"And then...” Parker drew a ragged breath. “I was totally free. And the lantern sort of...moved...like somebody was swinging it, you know? Waving it in one direction?”
“What happened next?”
“Hell, I ran, swam—both. I was so damn scared, and so damn glad to be alive.”
He’d turned his head away. His voice was hollow now, and she had to strain to hear.
“And then it was like I kicked into autopilot or something—I didn’t even think about where I was going, I just went straight to Etienne’s house. It was like I’d been dreaming, and then I woke up, and I was just there. And I found his mom, and she got help—”
Parker’s words choked off. For an endless moment neither he nor Miranda spoke.
Then, at last, he looked at her again. Gave a sheepish smile, gave a strained, self-conscious laugh. “So what, am I crazy?”
“No.” Reaching out, Miranda firmly took his hand. “No, Parker, you’re not. Not at all.”
Another laugh, more hoarse this time. He tried to clear his throat. His nose was running, and his eyes shone with embarrassed tears; he wiped one sleeve angrily across his cheeks. On a sudden impulse, Miranda threw her arms around him.
“What’s that for?” Parker asked, both flustered and surprised.
"Just...” Miranda pulled back again. She gazed anxiously into his eyes. “Parker . . . you saw it. You saw it was real.”
He wanted to forget about it, she could tell. He’d opened himself and shown her his fears, and now he wanted to forget it ever happened. But you won’t forget, Parker. You’ll never forget. I’ve been there. I know.
“You believe me,” she whispered.
“Okay, fine, I believe you.”
His stare, always so bold, faltered a little. He tilted his head back and made a frustrated sound in his throat.
“We’re not going to be like best girlfriends now, are we?” he accused her. “I mean, you’re not going to be squealing at me every time somebody says the word ghost, are you?”
“Of course not.”
“Because . . . I swear to God, Miranda, if you ever tell anybody—”
Miranda hugged him tighter. “I won’t tell a soul.”
“A soul? Is that supposed to be funny?”
“I won’t tell anyone. I’m just hugging you because you’re you.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot. Girls want to love me, and guys want to be me.”
Another coughing spasm racked through him. Catching his breath, he shifted away from her, reached wearily for his back pocket, and pulled out the bottle of medicine. Miranda saw him fumble it between his fingers—she heard the sharp clink as it fell and struck the curb.
“Oh shit,” Parker muttered. “There goes my fix.”
But the bottle hadn’t broken. Instead it began to roll slowly into the street, turning over and over . . . over and over—a rhythmic, monotonous sound.
That sound . . .
And Miranda realized she knew that sound—or something very like it—it was familiar, she’d heard it before . . . but when? Where?
“Parker?”
“Yeah?” He’d gotten up now, gone after his bottle of cough syrup. With one smooth motion he scooped it up, unscrewed the top, and took a satisfied gulp.
“Parker, I . . .” Something . . . I know it’s there . . . I want to remember . . .“I want you to take me home.”
Parker froze, the bottle at his lips, poised for another swallow. He shot her a sidelong glance.
“This is so sudden, Miranda. I mean, we hardly know each other, and I do have a girlfriend. And there is, of course, the issue of my extremely high moral standards. But . . . okay. What the hell. I’ll take you home with me.”
“Not your home. My home. Hayes House.”
“What? Hayes House? Oh! Sure! Hayes House! Did you think I meant—that I wanted to—hey, I was just kidding!”
The irreverence was there again, the cocky grin back in place. As Miranda climbed into the passenger seat, Parker slid behind the wheel, then gunned the engine to breakneck speed. In less than five minutes they were squealing into the driveway of Hayes House. But even when Parker reached across and shoved open her door, Miranda made no move to get out.
“Let me guess.” Parker watched her expectantly. “You really do want to go home with me. You were just playing hard to get.”
Slowly Miranda shook her head. She gazed down at the envelope in her lap. “I forgot to give this to Ashley.”
“Forget it. Why the big rush to get here?”
The sound . . . the rolling sound . . . it’s close . . . it’s important. “I’m not sure, Parker. There’s . . . something—”
“No. Don’t tell me. Whatever it is, I don’t want to see it, hear it, or go through it ever again.”
Getting out of the car, Miranda walked a few steps before turning back to face him. “But aren’t you even curious about what happened to you out in the storm? Don’t you even want to explore all the—”
“Stop right there. There’s lots of things I want to explore, and things I most definitely will explore. But ghosts aren’t one of them. See you later.”
She watched him back down the driveway. Within seconds, the BMW had faded from sight, yet the sound—that sound!— stayed with her. Parker’s bottle of cough syrup rolling out into the street . . . that rhythmic, monotonous sound . . .
Why did it seem so familiar? Nagging her and bringing back memories—except I don’t know what the memories are! They’re right here, close enough to touch, and deep inside, but I can’t reach them!
Frustrated, she went into the house. Mom and Aunt Teeta had gone out to eat; she was glad to have the whole place to herself. Within seconds she found herself upstairs in her grandpa’s room, surrounded by so many things, so many connections to so many worlds . . .
Help me, Grandpa. Nathan . . . Ellena Rose . . . help me.
The room was silent, yet full of echoes. Ghostly whispers from forgotten voices . . . desperate pleas from her grandfather . . . comforting words from Etienne . . .
“Help me, Etienne,” she murmured.
“Whatever it was that Jonas found, he’d have kept it close to him,” Etienne had insisted.
Especially if it was your last treasure, your last quest, your last responsibility—right, Grandpa?
She walked to the nightstand. Not much had been moved in this room since the death of Jonas Hayes. As her eyes did a sweep of her surroundings, as her hands slid over the nightstand, her mind spun back to that day she’d been in here—that day I first met Grandpa. He was asleep; I was curious, looking through all his stuff. I touched something, some kind of container, and Grandpa looked at me, and something fell on the floor . . .
A tin. I remember now.
It rolled under the dresser, and Grandpa spoke to me, and when Etienne came, I forgot about the tin, and I never picked it up again . . .
Her heart raced out of control. She reached under the antique dresser, groped along the hardwood floor. Her fingers closed around a small, round canister.
It rolled when she touched it.
Rocking back on her heels, she pried the round lid from the tin. Her hands were trembling so violently, she could barely lift the old pocket watch from its wrapping of yellowed cloth.
Oh my God . . .
It was as though she held something alive. Something that swelled through her heart and coursed through her veins and burst into a thousand different emotions. Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she touched a fingertip carefully to the tiny spring latch.
The top clicked open. The rusted hinge gave way.
Through shimmering tears, she saw the tiny scrap of paper that fell out into her palm. Very slowly, she began to unfold it, piece by painstaking piece, all too aware of the delicate memories she was holding.
Even after all this time . . .
The delicate memories, and fragile lives, and long-ago brittle promises, all of them crumbling into dust between her fingertips.
Six simple words, binding two hearts forever:
Nathan, I love you,
Your Ellena.
35
“WHAT IF NOBODY COMES?” Ashley wrung her hands.
“They’ll show up,” Roo assured her.
“If nobody shows up, it’ll be my absolute worst nightmare.”
Blowing his nose into a tissue, Parker looked up with bleary eyes. “And if you don’t stop talking about it, it’ll be my absolute worst nightmare.”
“Parker Wilmington, how can you say that? For the millionth time, this counts for half our grade. And we can’t very well have a Walk of the Spirits if there’s nobody to walk with.”
Miranda opted for practicality. “Well, we know Miss Dupree and our class will be here. And I know my mom and Aunt Teeta are coming.”
“My folks, too,” Gage added. “And some of the other kids at school—they said they were interested.”
“Yeah. In laughing at us.” Flopping into a chair, Parker slid low on his spine. His voice was even hoarser than yesterday, and he winced each time he tried to talk. “Shit, I’ll be glad when this is over.”
Etienne struggled to keep a straight face. “How come? You scared you might see a real ghost?”
Miranda caught the fierce, accusing glare Parker shot her. But when Parker read the honest bewilderment on her face, he forced a painful laugh. “Right. Good one, Boucher. Real ghosts. Very funny.”
The six of them were in the lobby of the Battlefield Inn. While the others scanned last-minute notes and details of the tour script, Ashley was practically wearing out a path in the carpet.
“I’m just so nervous!” Taking the old-fashioned lantern Miranda handed her, she held it high above her head. “Oh, Miranda, carrying this was another wonderful idea of yours! And just look at my dress! Do I look okay?”
Roo gave her sister a bland appraisal. The southern belle gown was an airy, pastel confection of satin and lace and taffeta. “You look . . . pink. Pink and . . . pink. And—”
“Beautiful,” Gage broke in. “You look beautiful, Ash.”
“So sit yourself down,” Etienne ordered. “Before I hold you down.”
Sticking her tongue out at him, Ashley kept right on pacing, oblivious to her wide hoopskirt sweeping everything in its path—including Gage. Catching himself just in time, Gage backed out of her way and tried to realign his crutches. As Roo slyly tapped his left crutch with the toe of her combat boot, he shot her a warning glance.
“Don’t make me teach you a lesson.” He sighed.
“As if you could. In the shape you’re in.”
“Well, in case you’ve forgotten—you’re the reason I’m in this shape.”
Roo lounged slowly back in her seat. She fixed Gage with a long, unwavering stare. “I told Miranda you and I had sex.”
The room went silent.
Everyone froze. And turned. And looked at Gage.
“I—you—what—” A slow, hot blush crept over Gage’s cheeks. His eyes widened in disbelief. “Roo—I—you—”
“Gross!” Parker shuddered. “Way too much information!”
“Valuable information, cher.” Etienne winked at Roo. “Girls at school, they’ll pay a whole lotta money to find out if Gage has any other dimples.”
While Ashley collapsed in giggles, Miranda tried her best not to laugh. Groaning softly, Gage ducked his head.
“Oh, look!” Ashley let out a sudden squeal. “Look, y’all! I see some people outside! I think they’re coming over!”
It was true. After weeks and weeks of painstaking study and planning and rehearsing, opening night was finally here. St. Yvette’s first Walk of the Spirits.
“They are coming!” Ashley exclaimed. “See, Roo, I knew they’d show up.”
Dusk was settling over the Brickway. The air was warm, with a balmy breeze and the skies downy gray. No threat of rain, just a pale sprinkling of stars. Even the Historic District seemed different tonight, Miranda couldn’t help thinking. Soft with shadows . . . hushed with secrets . . . sweetly sentimental with memories.
And tonight we’ll remember Nathan and Ellena.
Tonight they’ll be together again.
She hadn’t told the others about finding the watch . . . she hadn’t even told Etienne.
She wanted to surprise them.
And she wanted the moment to be just right.
"There’s Miss Dupree!” As Parker joined Ashley at the window, the girl bounced eagerly on her tiptoes, using his arm for leverage. “Oh my God—it looks like our whole class is really here.”
Parker scowled. “She probably bribed them. She probably told them she’d give them A’s on all their projects if they came and walked through ours.”
“And there’s the principal—and assistant principal—Oh, there’s lots of teachers here, too!”
Mildly curious, Roo squeezed in between Ashley and Parker. “Hey, Boucher, there’s your mama. And Miss Jules and Mr. Frank. Oh, and Miranda, there’s your mom and your aunt Teeta . . . and our folks.”
Though no one said it, the absence of the Wilmingtons was painfully obvious. Parker shrugged and turned back from the window. Disappointment settled on the other five faces around him.
“Well,” Parker managed a croak. “Better light up your lantern, Miss Ashley. It’s showtime.”
Ashley stared. Her eyes went saucer-wide, and she clutched her stomach. “I don’t think I can go out there, y’all. There’s too many people!”
As the others stared back at her, Etienne made a strangling motion with his hands. “Shall I do the honors? Or does everybody want a turn?”
He and Parker promptly escorted Ashley out the door. Roo fell into step beside Miranda, with Gage bringing up the rear.
“Just watch her.” Roo’s tone held mild but sincere admiration. “She’s a pro.”
Roo was right. As Ashley swept onto the steps, an audible sigh went through the crowd. Ashley dipped and swayed, both sweet and seductive, her voice flowing honey-warm.
“Why, welcome, y’all. Welcome to our Walk of the Spirits.”
And so it went. Step by entertaining step along the Brickway, Ashley enticed and enthralled and utterly charmed the tour group. The history and heritage of St. Yvette came magically alive.
“Well,” Etienne mumbled to Miranda as they trailed a watchful distance behind the crowd, “they’re looking scared at all the right times. And they’re laughing at all the right jokes. That’s a good sign, yeah?”
“It’s better than good,” Miranda agreed with him. “It’s great. It’s unbelievable.”
“She threatened them,” Parker muttered, jerking his chin toward Miss Dupree. “I knew it! Damn! She bribed them and she threatened them.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Miranda said truthfully. “I think it’s really the subject matter. It’s all so fascinating. And Ashley, of course. She’s also fascinating.”
“Look at her,” Roo pointed out. “Didn’t I tell you? She’s got every single one of them in the palm of her hand.”
Etienne couldn’t resist. “You mean right where she’s got Parker?”
“Well,” Roo shot Parker a look. “Of course, some conquests are much easier than others. Especially with species of primitive brain.”
“Is she just talking about Parker?” Etienne raised an eyebrow at Gage. “Or you and me, too?”
The Walk of the Spirits moved on. Through the velvety nightfall, by the eerie glow of lantern light, came haunting and heartbreaking tales. An evil judge and his tortured victims. A kindly doctor, a grave-robbing undertaker, and a mysterious, deadly epidemic. The eternal screams of a child plunging from a nursery window. Curses, spells, and grisly sacrifices; secret voodoo rites. The silent processions and eerie chantings of spectral monks. And finally . . . sorrowfully . . . a ghostly song, the ghostly sobs, from a long-ago opera house.
"As y’all know, this is Magnolia Gallery,” Ashley explained. "But what y�
�all probably don’t know is that during the war, an opera house stood in this very spot. An opera house with a sad and tragic history. It was called the Rose—for the beautiful red-haired diva who sang there. Her name was Ellena Rose, and whenever she performed, red roses lined the carriageway and spilled from every door and window. Though many men pursued her, Ellena loved only Nathan—a stable boy. But their happiness was not meant to be. One foggy southern morning—and unknown to Ellena—Nathan was mortally wounded. And when the opera house went up in flames that night, Ellena perished in the fire, calling for her sweetheart, who never came.”
The tour group was mesmerized. There were gasps, sorrowful murmurs, and muffled tears.
“And sometimes . . .” Pausing dramatically, Ashley raised her lantern. “Sometimes you can hear the soft, sad singing from the opera house. Or see the pale glow of a lantern in the fog. As Ellena Rose searches eternally for her one true love.”
Tenderly, Miranda’s thoughts reached out. We’ll keep your secrets, Ellena. Your secrets and Nathan’s secrets. Forever.
“Excuse me! Wasn’t there something about a watch?” Miranda asked loudly.
Startled, Ashley turned to look at her. Miranda saw the confusion on Ashley’s face, her quick, anxious glance at the script. No, Ashley, it’s not written in there—nothing about the watch or the chain. Etienne was studying Miranda with a shrewd gaze. Gage and Parker exchanged bewildered glances. Roo seemed to be assessing the reactions of everyone else in the crowd.
“Watch?” Ashley echoed, expression totally blank. “You mean . . . like . . . a pocket watch?”
Eagerly, Miranda nodded. “And wasn’t there something about a watch chain?”
She had everyone’s attention now. All around her, people’s faces were tightening with curiosity. Ashley made a helpless gesture to Gage, who was still intent on Miranda. And then, very slowly, Gage began to smile.
“Yes,” Miranda said seriously. “I heard this legend once. About Nathan and Ellena exchanging tokens of their love. That Nathan gave her a watch—like this one. And Ellena Rose gave him a chain—a braided chain—like this.”
Calmly she pulled both objects from the pockets of her jeans. The tour group seemed intrigued, but her friends gasped out loud.
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