The Kingdom tgqs-2

by Amanda Stevens

  The images fluttered back into the shadows of my past, leaving me deeply troubled by what I’d overheard. But had I really overheard it? Maybe that conversation was nothing more than a remembered dream or a false recollection planted by my own fears. I had so many memories of my mother and aunt. Over the span of my childhood, I’d spent hours and hours by that open window as they reminisced and gossiped on the front porch. Why would I have buried that particular memory?

  Even if it was real, I wouldn’t have been able to recall everything in such detail. Not after so many years. I must have embellished an impression. Besides, it was too much of a leap to assume the town in question was Asher Falls. What could possibly have driven my mother all the way up here? Whose grave had she felt compelled to visit? And why had she always feared that someone would come for me when even the woman who gave birth to me hadn’t wanted me?

  As if drawn by my disquiet, Angus came over to plop down at the bottom of the steps. I rested my chin on my knees as I reached down to scratch behind the ear nubs, but my thoughts were still on that conversation. It’s as if the soul of that place has been eaten away. The people, the houses…even the very air seems befouled.

  That was a near perfect description of Asher Falls, but I still couldn’t believe my mother had been talking about this town. I certainly couldn’t picture her here. In some ways, she’d lived an even more sheltered existence than I had. She knew nothing of the ghosts and had scoffed at any mention of the paranormal, especially the stories Papa had told me of his childhood in the mountains.

  The sun was warm on my shoulders, but I found myself shivering. The longer I stayed here, the more convinced I became that my restoration business had not been picked randomly from a phone book or the internet. My arrival was part of a design, a grand scheme that went back to those days in Rosehill Cemetery when Pell Asher had watched me play among the dead.

  * * *

  After I loaded up my tools, I came back around the house to collect Angus. A woman stood at the end of the pier tossing something into the water, and my heart lurched until I reminded myself a ghost wasn’t likely to appear before dusk. And, anyway, even though she had her back to me, I recognized Tilly Pattershaw’s slight form.

  Angus still lay in the shade watching the squirrels, and I thought it odd that he hadn’t barked when she came up. He didn’t seem the least bit alarmed by her presence. In fact, he looked half-asleep. I bent to give him a pat before I started down the stepping-stones, coughing discreetly so as not to catch her unaware. But she paid me no mind even when my boots clattered on the wooden planks of the pier.

  “Ms. Pattershaw?” I said softly as I approached.

  “I’m called Tilly,” she said, without turning.

  “Good morning. I’m Amelia.”

  “I know who you are, girl.”

  “I guess Luna told you that I’d be staying here for a while. Thank you for getting everything ready for me. And thank you especially for your help last night.” I moved up beside her at the railing. “I don’t know how I would have gotten my dog free if you hadn’t come along when you did.”

  “I’m not here for thanks,” she said stoutly.

  “I never thought you were. Still…I’m very grateful.” I motioned toward the house. “Someone cut a hole in the screen and took Angus off the porch last night. You didn’t see anyone else in the woods, did you?”

  “I saw no one but you, girl.” Her gaze darted over me, and I felt the oddest quiver at the base of my spine. I wasn’t afraid of Tilly Pattershaw…far from it. I was genuinely happy to see her. But there was an undercurrent in her voice, the shadow of something dark in her eyes that made me grip the railing until my knuckles whitened. It was only with some effort that I was able to relax my fingers.

  “You did notice the traps that were set all around the clearing, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t you worry none about that.” She tossed another handful of crumbs into the water and then turned, her assessment once again quick and sharp. Contrary to Bryn Birch’s assertion, the woman seemed in complete control of her faculties. “I took care of them traps.”

  “That’s good to know.” I had so much more I wanted to ask her about the episode in the woods, but I remembered Thane’s caution that she had little use for strangers, and I didn’t want to frighten her away.

  We fell silent as I watched her feed the fish. She was a plain woman, but I found great beauty in the movement of her hands, encased though they were in a pair of cotton gloves. She wore her gray hair scraped back in a bun at her nape, a harsh style for such a careworn complexion, but the wind-loosened tendrils gave her face an unexpected sweetness that belied her gruff demeanor and shadowy eyes. She was a woman of contrasts, I thought, and I liked that about her.

  I made a slight movement, and she glanced up, her eyes revealing a flutter of emotion before she quickly returned her attention to the water.

  “Luna said your house is down that path,” I said. “Is it close by?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Do you come here often to feed the fish?”

  “I come here to visit the cemetery.”

  “The cemetery? You mean…the one down there?” I glanced into the murky depths and shivered. “You had family in Thorngate?” I asked carefully.

  “Most of my people are buried in Georgia,” she said.

  What about Freya? I wondered. “Thane Asher told me that the bodies weren’t moved before the water rose. Is that true?”

  “He told you right. They’re still down there. Right under our feet. The Fougerants and the Hibberds and those poor little Moultrie boys. My girl knew every last one of them.”

  I glanced at her, startled. “What do you mean?”

  She hesitated, but the motion of her hand was steady. “She used to come here to read the headstones when she got lonely. She knew all the names by heart. They were her friends, she said. And the graveyard was her hideaway. Her special place.”

  I felt that tingle along my spine again. “I had a place like that when I was a child. Rosehill Cemetery. It was my special hideaway. My sanctuary. The only spot I ever felt truly safe.”

  She nodded. “My girl’s gone now, but I reckon she’d still come here if she could.”

  I didn’t trust myself to speak at that moment. My heart had quickened, and I felt a little breathless as I envisioned Freya’s ghost hovering on this very pier. I wanted to tell Tilly about her, but I knew better than to acknowledge the dead. And I knew, too, that the restless spirit of a loved one rarely offered comfort. It was far better for Tilly to think of her daughter at peace.

  Still, I couldn’t help wondering if she could sense Freya’s presence here, if she somehow knew that her daughter lingered. Was that why the ghost had told me to leave so vehemently? Was I intruding on her peace…her sanctuary?

  I didn’t think so. It had been my experience that places were rarely haunted. People were haunted.

  I turned back to Tilly. “You say your family is from Georgia?”

  “Union County,” she said. “I was born and raised in the shadow of Blood Mountain.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Since I was a girl. I was fifteen when I left home. I came here to study with a midwife. When she died, she left her place to me, so I stayed on.”

  “You’ve been here most of your life, then.”

  “I reckon I have.”

  “It’s beautiful country,” I said.

  Her eyes lifted to the mountains, and she shivered.

  “Are you still a practicing midwife?”

  “I gave that up years ago.” She glanced down at her gloved hands. “Just as well. Not many babies being born around here these days.”

  “I guess when businesses started to close a lot of people left town.”

  Her gaze went back to the mountains. “The lucky ones.”

  “What do you mean by that?” When she didn’t answer, I touched her sleeve and felt a slight tremor go through h
er. “Why did you come into the woods last night, Tilly? How did you know I needed help?”

  “Sound carries at night,” she said.

  “Did you hear the howling?” I asked urgently.

  “I heard your dog. I could tell he was in trouble.”

  “But you told me to get out of the woods. You said something was coming.” I studied her face. “What was out there last night?”

  Her voice hardened. “You ask too many questions, girl.”

  “Because I need to know what’s going on! Strange thing have been happening ever since I came to town. What’s out there in those woods? What lives up on that mountain?”

  She turned with a scowl. “It don’t live in the woods, girl, or up on that mountain. It don’t live anywhere because it’s not anything.”

  The hair at my nape lifted as I looked into her eyes. “But I’ve felt it in the wind. I’ve heard the howling. It’s out there. I know it is. It’s cold and evil—”

  Her hand whipped out to grip my wrist, her fingers digging into my flesh until I jerked away. “Go home, girl. Go back to where you came from. Best not meddle in things you don’t understand.”

  I massaged my wrist, shaken. “I can’t go home. I have a job to do here.” And I needed this job. I had a living to make, a business to run. My professional reputation was on the line.

  “Best not be so stubborn.”

  “I’m not being stubborn, I’m being practical. I signed a contract. I can’t just walk away. And, anyway…” I watched her warily. “Why does it matter? If it’s not anything, how can it hurt me?”

  Her voice lowered to a desperate whisper. “Don’t you understand? It’s not what’s out there you need to be a-feared of.” She placed a gloved hand over her heart as she leaned in, and for the first time, I thought there might be a hint of madness in her eyes. “It’s what’s in here.”

  Seventeen

  The black sports car was parked near the cemetery entrance when I arrived a little while later, but Thane was nowhere in sight. Normally, I would have left Angus to his own devices outside the fence, but today I brought him in with me because I didn’t dare leave him alone. He shadowed me down the pathway, as if he didn’t want to let me out of his sight, either.

  The day was so warm I stripped off my jacket and tied the sleeves around my waist as we moved through the lych-gate into the Asher section. I could smell sage in the unseasonable heat and every now and then a whiff of rosemary until the trail led us far enough into the cemetery where shade and neglect bred the gloomier scents of ivy and dead leaves. Through breaks in the evergreen canopy, I caught glimpses of white fleece hanging motionless over the mountains, the dark edges hinting at rain.

  I spotted Thane coming from the direction of the mausoleum, and as I paused at the circle of angels to wait for him, my gaze lifted to those eerie, otherworldly faces. It was easy now to pick out the Asher qualities I’d noticed in the old photographs. The high cheekbones. The finely sculpted noses and lips. As I studied those familiar features, something came to me. The angels faced east, not to await the rising sun, but to gaze upon the mountains.

  The foreboding conjured by that revelation skittered away as I turned to watch Thane weave his way through the gravestones. He wore a pair of faded jeans with a gray cotton shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and I found myself inadvertently comparing his casual outfit to the more formal attire favored by Devlin. His elegant wardrobe had been well beyond the means of a police detective, but Devlin was no ordinary cop. He came from old Charleston money, and I imagined his dead parents had left him quite well-off so that he never had to worry about extravagances even after his grandfather disowned him. I still found it more than a little ironic that Devlin had turned his back on everything Thane now strove so hard to reclaim for the Ashers. But even though Devlin had shunned tradition and his grandfather’s expectations, he was still very much a product of his upbringing. He was a private, graceful, sometimes old-fashioned man given to aloofness and brooding. Thane had a little of that reserve, too, but I suspected in him it was self-preservation.

  I berated myself for the constant comparisons. Thane was his own man, and maybe it was high time I heeded Aunt Lynrose’s advice to my mother and stopped living in the past. Stopped yearning for what couldn’t be.

  “Good morning,” he called.

  Almost begrudgingly, I lifted my hand to wave at him.

  He came up on the shadowy side of the angels, so that I didn’t notice anything amiss straightaway. What I did take in was last night’s stubble on his chin and the fatigue lines around his mouth that hadn’t been there at dinner. His gaze went straight to the angels, and I saw a frown fleet across his features before the pleasant mask dropped smoothly back into place.

  Then he turned to me, and the force of his gaze drew an uneasy shiver. The turmoil in those green depths didn’t match the placid expression or the easygoing demeanor. No shade or mask could hide the violent intensity of those eyes.

  “I hope you don’t mind my dropping by like this,” he said.

  “No…no, of course not.” I recovered my poise and shrugged. “Why would I mind? It’s a public place. You have as much right to be here as I do. Especially considering this is your family’s cemetery.”

  Angus sidled up to Thane, and as he bent to give him a pat, a shaft of sunlight struck the side of his face, highlighting a cut at his left temple.

  “What happened to you?” I blurted.

  His eyes flickered, a brief darkening. “A miscalculation. It won’t happen again.”

  I was dying to know the particulars of that miscalculation, but something told me this was as much information as I’d likely get. Something also told me that in this instance, ignorance might be bliss.

  He straightened and glanced around the cemetery. “This is the first time I’ve been up here in years. I had no idea it was so overgrown. You can barely see some of the monuments for the ivy and brambles.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks. Most of the headstones are in good shape, and I’ve seen no trace of vandalism. Defacement is usually a big problem in older cemeteries.”

  “Vandals can be caught,” he said. “Time and neglect are stealthier culprits.”

  I looked up at him. “Meaning?”

  He shrugged. “Defacement is defacement in my book.”

  “Are you saying the cemetery has been deliberately neglected out of disrespect?”

  “It’s like I told you on the ferry. Thorngate still inspires strong feelings.” He spoke in a hushed tone, not solely out of reverence, I suspected, but also from habit and instinct. This was not a place for harsh voices. He would have been taught that as a boy, given his grandfather’s veneration for the family cemetery. “Over the years, this place has become a symbol of everything the town lost because of Asher greed.”

  “Your family didn’t make provisions for the upkeep when ownership changed hands?”

  A flicker of impatience suggested that I’d failed to grasp some elemental aspect of that exchange. “That would have defeated the whole purpose of Grandfather’s grand gesture. What good is atonement without sacrifice?”

  I had a feeling there were nuances and subtleties to Pell Asher’s “grand gesture” that an outsider like me would never be able to comprehend. “If the neglect is deliberate, why am I here?”

  He squinted into the sun. “Evidently, someone thought it time for a restoration.”

  “And you wouldn’t know anything about that?”

  One brow rose ironically. “Me? Hardly. You know my feelings on cemetery expenditures. No offense.”

  “None taken.” I had a feeling he might be a little more interested in the restoration than he let on, though. “I saw you by the mausoleum just now. Did you go inside?”

  “Just a quick look around. Why?”

  “Your grandfather thought you might be willing to go down into the tomb with me. He said the vaults are not to be missed. He also said when you were a boy you were quite taken with the S
leeping Bride.”

  He grimaced, but I could see a twitch at the corner of his mouth, and he seemed to relax. “I was a ghoulish little bastard, all right. Did he explain that the Sleeping Bride is, in fact, some great-great-great-aunt perfectly preserved under glass?”

  “Yes, and I guess I’m ghoulish, too, because I’d love to see her.”

  “She’s quite a spectacle. As fine a testament to Asher arrogance as you’re likely to find anywhere.”

  I slanted him a glance. “And here I thought the angels were impressive. Particularly after I discovered the family resemblance.”

  “So you noticed.” I caught the ghost of another smile as he turned back to the statues. “Personally, I prefer dear Aunt Emelyn. At least she had the grace and humility to die with a peaceful expression. The angels, on the other hand, are a little too self-satisfied for my taste. Although there is something haunting about the one in the middle. I’ve always wondered about her…” His voice trailed away on a curious note.

  “What is it?”

  He turned to gaze down at me, and I could have sworn I saw something ominous pass swiftly across his non-Asher features before he shook it off. “Nothing. Nothing at all,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on my lips.

  I wondered if he was thinking about last night because I certainly was. When I’d first seen his car outside the gate, I told myself I would act as though the kiss had never happened. I wasn’t so conceited as to think he’d come here to see me, anyway, and I certainly wasn’t going to place undue importance on such an innocent buss. But try as I might, I couldn’t get it out of my head. Like Thorngate Cemetery, that kiss was symbolic of everything that had been lost to me.

  “You okay?” He was still gazing down at me very intently, head cocked as if I were some great mystery he intended to solve.

  “I’m fine,” I said in my best pretend-you-don’t-see-that-ghost voice. “Why?”

  “You seemed to drift off there for a minute, and I can’t help noticing that you look a little tired this morning.”