.
There was a nip in the wind that blew in through my open window. Despite the warm days, fall was just around the corner, and I dreaded the loneliness that winter always brought. I wouldn’t look ahead, though. What was the point? Right now, it was still hours until twilight, the road was empty and I was free to let my mind wander.
I forced my thoughts back to Sidra and Ivy. What an odd pair—Sidra, with her cropped, silver-gold hair and waiflike demeanor, and Ivy, with her hard edges and exaggerated ennui. I wished now that I’d pressed them for more information about the falls. I really wanted to know why people were afraid to go up there, especially since Luna had recommended that I make the trip. Was that where they’d gone today? I wondered.
I knew all about thin places, of course. Those in-between times and landscapes where the veil between our world and the spirit world was at its thinnest. The Celts believed those places were not only passageways for ghosts but also for demons. On the night of Samhain, they donned horrific masks to placate the forces of chaos. As I dredged up all those old legends Papa used to tell me, I had a sudden image of Wayne Van Zandt’s scarred visage. I seriously doubted he’d clawed his own face in order to mollify evil spirits and yet—
My thoughts shattered as something hit the windshield with a sickening thud. I shrieked and automatically threw a hand up to protect my face. Then I realized what it was. A bird had flown into the glass. I glanced in the mirror and saw a pile of feathers in the middle of the road. A blackbird or a crow, by the looks of it.
Pulling to the shoulder, I got out and approached slowly. The feathers weren’t moving, but I held out hope that the bird might just be dazed. I’d seen them drop like stones after hitting windows, only to rally a few minutes later and fly off. But colliding with a moving vehicle would have a lot more impact than flying into a static pane of glass.
Still, I couldn’t see any blood, and the neck didn’t appear to be broken. I didn’t know what else to do but carefully lift the tiny body from the road and carry it to the shoulder where I nestled it in a bed of clover. I sat there with it for the longest time until something drew my gaze upward where dozens of crows had silently lit on branches and power lines. I caught my breath at the eerie sight, and then I thought of that dark cloud swooping down from the mountains. There were more of them out there. Hundreds more. I wasn’t afraid of an attack, but the fact that they were gathering to watch me made my heart jerk uncomfortably.
Slowly, I got to my feet and eased back to the car. I started the engine, rolled up the windows and pulled onto the road. Thankfully, the birds didn’t follow.
As I neared the turnoff, I took myself sternly to task. I was letting my imagination get the better of me. The crows had probably been there all along. I just hadn’t noticed them. And if I were wise, I wouldn’t place too much importance on the old wives’ tale that claimed birds were not only harbingers of death but also of insanity. I wouldn’t try to connect a murder of crows to all the strange things that had happened since my arrival in Asher Falls. I wouldn’t dwell on the disturbing behavior of the man at the cemetery or Chief Van Zandt’s warning of dangerous animals roaming the woods. I wouldn’t obsess on why I’d been chosen for this job or why Luna Kemper had arranged accommodations for me in a hallowed place.
Above all, I wouldn’t give a second thought to that random meeting with Thane Asher.
* * *
Late that afternoon, I called my mother, but she didn’t feel well enough to talk after her chemo session. Since her diagnosis last spring, she’d spent most of her time in Charleston with my aunt Lynrose so that she could be near the hospital for her treatment. I’d been a little hurt that she hadn’t wanted to stay with me, but given my long hours and travel, this arrangement made more sense. Lynrose was retired and could devote herself completely to my mother’s recovery. And truth be told, the two of them were closer than my mother and I would ever be, though I loved her dearly.
I chatted with my aunt for a few minutes, then afterward Angus and I had dinner on the back porch. He didn’t seem concerned about the quality of his dog food any more than I minded the overripe banana in my fruit salad. He cleaned his bowl, and later we sat out on the back steps to watch the sunset. Despite all the disturbing things that had happened since my arrival in Asher Falls, it was a moment of deep contentment. I’d bonded with Angus in a way I rarely connected with humans. He was the perfect companion. Noble, loyal and I didn’t have to hide my secret from him. He already knew about the ghosts.
I said his name softly, testing his hearing. He turned at the sound of my voice and rested his snout on my knee, giving me that soft, soulful stare. I scratched behind his severed ears and then lay my cheek against his head. His coat was rough and matted, and he wasn’t the sweetest-smelling dog in the world. But I wanted to earn his complete trust before I drove the dark wedge of a bath between us.
We sat there for the longest time, my hand absently stroking his back as I admired the shifting patterns of light and color on the lake. But by the time dusk fell, I was already inside, safe and sound from the ghosts. I listened to music and read for a while, then turned in early, falling asleep without much trouble. If the bells pealed beneath the lake or a ghostly face peered into my window, I wasn’t aware of them. But I dreamed about both.
Nine
The next morning I took Angus with me to the cemetery. After my conversation with Wayne Van Zandt, I wanted the dog close by so that I could keep an eye on him. I also thought he could serve as an early warning system in case that strange man or anyone else showed up.
Considering everything the poor mutt had been through, I’d assumed it would take weeks if not longer to build up his strength. But I was amazed at how frisky he seemed when I let him out of the car that morning. While he chased squirrels, I began the time-consuming task of photographing each grave and headstone from every angle in order to create a prerestoration record for the archives. It was a tedious job for one person. The new part of the cemetery went quickly, but once I moved into the Asher portion, the shade from all the trees and shrubbery slowed me down. Where lichen and moss obscured the inscriptions, I had to use a mirror to angle light onto the stones. Ideally, this was a two-person job, but I’d learned to make do alone.
I worked steadily all morning and broke for lunch around one. I opened the back door of the SUV and sat on the bumper munching an apple while I tossed treats to Angus. He gobbled them with unseemly gusto. I gave him fresh water, and then he found a sunny spot to snooze while I went back to work. The afternoon passed uneventfully, and I became so engrossed in shooting all those strange, angelic faces that I lost track of time. The sun had already started to dip below the treetops when I packed up my equipment and headed back to the car. I had just stepped through the gate when I heard Angus barking. The sound came from somewhere in the woods.
Alarmed, I stored my equipment in the back of the SUV, then walked over to the corner of the fence to call for him. His barking grew even more frantic when he heard my voice, but he still didn’t come.
The tree line lay in deep shadows. I would have preferred not to explore any farther, but I couldn’t leave Angus. Something was keeping him from me. Maybe he’d treed a squirrel or a possum. Or a mountain lion or a bear… .
“Angus, come!”
I heard a howl then and couldn’t tell if it came from the dog or something else. One of those elusive wolves perhaps. The eerie wail completely unnerved me. I had my cell phone and that tiny container of mace in my pocket, but I shuddered to think how close I would need to be to someone—or something—to use it.
A narrow trail led back into the woods, but I had to constantly veer off to avoid fallen branches. The smell of rotting leaves and damp earth mingled with the woodsy aroma of the evergreens. As I began to descend on the other side of the mountain, the cedar and hemlocks thinned, and I found myself tunneling through a heath bald where rosebay rhododendron and mountain laurel grew so dense it was easy to become disoriented. Papa had told me once about getting lost in such a thicket. Laurel hell, he called it. The maze hadn’t been more than a mile square, he said, but it had taken him the better part of a day to find his way out. And this from a man who’d been born and raised in the mountains.
As I picked my way along, the stunted rhododendrons tangled in my hair and pulled at my clothing. The canopy hung so low that very little light seeped through the snarled branches. It was very eerie inside that place. Dark and lonely. As I stopped and listened to the silence, a feeling of desolation crept over me. I heard no birdsong from the treetops, no rustling in the underbrush, nothing at all except the distant rush of a waterfall. I wondered if there was a cave nearby, because I could smell the sulphury odor of saltpeter.
To break the quiet, I called out to Angus again, and his answering bark filled me with relief. Scrambling down a rocky ridge, I finally spotted him. His gaze was fixed on the cliff behind me, and I turned, hoping to come face-to-face with nothing more menacing than a cornered raccoon, although they could be vicious creatures when threatened. As I scoured our surroundings, I didn’t see anything at first, just a straggly stand of purple foxglove that had managed to survive in the hostile environment. Then I noticed the patterns of stones and seashells on slightly mounded ground, and I realized I was looking at a grave, hidden and protected by a rocky overhang. I had no idea how Angus had managed to find it. I didn’t think the grave was fresh. Other than the odor of saltpeter, I couldn’t detect a smell.
I walked over for a closer look, noticing at once that the surrounding soil had been scraped, not recently, but frequently enough in the past to discourage growth. The banishment of grass was a burial tradition that had fallen out of favor—though I had seen it recently in the Georgia Piedmont—and the meticulous upkeep was yet another curiosity.
Carefully, I cleared away dead leaves and debris to reveal a marker. The stone had been sunk into the earth, making it nearly invisible unless one knew where to look. I pulled a soft-bristle brush from my pocket and gently dusted off a thick layer of grime so that I could read the inscription. But there was no name, no date of birth or death. The only thing etched into the stone’s surface was a thorny rose stem with a severed bloom and bud, a symbol sometimes used for the dual burial of mother and child. But why had they been laid to rest out here in such a lonely location?
The isolation, as well as the north-south orientation of the grave, might once have been an indication of suicide, but the tradition of remote burials for those who had taken their own lives had also been obsolete for years. Judging by the condition and modern style of the marker, I didn’t think the grave was that old, twenty or thirty years at most. Well within the timeframe when the custom had mellowed, even within the Catholic Church. So why this desolate spot when Thorngate was so nearby?
As I traced a finger along the severed stem, my chest tightened painfully, and I felt a terrifying suffocation. Gasping for air, I put a hand out to steady myself as a wave of darkness rolled over me. The next thing I knew, Angus was nuzzling my face with his wet nose. I opened my eyes and looked around. I was lying flat on my back on the ground. I had no idea what had happened, but it must have been only a momentary blackout. I wasn’t the least bit disoriented. As soon as I opened my eyes, I knew exactly where I was.
But the air had changed. I could feel a shift in the wind, as something cold and dank and ancient swept down from the mountains.
An angry gust swirled the dead leaves over the grave, and I could have sworn I heard the whisper of my name through the trees. The hair on my nape bristled as my heart started to hammer. I scrambled to my feet and glanced around in dismay. I hadn’t been confused when I first opened my eyes, but now I couldn’t seem to pinpoint the trail I’d followed into the bald. The shrubbery was too dense, and I felt hopelessly trapped.
Then I called Angus’s name, and he came to my side at once. “Run!” I commanded, and he bounded around me to take the lead. Even in his weakened state, he could have easily outpaced me, but he measured his stride, slowing when I stumbled and pausing now and then to growl at that thing at our backs.
As we fought our way through the laurel and rhododendron, I began to have serious doubts we would ever get out of that awful place. It was like swimming through mud. By the time we emerged, my legs had gone wobbly and my lungs felt ready to explode, but the woods offered only a brief respite. Here, roots and dead branches tripped me up, and the dense leaf covering blocked the sun so that the landscape lay in premature twilight.
On and on we ran. When we finally burst from the trees, I gave a sob of relief. But the wind didn’t let up. It swirled dirt in front of us, a gritty dust-devil that nearly blinded me. As we sprinted for the car, I dug the remote from my jeans and hit the unlock button. The moment I opened the door, Angus sailed past me into the front seat. I climbed in behind him and slammed the door. Somehow my shaky hand started the ignition, and I pressed the accelerator to the floor, sending a shower of gravel over the fence to pepper nearby graves.
The heavy SUV trembled in the wind. For a moment I thought we might be blown off the road, but I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and hardened my resolve. We were getting out of there one way or another.
By the time we hit the highway, the wind had died away. The setting sun peeped through the treetops, and the countryside looked as pastoral as I’d ever seen it.
I glanced at Angus. He was riding shotgun, eyes peeled on the road.
“I didn’t imagine that back there, did I?”
He whimpered and settled down in the seat. I put my hand on his back. We were both still trembling and no wonder. Something had been after us in the bald. An amorphous evil that I dared not put a name to. It hadn’t been my imagination. Angus had sensed it, too. And he was still just as shaken as I was.
My inclination now was to keep driving until we were far, far away from this place. I needed to be home in Charleston, in my own sanctuary where I would be protected from whatever had driven that wind to me. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I had a job to do here and a dire sense of purpose that I didn’t yet understand. I would stay for now, and I would manage my fear. I’d had years of practice, after all. As a child, I’d learned to quickly settle myself after a ghostly encounter because I knew of no other way to survive such a burden.
I drew on that experience now as I touched the amulet at my throat. Something had protected me in that thicket. Whether it had been the stone from Rosehill Cemetery that I wore around my neck, or Angus or even my own strength, I didn’t know. But I was safe and, except for a few nasty scratches on my arms, no worse for the wear.
As we neared the turnoff to the Covey place, my heart rate slowed and I began to calm. The closer we got to hallowed ground—my temporary sanctuary—the stronger I felt.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, more to myself than Angus.
Ten
Thane Asher was waiting for me on my front porch when I got home. As I opened the car door to climb out, Angus shot past me before I could grab him. I called to him sharply, but I needn’t have bothered. After a warning bark and a wary sizing up, he settled right down and allowed Thane to scratch the back of his neck.
Some guard dog you are, I thought. But then I remembered how he’d placed himself between me and the ghost on that first night, and how just minutes ago, he’d matched his stride to mine as he guided me back to the car. What would I have done without him? I might still have been stumbling around in that thicket, hopelessly lost.
“Who’s this?” Thane asked as I approached the porch.
“Angus.” Hearing his name—or perhaps my voice—he trotted over to my side, and I leaned down to pet him.
“What happened to him?”
“Luna Kemper said he’d probably been used as a bait dog.”
Thane’s expression never changed, but I thought I saw something dark and vicious fleet across his face, making me wonder if there might be a layer of razor wire beneath that smooth, impenetrable façade. He looked straight at me then, an electrifying glance that caught me completely off guard. Without another word, he knelt beside the dog, running a gentle hand down the emaciated rib cage as he murmured something reassuring to Angus. I had no idea what he said, but Angus nuzzled against him appreciatively.
I picked at one of the scratches on my arm. The sting was oddly reassuring. “I told Chief Van Zandt about the dog fighting. I thought he’d want to know.”
“What did he say?” Thane examined the dog’s ears, then cupped the snout to check his teeth. Angus endured the examination without so much as a whimper.
“He said he’d keep a lookout for any kennels in the area, but I don’t know if I believe him.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Thane stood and dusted his hands on his jeans. He had on the same black sweater he’d worn when I first met him, and I couldn’t help but notice how tautly it pulled across his broad shoulders. I couldn’t help but wonder how formidable he might be if crossed. “If there’s dog fighting in the area, I’ll find it and put a stop to it.”
“How?”
He glanced at me again, his eyes vividly intent. “Best not to concern yourself with the details.”
Something in his voice alarmed me, a miniscule crack that exposed the razor wire. I’d been angry, too, when I found out about Angus, but Thane Asher was a man of unlimited resources in these parts. I had no idea how he might unleash his fury.
I buried my hand in Angus’s fur so that he wouldn’t see how badly I still trembled. I’d had a bad scare in the thicket, and I wasn’t yet over the shock. But I was good at hiding my feelings, and I didn’t flinch as Thane’s gaze lingered on my grimy appearance. I thought I detected a softening of his features, but it may only have been my imagination.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
I had no intention of telling him anything. If he’d never had a supernatural encounter, he wouldn’t understand. My description of an evil wind would undoubtedly elicit laughter or pity, and I didn’t like opening myself up to ridicule. I was a private person, and my ability to see ghosts was by necessity and desire a very personal thing. Nor was I ready to reveal the discovery of the grave. Not quite yet. Not until I’d had time to think it through calmly.
So I ran a hand through my gritty hair and shrugged. “I tangled with a briar patch. Occupational hazard.”
“You should probably go in and put something on those scratches.”
“I will later,” I said with a shrug.
“And by later, you mean after I’m gone.”
I smiled thinly. “You’ll have to excuse my manners. I just got home from work and I wasn’t expecting company.”
My own subtle rebuke had the intended effect, and for a moment he looked suitably contrite. “I apologize for just dropping by this way, but I won’t take much of your time.” He motioned to the porch. “If we could just sit for a minute?”
I hesitated. The sun was well below the treetops. It would be dusk soon, and even though I knew how to protect myself from ghosts, I’d never lived so close to a desecrated cemetery before. I had no idea what might rise from that lake. It was best not to take any chances.
“I promise I won’t stay long,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you about Thorngate.”
I gave an inward sigh. All I wanted at that moment was a hot bath, a soothing cup of chamomile and Angus keeping watch from the back porch. But I was my mother’s daughter, and the Southern social graces were as deeply ingrained in my nature as my father’s rules. I nodded and smiled politely as I moved over to the steps.
The air had chilled as the sun had gone down, and the woods crowded in on us. I could smell the evergreens as they loomed thick in the fading light, rank upon rank of towering sentinels. I drew Angus close as Thane and I sat side by side on the porch.
“What’s this about Thorngate?” I asked.
He paused for a moment as his gaze scoured the landscape. I had a feeling he was searching for something to say. “I haven’t been up there in years. How bad is it?”
“I’ve seen worse.” I gave him a puzzled glance. He faced straight ahead, and I could divine nothing from his profile. But instinct told me that the cemetery was the furthest thing from his mind, and I began to feel a little apprehensive. Why was he really here?
He turned suddenly and caught me staring. I glanced away as warmth stole up my neck. “I’ll tell you a little secret about Thorngate,” he said. “The only way to fully appreciate it is by moonlight. There’s an area near the mausoleum that was specifically designed for nighttime viewing.”
I thought about the stone angels with their strange, upturned faces and the silvery overgrowth of sage, wormwood and moonshine yarrow. “I recognized the remains of a white garden,” I told him. “I have one at home so I can well imagine how beautiful the cemetery would be in moonlight. Especially with all those statues. The faces are extraordinary.”
“Yes,” he said dryly. “We Ashers have always been very good at erecting handsome monuments to ourselves.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I suppose, except our ego has taken ostentation to a whole new level. I sometimes wonder if all that money spent on the dead might not have been put to better use on the living.”
“But cemeteries are for the living,” I said. “And those who pay tribute to the dead usually have a commensurate respect for life.”
He gave me a look that I couldn’t begin to interpret. “You really don’t know very much about us, do you?”
A brittle edge in his voice made me wonder again about his relationship with his family, but I merely shrugged.
Angus had planted himself in the middle by this time so that neither of us had to reach too far to pet him. He was no fool. I scratched behind one of the ear nubs while Thane ran his hand along the sharp ridge of his backbone. The rhythmic motion was very soothing, and I began to relax.
“How did you get involved in the cemetery business?” he asked.
“My father was a caretaker for many years. He taught me early on an appreciation for old Southern graveyards. When I was a kid, I used to think the cemetery by our house was enchanted. It was my favorite place to play. I called it my kingdom.”
“Is that why you’re known as The Graveyard Queen?”
“How in the world did you find out about that?” I asked in surprise.
“I looked you up.”
“And?”
“You’re accomplished for someone so young. Undergraduate degree in anthropology from the University of South Carolina, a master’s in archeology from Chapel Hill and you spent two years in the State Archeologist’s office before opening your own business. All very impressive.”
“It seems you’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to check me out,” I said coolly.
“Not really. It was all there on your website.”
“Oh. Right.”
He grinned, and I couldn’t help noticing how young and appealing he looked when he smiled. He should do more of that, but then…the same could undoubtedly be said about me.
“Were you worried about my credentials?” I asked.
“No. I was curious about you.”
That silenced me. I wasn’t looking at him, but I knew his eyes were on me. I could feel that gaze just as surely as I felt the sting of all those scratches.
“Actually, I did a little more than read your website,” he confessed. “I came across a newspaper account of the cemetery restoration in Charleston last spring.”
“Oak Grove,” I said and felt the familiar hitch in my breath when I remembered.
The knife scar from my struggle with a killer tingled on my upper arm even though the cut had healed months ago. But the wounds on the inside ran deeper. The fear had subsided, at least during daylight hours, but the memory of my entrapment would fester for years, gnawing at me relentlessly on nights when sleep was hard to come by.
Thane must have sensed my reluctance to dredge up that particular nightmare because he said nothing else on the subject. But his gaze on me was soft and so gently inviting that I found myself wanting to confide in him. I suddenly had an intense need to let everything that had happened all those months ago come pouring out, but I barely knew the man. I couldn’t talk to him about personal things. Especially not about Devlin.
We didn’t speak again for several long moments. Thane continued to stroke Angus’s back, and I felt myself slide even more deeply into relaxation. Maybe after the ordeal in the thicket, I was simply too bone tired to fight it. Had it not been getting on dusk, I would have been content to remain as we were, but it was long past time I learned the real purpose of his visit.
“You didn’t come here to talk to me about Thorngate, did you?” I asked. “Why are you really here?”
The hand stilled on Angus’s back and he glanced up. “I need a favor.”
I frowned. “What kind of favor?”
“What are your plans for the evening?”
I hadn’t anticipated that question. The amity I’d felt moments before vanished, and I found myself pulling away. “Early dinner, early bedtime,” I said stiffly. “I get up at the crack of dawn.”
“Could you make an exception just this once? I’d like you to come to a small dinner party at Asher House tonight. We have them every so often. My grandfather started the tradition a long time ago when the community first fell on hard times. Jobs were drying up, people were moving away. He wanted to find a way to show solidarity with the townspeople. A noble enough sentiment, I guess, but over the past few years, the evenings have degenerated into the same handful of guests. It’s become tiresome. We’re in dire need of fresh blood.”
The chill in the breeze made me shiver. “Thank you, but I’m not much on dinner parties. And even if I were, I don’t have anything suitable to wear. I packed mostly work clothes.”
His gaze drifted over me. “You can come as you are as far as I’m concerned.”
I gave an awkward laugh to cover my uneasiness. “I think I could at least manage a shower.”
“Is that a yes, then?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. I’m really not in the mood for a party. It’s been a long day.” And I needed time alone to digest everything that had happened in the laurel bald.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to be a little more persuasive,” he said slowly.
“Meaning?”
“I believe I have something you want.”
My pulse quickened at his ominous tone, even though I suspected he was teasing me. “And what would that be?”
“A lot of the old cemetery records are stored at Asher House. I could arrange for you to have a look at them.”
“Luna told me the records were stored at the library in town.”
“Some of them are, but not the ones you’ll want to see. If you come to dinner, I’ll make sure you have full access.”
“That sounds very much like a bribe,” I accused.
He grinned. “Would it pique your interest to know there are pictures—actual photographs—of the cemetery from the late 1800s? The original site map should still be around, too, and who knows? We may even be able to dig up the family Bible.”
I thought about that hidden grave once again and wondered if any record of it might be included in the Asher family archives. I wanted to know who was buried there. In fact, I had to know. Unidentified graves were anathema to me.
“You drive a hard bargain,” I said with a sigh.
The green eyes gleamed. “Shall I pick you up at quarter of eight?”
“No, thank you. I’d rather drive.”
He gave me a knowing look. “So you can leave whenever you want?”
I shrugged.
He nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll see you at eight, then. You can’t miss the house. It’s just past the cemetery. Cross the creek and you’re there.”
Eleven
If the cemetery statuary was a tribute to Asher ego, then I could only surmise the house must pay homage to the family’s hubris. The place was massive, a towering cliff-top behemoth with three stories of verandas and half a dozen gleaming columns that seemed at least a mile high. I had expected something large but nothing quite so grand. Nor was I prepared for the floating illusion created by moonlight and clever illumination.
A circular drive swept me up and around to the front of the house, and my first inclination was to make the arc and keep going. For some inexplicable reason, I found myself intimidated, and I didn’t understand why. Status meant nothing to me. I’d been brought up by a gentle mother who embodied the more refined qualities of a Southern belle, but also by a father who came from the mountains of North Carolina and worked with his hands. I was a product of both and proud of it.
So why the nervous hesitation? Why that foreboding that warned me to stay away from this house and the Ashers?
My gaze traveled up the mansion’s façade as I climbed out of the car. The ground floor veranda was well lit, but the upper balconies lay in darkness. Even so, I fancied I could see a shadow way up high staring down at me. A ghost? I wouldn’t be surprised. Not in this house. Not in these hills. The whole area seemed afflicted by some dark spell, some evil enchantment. I knew how daft that would sound to anyone other than my father, but I couldn’t discount my instincts. Too many strange things had happened in the short time I’d been in Asher Falls.
I climbed the steps and rang the bell, feeling a little underdressed. The only decent outfit I’d brought with me was a plain black sheath that I often wore when invited to speak or give interviews. If I’d been back home in Charleston, I could have accessorized it with pearls and pumps, but tonight I had to make do with flats and a cardigan.
A uniformed maid answered the door and gave a little curtsy as I relinquished my bag. I had only a brief impression of crystal chandeliers illuminating a magnificent double staircase before I was ushered down a spacious hallway. As I walked along behind her, my gaze was drawn to the faded paintings on the walls—generations of Ashers, I presumed—and I couldn’t help but notice the curl of the brocade wallpaper and the water-stained ceiling. Despite its grandeur, the house smelled old and musty, and the air had the damp chill of a tomb. A place where time had stood still. A home more suited to the dead than the living.
The maid waved me through the arched doorway, and the room fell silent as I entered. I hastily searched the small crowd for Thane, and my gaze lit upon Luna Kemper, breathtakingly lovely in lavender chiffon. She smiled and nodded, but I had the distinct impression she was shocked to see me. She was flanked by two women. I recognized Sidra’s mother from the day before and the redhead from the photograph in Luna’s office. The picture had captured a hovering ghost in the background, and I searched the window behind them now for that scowling countenance. But I saw nothing more menacing than reflected candlelight.
Sidra’s mother wore a white sheath with coils of silver chain around her throat and the redhead, a vintage brocade cocktail dress in emerald-green. They watched me warily, the way one might observe something suspect in a petri dish, and I saw Sidra’s mother touch Luna’s arm and murmur something in her ear. I grew even more anxious and wished that I’d followed my initial inclination to circle the drive and head back home. Or that I’d at least taken a little more care with my makeup. Done something different with my hair. Then I told myself I was being ridiculous. When had the way I looked become such a pressing concern? Like my father, I worked with my hands. I had no need of frills in my wardrobe. As lovely as those dresses were, they wouldn’t suit me at all. But I knew the tension that knotted my stomach really had little to do with my appearance. The worry over my plain attire was merely a manifestation of some darker uneasiness that plagued me.
The three women had grouped themselves around a tall, broad-shouldered man who had his back to the door. He was the only one who hadn’t turned when I arrived. There was a fourth woman, but she blended so seamlessly into the background I nearly missed her. She was slight and nondescript, and her unfortunate choice of brown velvet all but swallowed her. She looked uncomfortable and so out of her element that I felt an instant kinship.
All of this was but a brief assessment before Thane materialized at my side, handsomely bedecked in a charcoal suit with a narrow green tie that complemented his eye color.
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Amanda Stevens
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Deep in the shadowy foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains lies a dying town… My name is Amelia Gray. They call me the Graveyard Queen. I’ve been commissioned to restore an old cemetery in Asher Falls, South Carolina, but I’m coming to think I have another purpose here. Why is there a cemetery at the bottom of Bell Lake?Why am I drawn time and again to a hidden grave I’ve discovered in the woods? Something is eating away at the soul of this town—this withering kingdom—and it will only be restored if I can uncover the truth.“I love this book! Amanda Stevens′s The Restorer gives the reader a fascinating character—who interacts with more fascinating characters! Ms. Stevens has managed the difficult feat of combining charm and chills.” —New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Heather Graham