The Kingdom tgqs-2

by Amanda Stevens

  Said the man who’d once led me to believe he had nothing but time on his hands.

  “I can see how it would be a daunting task,” I murmured, but I would have relished such a project. Photography was a hobby of mine and old photographs, a passion. As a child, my favorite pastime on rainy days was going through the family albums. Even though I’d always known of my adoption, I’d spent hours searching through those pictures in hopes of finding someone who looked like me.

  We walked over to the desk, and Thane blew a cloud of dust from one of the hatboxes before lifting the lid. I tried to hide my dismay at the jumble of photographs inside, so many of them faded and creased from age and careless handling. I shouldn’t have been shocked by the condition. The whole house was a testament to neglect.

  “Have a seat.” Thane motioned to the chair behind the desk while he perched on the corner. He handed me one of the boxes and took another for himself.

  “So…did you go to school in Asher Falls?” I asked as I began to sift through the photographs.

  He looked up in surprise. “For a while. Why?”

  “No reason. I drove by the school the other day with Ivy and Sidra. It seems a little odd that a town this size has a private academy but no public school.”

  “It’s really not that odd. Asher Falls had a public school years ago. When enrollment dropped, they consolidated with Woodberry.”

  “Didn’t the enrollment drop at the private school, as well?”

  “No, because Pathway is also a boarding school. Kids from all over attend.”

  “What’s Pathway like?”

  “Like any school, I guess.” But there was something in his voice that made me wonder. “It’s a prep school, really. If you can find a way to fit in there, you can adapt to places like Emerson.”

  My head came up. “Emerson University in Charleston? You went there?”

  He looked bemused. “Yes. Is that a bad thing?”

  “No, it’s just… I knew someone else who went there.”

  “Oh?”

  “Actually, I’ve known a few people who attended Emerson. A friend of mine used to be a professor there…Rupert Shaw. But he was probably before your time.”

  “The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place him.”

  “Nowadays, he runs the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies.”

  “Parapsychology? As in paranormal goings-on?” His eyes gleamed in the lamplight. “Don’t tell me you had a ghost problem.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” I smiled benignly before bowing my head to my work.

  We fell silent after that, and I was soon so absorbed in the photographs that I barely noticed when Thane got up to stretch. The parade of Ashers enthralled me. I found the faces so intriguing…the nearly identical shape of their noses, the same jaw and chin line. But the familiarity of those features also unsettled, like the nag of a restive memory. Then it came to me. The circle of statues in the cemetery—all those angelic faces—had been sculpted in the likeness of long-dead Ashers. Thane had been right. Apparently, the family was very good at erecting handsome monuments to the collective ego.

  He hadn’t returned to his place, but instead ambled over to the fireplace to gaze pensively into the flames. It was awkwardly apparent that he’d already grown bored with the project—bored with me, perhaps—so I decided it was time to call it a night. We’d barely made a dent in the boxes, but I didn’t want to outstay my welcome, and Angus would need to go out soon, anyway.

  I was just sorting through one last batch when I happened upon a photograph that reminded me of the one hanging in Luna’s office—a teenage Bryn, Catrice and Luna smiling dreamily into the camera. A young man stood with them in this shot. An Asher, judging by his features, but he wasn’t handsome enough to be Hugh. And just like in the other picture, a fourth girl hovered in the background. Even though she was hidden by shadows, she seemed more substantial here, making me wonder if she’d still been alive when this picture was taken.

  Ghost or human, I had a visceral reaction to her. As I gazed down into her face, a tremor coursed through me, an almost electrical vibration that jolted a memory. It was as if a shutter had clicked, and in place of this image, another came into focus. The ghost on the pier. It was her. It was the same girl.

  I dropped the picture like a hot coal. There was something truly creepy and maybe a little sinister about the way she skulked about in the shadows. About the way she glared into the lens, as if staring straight through the camera, straight through time and space at me.

  Thane must have seen something on my face because he came over to see what I’d found. “Oh, look there,” he said as he gazed down at the picture. “The Witches of Eastwick. Or I should say Asher Falls.”

  “What?”

  He grinned. “Haven’t you noticed a certain…eccentricity about those three?”

  Those three. Could he not see the fourth girl? “Sidra said they used to be into some sort of mysticism, hence her celestial name. I guess they still are, judging by the conversation at dinner.” I glanced up at him.

  He didn’t react. He was still frowning down at the picture.

  “Who’s the young man?” I asked.

  “My stepfather, Edward,” he said absently as he picked up the image. “Did you see the girl in the background?”

  Cold fingers danced along my spine. “Do you know who she is?”

  “She looks familiar, but I can’t seem to place her.” His voice had an almost trancelike quality. “I’ve seen this picture somewhere before, I think.”

  “Luna has a similar one hanging in her office. Maybe you’ve seen it.” I held my breath, waiting to find out if he’d been able to see the ghost captured in Luna’s photograph.

  “I’ve never been in her office, so that can’t be it.” His face suddenly cleared. “I’ve got it, though. It was a picture I found stuck in a book after my mother died.” He shivered, as though seized by a violent chill. “Whoa. It’s weird how vividly that came back to me just now. I’ve never given it a second thought before tonight.”

  “This girl was in it?” I asked more anxiously than I meant to.

  “In the background, just the way she is here. I don’t even know why I remember her so well. She’s not exactly beautiful, is she? But there’s something mesmerizing about her. I think it’s the eyes. It’s like she’s looking right at you…” He trailed off, then seemed to shake himself. “Anyway, I remember something else odd about that picture. It had been ripped apart and painstakingly taped back together. When I showed it to Edward, he turned completely white, like he’d been confronted with a ghost almost. He said she was just a girl he’d known a long time ago, before he met my mother. But considering his reaction, I think she must have been a good deal more than a casual friend. And later, when he thought I’d gone to bed, I saw him in his study staring at that picture.”

  “He never said who she was?”

  “No, but there was a name scribbled on the back. Freya.” He pronounced it Free-a.

  Freya. I said the name to myself, and those icy fingers skated along my spine again.

  “It wasn’t until I came here to live that I actually heard the name,” he said. “Tilly Pattershaw had a daughter name Freya.”

  “Had?”

  “She died years ago. Probably not long after this photo was taken.” He placed it carefully, almost reverently on the desk.

  I thought again of that ghost on the pier, of that curious telepathy I’d felt in her presence. And now here she was, turning up in old photographs, almost as if my very presence had conjured her. “What happened to her?”

  Thane shrugged. “A fire, I think. No one ever wanted to talk much about her.”

  A shudder of dread went through me, though I had no idea why Freya Pattershaw’s fate should affect me so strongly. “Why does Bryn think Tilly is mentally unstable?”

  Thane looked annoyed. “She’s exaggerating. Tilly’s a little strange, but she’s not dangerous. I wouldn’t have
suggested she help you out in the cemetery if I thought otherwise.”

  “Do you really think she’d be interested in a job?”

  “Couldn’t hurt to ask. But I don’t think we should mention Freya. Tilly’s a tough old gal—she’s had to be—but there’s also something fragile about her.”

  I looked up, surprised at the protective note in his voice. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  But I had so many questions, and I knew I wouldn’t rest until I found answers. I still couldn’t shake the troubling premonition that I’d been brought here for a reason. Everything that had happened, all these strange events, were somehow connected to my arrival in Asher Falls.

  “She doesn’t have much use for strangers,” Thane was saying. “It might be best if I go with you to see her. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

  I gave a noncommittal nod. “Thanks. But right now, I think it’s time for me to be getting home.” I pushed up from the desk. “Do you want me to help you put everything away?”

  “Just leave it. No one ever comes in here, and like Grandfather, I’m hoping you’ll come back.”

  My smile was also noncommittal.

  We went into the foyer where the maid waited by the door with my bag. Thane walked me outside. The night was clear and very, very still, the forest a looming darkness all around us. But where the tree line was broken at the bottom of the hill, I could see the faint glimmer of moonlight on Bell Lake, so lovely and serene from this distance. Not even a ripple betrayed the stir of restless souls beneath. I shivered, thinking of that rising mist, and pulled my sweater around me as I drew in the crisp, pine-scented air.

  Thane took my arm as we walked down the drive, and I was surprised to feel my pulse jump at his touch. When we reached my car, I turned to say good-night, but the words died on my lips. He was staring down at me, eyes glistening like tidal pools in the moonlight. I could see the curve of his lips, too, and the thick shadow of his lashes. We were standing very close, and I fancied I could hear the drum of his heart, though I knew that was only my imagination.

  He wanted to kiss me. I could sense his desire as surely as I felt the night air on my face, and I didn’t know what to do about it. I wasn’t ready for anything more than a friendship.

  As we stood in that loaded silence, my gaze moved past him and lifted. I could just make out a silhouette on one of the upper balconies. Not a ghost this time, but Pell Asher staring down at us.

  Uneasy, I tore my gaze from that shadow.

  “I should be going—”

  Before I could protest, Thane bent and brushed his lips against mine. I didn’t respond or reject, but my eyelids fluttered closed, and the nervous excitement that quivered in my stomach was more than a little disconcerting. I didn’t want this, and yet I didn’t not want it enough to pull away.

  But Thane had picked up on my reluctance, and he broke the kiss, putting a hand briefly to my face. “Soon,” he promised, and I nodded vaguely even though I had no idea what he meant.

  As I drove away, I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw him at the top of the drive, illuminated by starlight. He stood there seeing me off, and as I felt an ever-so-slight quickening of my heartbeat, two things occurred to me. Despite his guilt over Harper’s death, he had no ghost.

  And secondly, I hadn’t thought of Devlin at all when Thane kissed me.

  Fifteen

  When I got home, I went straight to the back porch to see about Angus. He was waiting at the door to greet me. I gave him a little extra attention before I let him out, and he rewarded me with a tail wag, which I hadn’t yet seen from him. He was looking so much better, and I thought his coat even had sheen in the moonlight. That may only have been wishful thinking, but I wasn’t imagining his response to my TLC. He pressed up against me, those dark eyes shining with appreciation.

  “It’ll soon be bath time for you, mister,” I told him. “I’ve mollycoddled you long enough. Who knows? You may even enjoy it.”

  He responded by nuzzling his cold nose against my chin. “Enough of that now. Let’s get on with this so I can go to bed.”

  I smothered a yawn as I followed him outside and stood at the bottom of the steps while he prowled the moonlit yard. He took his sweet time, sniffing at every bush and occasionally pawing at something in the dirt. I hated to rush him. From everything I’d read about dog fighting, he’d probably spent most of his life in cramped cages and filthy kennels before being dumped in the woods to starve. Now that he had the luxury of a full belly, I wanted him to enjoy his freedom. But the hour was late, and I was ever mindful of that lake. As I turned to skim the glimmering surface, the moon withdrew behind a cloud, shrouding the landscape in deep shadow. The night fell silent, so deadly still I could hear the whisper of a rising breeze through the leaves and the sudden hammering of my heart in my ears.

  The ghost was there, somewhere behind me in the dark. I could feel the chill of her presence creeping up my spine. For a moment, I thought she might even have touched me… .

  Freya.

  The name came to me so sharply, I was jolted by my certainty. I didn’t move, of course, didn’t outwardly react at all. I remained rooted to the spot, my gaze fixed on the lake as my pounding heart sent a surge of blood to my temples. I felt a little light-headed from the strain of a suppressed shudder. Why such a strong reaction to this ghost? Why was she so different from the others?

  Somewhere off to my left, Angus growled, and I knew that he’d seen her, too. Or at least sensed her. His reaction gave me an excuse to turn, and I whirled toward the sound of his snarl, calling to him in a voice steadied by years of ghost sightings.

  “What is it, boy? What do you see?”

  She was right there. Directly behind me.

  So close, dear God, my breath frosted on the night air. The cold that emanated from her nebulous silhouette was almost unbearable. It took everything in me to silence my chattering teeth.

  I wanted to ask why she had appeared here, of all places, and what she wanted from me. But I blocked those questions from my mind. I’d broken my father’s rules to dire consequences, so I knew better than to acknowledge the dead.

  As if sensing my resistance, she floated closer. Was she drawn to my warmth? My energy? Like the other specters that came through the veil, did she crave what she could never have again? I desperately wanted it to be that simple, but I could feel the icy tentacles of that strange telepathy curling around me. She wanted to communicate. She was doing everything in her power to make me acknowledge her.

  This, of course, was only my interpretation. She didn’t speak or try to touch me, but I suddenly had images in my head that didn’t belong there. Jumbled, dreadful visions that didn’t make any sense to me. And so much darkness. So much loneliness. It was like getting a peek through the veil. And that glimpse was terrifying…yet somehow seductive… .

  I think I may actually have taken a step toward her when I heard Angus’s warning growl. I glanced past the ghost to where he crouched at the corner of the porch.

  “Angus! Come, boy!”

  He growled again, cutting a wide swath around her wavering form to come up beside me. I pressed against him because now I craved his warmth.

  And still she drifted closer, hovering for the longest time right before my face. I no longer sensed confusion from her, but some darker emotion. The force of it, as she started to fade, was like a physical blow.

  Leave now!

  I sprinted up the porch steps with Angus at my heels.

  * * *

  Something awakened me that night. My eyes flew open, and I lay shivering under the covers, straining to hear whatever sound had roused me. All was silent in the house, but I rose, anyway, and pulled on a sweater over my nightgown as I padded down the hallway. The glimmer from the long windows guided me to the front door where I checked and rechecked the lock. Then I went through the kitchen to peer out the back door.

  I could see the sparkle of moonlight on water and the feather-edged outline of
the pines against the night sky. The forest beyond the lake was a solid blackness, blending seamlessly into the distant silhouette of the mountains. As my gaze skimmed those starlit peaks, something Catrice had said at dinner came back to me. You know as well as I do these mountains are full of secrets.

  Secrets…and hidden graves, apparently.

  Nothing seemed amiss outside, so I’d just decided to go back to bed when gooseflesh rose on my arms and at my nape, as if an icy draft had seeped in through a crack. I turned back to the window. Something was amiss. Angus would have come to the back door the moment he heard me stir. I called to him through the glass as my gaze went to his empty makeshift bed. Where was he?

  I opened the door and stepped out into the chilly night air. “Angus?”

  He wasn’t on the porch, but I told myself not to panic. He’d obviously found a way out. Dogs were good at that. But there was a quality to his absence that once again made the hair rise up at the back of my neck.

  And then I saw the hole that had been cut in the screen, large enough for a hand to reach in and unfasten the latch. Someone had let Angus out—or taken him—and I hadn’t heard a sound.

  Flinging back the door, I clamored barefoot down the steps, only to pause at the bottom, head cocked toward the woods. Something came to me. A faint, but chilling whimper. So tepid, I wanted to believe that I’d imagined the cry. It was only the wind riffling through the trees or the boat moored at the end of the pier scraping against the pilings. Then I heard it again, the high-pitched keen of an animal in distress. Angus.

  I whirled toward the sound, my heart flailing like a startled robin against my chest, but even in that first moment of panic, I checked the impulse to rush blindly into the woods. Instead, I ran back into the house and grabbed my boots, struggling into them as I armed myself with flashlight and mace. I didn’t consider myself brave. I’d learned to live with ghosts out of necessity, not courage. But I moved through the house now with unhesitating determination. If Angus was lying hurt in the dark—and, oh, the images going through my head—I had to find him.