The Kingdom

by Amanda Stevens

  Sidra’s mother wore a white sheath with coils of silver chain around her throat and the redhead, a vintage brocade cocktail dress in emerald-green. They watched me warily, the way one might observe something suspect in a petri dish, and I saw Sidra’s mother touch Luna’s arm and murmur something in her ear. I grew even more anxious and wished that I’d followed my initial inclination to circle the drive and head back home. Or that I’d at least taken a little more care with my makeup. Done something different with my hair. Then I told myself I was being ridiculous. When had the way I looked become such a pressing concern? Like my father, I worked with my hands. I had no need of frills in my wardrobe. As lovely as those dresses were, they wouldn’t suit me at all. But I knew the tension that knotted my stomach really had little to do with my appearance. The worry over my plain attire was merely a manifestation of some darker uneasiness that plagued me.

  The three women had grouped themselves around a tall, broad-shouldered man who had his back to the door. He was the only one who hadn’t turned when I arrived. There was a fourth woman, but she blended so seamlessly into the background I nearly missed her. She was slight and nondescript, and her unfortunate choice of brown velvet all but swallowed her. She looked uncomfortable and so out of her element that I felt an instant kinship.

  All of this was but a brief assessment before Thane materialized at my side, handsomely bedecked in a charcoal suit with a narrow green tie that complemented his eye color.

  “You found us,” he said warmly.

  “Of course, I did. Your directions were perfect. And, anyway, it would be hard to miss this house.” I glanced around. “I’m not late, am I?”

  “Right on time. But I admit, I was starting to worry you might have had a change of heart.”

  “I almost did. Several times.”

  “Lucky for us you didn’t. Come along, then. Let’s get the introductions out of the way and I’ll see about getting you a drink.” Weaving my arm through his, he led me across the room to the others. A set of French doors stood open to the cool night air, and the scent of wildflowers drifted in. Or was that Luna’s perfume?

  Detaching herself from the group, she came forward to greet us alone, the airy fabric of her dress swirling gracefully in the breeze. I couldn’t help but admire the one-shoulder cut and the contrast of dark hair against creamy skin. She was beautifully and meticulously groomed—hair, makeup, nails, everything perfect—but there was something feral in her eyes and in the way she walked that reminded me of a jungle cat straining at a jeweled leash.

  I thought back to her transformation at the Covey house that first afternoon and how everything about her had seemed so enhanced by our natural surroundings. And then I also remembered her attitude toward Angus, and my esteem for her quickly vanished.

  “You know Luna, of course,” Thane was saying.

  I nodded with a polite, if forced smile. I suspected her greeting was just as strained.

  “Lovely to see you again, Amelia, although I never expected to run into you here.” Her inquisitive gaze flicked to Thane. “I didn’t realize you two even knew each other.”

  “We met on the ferry,” he said.

  “That explains it.” Her smile settled back into place, her expression as benign as the evening breeze. But now I was remembering something else about Luna Kemper—that flash of rage when I’d dared stand up to her about Angus. She was not a woman to be crossed. Certainly, not someone I’d want for an enemy.

  “How do you like your accommodations?” she asked. “Not too far from town, I hope.”

  “No, everything’s fine. Thank you for making the arrangements. Although…”

  She tilted her head and regarded me with that same bemusement, as if she still couldn’t quite figure me out. “Yes?”

  I wanted to ask her why she hadn’t told me about the proximity of the original Thorngate, but I didn’t dare mention it without providing some alternate explanation as to how I’d come by the knowledge. I couldn’t tell her about the bells, after all. Or the swirl of restless souls in the mist.

  “Never mind,” I murmured. “It’s not important.”

  “If you say so.” Annoyance flashed in her eyes, but she quickly shrugged it aside. “By the way, has Tilly been by since you arrived?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  She sighed. “And I specifically asked her to keep an eye on you…in case you needed anything. I thought she might even be able to help you in the cemetery. She’s always on the lookout for odd jobs.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Thane said. “Tilly’s a hard worker. I’ll speak to her myself if you like.”

  The blonde glided up beside Luna with a frown. “Forgive me…I couldn’t help overhearing. You’re referring to Tilly Pattershaw, I assume. She may be a hard worker, but I’d worry about her mental stability if I were you.”

  “Bryn,” Luna admonished.

  “Don’t Bryn me. I’m just saying what we’ve all thought for years. The woman is strange. Living out there in the woods for so long has affected her mind. When was the last time anyone saw her in town? I shudder to think what she lives on.”

  “She’s not hurting anyone,” Thane said. “So I really don’t see the problem.”

  “She may not be a problem yet, but that doesn’t negate the fact that she hasn’t been right since—”

  “My goodness, where are my manners?” Luna interrupted. “Here we are going on and on, and you two haven’t even been formally introduced yet. Amelia, I’d like you to meet one of my oldest and dearest friends, Bryn Birch. You met her daughter, Sidra, at the library the other day.”

  Before I could offer my hand, Bryn lifted her head, giving the effect of gazing down her nose at me. “Actually, I feel as though we’ve already met. You brought my daughter home yesterday. She and Ivy couldn’t stop talking about you.” She glanced at Luna. “They pretended to be sick so they could leave school early.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Sidra,” Luna said.

  “It’s that girl,” Bryn said scathingly. She turned back to me. “I’m certain you weren’t in any way complicit in their little scheme.”

  “All I did was offer a ride. I drove them straight home.” I hated that I sounded so defensive, but Bryn Birch had a way about her. She was beautiful, cold, haughty and aloof—the embodiment of every quality I found intimidating. The perfect headmistress.

  “Where did you pick them up?” she asked.

  “At that little market off Main Street.”

  “You don’t know where they’d been all afternoon?”

  “They never said.”

  She exchanged another glance with Luna, and at that moment, I wasn’t so certain I would have told her of their whereabouts even if I’d known. Both professionally and personally, she had every right to be concerned, but there was something very disturbing about her third degree. I wasn’t getting apprehension so much as suspicion.

  The redhead joined us then and thrust out her hand. “Amelia, welcome! I’m Catrice Hawthorne.” Her handshake was warm and firm—a relief from the frostbite of Bryn’s interrogation—and her soft brown eyes sparkled with good humor. “Ever since Luna told us you were coming, I’ve been dying to meet you.”

  “Oh…well…thank you.” Her effusive greeting caught me off guard.

  “I’ve been reading your blog,” she said. “Digging Graves…such a clever name. You’re quite the celebrity, it seems.”

  “Hardly. It’s just something I do in my spare time.”

  “Well, I’d say it’s a very successful hobby. One of the videos you posted has over a million hits.”

  “That’s from an interview I did in Samara, Georgia,” I said. “The camera captured reflected light over the cemetery and the footage made the rounds on ghost-hunting sites. It really had nothing to do with me.”

  “Cat is something of a celebrity herself in these parts,” Luna said. “She’s a noted ornithologist and a very talented artist.”

  “Translati
on—I’m a bird-watcher who paints,” Catrice said with a charming touch of self-deprecation.

  “You’re far too modest.” Luna turned back to me. “One of her paintings hangs in the governor’s mansion. That’s quite an honor.”

  “I’d love to see some of your work,” I said.

  “Drop by my studio one of these days and I’ll give you a tour. But enough about me,” she said with a wink. “You haven’t met Hugh and his lovely wife.”

  I felt Thane’s hand on my elbow then, and he gave it a little squeeze as he propelled me forward.

  “Amelia, I’d like you to meet my uncle, Hugh Asher.”

  I’d been aware of the man lurking in the background during the introductions, but I hadn’t gotten a proper look at him until now. I tried not to stare, but it wasn’t easy. He had the smooth, sophisticated looks of an old-timey movie star. Dark hair, dark eyes—a middle-aged Adonis with an easy smile and a restless virility that made me instantly wary.

  “Welcome to Asher House,” he said graciously, and I almost expected him to lift my hand to his lips. I was grateful that he didn’t.

  “Thank you for having me.” His features were so unnervingly perfect I felt compelled to search for a flaw as we shook hands. I found one in the softness of his jawline, another in the infinitesimal puffiness beneath his eyes that suggested a propensity for drink.

  “My wife, Maris,” he said, moving aside to include the tiny woman who hovered behind him. The first thing I noticed was how much younger she was than her husband, closer to Thane’s age than Hugh’s. The second thing that caught my attention was the way she anchored herself to his side, her gaze flitting birdlike from me to the other women as if she felt threatened from all sides.

  “Would you excuse us?” Thane asked, taking my arm again. “Amelia hasn’t met Grandfather yet.”

  “Good luck with that,” Hugh Asher muttered as he lifted his drink.

  “What did he mean by that?” I asked as we walked away.

  “Don’t mind him,” Thane said with a shrug. “He and my grandfather have a difficult relationship. Come to think of it, I guess we all do—”

  He broke off, his gaze going past my shoulder a split second before I felt a strange tingle at the base of my spine. I turned instinctively to the open French doors. Something had drifted in on the breeze. A whisper of that same evil… .

  Twelve

  I saw nothing at first as I searched the outside shadows. Then a slight movement drew my gaze downward, and I could just make out the silhouette of a wheelchair. I wondered how long he’d been sitting out there in the gloom. Had he been watching us this whole time?

  He glided in, the wheels making the faintest swish on the hardwood floor. Even seated, he looked tall and regal, immaculately attired in a dark suit that set off his silver hair. His face was thin and deeply lined, his eyes as black as soot. I could detect a faint resemblance to his son, but unlike Hugh, this man was far more imposing than handsome. And despite his age, there was no softness in the jawline, no weakness of any kind other than the withered legs half-hidden by a cashmere throw.

  “Grandfather, I’d like you to meet Amelia Gray,” Thane said.

  I went forward to greet him. “How do you do, Mr. Asher?”

  He had been clutching a leather-bound book, and as he laid it aside, I caught a glimpse of gold tooling on the cover, an emblem that triggered some distant, elusive memory. Then it was gone as he took my hand in his, and that strange quiver traversed slowly from the base of my spine all the way up to the back of my neck. It was all I could do not to pull my hand from his.

  “Leave us,” he commanded.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “He means me,” Thane said.

  “Oh…”

  “How about that drink?” he asked cheerfully, unruffled by his grandfather’s bluntness. “What would you like?”

  “Some white wine?”

  He glanced down. “Grandfather?”

  The older man answered with an imperious wave, and Thane sauntered off. I was then summoned to a seat next to the wheelchair, and I perched on the edge, as uneasy as a rabbit caught in a snare.

  “So you’re the restorer I’ve been hearing so much about,” he said. “The one who’s come to save our little cemetery.”

  I glanced at him sharply, searching for evidence of animosity or sarcasm, but I found nothing in those black eyes but a mild curiosity. “I don’t know about that. I’m just here to do what I’ve been hired to do.”

  “Have you seen the cemetery yet?” His voice, more than the wheelchair, gave away his frailty. It had a brittle quality that couldn’t be masked with a throw.

  “As a matter of fact, I spent the day there photographing headstones.”

  “And what did you think of it?”

  It was the same question Thane had asked earlier, and like then, I had a feeling Thorngate was merely a blind. The man was after something else. But then I wondered if my uneasiness—more than his words—had created the suspicion. “I was just telling Thane earlier how much I admire the statuary. The faces are so expressive. They remind me of some of the statues I saw in a Paris cemetery once.”

  “Père Lachaise?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Have you been there?”

  He nodded. “You have a good eye, my dear. Many of the statues in our cemetery were sculpted by European artists. They’re priceless.”

  “Then it’s lucky there’s been no vandalism,” I said. “You can’t imagine the kind of damage that can be done with a can of spray paint.”

  “No one would dare.”

  The comment was so offhand I almost missed the supreme arrogance, but it was there in the haughty glitter of those obsidian eyes, in the thin, mirthless smile that sent another shiver up my spine. I hadn’t come here expecting to like Pell Asher. His greed had destroyed a cemetery, and in my eyes, that was an unforgiveable sin. But despite his past deeds, despite the pomposity, I was strangely intrigued by the man. I’d fallen victim to his mystique even as his very nature repelled me.

  “Tell me more about your travels,” he said smoothly. “As you can imagine, I don’t get out much these days. I tend to live vicariously. You mentioned Paris. Do you travel abroad often?”

  “Whenever I can. But Paris was some time ago. A high school graduation gift from my aunt.”

  “A very generous one, I’d say.” His smile was now warm and inviting, almost eager. I couldn’t help responding.

  “Too generous, according to my father,” I found myself telling him.

  One dark brow rose in sympathy. “He didn’t want you to go?”

  “He’s always been…protective.” And I would say no more on the subject. My relationship with Papa was a private matter, but that brief conversation had stirred a hornet’s nest of memories. He’d been so dead set against that trip. I’d rarely seen him so angry. Looking back, I understood why. The notion of my straying so far from the hallowed ground of Rosehill Cemetery must have terrified him. He’d always kept such a watchful eye. But Mama and Aunt Lynrose had been relentless. They’d had their own worries about me. They didn’t know about the ghosts and so couldn’t understand why a girl of my age was all too content to sequester herself in an old graveyard with only her books for company. It was high time I had an adventure, they’d said. A bit of culture. So off to Paris I’d gone. And while my aunt toured the Louvre and Notre Dame, I’d slipped off by myself to wander the pathways of Père Lachaise where the likes of Chopin and Jim Morrison and Édith Piaf had been laid to rest. I’d had a wonderful time despite the ghosts—Paris had been full of them—and when we returned, the chasm between Papa and me had grown even wider. To this day, I didn’t understand that distance. I still didn’t know why that first sighting of a ghost had changed our relationship forever.

  The old hurt flitted away as Thane placed a glass of wine in my hand. I looked up with a smile. “Thank you.”

  His gaze on me was attentive. “Everything okay?”

 
“Yes, fine.”

  “You sure?”

  I nodded.

  “You need to see about Maris,” his grandfather said darkly. “She’s started to drink, and you know she can’t hold her liquor. Go head her off before she makes a fool of herself.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Thane murmured.

  I took a sip of the wine—a dry, crisp Riesling—and savored the acidity on my tongue as I watched Thane over the rim. He’d gone straight over to Maris and bent to say something in her ear. She looked up with a grateful smile and nodded, her hand fluttering to his sleeve. I was reminded of the way Angus had nuzzled against Thane earlier. It seemed he had a way with strays, and I wondered if he regarded me as such.