I took a moment to enjoy the familiar library scent before approaching the counter. I’d always loved the smell of old books and records and could happily immerse myself for hours in musty archives. Proper research was vital to a successful cemetery restoration, and as I took in the sagging bookshelves and shadowy alcoves, I felt a pulse of excitement at what I might discover—in the library and in Thorngate Cemetery.
The ancient floorboards creaked beneath my boots as I walked over to the counter. The blonde lifted her gaze but not her head. Her eyes were crystalline-blue, the clear, rinsed cyan of a spring sky. She was very slight, but I didn’t think her fragile. She had a presence about her, a subtle gravitas that seemed unusual and a bit unsettling in a girl of her age.
She still said nothing, but I didn’t take her silence for insolence. Rather, she seemed guarded and wary, like those of us who spend too much time in our own little world.
“My name is Amelia Gray. I’m here to see Luna Kemper. She’s expecting me.”
The girl spared a brief nod before finishing with the books. Then she turned and strode to a closed door, rapped once and slipped inside. A moment later she reappeared and motioned me around the counter. As she stepped aside to allow me to enter the room, I saw that her eyes were focused—not on me—but on a point just beyond my shoulder. I had the strangest feeling that if I followed her gaze, I would find nothing there. It was a disquieting sensation because, with few exceptions, I’m the one who sees what others cannot.
Before I had time to ponder her odd behavior, Luna Kemper rose, shooing aside a gorgeous gray tabby as she came around her desk to greet me. The scent of wildflowers suddenly filled the room as though she exuded the fragrance through her very pores. A vase of purple foxglove—Papa called them witch’s bells—sat on the corner of her desk, but I didn’t think the smell came from them. I’d never known that particular flower to have such a pungent perfume.
Luna looked to be in her early forties, a sensuous brunette with a lustrous complexion and eyes the color of a rain clouds. “Welcome, Amelia. I’m so happy to finally meet you in person.” She extended her hand and we shook. She wore a charcoal pencil skirt and a lavender sweater accentuated with a large moonstone pendant. Her easy smile and friendly demeanor were a welcome contrast to her subdued assistant, who was dressed similarly to me—black T, jeans and a lightweight jacket.
“How was your trip?” Luna asked, leaning a shapely hip against her desk.
“It was great. I haven’t been up this way in a long time. I’d forgotten how beautiful the foothills are this time of year.”
“You should take a trip up to the falls if you get a chance. It’s the most beautiful spot in the whole state, though, I expect I’m biased. I was born and raised in the foothills. My mother used to say I’d wither away without the mountains and the woods to roam in, but I love the occasional weekend jaunt to the beach. I have a cousin who has a place on St. Helena. Do you get down that way much?”
“No, not really. I stay pretty busy.”
“I sympathize. Running a business doesn’t leave much time for play. I can’t remember the last time I had a real vacation. Maybe next summer… .” She trailed off, her gaze moving to the door where the blonde still lurked. “Sidra, this is Amelia Gray, the cemetery restorer I told you about. Sidra Birch. She helps out in the library after school and sometimes on weekends.”
I glanced over my shoulder and nodded. “Hello, Sidra.”
She still said nothing but tilted her head and studied me so intently I grew uncomfortable. There was something about that girl. Something at once familiar and off-putting. She had the air of someone who knew dark things. Like me.
I suppressed a shudder as I turned back to Luna.
“I’m sure you’re anxious to get settled in,” she said briskly. “I’ve arranged for you to stay in Floyd Covey’s house while he’s in Florida tending to his mother. She’s laid up with a broken hip so I expect he’ll be gone for a couple of months at the very least—”
A sound from the doorway drew both our gazes. Sidra was staring at Luna with an expression I couldn’t begin to fathom.
“What’s wrong?” Luna asked.
“Why’d you put her way out there?”
“Why not?” Luna asked with a note of irritation.
Sidra’s blue gaze fell on me, then darted away. “It’s creepy.”
“Nonsense. It’s a lovely place right on the lake and the location is perfect. It’s halfway between town and the cemetery,” Luna explained. “I think you’ll be very comfortable there.”
“I’m sure I will be.” But Sidra’s comment, along with Thane Asher’s tale of restless souls beneath Bell Lake had planted an insidious seed.
Luna straightened from the desk. “Why don’t you make yourself at home while I run next door and fetch the key? We can go over the contracts and permits and then I’ll take you out to see the house.”
Sidra had already disappeared, and I assumed she’d gone back to her work behind the counter. After Luna left, I wondered if I should go out there and ask the girl what she’d meant about the Covey place. Then I decided it was probably best to wait and form my own opinion.
Killing time, I glanced around Luna’s office. It was one of those eclectic, overstuffed places that I’d always been drawn to. So many interesting and unusual treasures to admire, from the hand-carved pedestal desk to the brass ship’s bell mounted over the doorway. I hadn’t noticed the bell before, but now I detected the faintest ting, as if a draft had stirred the clapper. There was a second, narrow door with an arched top and an ornate keyhole plate that made me wonder where it led to.
Slowly, I circled the room, admiring the bric-a-brac in mahogany cabinets, everything from blown-glass figurines to antique pocket watches, from fossils and shells to an assortment of oddly shaped knives. Framed photographs covered the walls, most of them local historical buildings, but the people shots interested me more. One in particular caught my attention—a picture of three young women, arms entwined as they stared dreamily into the camera. I recognized a teenage Luna, and one of the other girls bore an uncanny resemblance to Sidra, but I knew it couldn’t be her. A good twenty-five years separated their ages, and besides, the hairstyles and clothing screamed the eighties. Sidra wouldn’t have even been born then.
A fourth girl hovered in the shadowy background, her wavy hair floating about her in a breeze as she glared into the lens. I felt an odd tightening in my chest as I studied that stony face, and for the longest time, I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, couldn’t tear my eyes from that fiery glower.
“Are you all right?”
I took a step back, Sidra’s voice breaking whatever hold the photograph had on me. I turned to find her watching me from the doorway. Light from the window picked up the silvery threads in her hair, creating an ethereal illusion that, along with her paleness, made me wonder if she might be a ghost. I’d been fooled before, but since Luna could interact with her, too, the likelihood seemed slim.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked with a frown.
“Was I staring? I’m sorry,” I managed to say calmly. “I was just thinking how much you resemble the girl in this picture.”
She came over to stand beside me. “That’s my mother, Bryn.” Pointing to the redhead on her mother’s right, she said, “That’s Catrice, and, of course, you know Luna. The three of them were best friends in high school. Still are, I guess.”
“Do they all live here in Asher Falls?”
She hesitated. “You heard what Luna said. She’d wither away if she left the mountains. My mother would, too, I think. None of them would last long out in the real world.”
“This isn’t the real world?”
“God, I hope not,” she said with a shiver.
“You don’t like it here?”
“Like it? This place is a ghost town,” she said, and something in her voice made me shiver.
“Sounds as if Luna manages to stay busy.”
&nbs
p; “Oh, yes. Luna is a very busy woman.”
We were both staring at the photograph, and I could see Sidra’s pale refection in the glass.
“I like her name,” I said. “It’s unusual but it suits her. And yours is unusual, too.”
“I’m named for her. Sidra means ‘of the stars,’ and Luna means moon, so…” She shrugged. “Kind of cheesy, but they’ve always been into that mystical stuff.”
“Who’s the fourth girl?”
I heard her breath catch and glanced over to find her in the grip of some strong emotion—eyes wide, hand pressed to her heart—but then she swallowed and tried to recover. “What girl?” she asked in a thin voice.
“The one in the background. Her.” I put a finger over the glass and felt a rush of something unpleasant go through me.
Sidra said nothing. In the ensuing silence, I heard the bell again, so faintly I wondered if my imagination had supplied the sound.
“There’s no one else in the picture,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I could clearly see an angry countenance in the background, but suddenly I understood. Whoever she was, she’d already been dead when the picture was taken. The photographer had captured her ghost.
It was the clearest shot of an entity I’d ever seen. But…if I was the one who saw ghosts, why was Sidra so distressed?
“It’s just a shadow or some trick of the light,” she insisted. “There’s no one else in the picture.”
Our gazes met and I nodded. “Yes, that must be it,” I agreed, as icy fingers skated up and down my spine.
Four
As I followed Luna’s Volvo through town a little while later, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Sidra’s face when I mentioned the fourth girl in the photograph. I’d always assumed my ability to see ghosts was a rare thing, and because of Papa’s warnings, I’d lived a solitary existence. I had no close friends, no confidante, no one other than Papa with whom I could share my secret. I’d spent most of my life behind cemetery walls, cloistered and protected in my graveyard kingdoms. And at times I’d been unbearably lonely.
But now I had to wonder if Sidra could see them, too, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that possibility. The ghosts were a heavy burden. I didn’t wish such a dark gift on anyone.
My mind drifted back to my first encounter. I could remember that twilight so well…the glimmering aura beneath the trees in Rosehill Cemetery and the peculiar way the old man’s form had become clearer to me as the light faded. Somehow, I’d known he was a ghost, but I hadn’t been so frightened until Papa had sat me down and grimly explained our situation. Not everyone could see them, he’d told me, and it was important that we do nothing to give ourselves away. Ghosts were dangerous to people like us, because the one thing they craved above all else was acknowledgment, so they could feel a part of our world again. And in order to sustain their earthly presence, they attached like parasites to the living, draining away energy and warmth in much the same way a vampire fed on blood.
Papa had spent a lot of time teaching me how to protect myself from the ghosts. He’d given me a set of rules by which I had always lived my life: never acknowledge the dead, never stray far from hallowed ground, never associate with those who are haunted and never, ever tempt fate.
And then I’d met John Devlin. I’d lost myself in Devlin, lost all sense of reason. I’d allowed his ghosts into my world, strayed too far from hallowed ground and, because of my weakness, because of our passion, a door had been opened.
If only I’d listened to Papa’s warning… .
If only I’d followed his rules… .
But I’d foolishly let down my guard, and now I could not unsee what I’d witnessed the night I fled Devlin’s house.
He was still my weakness, and if I’d learned anything in the past few months, it was the necessity of shoring up my defenses against him…and his ghosts. No matter what I had to do.
As I kept pace with the Volvo, I caught a flash of metallic jet paint and vintage lines out of the corner of my eye. Thane Asher’s car was parked in front of a place called the Half Moon Tavern, and I thought instantly of what he’d told me on the ferry. “I drink,” he’d said. “And I bide my time.” I couldn’t imagine a more depressing existence, but I knew nothing of his family or his background, and it wasn’t my place to judge.
As the tavern receded in my rearview mirror, I tried to purge Thane Asher—and Devlin—from my thoughts by concentrating on the passing scenery. Edged by the forest on either side, the road narrowed and the quaint gingerbread houses I’d noticed earlier disappeared. For the longest time, I saw no sign of humanity other than an abandoned grain elevator and the occasional dilapidated shed. I rolled down my window, and a faint but ubiquitous smell of mildew and compost seeped in.
Up ahead, Luna turned left onto a single-lane trail that led straight back into the woods. Where the trees had been thinned, I could see the points of a roof.
A moment later, I pulled up beside her and got out of the car as my gaze traveled over the arched windows and steep gables of the house. Luna waited for me on the front porch, key in hand, but I took my time joining her. I needed to orient myself to the surroundings.
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.
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