The walk up the second half of the driveway felt as though it was the longest of her life. She considered stopping by Adage’s parsonage as she passed, but he wouldn’t be able to do much except worry, so she decided to let him sleep.
As she crossed the boundary into her graveyard, the familiar chill drew about her. The mist was thick that morning, and the space felt almost unnaturally quiet. Keira kept moving past the cottage and sought out the now-familiar row of gravestones by the forest. She stopped in front of the one that read Emma Carthage 1955–1981.
“Emma?” Her voice was raw and raspy. Standing took up more energy than she was comfortable with, so she let her legs buckle and dropped to her knees. Then she reached for her second sight.
An ethereal, transparent shape emerged from the mist. Emma stood behind her grave marker, her long fingers braced on the stone top, as she watched Keira. Gentle concern creased her bloody face.
“You won’t believe the night I’ve had.” Keira managed a dry chuckle. Her smile faltered. “I think I finally understand. I ended up back at the mill. I found the secret room.”
Emma’s eyes widened. She stepped forward, passing through her headstone, and leaned near to Keira. The sundress swirled in an invisible wind, and frost spread outward from where she touched the ground. Keira could feel the chill radiating off the ghost, and huge plumes of condensation billowed from her lips as she spoke.
“I’m so sorry. I found your baby.”
Emma pressed her hands over her mouth. Liquid flooded her eyes, mixing with the blood and dripping over her mute lips.
Keira tried to smile. “I looked for her ghost. She’s not there. She moved on to her next life—probably at the same moment she passed away. I called the police about her, so she can have a proper burial. But she’s not on this earth anymore. I…I don’t know what’s in the next life, but…I suspect she’ll be there, waiting for you.”
Tears continued to flow, but when Emma lowered her hands from her mouth and pressed them to her heart, her lips formed a fragile smile. She spoke, and although Keira couldn’t hear the words, she could read them: Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.
The spirit’s form seemed fainter. Keira, thinking her second sight was waning, pulled on the muscle until it ached. But then she realized her vision wasn’t at fault—Emma was fading. Her form disappeared in shreds as though she were made of a smoke that was caught up by a breeze. The spirit closed her eyes and lifted her chin. A moment later, she no longer existed.
“Oh,” Keira whispered.
The clouds had started to clear, and shreds of thin sunlight struggled through. Keira, still kneeling in the mud, knew she would need to get up and return to cottage, but her limbs seemed to have mutinied and refused to respond. Her head drooped forward. Blood continued to seep through her makeshift bandage, but she didn’t have the energy to care.
There’s no harm in sitting for a moment, surely? I don’t even feel that cold anymore. I’m sure I’d do better after a sleep…
“Keira!” The voice cut through her disorientation.
It was familiar, and Keira smiled. Oh, good. Mason’s okay.
“Keira!” He skidded to a halt at her side. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling and looking for you everywhere and—oh hell, is that blood?”
“It’s been a weird sort of night,” she admitted.
Mason swore under his breath, then draped a warm jacket around her, followed by his arms. Keira let herself fall against him as he lifted her and cradled her like a child. “Hang on. I’m going to get you inside.”
“Good, Mason,” she said, and she patted his shoulder. “You do that.”
Mason held her carefully, her head tucked against his shoulder, his gait quick and smooth. He inexplicably smelled like cinnamon. She closed her eyes and relaxed into him. When he tried to set her down, she grumbled.
“I know.” He rubbed at her hands until sensation began to return. “I’ll take care of everything. Just sleep.”
That sounded like an award-winning idea, and Keira let herself slip into patchy unconsciousness. Something warm pressed against her chest. A hot water bottle? She wrapped her arms around it as scissors snipped at the wet clothes. Then biting pain in her shoulder made her snap back to awareness. She’d been wrapped in at least eight layers of blankets, and Mason was dabbing a smarting liquid over the cut.
“Stop it,” she grumbled, trying to roll away. The blanket cocoon was too thick for her to move more than a few inches.
Mason looked pale and had dark circles under his eyes, but he still smiled. “Everything’s okay. Go back to sleep.”
The next time she woke, the pain had dulled to an ache and she no longer felt like a human-shaped ice block. Voices in the room spoke quietly. Keira’s eyelids felt too heavy, so she let them stay closed as the words flowed past her.
Mason sounded agitated. “Even if she hadn’t half frozen out there, the blood loss alone would stop her from traveling.”
Adage replied, “I understand—”
“She needs rest. And I don’t think she’s been eating properly either. There’s no way I’m letting her leave today.”
“If you would just—”
“You’ll have to tell that woman in Glendale to look for a different assistant.”
“My dear boy, please listen.” Adage sounded exasperated. “You’re spending a terrible amount of energy arguing against a shadow. I already called Miss Wright and explained the situation. No one expects Keira to leave today.”
“Oh.” After a pause, Mason sighed. “Sorry.”
“Now, kindly stop pacing. You’re wearing holes in both the carpet and my nerves.”
A chair scraped as Mason sat down. The men dropped into silence for a moment, then Mason spoke again. Unlike earlier, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Let her stay here. She won’t say as much, but I know she doesn’t want to leave. She could live in this cottage. I’d help her find a job.”
“Mason, I am awfully fond of you, but I’ve known Catholics who worry less. We can discuss what’s to be done once she’s awake and can actually have a say in the matter.”
Mason didn’t reply, but Keira imagined him nodding. She was just on the edge of falling asleep again when something warm and heavy thumped against her arm. She mumbled as she turned to see the object.
Two huge amber eyes stared at her. Daisy’s ears twitched, then the black cat stretched, shook herself out, and curled into a tidy ball at Keira’s side.
“Hey there,” Keira mumbled and extracted an arm to scratch its head. As she pulled the limb free from the blanket cocoon, she saw that a swath of bandages had been wrapped around the cut.
Mason heard her. He carried his chair from the fireplace to prop it next to her bed and nodded to the cat as he sat. “She’s some kind of escape artist. When I left her at home, I was certain I’d closed every door and window in the house. I don’t even know how she remembered the way back here, but she showed up barely an hour after I found you.”
“Maybe she’s magic,” Keira murmured to herself.
The cat leaned into her hand, and when Daisy’s eyes met Keira’s, there seemed to be some kind of understanding inside. Then she rolled onto her back, poked one leg into the air, and began licking her butt.
Keira blew out a breath. “Ha. Maybe not.”
Mason was watching her closely. “How do you feel?”
“Pretty damn fantastic compared to earlier.” Everything ached, but she was warm in bed, and at least the edge of tiredness had been taken off. “Thanks for all of this by the way.”
He shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
Adage appeared at Mason’s side and wordlessly handed him a steaming bowl. The pastor gave Keira a kindly nod, then returned to the fireplace.
“Do you feel up to eating?” Mason held the bowl forward. “It’s chicken soup. Adage made it.”
“It’s from a can, but I was responsible for heating it, so I won’t refuse credit,�
�� the pastor called from his seat by the fire.
It smelled amazing. Keira took a drink straight from the bowl, then asked, “Is Zoe okay?”
“Yes and also no?” Mason laughed and ran a hand through his already-ruffled hair. “When you didn’t show up in town, we both panicked a bit. Remember her theory that Dane Crispin is a vampire? She kicked through a fence so she could use the picket as a stake.”
Keira pressed a hand over her mouth. “Oh no.”
“Yes. She was fully prepared to storm the castle, so to speak.”
“But she’s okay now? She’s staying away from Crispin House?”
“I called her to let her know you’re okay. She said she was going to get some sleep but will come and visit later this afternoon. I suspect she wants to know what happened.” His eyes darkened a fraction as his gaze slid to the bandages on her arm. “I do too.”
There was no way she could truthfully explain everything that had happened. The best she could do was give him a sheepish smile. “Last night was really just a series of awful mistakes. I got away from Dane easily enough, but then I became lost in the forest, and the phone’s battery ran out. I found my way back to town eventually; it just took a while.”
Mason’s eyebrows pulled closer together. “The cut. Did Dane do that?”
Keira hesitated. The firmness around Mason’s mouth and the cold light in his eyes hinted at carefully contained anger. She couldn’t tell him that it had been Gavin; that would lead to questions she couldn’t answer, such as why Gavin was no longer a threat.
The man from the bridge deserved justice, but she had no evidence that Gavin was responsible—just the knowledge her second sight had given her. She didn’t even know the older man’s name. That thread couldn’t be dropped, but she needed time to untangle it, and until then, she would have to lie. “No, this was my fault. I was carrying my knife but tripped and stabbed myself like the world’s biggest klutz.”
She grinned and shrugged in a What can you do? sort of way, but Mason’s frown only deepened. He didn’t believe her.
Adage appeared at the bedside and placed a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “I think now would be a good time for you to go home. We can sift through the details later. But right now, Keira needs rest, and so do you.”
Mason had been awake all night, Keira remembered, and he looked it. Dark shadows hung about his eyes and his expression was strained. Mason hesitated, so Keira gave his shoulder a reassuring poke. “I’m good. We’ll catch up later. Go get some shut-eye, okay?”
He took a slow breath, nodded, and rose. “Call me if that cut starts bleeding again or if you feel dizzy.” He retrieved his jacket, still damp from the rain, then paused at the door. “It’s going to be okay. Everything is, I mean. We’ll figure it out.” Hesitating, he stared at the handle, then he gave Keira a weary but still warm smile. “I’ll see you later.”
As the door clicked closed, Adage placed a bundle of fresh clothes on the end of Keira’s bed. He then returned to the little kitchen counter and filled the kettle. “Thank goodness he finally left. I’m quite fond of that boy, but he can be exhausting. Now, I would like to have a talk with you, my dear. Do you feel up to it? I’ll make a cup of tea.”
“Of course.” Keira gave her cat a final pet, then nudged her toward the end of the bed. She quickly shimmied into the fresh clothes while Adage faced the kitchen. Mason hadn’t just bandaged her arm, but bandages also covered the myriad cuts she’d earned while running through the forest, and he’d bound her twisted ankle too. A pang of fondness for him warmed her.
Adage didn’t speak as he boiled the kettle and filled two cups, but when he turned back to the fire, his expression was grave. Unease coiled through Keira’s chest, dampening the happy glow. Did Mason tell him I broke into Dane’s garden? Is he angry?
Adage nodded to the fireside seats. “Come and sit where it’s warm.”
He sank into the plush armchair, and Keira took the place next to him. She gratefully accepted the second mug and wrapped her hands around it as she waited to hear her fate.
“I received a call from Constable Sanderson a little earlier this morning,” Adage said at last. He stared at the crackling flames. Something about the pale morning light made his face seem older than it had before, as though he’d grown a webbing of new wrinkles overnight. “He wanted advice and reassurance. Apparently, he found an infant’s skeletal remains in the old mill.”
Keira’s mind was racing, but she kept her mouth closed. Adage let the silence stretch for several agonizing minutes before he looked at her. His mouth twitched into a smile. “I don’t think Mason has pieced the puzzle together yet. It’s possible he never will. He’s smart, but he has also grown up in a world filled with science and won’t find it easy to consider options outside his established paradigms. On the other hand, my entire life is based on the idea that having faith is more important than trusting in what we can see.” He sighed, took a sip of the tea, then fixed her with his sharp blue eyes. “You can talk to ghosts, can’t you?”
Panic churned Keira’s stomach. She didn’t know where to look or what to say. Is there any chance I could feign ignorance? Or is lying to a pastor the sort of thing that gets you sent straight to hell?
Adage turned back to his tea. “It wasn’t hard to figure out. You’ve been asking about Emma Carthage with far more intensity than any normal tourist would express. You were missing all night. Mason says he found you under Emma’s grave. And now an anonymous woman drew the police’s attention to a child’s remains in the same building where Frank hung himself.” The pastor’s bushy eyebrows bunched up. “With bureaucracy how it is, it will take weeks, if not months, for the police to give an official finding. But it was Emma’s baby, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Keira’s mouth was dry. Her fingers ached from gripping the cup too tightly.
Adage sighed and sagged forward. His face contracted, and for a second, Keira was afraid he was hurt. Then he blinked, and she saw his eyes were blurred by unshed tears. “All this time,” he muttered, speaking to the fire rather than her. “I’d thought she’d moved into the Lord’s embrace, but all the while, she’s been trapped here.”
“I’m so sorry.” Keira didn’t know what else to say. She’d grown to associate Adage with kind smiles and a carefree personality. To see him distressed made her insides ache with guilt.
“Tell me the truth, child. Is she gone now?”
“Yes.” Keira glanced toward the window. The mist had thinned, but enough of it lingered around the gravestones to cast an ethereal glow in the faint sunlight. “I think so. She didn’t want to leave while she thought her baby might still be on earth. But the infant had already moved on, and now that it will have a proper burial, Emma’s gone too.”
Adage nodded. He lowered his cup to the floor, then leaned back in the chair. “You told me you had no memories. Was that a concealment?”
“No. It’s the truth. I don’t know who I am or why I can see ghosts. I just can.”
Adage pursed his lips as he nodded. “Are there other spirits?”
“Yes.”
“In my cemetery?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
Keira looked back at the window and pulled on the second sight. The muscle still ached, but engaging it seemed to become slightly easier each time she used it. She saw the shimmer of faint, transparent forms. “At least a dozen. Emma was the clearest. Some of the others are almost too faint to see.”
“A remarkable talent,” Adage said, watching his laced fingers. “I’m sure you’ve already considered the possibilities this ability offers. You could be a television personality. A spirit medium for hire. Even the Catholic Church might be interested in employing you; they have no small number of qualified exorcists in their ranks.”
Those options had never occurred to her; she’d been too busy thinking about all the ways the gift could ruin her life. Keira tried to imagine being famous, talking to ghosts on live television or
invoicing wealthy clients for séances. Even just thinking about it made her feel dirty.
Her expression must have revealed her reluctance because Adage chuckled. “Not your cup of tea, child?”
“No, thank you.”
“Well, I have an offer of my own. Now, to be clear, I cannot afford even a fraction of what your talent would be worth. But I can give you this cottage to live in, dinner with me as often as you would enjoy it, and a modest weekly wage.”
Keira blinked. “Sorry, do you mean—?”
“I would like you to support Blighty’s spirits in moving on to the next life.” Adage took off his glasses and polished them on the edge of his sweater vest. His eyes looked misty again. “I became a pastor to assist as many souls as possible, and I am proud to say I have given the task everything I have. But my ability to help people ceases the moment they die.” His eyes met hers. “I can shepherd them during life, but I would like you to guide them after death.”
Keira’s throat was tight. Instead of trying to speak, she nodded. Her mind was too full of ideas to hold them all. Staying in Blighty. Living in the cottage that had already begun to feel like home. Keeping Daisy. Coffee with Zoe. Learning about the town with Mason.
And the ghosts. Emma’s situation had been both complex and frustrating, but knowing she had gone to meet her child and her fiancé had made it worthwhile. Every ghost in the graveyard would have a reason for lingering. Some might be resolved in half a day. Others, she was afraid, might never be able to move on. But she would try. Not just for the spirits in the cemetery, but for the souls trapped in the old mill. She owed them.
“Thank you,” she said at last. “I’d love to stay. Thank you so much.”
“Excellent.” Adage’s earlier despondency faded, and one of his grandfatherly smiles returned to his face. He stood, returned his cup to the sink, and took his coat off the hook by the door. “Then I will follow the same advice I gave to Mason earlier; the details can be decided on later. For now, you need to rest, and I am overdue for my morning calls. Mildred Hobb will never let me hear the end of it.”
The Whispering Dead: Gravekeeper Book 1 Page 20