Last of the Ravens

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “You’ve been studying me,” Miranda said softly. “Like a bug under a microscope. I’m sure you had great fun pretending to be my friend.” She remained stoic. “So what’s the skinny on Miranda Lynch? What exactly have you learned about me?”

  Roger leaned over the table and lowered his voice once more. “You had nothing beyond a relatively normal level of intuition before the accident, when something within you was jarred to life. Whether that jarring was physical or emotional or spiritual, we cannot say. You seem to be getting stronger, or else you’re simply learning to control the capabilities you’ve had all along. Your ability to converse with the dead and to clearly observe past life replay has been most helpful in catching murderers who might otherwise go on to kill again.”

  “If I’m so useful, why did Archard try to kill me Sunday night?”

  Roger’s eyes narrowed. “He believes that you’re Kademair, and that to allow you and Korbinian to get together would be too dangerous. In his opinion, it would be best to let the species die out. Besides, he says he didn’t try to kill you Sunday night.”

  “And of course we believe him,” Miranda said dryly.

  “He says he was here, meeting with Ward Quinn.”

  Miranda glanced toward the kitchen. “What does Mrs. Quinn say?”

  “Someone was in the house meeting with her husband, but it was late and she didn’t come downstairs, so she doesn’t know who was here.”

  “No one else has any reason to kill me, unless there’s someone else in your blasted Order that decided to take me out before anyone had to worry about the possibility of a little Korbinian making an appearance in nine months.”

  She hadn’t heard Bren come down the stairs, but suddenly he was there, standing directly behind her. “That’s not possible,” he said. “Miranda is not Kademair.”

  Bren sat down at the end of the table as far from the other two occupants as possible, and casually poured himself a glass of tea from the pitcher. Miranda and Talbot were both staring at him, waiting for him to say more. “I’ll admit,” Bren said as he set the pitcher aside, “there was a time when I thought maybe she was Kademair, but it was just great sex and wishful thinking. Nothing more.”

  “How can you be sure?” Talbot asked sharply.

  Bren took a plate and scooped up a large spoonful of what looked to be tuna casserole. He grabbed a biscuit and dropped it beside the noodles, sauce and fish concoction. “How can I explain the depth of emotion connected with Kademair and Korbinian to someone who will never know it or anything like it? The bond goes well beyond sexual attraction.” He made himself look at Miranda, and her expression showed such distress, such hurt, he almost wished he could take back what he’d said.

  But this was the only way, and he couldn’t let her in on the secret because she was so open, so honest, she would be unable to play her part.

  “She’s a beautiful woman and we were both lonely and unattached.” Unable to look into Miranda’s hurt eyes anymore, Bren turned to Talbot. “I told her a pretty story, and yeah, maybe for a little while I actually bought into it myself. That’s the beginning and the end of this story, or would’ve been if you bastards hadn’t gotten involved.” He took a deep breath. “Some days I may wish it isn’t true, but I am the last of my kind. There is no Kademair, not for me.”

  “But—” Miranda began softly.

  Bren interrupted her. “So, Talbot, tell your asshole buddies to leave Miranda the hell alone. She poses no threat to them or to anyone else, and she never did. From what I can tell she does a lot of good with her gift, so whoever takes Quinn’s place should be told to lay off. You be sure to tell the next guy that Miranda Lynch got laid on vacation and damn near got herself killed for it, and that’s not fair in anyone’s book. If they’re so determined to see the last of the Korbinians they only have one place to look, and that’s at me.”

  Talbot went so still and calm, Bren wondered if the man didn’t somehow realize what was going on. If so, he wouldn’t tell. In his own twisted way, he did care for Miranda.

  “That’s too bad,” Talbot finally said. “I’m not the only man in the Order who thinks it wouldn’t be a bad thing if the Korbinians flourished as they did so long ago. Maybe that’s why I convinced myself that Miranda might be Kademair. Not only can she speak to ghosts, which is most definitely a Kademair-worthy gift, she has the most bizarre collection of raven doodads you’ve ever seen. Books, pictures, figurines…And once when we were on a case a flock of blackbirds passed overhead, and she stared at them as if they’d hypnotized her, as if they were speaking to her in a way only she could hear. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to put you two in the same general vicinity and see what might happen.” He shrugged. “You’re remarkable, Korbinian, as was your father and all those who came before you. It’s a sad thing to see the end of something so special.”

  Bren pushed the food around on his plate. Compliments from Talbot made him uncomfortable. “At least I finally know why you’ve always refused to sell that cabin. You spied on me from there.”

  “On occasion,” Talbot admitted. “Now that you know, I suppose it doesn’t matter so much anymore. The cabin is yours. I’ll have the papers drawn up immediately.”

  “I’ll pay you a fair price,” Bren said, wanting no charity from this man or any other.

  “Seems only—” Talbot began.

  “Hold it!” Miranda said sharply. “Before you go giving that cabin away, I’ll ask you to remember that I haven’t finished my vacation.” She looked at Talbot, blatantly ignoring Bren. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips soft. There were no tears in her blue eyes, no pleading on her fine lips. “Another week,” she said, the soft words more a command than a request. “One more week, and then you can do whatever you want with it.”

  Chapter 14

  After a restless and horribly lonely night, Miranda walked into the woods a short distance from the Quinn farm and began to watch and listen, as she had learned to do over the past few years. Roger stuck close to her, and the other FBI agents behind her remained silent, not even talking to one another. The only sound was the constant crunching of old dried leaves and pine needles beneath their feet and the whisper of tortured spirits calling to her. Bren trailed behind them all, though his presence here was not at all necessary.

  She couldn’t figure the man out. He can’t keep his hands off her, he risks his life to save her—again—and then the next thing you know she’s just another convenient woman who can easily be set aside when he’s finished with her. One minute she was born to be his and only his, and the next she’s nothing to him but an easy lay. He’d been so cold as he’d delivered the words that marked her as nothing but a bed buddy. She didn’t believe him. That or she simply didn’t want to believe him.

  She’d given him her heart. What they’d found felt like so much more than a vacation romance or a quick, easy sexual experience. At least, it certainly felt like more to her. Was the love she’d been so sure was in his heart nothing but a fabrication on her part? Had she made herself believe there was more so she could justify taking what she wanted from him?

  Ghosts began to claim her attention, and Miranda put her personal problems aside to see to the job she’d come here to do. When the remains were found and properly buried, maybe these spirits could move on, as they should. Some were indeed dark, some had made terrible mistakes they could not take back, but most were merely tragic or gifted and different. Like her.

  She walked through the forest by broken morning light, pointing out old and relatively new gravesites Roger marked with red flags for later disinterment. Standing over her unmarked grave, Roxanne’s spirit didn’t look so fierce or scary anymore. The ghost that had haunted Miranda in the bunker looked like a lost little girl who’d made a few very bad decisions and had paid for them with her life.

  There were many spirits like Pete who were not quite human and yet not animal or monster. Some of these ghosts, she knew from talking with them as Roger marked their graves,
were like Pete—injured and infected by a beast Miranda had always thought to be myth and killed so they would not become like the monsters they fought. Werewolves. Werecats. Shifters much like Bren, but with a taste for violence and blood.

  She finally came to Pete’s grave, and there he stood, not in his deformed state but as the young man his mother had waited for all these years. Blond and handsome and smiling and much too young to have passed, he nodded to Miranda in thanks for all she had done.

  “Dee asked me to tell you that she’s moved on,” the spirit said to her.

  Miranda felt a rush of sadness, as if a flesh-and-blood friend had left without saying goodbye.

  “For a long time she waited for you to come, waited to see that you and her son found one another. Now, she says, what comes next is up to you.” Pete gave an oddly archaic nod of his head, almost like a half bow. “She’s joined her mate in death as they were joined in life, Korbinian and Kademair. If you ever need her, all you have to do is call and she will come.”

  Miranda smiled. She would not call Dee back from her well-earned peace. She wouldn’t drag the spirit from a place she had waited so long to enter. Not even to ask the question that nagged at her as she did what she had to do. If she was not Bren’s Kademair, then why would Dee have gone to so much trouble to make sure they met? If she was not meant for him, then why?

  She had a few days of vacation left, and she intended to find out.

  Bren stood on his deck and looked down on the cabin below, the cabin that would soon be his. When Miranda left, Roger would sign the cabin over to him and it would finally be done. This mountain would be his, and he would have the absolute privacy he’d always craved above all else.

  It was best that Miranda never have to struggle with what he knew. That they were meant to be together, but could not. That they could start a family that would herald the return of the Korbinians, but would not. If she didn’t know, maybe eventually the pain of separation would go away and she could find someone else. She could have a good life.

  He couldn’t. He would always know that his Kademair was out there and yet he couldn’t claim her without putting her and any children they created in constant danger. Men like Quinn and Archard would always exist.

  In the three days since they’d returned from North Carolina, he’d dreamed of her every night. She’d dreamed of him, too, for they were the same dreams. In their dreams there was no danger. In their dreams there was only love and laughter and pleasure.

  But life was not a dream. Reality was much harsher.

  Perhaps the dreams would cease when she wasn’t so damned close. She said she did not intend to stay in the cabin for very long. Just a few days, and then she would call Talbot to come and fetch her.

  And she’d be gone, finally and completely.

  Miranda sat on the couch and pretended to read, but the words on the page were a blur. As she had since returning to the cabin she listened for the sound of ravens’ wings. She occasionally glanced out the sliding glass door hoping to see a formation of large blackbirds that flew as one, that cawed in a way that seemed to call her name.

  As always, there was nothing. Bren was staying away from her, as man and as raven. Once darkness fell, glancing out that window revealed nothing at all, but she did it, anyway, more often than she should. More hopeful than she should be.

  She couldn’t believe that all they’d ever had was sex. There was more, she knew it! The dreams she had of Bren were so real that when she awoke, she could still taste and feel and smell him for a long, wonderful moment. She was Kademair, he was Korbinian, and they knew a bond like no other.

  And then she found herself alone, and she knew her moment of bliss had been just a dream.

  The past couple of days had been what a vacation should be, she supposed. She slept and read. She ate junk food. She answered some of her personal e-mail and let the business matters wait. Autumn’s e-mails had been mostly about the murder in her neighborhood and the progression of the investigation. Everyone suspected the husband, as was usual in these cases, and there was no evidence to point to any other suspect. That would be her first stop when she returned to Atlanta. She could put Autumn’s mind to rest, make sure she knew there was no murderer roaming the neighborhood.

  It was just after dark when Miranda heard the vehicle on the road outside the cabin. Roger wasn’t supposed to come until she called him, but she wasn’t sure he’d obey her orders, even though he owed her big time. The purr of the engine wasn’t powerful enough to be Bren’s truck. No one else came up this way. The engine went silent, a car door slammed, and in a matter of seconds there was a knock on the door.

  Had Roger sent someone up the mountain to check on her?

  Had Archard?

  Miranda leaped from the couch and grabbed the baseball bat she’d kept close at hand since coming back to the cabin. Jackson’s initials were written in black ink on the end of the bat; he’d left it here after one of their family vacations, she supposed. She gripped the smooth wood securely as she walked to the door. “Who’s there?” she called, making her voice as strong and steady as was possible.

  There was no hesitation as a familiar voice answered, “It’s me, Jared.”

  Miranda sighed in relief and set the baseball bat aside, leaning it beside the front door. Her heart continued to hammer, but she managed a smile as she opened the door and greeted her friend’s husband. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  Jared gave her a sheepish smile. “Autumn asked me to check on you. Your e-mails have worried her. She’s quite sure you’re not telling her everything.” He lazily shooed away the moths that had been drawn to the porch light. “She knew I was going to be in the general area, calling on a client near Pigeon Forge, so she asked me if I’d stop by and make sure you’re really okay.”

  Miranda stepped back and invited Jared inside, and as she did she glanced at the car that was parked in the short driveway. She couldn’t tell the exact color, not without more light, but Jared was driving a dark, two-door Toyota. Her smile died slowly. Her stomach flipped over. “That’s not your car.”

  “It’s a rental,” Jared said as he closed the door behind him and swatted at one stray moth.

  Miranda’s instincts, instincts that had rarely led her wrong, screamed at her. Get out! Get out! Something was very wrong with her friend’s husband. Jared did frequently travel on business, but none of his appointments took him anywhere near this part of Tennessee, and he rarely had to work on weekends. It didn’t help matters any that he planted himself directly in front of the door—which was the only safe way out. She glanced over her shoulder to the sliding glass door and the deck.

  Jared sighed and moved in closer, taking a threatening step in her direction. “You already know something’s wrong, I suppose. That face of yours gives away every thought in your pretty head.” Smoothly he drew a gun from inside his jacket, and Miranda had a flashback to the night an intruder had broken in and whispered her name.

  Where are you, Miranda Lynch?

  “Why?” she asked, taking another step back toward the sliding glass door.

  Jared shrugged. “I always thought the whole thing about you talking to ghosts was creepy and more than weird, but I didn’t know it would be so damned inconvenient until I had to kill a woman. When you get back home, if you were going to ever get back, Autumn would insist that you poke around our neighbor’s house to see if the ghost is still hanging around. That would be it for me. If anyone knows where to look and looks hard enough, the connection can be made. Right now her husband is the number-one suspect and that suits me just fine.”

  “Your neighbor,” Miranda whispered, backing slowly toward the deck and her only chance at escape.

  “Yeah. Pam and I had a good thing going, but she was having trouble with her marriage and decided it was time to tell Autumn what had been going on so we could make our relationship official and open. Like I ever wanted that! Bitch,” he mumbled. “I couldn’t let her tell.
Autumn has all the money and unless she dies—or perhaps I should say until she dies—I can’t rightfully call it mine. A divorce would ruin everything. I had to string Pam along for a while until you left town, and then I did what had to be done. Then I came here to tend to you, but you weren’t where you were supposed to be.” He smiled. “Lucky for me you’re here now.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” Miranda said as she backed up against the sliding glass door and felt behind her for the handle.

  “I will, actually,” Jared said confidently. “Everyone knows you and the nut job who lives up the hill have been carrying on and that it hasn’t ended well. The whole town, if you can call that collection of misfits down the hill a town, is talking about it. You get shot, the cops go straight to him, and I’m long gone, with nothing to connect me to your death.” His eyes were blank, his smile continued. “Who will you talk to when you’re a ghost?”

  Miranda pushed the sliding glass door open and ran outside, embracing the darkness. Even though she felt freer here, even though she could finally manage to take a deep breath, there was nowhere to go. She wouldn’t reach the post and make a quick and frightening descent this time. Jared was too close. He was holding his gun on her. Even if she managed to make it over the deck railing, all he had to do was point down and pull the trigger.

  “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” she asked.

  Jared shook his head. “Sorry. Even if I could convince you to lie to Autumn, it wouldn’t work. You’ve got that face that tells it all. Besides, I’ve never kidded myself into thinking I could bring you over to my side. You might promise anything to save your life, but we both know you’d go straight to my wife—or to the police—if you got the chance. Now, let’s go back inside. The gunshot will be too loud out here. Someone might hear.”