The Awakening

by Amanda Stevens

  She didn’t try to make contact or even to look at me. She sat cross-legged in the grass, head bowed so that I couldn’t see her pale countenance. I thought at first that I had slipped into another of her memories. For whatever reason, she wanted me to witness this fleeting moment from her past. Was it another clue? Was she still trying to lead me to her murderer?

  Not a comforting thought as the two men continued to advance and I became aware once more of how alone I was, how isolated this section of the cemetery. As much as I deplored the injustice of that child’s death, I wanted to look away before I learned too much. Self-preservation ran deep. Searching for a killer was a dangerous business, and no matter my experience with ghosts, no matter my previous encounters with the depraved and the possessed, I was no hero. I was an everywoman trapped by my family’s legacy and the circumstances of my birth. Where once I had been enticed by the vicarious thrill of police investigations and the dark seduction of an old mystery, I now craved peace and quiet. All I wanted was to be left alone, but I couldn’t avert my gaze from that diaphanous form no matter how hard I tried. The shimmer of the ghost’s manifestation enthralled me.

  I waited, tense and breathless, but nothing happened. A memory did not unfold. The ghost remained immoveable, a gossamer statue, and it finally occurred to me that this wasn’t a memory at all. This was her existence, her earthbound reality. She came to the enchanted garden to be with the other children because she had nowhere else to go. The loneliness that swept through me was dark and clawing, devastating in its intensity. She must have been waiting a very long time for someone to come along who could see her. For someone who could acknowledge her pain and give witness to her rage.

  I almost put out a hand to her and then caught myself as Papa’s imaginary caution drifted through my head. Careful, Amelia. A ghost is a ghost.

  As if intuiting my reluctance, the entity rose and floated over to the fence, glaring through the pikes with churlish impatience.

  I took a step back from the fence as I turned toward the main cemetery. The newcomers were momentarily hidden by a stand of laurel oaks. When they emerged on the other side, I finally caught a glimpse of the second man’s profile. I had been shocked to recognize Rance Duvall in the lead, but now I was utterly devastated to realize that his companion was none other than Devlin.

  He didn’t so much as glance in my direction as they approached, but instead raked his gaze over the headstones and memorials as if memorizing the terrain.

  My heart flailed as my every nerve ending bristled a warning. Why was he here? Surely he meant me no harm, but how could I be certain? I had to judge him by the company he kept, and my initial impression of Rance Duvall had been damning. I felt a spidery crawl at the back of my neck as I remembered the effect he’d had on me at the restaurant. He was a handsome man, but I couldn’t help wondering what lay hidden behind his compelling visage. I couldn’t dispel the image of beady eyes and a gaping beak as he halted on the pathway to say something over his shoulder to Devlin.

  Devlin nodded, his gaze shifting in my direction and just like that, he took me in with the power of a physical punch. Once again I felt trapped, this time by the sheer magnetism of his presence. I couldn’t look away. I could barely even catch my breath. The pulse in my throat throbbed as a thrill of excitement raced through my bloodstream.

  In that moment when our gazes clung, treacherous memories besieged me. The intensity of his stare...his body as he moved over me...in me...the feel of his lips, his hands, his hair... The whisper of my name...

  Amelia... Amelia...do you have any idea how much I want you?

  Then take me.

  My resolve weakened along with my knees. I was aware of his fiancée at my side and the impropriety of my thoughts. But I was only human and Devlin would always be Devlin.

  Still in a state of shock, I’d momentarily forgotten about the ghost child. I didn’t know if she wanted my attention or if her rage could no longer be contained, but her bloodcurdling scream cleaved the silence, ripping apart the last vestiges of my composure. I physically flinched. I may even have gasped. The pain of that howl became so intense I wanted nothing more than to drop to my knees and cover my ears.

  “Mercy,” I whispered.

  An uncanny silence fell over the cemetery. The scream faded along with the tinkling of the chimes and I could hear nothing beyond the catch in my breath and the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears. I felt dizzy with relief, but I didn’t think the ghost had vanished back into the ether. Not yet. Not for good. The game wasn’t finished. She still had plans for me. I could sense her behind me in the enchanted garden, floating through those tiny graves, lurking among the seashell headstones. I didn’t dare turn to seek her out.

  Beside me, Claire said sharply, “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You mumbled something. I heard you.” She looked at me through narrowed eyes.

  My heart was still pounding, but I couldn’t let her sense my agitation. I couldn’t let her know that I’d just seen a ghost.

  I took a breath and tried to recover my poise. “I recognize the man in the lead. He was at the restaurant last night. I was startled to see him in the cemetery, especially at this hour.”

  Whether she bought my explanation or not, I didn’t know. She didn’t challenge me and for that I was grateful. “You mean Rance?”

  I turned in surprise. “You know him?”

  “Know him?” She gave a soft laugh. “He’s my brother. You didn’t see us together at Rapture last night?”

  “No, I—no.” My fingers slipped to the key at my neck. Rance Duvall was Claire Bellefontaine’s brother? “I had no idea you were related.”

  “He has a lot of experience in restoring and preserving historical properties,” she explained. “I asked him to come out here and take a look at Woodbine. I hope you don’t mind.”

  I swallowed. “No, it’s fine.” Normally, I welcomed interest and even participation in my restorations, but all I could focus on at the moment was being trapped at the back of an overgrown cemetery with people who might well be my mortal enemies.

  I searched Claire’s features, this time for a family resemblance. Rance Duvall was older than she by at least twenty years, but even beyond the age difference, they looked nothing alike. He was as dark as she was fair and they didn’t even share the same last name. The one thing they did have in common was my wariness of them. I knew very little about either of them, but I’d learned the hard way not to discount premonitions and intuition. I thought about Prosper Lamb’s door and the bad, bad things that sometimes came through. I thought about the sparrow and the dead starlings and the dreams I’d been having about my mother and my aunt. What any of these events had to do with the three people who stood before me in Woodbine Cemetery, I had no idea. The connections and alliances made no sense to me...yet.

  I tried to file everything away to be analyzed later in the safety of my sanctuary. For now, I needed to stay alert. But no sooner had I resolved myself to a careful vigil than I became distracted by the tension radiating from Claire Bellefontaine. Something had displeased her and she made little effort to conceal her irritation.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded as the two men approached. The emphasis on the pronoun jarred me and I stared at her for a moment before refocusing my attention on the newcomers.

  “That’s a fine greeting,” Rance Duvall said jovially. “Did you or did you not ask me to meet you out here?”

  “I asked you.” She glared at Devlin and in that moment, she could not have looked less like a woman in love. Her fury was evident in the thinning of her lips and the jutting of her chin, and I thought with a shudder that Claire Bellefontaine was not someone I’d ever want to cross.

  I stood quietly by and watched in fascination as the drama unfolded.

  Devlin responded
in an equally chilly tone. “Your brother said he was headed out here this afternoon so I thought I’d tag along. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “You said you had meetings for the rest of the day.”

  “Change of plans.” Devlin moved in then and bussed her cheek. Her hand fluttered to his chest, not to draw him closer, but to hold him at arm’s length. The rebuff didn’t appear to bother him. His low laugh as he pulled away sent a chill down my spine.

  How extraordinary this all was to me and how utterly bewildering. I was no expert in kinesics, but their body language seemed to speak volumes.

  Devlin didn’t glance at me again. He had eyes only for Claire, but I had the strangest feeling that he was watching her. He made no move to touch her again or she him. I couldn’t detect even the slightest hint of warmth between them. Their behavior made me wonder about the nature of their relationship, but I told myself not to go there. Speculation was a dangerous pastime for an ex-lover. Almost as treacherous as the imagination and wishful thinking.

  While Devlin watched Claire, I observed him, and I couldn’t help but note again how very much he had changed since we’d been together. Gone was the brooding police detective I’d been drawn to that first night he’d stepped out of the mist to confront me. Instead of the bespoke suits and fitted dress shirts, he wore jeans and a black wool jacket with the collar turned up. A lock of unruly hair fell across his forehead and I could see the shadow of his beard on his lower face. He was still a handsome man, perhaps even more so than I remembered, but the darkness within him had roughened his physical appearance and deepened his reserve. Maybe he and Claire Bellefontaine made a match after all.

  Beside me, she said, “Miss Gray, I’d like you to meet my fiancé, John Devlin. Miss Gray is the restorer we hired to clean up the cemetery.”

  Devlin said without inflection, “I know who she is.” His gaze moved over me once more, igniting embers I’d tried to smother for well over a year. “Hello, Amelia.”

  He might look a stranger, but the soft drawl of my name hadn’t changed one iota nor had my reaction to it. “Hello,” I said as memories vibrated through me.

  Claire said, “Oh, that’s right. You did mention that Miss Gray—Amelia—had once helped you on a case.”

  Had he really explained our relationship by reducing it to a police investigation? I somehow doubted Claire would have accepted such an innocuous explanation. If Devlin’s grandfather had uncovered my family’s deepest secret, surely his fiancée would have found out about our time together.

  Rance Duvall stepped forward then, offering his hand and an amiable smile, but I found myself once again repelled. He searched my face as we shook, his gaze narrowing in deliberation. I could smell the leather of his jacket and an undercurrent of musk that made me think of something feral and rapacious.

  “Amelia Gray,” he murmured. His drawl was deep and cultured and yet it reminded me nothing of Devlin’s. He cocked his head slightly. “We’ve met before, haven’t we? I can’t think when or where but I never forget a face.”

  “We’ve never met,” I said, trying to hide my distaste. “Not that I recall anyway. But I saw you last night at Rapture. I was there with a mutual friend. Dr. Temple Lee?”

  Recognition flared and his smile widened, displaying a pair of boyish dimples. “Ah, yes. That must be it. And now that you’ve prodded my memory, I do recall Temple saying that your work involved cemeteries. I just never put it together that you were our Woodbine restorer.”

  “Small world,” I said.

  “And getting smaller every day,” he agreed. How charming he seemed, how open and friendly his demeanor. And yet like Claire Bellefontaine, he aroused an aversion that was hard to explain. There was something in his eyes that made me think of all those dark things that crawled through the veil at dusk, that made me want to scurry toward the nearest hallowed ground and hunker down until dawn.

  Instead, I reached for Rose’s key, fingering the cool metal as I wondered why Devlin would associate with these people. But, of course, I already knew the answer. He was one of them now.

  I shot him a glance but he was still fixated on Claire.

  “Did Temple tell you about the excavation she and her crew are conducting on Duvall Island?” Rance asked.

  Reluctantly, I tore my attention from Devlin. “Yes, she’s very excited about the findings. And she’s grateful for your cooperation. That isn’t always the case.”

  He grinned. “Property owners tend to get a little nervous when a bunch of strangers show up with shovels and wheelbarrows.”

  “But not you.”

  “I’m a historian, so I see the bigger picture.” He paused. “Temple says you also have a background in archeology. You used to work for her, I believe.”

  I didn’t like the idea of being the topic of their conversation, much less the object of Rance Duvall’s interest. “That was a long time ago, before I came to Charleston to start my business.”

  “It’s still in the blood, I imagine. Once a digger, always a digger. Or so I’m told.” Another guileless smile. “You should come out to the site sometime. Duvall Island was under siege in both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars, so we’re uncovering all sorts of things. Bullets, buckles, cannonballs, breastplates, buttons and the like. And below those layers, bones, arrowheads, clay shards. It’s all very exciting.”

  “Yes, I well remember the exhilaration,” I replied noncommittally.

  “Transportation can be a bit tricky. There’s no bridge or causeway, so the only way on and off the island is by boat.” He fished in his pocket and produced a card. “If you decide to come out, call this number. My assistant will make all the arrangements.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If I’m on-site, I’ll give you the grand tour. Duvall Place has been badly neglected for generations, but the house is still a historical masterpiece. My father and his father before him saw no value in maintaining the integrity of the property, so I’m desperately playing catch-up. The structure has withstood Union assaults and untold hurricanes, but I’m afraid the battle of time and neglect may be our undoing.”

  “A word to the wise,” Claire put in. “Don’t go out there in bad weather. I can’t speak to the dig site, but the plantation house is spooky even in broad daylight. Trust me when I say that you don’t want to be trapped on that island overnight.”

  “If I can clear my schedule, I’ll make sure to pick a sunny day,” I assured her.

  “There’s a small cemetery on the island,” Rance said. “The graves date back to the early seventeen hundreds. Some of the headstones are in very bad shape, so perhaps you could give us some pointers as to how best to preserve them. And speaking of cemeteries...” He turned to scan his surroundings. “I had no idea Woodbine had fallen into such a disgraceful state. The neglect is always like a dagger through the heart, but unfortunately, there’s never enough money to go around for these projects. A cemetery, a building...something always falls between the cracks, especially in a city as old as Charleston. The Woodbine Trust is fortunate to have received such a generous donation.”

  “Yes, very lucky,” I agreed, wondering if he’d had anything to do with the anonymous contribution. “I’m sure the neglect is especially distressing when you have family buried here.”

  “She means the aunts,” Claire said and then turned to me. “They were Bellefontaines, so no relation to Rance. He’s my stepbrother, you see, which explains why he’s so much older.”

  “And so much wiser, apparently.” His dark eyes gleamed. “Claire and Sybilla weren’t sisters. Only one of them was a Bellefontaine.”

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken,” Claire said with a frown. “I know their story well. I’m named for them, after all. Pearlie and I used to visit their graves every Sunday and she told me how close they were, how they both refused to marry because of their ut
ter devotion to one another.”

  “She wasn’t wrong about that,” Rance said. “They were extremely devoted and lived together openly in a cottage on Limehouse Street. The relationship created quite a scandal and they were eventually disowned by their families and shunned from polite society.”

  Which probably explained their interment in Woodbine Cemetery. Their plight made me wonder what other secrets the Bellefontaine family had buried here.

  During the whole of the conversation, Devlin had remained silent, but now he shifted restlessly, his gaze moving about the cemetery before coming to rest briefly on me. “We should go,” he said. “It’s getting late and we’re keeping Amelia from finishing her work.”

  “Yes, we’ve taken enough of your time,” Claire agreed. “And I’ve completely missed the light. I’ll have to come back another day to get my shots.”

  “Perhaps next time we could impose upon you for a tour,” Rance said. “I daresay there may even be some Duvalls buried here.”

  I sincerely hoped there would be no next time, but I smiled and nodded politely.

  They lingered for a moment longer before heading back toward the entrance—Rance once more in the lead, Claire in the middle and Devlin bringing up the rear. I watched until they were out of sight, and Devlin never once glanced back in my direction. I tried to shake off a lingering melancholy. Devlin hadn’t been in my life for a very long time and I had managed to make peace with his absence. Or so I told myself on all those sleepless nights. I would be a fool to allow a brief encounter to undo my hard-fought contentment.

  Still...

  I didn’t know what to make of their visit, but I was fairly certain it had nothing to do with photographing the cemetery. And I was equally certain that Devlin had had an agenda apart from the other two. That was why Claire had been so incensed by his arrival. She had obviously wanted only her stepbrother to meet her at Woodbine Cemetery, but why?

  It was all very puzzling and more than a little disquieting. And I couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if Devlin hadn’t made a point to tag along.