The Kingdom

by Amanda Stevens

  “Your grandfather told me about Harper,” I said softly.

  He frowned. “What did he say?”

  “He said she was the girl you wanted to marry. She died in a car crash, and you blamed yourself for allowing her to go out in a storm.”

  Anger flared. “Did he also mention how he’d done everything in his power to keep us apart?”

  “No.” But I remembered his grandfather’s comment about the girl’s mental instability. “Why did he try to keep you apart?”

  “Because she wasn’t part of his grand design.” A muscle pulsed at his temple. “And her family didn’t meet with his approval.”

  “Why not?”

  “She didn’t have money or connections, the right kind of pedigree. None of that mattered to me, of course. I only wanted Harper. If not for the accident, we would have been married that spring despite Grandfather’s objections.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He was silent for a moment. I heard the rumble of thunder in the distance and the rustle of leaves overhead as the breeze picked back up, bringing the scent of rain and the promise of bad weather.

  Thane looked up through the breaks in the canopy where the sun still shone brightly. “It was a long time ago and who knows if it would have lasted. We were young, and I can look back now and admit that part of the appeal of our romance was bucking Grandfather’s wishes. Don’t get me wrong,” he said quickly. “I did love her. And I’m also grateful to Grandfather for taking me in when I had nowhere else to go. I’ll never be able to repay him for all that he’s done for me. But—”

  “He never quite lets you forget that you’re not a true Asher.”

  He gave a little laugh. “When you say it like that, it sounds pretty petty.”

  “No, it doesn’t. At best, it must be awkward and at worst, soul-crushing.”

  He reached out briefly to touch my cheek, his fingers as light as a dragonfly skimming across a pond. “He’s a fool, you know.”

  We were no longer talking about Pell Asher.

  It’s not his fault, I wanted to tell him. It’s hard to let go of the ghosts of your past when they won’t let go of you.

  I didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to read too much into his eyes, so I focused instead on Angus, sitting on the path patiently waiting for us.

  But my mind was in turmoil. I hadn’t expected this, nor did I want it. I wasn’t looking for romance with Thane Asher, and yet I couldn’t deny a connection that was starting to frighten me.

  “Thane—”

  “Don’t say it. Don’t say anything.”

  “I have to.”

  He put a fingertip to my lips. “Life’s too short to live in the past, Amelia. Let him have his ghosts.”

  * * *

  When we arrived back at the cemetery, I turned to say goodbye at the gate. I needed to work for as long as I could before the storm moved in, and I really wanted some alone time to sort things out. That kiss at the falls had left me confused and emotionally shattered. I felt the inevitable tug-of-war: the desire, always, to return to Charleston, to Devlin. The need, for now, to stay here with Thane.

  “I should get to work,” I said briskly.

  The old grin flashed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I think it’s time for you to meet the rest of the family.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Dear old Aunt Emelyn. You did say you wanted to see her.” Thunder rumbled closer, and he looked out over the cemetery toward the mountains. “You’re not going to get any work done this afternoon. That storm is moving down fast.”

  And with his words came a gust of wind that swept a flurry of dead leaves across the graves. Along the edge of the forest, the tops of the pine trees started to dip and swell like waves in a dark green sea, and a sheet of rain raced toward us, the patter on the leaves and on the ground like the whisper of a thousand ghosts. On the heels of the rain came rolling thunder and flash after flash of lightning. And just like that, the storm was upon us.

  Thane took my hand. “Come on. Let’s make a run for it.”

  We could just have easily backtracked to the cars, but instead we raced through the maze of monuments and headstones, through the lych-gate and past that circle of angels with their faces upturned to the storm.

  Shoving open the mausoleum door, Thane stepped aside for me to enter. Angus came in behind me, shaking water droplets from his coat. It was dim inside, but I could see lightning flashes through the stained-glass windows and the shimmer of cobwebs from the corners. The stone walls were cold and felt damp to the touch, and the whole place reeked of mildew and neglect. In the middle of the stone floor, a long set of stairs led down into the dead-dark shadows of the tomb.

  Thane wedged something underneath the door to keep it open so that what little light was left outside filtered in. I welcomed the fresh air, too, that storm-charged breeze that tangled my hair and stirred the cobwebs.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “You still want to see her?”

  “Yes, only…”

  His eyes glinted. “Not afraid, are you?”

  “Of Aunt Emelyn, no. I’m not crazy about snakes and spiders, though.”

  “What kind of restorer are you, anyway?”

  “The cautious kind. Do you still have your penlight?”

  He dangled the key chain. “But I seem to remember candles from before and, hopefully, matches. Should I go down alone?”

  “That’s okay. I’ve learned to deal with my phobias. You can go first, though.”

  “Thanks.” He descended into the gloom. “Stay close and watch your step. These stairs are steep.”

  Angus, I noticed, didn’t follow. He wanted no part of that tomb.

  I was right on Thane’s heels. When he stopped halfway down, I almost smashed into him. “What’s wrong?” I asked breathlessly.

  “Just trying to remember where the sconces are.” He went down another few steps and played the light over the stone walls. “Ah. Here we are.” I heard the strike of a match, and then light flared, animating giant shadows on the walls. Cupping the flame, Thane lit the candles, then plucked one from the sconce and handed it to me as he pocketed his penlight. Then he took another candle for himself.

  We went down the rest of the steps, and he lit more candles at the bottom. The tomb was larger than I would have expected, with walls of crypts and vaults that vanished into darkness. I saw the glitter of more cobwebs, the glint of reflected light on sterling-silver markers and plaques. The smell of mildew grew stronger, and I could well imagine the creep of black mold in every corner and crevice.

  “This is incredible,” I said, and the stone walls threw my breathless voice back to me.

  “Too bad we don’t have proper lighting,” he said. “We’ll have to come prepared next time. Some of the carvings and scrollwork on the vaults is extraordinary.”

  “Was that the tiniest bit of pride I heard in your voice just now?” I teased him.

  He glanced over his shoulder, his face eerie in the flickering light. “I’ve never disputed the family has taste,” he said. “My quibble is with the overindulgence. And speaking of which…” He held the candle high. “Emelyn’s coffin is this way.”

  He led me through an arched doorway into a small chamber where the glass coffin rested on an ornate pedestal. As he turned to place his candle in a nearby holder, I came up beside him, which is how I happened to make the discovery first. The candlelight reflected in the glass so that I couldn’t see anything at first. But as I repositioned, I got my first glimpse of her. And gasped.

  Thane whirled. “What is it?”

  I held my candle over the coffin. His gaze dropped, and he said on a breath, “Jesus.”

  Air must have gotten into the container through a fracture or a seam because the body had started to wither and shrink. The wrinkled skin had turned gray, and the eye sockets were empty, the lips shriveled back into a hideous grin. And even more grotesque, somehow, were the bridal trappings in which
the corpse had been displayed.

  “How long since you were down here?” I asked.

  “Years. I wonder how long she’s been this way.”

  “Who knows? If there’s even a hairline fracture in the glass, I imagine decomposition would have happened quickly.” I paused on a shiver as I glanced down at the corpse. “Will you tell your grandfather?”

  “I see no reason for him to know. It would just upset him and he’ll never come down here again. Not until—” He broke off as a cold wind swept down into the tomb, snuffing the candles a split second before the door slammed closed upstairs.

  In that utter blackness, I felt the chill of dread creep along my backbone.

  “Thane?” As I breathed his name, I felt his hand on my arm.

  “It’s okay. The wind blew them out. Let me find the matches.”

  I sensed his body close to mine, and in the deep silence of the tomb, I swore I could hear his heartbeat. Or was it my own? His arm came around me as he fumbled for the matches. I could feel his breath against my cheek, the whisper of his lips in my hair.

  “Thane?”

  He pulled me back against him, an arm around my waist holding me still as he lifted my hair and licked my neck at the pulse point. As if trying to devour my essence.

  I jerked away in shock. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to find the damn matches.” His voice came from the bottom of the stairs. He was no longer in the chamber with me. But the arm was still holding me… .

  In the paralyzed moment before I could react, I felt the hand slide up to my breast, another down to my thigh. A raspy voice whispered in my ear, “Soon.” And then I heard the scrabble of claws on the stone floor a split second before Thane appeared in the doorway with a candle.

  I whirled but no one was there. I was alone in the chamber with Emelyn Asher’s withered corpse.

  Twenty-Two

  The storm blew over quickly, and the sunset that evening was spectacular. I sat out on the back steps with Angus at my feet as the sky over Bell Lake ripened from a rosy blush to a deep apricot, then faded to smoky lavender shot through with gold.

  Up in the hills, the nocturnal creatures began to stir as twilight gathered. I would need to go inside soon, but for now I allowed myself a moment to enjoy the deep respite of the in-between, that bated breath of half-light before darkness descended.

  A moth lit, with quivering wings, on the bee balm beside the steps. Out on the lake, a loon called to its mate, the melodic wail thin and haunting and a little unnerving as night sounds tend to be. Somewhere deeper in the forest, I heard the faint yip of coyotes and what might have been the scream of a “painter,” the elusive black panther from my father’s stories of his childhood in the mountains.

  I was restless and lonely and still frightened by what had transpired in the tomb. I wanted to believe that terrible presence had been my imagination, a conjure of my fear, but I couldn’t forget the feel of that hot breath on my face, the whispery promise in my ear… .

  I drew a trembling breath. Any sensible person would turn tail and run. There was no shame in it. I could head out now and be home in Charleston in a matter of hours. Fix a cup of chamomile in the kitchen. Browse through the mail on my desk. Sleep in my own bed. Be nearer to Devlin.

  Another tremulous breath.

  But would I be any safer there? In all those agonizing months of avoiding Devlin, I’d somehow managed to convince myself that I would be fine so long as I kept my distance. But now I had to wonder if everything happening to me in Asher Falls was a direct result of my wanton disregard of Papa’s rules. My love of a haunted man had not only opened a door, but it had also weakened me, made me susceptible to the dark forces at work in this town and in these mountains.

  Was that too fantastical? I didn’t think so. Not anymore.

  I thought again of that old man who had appeared in the cemetery, his grotesque behavior neither animal nor human but the embodiment of every strange thing that had happened to me here.

  Catrice was right, I thought. The natural balance was off-kilter in these mountains. The axis had tilted in Asher Falls. Cemeteries had been drowned, hex signs had been altered and now nature had been reordered. And somehow I was a part of it all. I had been brought here for a reason.

  I glanced down at my calloused palms and thought again of my father. He’d always tried to shelter me. From the moment I saw the ghost of the old white-haired man in Rosehill Cemetery, Papa had given me those rules so that I would be protected. But he had kept things from me, too. They all had. He and Mama and Aunt Lynrose. They had information about my birth. I was convinced of it. Whatever they knew, whatever dark secret bound them, had closed Mama’s heart to me and made Papa retreat so deeply inside himself, I could scarcely remember the man who had told me those mountain stories, who had instilled in me a reverence and love of old cemeteries. Their secrets and silence had shut me out and made me retreat into my own little world.

  Devlin had managed to penetrate that world to dire consequences. And now there was another threat knocking at the gate. Thane Asher.

  I closed my eyes on a shudder. I was drawn to Thane in a way that I didn’t understand because it wasn’t just him, the man. The pull came from this place, this town, the very earth beneath my feet.

  Pell Asher’s voice seemed to echo down from the hilltop. The strongest ties are blood and land. They are constant. Romantic love is all too fleeting.

  I glanced toward that hilltop. I thought if I stared hard enough, I might be able to see the lights of Asher House. I might be able to will some answers. But the silence only deepened.

  Dusk dropped swiftly and still I sat there. The gray sky shimmered above the treetops where the moon would soon rise, but beyond the forest, the blue haze of hill and mountain darkened into a seamless shadow.

  And I held my breath, waiting. Somewhere in that twilight, the veil had thinned, and I imagined Freya’s ghost drifting through. Would she come to me tonight? Drawn by my warmth and energy? My life force? Did she crave what she could never have again?

  Or did she haunt me for another reason?

  I should seek sanctuary. I knew that. By acknowledging the dead, I was once again tempting fate. But the door had already opened, and I needed to know why I had been brought here. I needed to know the secrets of my birth, the secrets of my destiny. I needed to know why I was so drawn to Thane Asher.

  Soon, the trees whispered, and I shivered.

  * * *

  Freya’s ghost didn’t appear to me that night, although I may have missed her. I went inside before full dark and curled up in bed with my laptop. I’d been neglecting my blog shamelessly since I left Charleston, and now I spent some time moderating the comments from my last entry and outlining a new article about hex signs.

  I also checked my in-box. There was an email from Devlin.

  The mouse hovered indecisively. Should I click or should I let sleeping dogs lie? Move on from the past? Leave Devlin to his ghosts?

  In the end, I couldn’t resist. I opened the email and devoured the one-sentence message. Then I read it again, scowling: Where are you?

  Was it my imagination—my wishful thinking—that a hint of desperation had crept into that brief missive?

  I closed the in-box, shut down the laptop and slid under the covers. As I lay there in the darkness, night sounds invaded my sanctuary, and Devlin once again invaded my dreams.

  Twenty-Three

  The warm weather held over the next few days, and I spent long hours at Thorngate, armed with rake, shovel and machete as I hacked and chopped and dug my way through the vegetation that had crept from the old cemetery into the new. The physical labor lifted my spirits, and I threw myself into the work, ignoring Devlin’s email and Thane’s kisses and the havoc they had wreaked on my peace of mind. But as absorbed as I was in the task at hand, I never once turned my back on the mausoleum.

  When I thought of that hot breath on my neck, the flick of that phantom tongue, I sl
ashed even harder at the brush until blisters formed beneath the gloves. By the end of the week, my energy was spent, and I decided to take a long overdue library break. I hadn’t been able to locate Freya’s grave, and I could only conclude that it had yet to be uncovered in the tangle of vines and brambles that had overrun a section of the cemetery. Until I could clear it all away, I would need a site map to identify the graves.

  Stopping by the house for a quick shower and change of clothing, I made sure Angus was settled in with plenty of fresh water and food, and then I left him snoozing in a patch of sunlight in front of my bedroom window. I hated to lock him inside, but I couldn’t take him into town with me, and I certainly wasn’t going to leave him alone in the yard.