by Jenna Kernan
“I heard you on the trail.” He glanced at the raven, which seemed to give an almost imperceptible nod.
Michaela shielded her eyes and turned her attention to the velvety black bird. “I’ve never seen one this close. It’s beautiful.”
The raven ruffled its feathers and an instant later settled them in perfect order, then it draped the snake over the branch on which it perched. It rested a claw over the treasure. The bird turned its glossy head as if eavesdropping.
Sebastian eyed the rattler. “No business being this far north.”
She gazed at the ruined body. “It had business with me.”
His troubled eyes met hers. “Yes.”
She kept her eyes on the grim sight as she spoke. “He’ll send more ghosts.”
Sebastian’s brow descended low over his eyes as he stared at her. “That was a ghost?”
“Possessed by one.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw the shadowy thing leave the snake when it died.”
“Saw it?” The disbelief rang clear in his voice.
“And heard its thoughts. This ghost was evil. He attacked women, enjoyed attacking them.”
The raven chortled as if discontent, its head feathers lifting straight up.
His eyes never left Michaela. “No one can hear ghosts.”
“But I did, or sensed it. I don’t think I heard it exactly, but I knew what it was feeling and thinking. He raped women, eleven women. The youngest was nineteen and the oldest…” She squeezed her eyes shut as the truth came to her. “The oldest was sixty-six. He kept the newspaper clipping in a green scrapbook with the image of a bouquet of violets on the cover.”
Sebastian scowled.
Desperate for reassurance, she forged on. “But you can see them—the ghosts?”
If Sebastian saw them, it would be all right for her to see them. But his expression told her that he did not and that she was as unnatural as a two-headed calf.
He cast out a troubled breath. “I smell them and I can see those eyes when they take possession of a living thing, but I cannot hear their thoughts, nor can I see them when they have no body.”
How was it she had a power that he lacked?
“But you hear them?” She waited, her stomach aching at the silence that she filled by rushing ahead. “I could hear him, in my mind. He wanted to bite me. It had been so long since he attacked a woman. He…he used to…to…” She could not put the dreadful images into words and so clamped her hands to her temples as if to cast them out.
Sebastian could not bear to witness her struggle. He laid a hand upon the bare back of her neck, taking her thoughts into his mind. Instead of struggling for her freedom, she grasped his forearm, strengthening the contact, as if she needed him to perceive what haunted her. He swayed at the ugly images. These thoughts were not hers but she had seen them and felt the raw emotions. How was this possible?
“You did hear it.” He stared in wonder.
“I never did before.” Her voice held dull resignation, as if adding a burden to one who already had more than she could carry. “Maybe the wound did something to me—triggered it?”
“No, Michaela. A touch from the Spirit World cannot give you such powers. It could only magnify the powers you already possess.”
She trembled now as uncertainty blossomed into fear. “I don’t have powers.”
“You do. You hear ghosts. You see ghosts. This alone would be reason enough for Nagi to pursue you.”
“I thought his job was to keep the bad ghosts away from the human world, not unleash them on women.”
“Who taught you this?”
Her chin sank to her chest, and a wave of sorrow coursed through her so strongly Sebastian was tempted to let go of her to avoid suffering this sorrow with her.
“My mother.”
Her mother who had died recently and Michaela had lost the one person in the world who loved her unconditionally. Sebastian sighed in resignation, stemming his rising envy. She’d had a mother who had cared for her.
He had met her mother, after a fashion, had seen her watching him on the rare occasion that he crossed the line of spruce and into the world of man. She had a dreamcatcher on her porch and he heard her chanting prayers at sunrise. This woman followed the old ways.
“She taught you well,” he said. “Nagi is charged with keeping order in the Circle of Ghosts. It is his domain. But some ghosts do not take the Spirit Road at death, choosing to linger in places they feel most familiar. He collects the bad ones. Have you seen these ghosts before?”
She was thinking hard, recalling vague dreads, jangling internal bells, warning her to keep clear of a certain room or told her not to venture down a particular street. Were those feelings somehow connected to ghosts?
“I’ve never heard their thoughts exactly or seen them directly before.”
Sebastian slid his hand up to circle the thin column of her neck, finding her thoughts clearer when unveiled by the sodden fabric separating them. “But you are aware of their presence in this plane, have been conscious of them for some time.”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever read the thoughts of Nagi?”
“No. But he spoke to me in my mother’s cabin as I told you.”
Sebastian tensed. “What were his words exactly?”
“He said, ‘I see you.’”
The raven cawed its warning call in one short burst.
Sebastian glanced up for just an instant before returning his gaze to Michaela. “Could it be that he could not see you before?”
She shrugged. “You tell me. I’m way out of my league here.”
“What has changed for you recently?”
More flashes, like summer lightning in a violent storm. Her mother’s death, the accident, pain, spinning sensations, and her body not responding to her mind’s call, a long stretch of darkness and then grief.
“Darkness?” he asked.
She looked at him with resignation. “Can’t you read that? Reception fuzzy? Maybe you can check the cable feed.”
“Your thoughts are clearer than your words at times.” He pressed his hand to the flesh exposed at her throat, trying to ignore the enticing pulse of her beating heart and the warm flush that blossomed across her chest. “Be still now and think about the accident.”
She did, and he read the moments before the mountain bike crashed, the tumbling and the breaking of bones as she fell into the rocks. Her leg and thigh. Sebastian swept a finger over the bump where her collarbone had knit.
She kept her eyes on him, recalling awakening freezing cold, stretched out beneath a white sheet in a thin gown of cotton. He felt the tube in her nose and the one thrust into her bladder. Two needles pierced her hand and forearm. The suspended bags of fluid dripped into the tube forced into her arm. Beside her, machines bleating incessantly, like lambs at shearing. He recalled with her, her terror at finding herself in this metal bed and then the panic at the blank places of her memory.
Hospitals. The barbarism of these places still astonished him. Here they cut away damaged flesh, removing it like a brown spot from an apple.
“What was it?” he asked.
“Coma.”
Sebastian growled. “You said only that you were in intensive care.”
“I was, but I was unconscious for five days.”
“Just unconscious?”
Her answer came into his mind. I died, twice.
“Died?” he asked.
“My heart stopped in the ambulance and again in the E.R. Not for very long. No brain damage, they said.”
“You opened a portal to the Spirit World. You visited and returned. That is why Nagi can see you now.”
The raven gave a low chortle.
Sebastian walked Michaela back to the lodge and up the steps where Bess, still in raven form, kept watch from the peak of the roof.
“If you can see ghosts, you would be of interest to Nagi. But why try to kill you?” he asked.
“I just want it to stop.”
“That may not be possible. You have powers, but you are not like me.”
“And what are you, exactly?” She slipped from his grasp and the gloom of her mood vanished from his mind.
He pressed his lips together and he hesitated, wishing he could tell her. She had already seen Nagi and now a ghost.
“You can control animals, ride tornadoes, heal wounds. That makes you like an über-shaman.”
“I am not a shaman.
“So…what the heck are you?” She scowled. “’Cause you’re not human.”
“Says who?”
“Well, you keep calling me human, so I figure that means you’d check ‘other’ in the species box.”
“My mother was human.”
“That’s less reassuring than you might imagine.”
The raven lighted on the porch rail, the feathers at her cowl lifted in agitation as she bobbed her head.
Sebastian scowled at Bess, wishing she’d go away.
Michaela’s voice lowered to a reverent whisper. “Does she understand you?”
Sebastian glowered at the bird. “I’ve never thought so.”
Bess began cawing, chewing him a new one as she flapped her wings. Her tirade made conversation difficult.
Michaela cooed at the bird. “You’re beautiful and so brave.”
Bess’s feathers settled as she turned a beady eye on Michaela. Flattery was something that Bess responded to, but when he tried it, she always saw right through him. Michaela’s genuine praise must have made the difference.
“Is she a pet?” she asked, raising her hand to stroke the glossy feathers.
Sebastian laughed. Michaela gaped at him, suddenly dumbstruck. She acted as if she’d never heard him laugh.
He stopped, realizing that she hadn’t heard him. He never laughed, until now. He felt a squeezing pressure in his chest that might have been joy. It felt wonderful and terrible all at once.
Michaela realized she stood with her hand raised before the great bird. She studied the long beak, noting the wicked-looking hooked tip, and dropped her hand.
“Wise,” said Sebastian.
The raven jumped off the rail, stretching its great wings as it flew across the lake and out of sight.
“Serves her right for eavesdropping.”
Michaela watched until she lost the bird against the far shore, then turned back to him. “What?”
He stared off in the direction the bird had taken, then pressed a hand to the small of Michaela’s back and ushered her inside.
She liked the reassurance of his touch, it made her feel safe. His skin grew hot as his blood pulsed to the most obvious of places. Was it to be like this every time he came within sight of her?
“How did you know to send the grizzly after the possessed bear?”
“I can smell ghosts when they’ve taken possession.”
“What? Really?”
He nodded, stepping closer, wanting to breathe in her warm honey scent and feel her soft skin.
“What do they smell like?”
“Death.”
Her eyes rounded.
“Putrid flesh stinking of rot, disease and earth. I can smell them three hundred yards away.”
“How is that possible?”
“How is it possible for you to see them?”
She was dripping wet from her jump in the lake, so he took her to the bathroom, pulling a towel from the rack and using it to dry her hair.
He wondered if it were too much to hope that Bess would go away.
“They look like greasy smoke and their eyes glow a sickly yellow.” She looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I think I’m going crazy.”
“You’re changing.”
Her eyes were on him once more, full of hopelessness and fear. “Into what?”
“We shall see in time.”
Tears rose in her eyes, filling them until the lower lids seemed barely able to contain the rising water. The need to protect her built within him, making him feel he must guard her even from herself.
He reached for her, capturing her round the waist and drawing her into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her damp head upon his chest.
“Please tell me what’s happening to me,” she begged.
Hot tears splashed against his bare skin as he stroked her hair, absorbing the torment of her bewilderment and dread.
“I do not know, little one.”
She sniffed, and he rocked her until her breathing returned to a steady pace and water no longer flowed from her eyes. Her tears reminded him of his mother.
He released her, then stepped toward the door.
“Where are you going?” she called.
“To get you some dry clothes.”
“But you said you don’t have any.”
He stopped to glance back at her and then left the room, removing his calf-high moccasins. He had never done this before, never given a piece of himself to someone. If the garment were lost he’d have a fist-size hole in his coat as a reminder of his foolishness.
He held out one moccasin and shook it, changing the leather into green silk the same color as her eyes. It was a slinky dress he’d seen on a calendar in a bookstore. The image had stuck and so he was able to re-create it. He held the garment by the shoulders, wondering if it would fit.
Finally, he changed his remaining knee-high footwear into a pair of running shoes, then returned to her.
He extended his gift. “Here.”
She accepted the dress with openmouthed wonder, holding it out to examine it.
“Lovely.” She lowered the silk and stared at him, a smile on her face. “Why in the world would you have something like this here?”
“I didn’t until a minute ago.”
Her playful expression vanished, replaced by the lost look. He hated that he had robbed her of the little moment of joy.
“Put it on. I’m expecting company.”
Chapter 13
M ichaela looked out through the French doors at the tall woman on the porch. Her black hair was swept up in a sculptural bun, emphasizing her statuesque features and elegant form. She was draped to the knee in a stylish flowing black dress that reminded Michaela of something made for movement. The garment that flowed about her looked like the wings of a bird or a ballerina taking the stage.
The Black Swan—that was what she looked like. Michaela thought her wardrobe out of place in such a locale, until she glanced down at her own sleek cocktail dress. She peered toward the kitchen and saw Sebastian arranging three cups on the counter, but making no attempt whatsoever to answer the door.
So Michaela greeted their guest, who swept in as if completely comfortable in this place.
“Hello.” She smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Bess.”
Michaela stared for a moment at the long, elegant fingers and sculpted nails, devoid of any polish but carefully tended. They clasped hands.
“Michaela Proud.”
“Enchanted.” Bess did not release her hand, but kept possession as if waiting for something to happen.
Michaela resisted the urge to tug free as Bess scrutinized her.
At last the woman freed her hand but still held contact with her eyes. Disquieted by the odd sense of familiarity in her inquisitive stare, Michaela dropped her gaze and noted Bess’s lovely necklace. Black crystal beads circled her graceful neck. At the base of her throat hung a carving of a black bird with a red jewel in its open beak. She’d never seen a fetish like this one. The details of the wings were magnificent, and she recognized the symbolism immediately—Raven stealing the sun.
“What a lovely dress,” said Bess.
“Oh.” Michaela ran her fingers over the silk sleeve. “My clothing’s wet. Sebastian gave it to me.”
; Bess’s dark brow lifted as she glanced at her host, but said nothing. “Hello, Sebastian.”
He nodded a greeting. “Tea?”
He drew out a cookie tin that once held Danish butter cookies, and opened it.
Michaela perched on a stool at the counter as Sebastian lined up a bag of sugar, a bottle of molasses, a jar of honey and a bag of brown sugar before offering them a spoon and cup.
“Thank you.”
He poured and she tore open the envelope, plopping the tea bag into her mug as Michaela tried to reconcile the normalcy of the scene with the unsettling oddities.
“I didn’t see another cabin nearby,” said Michaela.
“Oh, mine is tucked way up in those tall pines behind this place.”
“I see,” Michaela said, not believing a word. Sebastian seemed as solitary as a clam, and it made no sense for them to be neighbors out here, when there was not one other residence visible on the lakeshore. Before she could formulate a question that would not sound rude, Bess asked one of her own.
“How is your injury?”
Michaela could not keep the surprise from her expression. How in the world could this woman know about that? Michaela glanced at the short sleeve of the dress, confirming that no outward indication of the attack was visible. She grew still as the sense of the ordinary dissolved like a sugar cube in tea.
“How did you know?”
“Sebastian mentioned it.”
She cast him a glance, but he did not meet her eyes, leaving her alone to face this disconcerting woman.
“Well, it’s feeling much better, thanks to…” To what—Sebastian’s eagle feather? She settled on “Sebastian’s help.”
“He’s a gem. Although some wounds even he can’t mend.” Bess cast Sebastian a meaningful glance that made Michaela speculate at the relationship between these two. Her mood turned sour despite the sweetness of her tea.
Not that Michaela had any claim on him. He had made that clear this morning when he’d leaped from her bed as if it were on fire. But that humiliation didn’t keep the jealousy from popping up like a gopher in a horse pasture. When he’d taken off like a bullet from a gun, had he run straight to this woman?
Michaela turned her attention back to him and found Sebastian leaning against the counter and watching them both with cautious eyes. His gaze wandered over Michaela, making her flush. When their eyes met, she lowered her gaze to watch the steam rising from the still surface of her tea. Yes, that was exactly how he made her feel.