I worked steadily all morning and broke for lunch around one. I opened the back door of the SUV and sat on the bumper munching an apple while I tossed treats to Angus. He gobbled them with unseemly gusto. I gave him fresh water, and then he found a sunny spot to snooze while I went back to work. The afternoon passed uneventfully, and I became so engrossed in shooting all those strange, angelic faces that I lost track of time. The sun had already started to dip below the treetops when I packed up my equipment and headed back to the car. I had just stepped through the gate when I heard Angus barking. The sound came from somewhere in the woods.
Alarmed, I stored my equipment in the back of the SUV, then walked over to the corner of the fence to call for him. His barking grew even more frantic when he heard my voice, but he still didn’t come.
The tree line lay in deep shadows. I would have preferred not to explore any farther, but I couldn’t leave Angus. Something was keeping him from me. Maybe he’d treed a squirrel or a possum. Or a mountain lion or a bear… .
“Angus, come!”
I heard a howl then and couldn’t tell if it came from the dog or something else. One of those elusive wolves perhaps. The eerie wail completely unnerved me. I had my cell phone and that tiny container of mace in my pocket, but I shuddered to think how close I would need to be to someone—or something—to use it.
A narrow trail led back into the woods, but I had to constantly veer off to avoid fallen branches. The smell of rotting leaves and damp earth mingled with the woodsy aroma of the evergreens. As I began to descend on the other side of the mountain, the cedar and hemlocks thinned, and I found myself tunneling through a heath bald where rosebay rhododendron and mountain laurel grew so dense it was easy to become disoriented. Papa had told me once about getting lost in such a thicket. Laurel hell, he called it. The maze hadn’t been more than a mile square, he said, but it had taken him the better part of a day to find his way out. And this from a man who’d been born and raised in the mountains.
As I picked my way along, the stunted rhododendrons tangled in my hair and pulled at my clothing. The canopy hung so low that very little light seeped through the snarled branches. It was very eerie inside that place. Dark and lonely. As I stopped and listened to the silence, a feeling of desolation crept over me. I heard no birdsong from the treetops, no rustling in the underbrush, nothing at all except the distant rush of a waterfall. I wondered if there was a cave nearby, because I could smell the sulphury odor of saltpeter.
To break the quiet, I called out to Angus again, and his answering bark filled me with relief. Scrambling down a rocky ridge, I finally spotted him. His gaze was fixed on the cliff behind me, and I turned, hoping to come face-to-face with nothing more menacing than a cornered raccoon, although they could be vicious creatures when threatened. As I scoured our surroundings, I didn’t see anything at first, just a straggly stand of purple foxglove that had managed to survive in the hostile environment. Then I noticed the patterns of stones and seashells on slightly mounded ground, and I realized I was looking at a grave, hidden and protected by a rocky overhang. I had no idea how Angus had managed to find it. I didn’t think the grave was fresh. Other than the odor of saltpeter, I couldn’t detect a smell.
I walked over for a closer look, noticing at once that the surrounding soil had been scraped, not recently, but frequently enough in the past to discourage growth. The banishment of grass was a burial tradition that had fallen out of favor—though I had seen it recently in the Georgia Piedmont—and the meticulous upkeep was yet another curiosity.
Carefully, I cleared away dead leaves and debris to reveal a marker. The stone had been sunk into the earth, making it nearly invisible unless one knew where to look. I pulled a soft-bristle brush from my pocket and gently dusted off a thick layer of grime so that I could read the inscription. But there was no name, no date of birth or death. The only thing etched into the stone’s surface was a thorny rose stem with a severed bloom and bud, a symbol sometimes used for the dual burial of mother and child. But why had they been laid to rest out here in such a lonely location?
The isolation, as well as the north-south orientation of the grave, might once have been an indication of suicide, but the tradition of remote burials for those who had taken their own lives had also been obsolete for years. Judging by the condition and modern style of the marker, I didn’t think the grave was that old, twenty or thirty years at most. Well within the timeframe when the custom had mellowed, even within the Catholic Church. So why this desolate spot when Thorngate was so nearby?
As I traced a finger along the severed stem, my chest tightened painfully, and I felt a terrifying suffocation. Gasping for air, I put a hand out to steady myself as a wave of darkness rolled over me. The next thing I knew, Angus was nuzzling my face with his wet nose. I opened my eyes and looked around. I was lying flat on my back on the ground. I had no idea what had happened, but it must have been only a momentary blackout. I wasn’t the least bit disoriented. As soon as I opened my eyes, I knew exactly where I was.
But the air had changed. I could feel a shift in the wind, as something cold and dank and ancient swept down from the mountains.
An angry gust swirled the dead leaves over the grave, and I could have sworn I heard the whisper of my name through the trees. The hair on my nape bristled as my heart started to hammer. I scrambled to my feet and glanced around in dismay. I hadn’t been confused when I first opened my eyes, but now I couldn’t seem to pinpoint the trail I’d followed into the bald. The shrubbery was too dense, and I felt hopelessly trapped.
Then I called Angus’s name, and he came to my side at once. “Run!” I commanded, and he bounded around me to take the lead. Even in his weakened state, he could have easily outpaced me, but he measured his stride, slowing when I stumbled and pausing now and then to growl at that thing at our backs.
As we fought our way through the laurel and rhododendron, I began to have serious doubts we would ever get out of that awful place. It was like swimming through mud. By the time we emerged, my legs had gone wobbly and my lungs felt ready to explode, but the woods offered only a brief respite. Here, roots and dead branches tripped me up, and the dense leaf covering blocked the sun so that the landscape lay in premature twilight.
On and on we ran. When we finally burst from the trees, I gave a sob of relief. But the wind didn’t let up. It swirled dirt in front of us, a gritty dust-devil that nearly blinded me. As we sprinted for the car, I dug the remote from my jeans and hit the unlock button. The moment I opened the door, Angus sailed past me into the front seat. I climbed in behind him and slammed the door. Somehow my shaky hand started the ignition, and I pressed the accelerator to the floor, sending a shower of gravel over the fence to pepper nearby graves.
The heavy SUV trembled in the wind. For a moment I thought we might be blown off the road, but I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and hardened my resolve. We were getting out of there one way or another.
By the time we hit the highway, the wind had died away. The setting sun peeped through the treetops, and the countryside looked as pastoral as I’d ever seen it.
I glanced at Angus. He was riding shotgun, eyes peeled on the road.
“I didn’t imagine that back there, did I?”
He whimpered and settled down in the seat. I put my hand on his back. We were both still trembling and no wonder. Something had been after us in the bald. An amorphous evil that I dared not put a name to. It hadn’t been my imagination. Angus had sensed it, too. And he was still just as shaken as I was.
My inclination now was to keep driving until we were far, far away from this place. I needed to be home in Charleston, in my own sanctuary where I would be protected from whatever had driven that wind to me. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I had a job to do here and a dire sense of purpose that I didn’t yet understand. I would stay for now, and I would manage my fear. I’d had years of practice, after all. As a child, I’d learned to quickly settle myself after a ghostly
encounter because I knew of no other way to survive such a burden.
I drew on that experience now as I touched the amulet at my throat. Something had protected me in that thicket. Whether it had been the stone from Rosehill Cemetery that I wore around my neck, or Angus or even my own strength, I didn’t know. But I was safe and, except for a few nasty scratches on my arms, no worse for the wear.
As we neared the turnoff to the Covey place, my heart rate slowed and I began to calm. The closer we got to hallowed ground—my temporary sanctuary—the stronger I felt.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, more to myself than Angus.
Ten
Thane Asher was waiting for me on my front porch when I got home. As I opened the car door to climb out, Angus shot past me before I could grab him. I called to him sharply, but I needn’t have bothered. After a warning bark and a wary sizing up, he settled right down and allowed Thane to scratch the back of his neck.
Some guard dog you are, I thought. But then I remembered how he’d placed himself between me and the ghost on that first night, and how just minutes ago, he’d matched his stride to mine as he guided me back to the car. What would I have done without him? I might still have been stumbling around in that thicket, hopelessly lost.
“Who’s this?” Thane asked as I approached the porch.
“Angus.” Hearing his name—or perhaps my voice—he trotted over to my side, and I leaned down to pet him.
“What happened to him?”
“Luna Kemper said he’d probably been used as a bait dog.”
Thane’s expression never changed, but I thought I saw something dark and vicious fleet across his face, making me wonder if there might be a layer of razor wire beneath that smooth, impenetrable façade. He looked straight at me then, an electrifying glance that caught me completely off guard. Without another word, he knelt beside the dog, running a gentle hand down the emaciated rib cage as he murmured something reassuring to Angus. I had no idea what he said, but Angus nuzzled against him appreciatively.
I picked at one of the scratches on my arm. The sting was oddly reassuring. “I told Chief Van Zandt about the dog fighting. I thought he’d want to know.”
“What did he say?” Thane examined the dog’s ears, then cupped the snout to check his teeth. Angus endured the examination without so much as a whimper.
“He said he’d keep a lookout for any kennels in the area, but I don’t know if I believe him.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Thane stood and dusted his hands on his jeans. He had on the same black sweater he’d worn when I first met him, and I couldn’t help but notice how tautly it pulled across his broad shoulders. I couldn’t help but wonder how formidable he might be if crossed. “If there’s dog fighting in the area, I’ll find it and put a stop to it.”
“How?”
He glanced at me again, his eyes vividly intent. “Best not to concern yourself with the details.”
Something in his voice alarmed me, a miniscule crack that exposed the razor wire. I’d been angry, too, when I found out about Angus, but Thane Asher was a man of unlimited resources in these parts. I had no idea how he might unleash his fury.
I buried my hand in Angus’s fur so that he wouldn’t see how badly I still trembled. I’d had a bad scare in the thicket, and I wasn’t yet over the shock. But I was good at hiding my feelings, and I didn’t flinch as Thane’s gaze lingered on my grimy appearance. I thought I detected a softening of his features, but it may only have been my imagination.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
I had no intention of telling him anything. If he’d never had a supernatural encounter, he wouldn’t understand. My description of an evil wind would undoubtedly elicit laughter or pity, and I didn’t like opening myself up to ridicule. I was a private person, and my ability to see ghosts was by necessity and desire a very personal thing. Nor was I ready to reveal the discovery of the grave. Not quite yet. Not until I’d had time to think it through calmly.
So I ran a hand through my gritty hair and shrugged. “I tangled with a briar patch. Occupational hazard.”
“You should probably go in and put something on those scratches.”
“I will later,” I said with a shrug.
“And by later, you mean after I’m gone.”
I smiled thinly. “You’ll have to excuse my manners. I just got home from work and I wasn’t expecting company.”
My own subtle rebuke had the intended effect, and for a moment he looked suitably contrite. “I apologize for just dropping by this way, but I won’t take much of your time.” He motioned to the porch. “If we could just sit for a minute?”
I hesitated. The sun was well below the treetops. It would be dusk soon, and even though I knew how to protect myself from ghosts, I’d never lived so close to a desecrated cemetery before. I had no idea what might rise from that lake. It was best not to take any chances.
“I promise I won’t stay long,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you about Thorngate.”
I gave an inward sigh. All I wanted at that moment was a hot bath, a soothing cup of chamomile and Angus keeping watch from the back porch. But I was my mother’s daughter, and the Southern social graces were as deeply ingrained in my nature as my father’s rules. I nodded and smiled politely as I moved over to the steps.
The air had chilled as the sun had gone down, and the woods crowded in on us. I could smell the evergreens as they loomed thick in the fading light, rank upon rank of towering sentinels. I drew Angus close as Thane and I sat side by side on the porch.
“What’s this about Thorngate?” I asked.
He paused for a moment as his gaze scoured the landscape. I had a feeling he was searching for something to say. “I haven’t been up there in years. How bad is it?”
“I’ve seen worse.” I gave him a puzzled glance. He faced straight ahead, and I could divine nothing from his profile. But instinct told me that the cemetery was the furthest thing from his mind, and I began to feel a little apprehensive. Why was he really here?
He turned suddenly and caught me staring. I glanced away as warmth stole up my neck. “I’ll tell you a little secret about Thorngate,” he said. “The only way to fully appreciate it is by moonlight. There’s an area near the mausoleum that was specifically designed for nighttime viewing.”
I thought about the stone angels with their strange, upturned faces and the silvery overgrowth of sage, wormwood and moonshine yarrow. “I recognized the remains of a white garden,” I told him. “I have one at home so I can well imagine how beautiful the cemetery would be in moonlight. Especially with all those statues. The faces are extraordinary.”
“Yes,” he said dryly. “We Ashers have always been very good at erecting handsome monuments to ourselves.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I suppose, except our ego has taken ostentation to a whole new level. I sometimes wonder if all that money spent on the dead might not have been put to better use on the living.”
“But cemeteries are for the living,” I said. “And those who pay tribute to the dead usually have a commensurate respect for life.”
He gave me a look that I couldn’t begin to interpret. “You really don’t know very much about us, do you?”
A brittle edge in his voice made me wonder again about his relationship with his family, but I merely shrugged.
Angus had planted himself in the middle by this time so that neither of us had to reach too far to pet him. He was no fool. I scratched behind one of the ear nubs while Thane ran his hand along the sharp ridge of his backbone. The rhythmic motion was very soothing, and I began to relax.
“How did you get involved in the cemetery business?” he asked.
“My father was a caretaker for many years. He taught me early on an appreciation for old Southern graveyards. When I was a kid, I used to think the cemetery by our house was enchanted. It was my favorite place to play. I called it my kingdom.”
“Is that
why you’re known as The Graveyard Queen?”
“How in the world did you find out about that?” I asked in surprise.
“I looked you up.”
“And?”
“You’re accomplished for someone so young. Undergraduate degree in anthropology from the University of South Carolina, a master’s in archeology from Chapel Hill and you spent two years in the State Archeologist’s office before opening your own business. All very impressive.”
“It seems you’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to check me out,” I said coolly.
“Not really. It was all there on your website.”
“Oh. Right.”
He grinned, and I couldn’t help noticing how young and appealing he looked when he smiled. He should do more of that, but then…the same could undoubtedly be said about me.
“Were you worried about my credentials?” I asked.
“No. I was curious about you.”
That silenced me. I wasn’t looking at him, but I knew his eyes were on me. I could feel that gaze just as surely as I felt the sting of all those scratches.
“Actually, I did a little more than read your website,” he confessed. “I came across a newspaper account of the cemetery restoration in Charleston last spring.”
“Oak Grove,” I said and felt the familiar hitch in my breath when I remembered.
The knife scar from my struggle with a killer tingled on my upper arm even though the cut had healed months ago. But the wounds on the inside ran deeper. The fear had subsided, at least during daylight hours, but the memory of my entrapment would fester for years, gnawing at me relentlessly on nights when sleep was hard to come by.
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