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 follow
ed 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 la
rger 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?
The Kingdom Page 3