by Pat Esden
As fast as I could, I sucked down my coffee and gobbled my muffin. Then I excused myself and headed off to get the numbers from Tibbs.
The kitchen was right behind the swinging door under the front staircase. The one Tibbs had come out of with the bowl of fruit. He and a gray-haired woman with a face as weathered as an old barn were slouched over a bucket, peeling potatoes. Tibbs introduced her as his mother, Laura. Once I’d introduced myself, I got the numbers and asked for directions to Dad’s room. With him at the doctor’s, it was the perfect time to sneak in and situate Mother’s jar.
A few minutes later, I’d found my way through a maze of corridors and was on the second floor, sprinting down the bleak west wing hallway. Dad’s room was the last one on the right. It couldn’t have been any farther from where I was staying if they’d tried, which was exactly what I suspected someone had done. I didn’t believe for a second that cousin Selena had chosen my bedroom.
As I stepped into Dad’s room, a musky odor hit my nose, like someone had recently snuffed out a stinky candle or like the lingering smell of incense in a church.
I dashed past the massive four-poster bed to where a sitting area had been arranged in front of a white marble fireplace. Opening my bag, I pulled out Mother’s jar and set it on the mantel. Perfect. Dad would probably think it had been there all along.
BANG! The door to the bedroom slammed shut.
I spun around, my heart in my throat.
Childish snickering came from the other side of door, followed by the patter of running footsteps. Zachary.
A chill went through me as I realized how dark the room had become. Only a streak of brightness wedged its way between the drawn curtains. I sprinted for the door. The brat had probably used a key to lock me in. I’d be stuck here until Dad or someone showed up or at the very least until I could find a way to pick the lock.
I yanked on the knob.
The door opened.
Drawing in a relieved breath, I turned to take one last look at Mother’s jar. Rising toward the mantel on either side of it were oily black, man-size shadows, like the stain I’d seen in the gallery, only leaner, and definitely not attached to the wall.
“Holy crap,” I said under my breath.
The shadows whirled to face me.
I froze with my hand on the doorknob. The room was blistering hot now, and sweat drizzled down my face. A caustic smell prickled my nose as I watched them swirl and coil like blue smoke. Suddenly they stopped swirling and swooped toward me.
I bolted into the hallway and yanked the door shut. As I took off at a dead run, I heard a thump as if one of them had collided with the closed door, then a second thump.
Full tilt, I sprinted back toward the main part of the house, my heels hammering with every step. Dad always said to believe in everything until you had solid proof it wasn’t real. I didn’t have firsthand experience with the supernatural. Still, I was certain ghosts existed. But these shadows didn’t resemble any ghost I’d ever heard about or seen on television.
I turned a corner and went down another hall. Finally, I slowed a little and dared a glance over my shoulder. Nothing was following me. No shadows. No movement of any kind. I couldn’t hear or smell anything either.
Folding my arms across my chest, I tucked my hands in my armpits to keep them from shaking and jogged toward the main staircase. My pulse banged in my ears. My legs felt wobbly. This was stupid. I had to calm down, stop acting like a girl in a horror movie and start using my brain.
When I reached the staircase, I paused to catch my breath. Below, the cabinet filled with artifacts sparkled under the chandeliers’ glistening light. It seemed impossible that people who collected stuff from all kinds of cultures and religions didn’t have some level of awareness and interest in the supernatural, the way I did. For sure Olya knew something, and I couldn’t believe she was the only one. But why hadn’t she told me about the shadows when I mentioned the stain?
I rested my hands on the staircase’s sweeping banister and closed my eyes, questions whirring like crazy in my head. What I needed was to get someone to tell me the truth. But in order to avoid being misled by them or filled with lies, I’d have to ask my questions with finesse like the way Dad used his tools to coax a lock open.
CHAPTER 4
Drink cautiously from the sea of comprehension.
For once filled, the soul cannot unlearn.
—Carved above the entry to Moonhill’s library
I was still deciding on my next course of action when the front door swished open and a willowy blond girl in red-framed sunglasses and designer jeans sashayed in.
Fast as I could, I backed away from the banister. I really didn’t want to face anyone until I’d calmed down a bit more.
But she spotted me and waved. “Hey, Cousin. I’ve been looking for you.”
This had to be Selena. “Hi,” I said. It came out meeker than I’d preferred.
I heaved my bag’s strap higher on my shoulder and strolled down the stairs, my heels clicking with every step. Despite her expensive clothing and confident air, Selena had an unmistakably naïve vibe about her. For sure, every sorority at Yale—and fraternity—would open their doors the second she stepped onto campus.
She shoved her sunglasses up on top of her head. “I thought you might like to hang out for a while, have a tour of the grounds and check out the beach.”
I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the end of the banister. I wasn’t sure about spending too much time with her. I’d never been very good at the girlfriend thing. But her smile was infectious and I did want to see the ocean. It also seemed like she might be the perfect person to ask about the shadows.
Selena hooked her arm through mine and towed me out the front door. As we stepped into the sunlight, the sudden brightness reminded me of something I’d wanted to do.
“Before we go to the beach, I’d like to grab a couple things out of my dad’s car. Do you know where it is?”
“Sure. It’s in the garage. Come on.”
We rushed along the front of the house, past a vine-covered gazebo to where the garage and a black sedan sat at the end of a small cul-de-sac. Selena gave me the code, so I could unlock the garage’s side door, and showed me where the car keys were stored. Then, while I unlocked the Mercedes, she hovered over my shoulder. “Anytime you want to go somewhere, just call Tibbs. He’ll bring your car around to the front door. He’ll do anything if you flirt a little.”
I snagged Dad’s mini-flashlight out of the glove box and shoved it in my hip pocket, then laughed. “I can probably manage to get my own car.”
“Aunt Kate wouldn’t like that. She thinks it’s uncivilized. Well, actually”—Selena pursed her lips and blew the hair off her forehead—“I think it’s because she likes to know what everyone else is doing all the time.” She lowered her voice. “Whatever you do, don’t try to go anywhere after dark. The main gate’s locked from sunset until morning. Only Grandpa, Kate, my parents—and Chase, of course, have the key.”
I glanced at her. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
She rested her hands on her hips. “Seriously, don’t bother trying it. There’s no way to get through.”
“Kind of like a prison?” I said.
“Pretty much.” She leaned in closer and whispered, “But there is an escape route.” She touched a finger to her lip to silence me. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
I grinned and nodded. The idea that I’d found an ally in Selena lifted my mood. Still, anger simmered beneath my skin. Spooky shadow things. Locked gates. It was a wonder my father hadn’t fled this place long before my mother’s death.
I grabbed my spare sandals from under the passenger seat and tossed them into my bag, so it wouldn’t look like the flashlight was the only thing I’d wanted. The sandals might come in handy if we went to the beach as well.
Once the Mercedes was locked back up, Selena’s gaze went to my feet. “Your shoes are amazing, by the way,” she
said.
“Thanks. They’re my favorites.” In a way she reminded me of the girl I’d bought the shoes from, all red and white designer everything. The girl had told me the shoes had belonged to her older sister. How they used to swap clothes and even dates, when they were younger, before her sister went away to college and they drifted apart. That’s one thing I loved about antique picking, everything came with a story, with a heritage, a soul. I smiled at Selena and this time it was totally real. “You can borrow them sometime, if you want.”
“Mother would kill me.” Her eyes glistened. “Can I try them on?”
Before I could say yes, she hauled me out of the garage and to the gazebo. We sat down on its steps and she slipped out of her glittery flip-flops. Wiggling her toes, she motioned for me to hand over my spikes. I shook my head, amused by her enthusiasm, and gave them to her. When she slid them on, they actually looked better on her, given her legs were skinnier and longer than mine, and because her sunglasses and red-tipped fingernails perfectly matched the shoes.
Selena stretched out her legs and admired the effect. “They’re gorgeous. They’d be perfect for—” She paused abruptly and glanced around as if looking to see if someone was within earshot.
“Perfect for what?” I prodded, hoping it would get her to start spilling again.
She wriggled closer. “There’s this guy, Newt. He and a bunch of his friends called the Beach Rats have parties. That’s why I had to find an escape route. Your shoes would be perfect with my new outfit. But if Mom and Dad ever found out what I wanted them for—” She made a cutting motion across her throat with her finger.
“Yeah, and then some,” I said. Then I realized she’d given me an opening that could solve not one but two problems at once. “How do you sneak out of the house, anyway? Last night, I wanted to go downstairs and meet everyone, but the hall was pitch-black, and I couldn’t find a light switch. I was afraid I’d get lost.”
“There’re switches on both ends of the hallway, near the windows. But we won’t want to turn them on when we go out.” Selena hesitated dramatically. “The light attracts things.”
I shuddered as images of oily black shadows materialized in my head. “Things? Like what?” Freaking shadow-ghost things, no doubt.
“Like Zachary and Aunt Kate. And you really have to watch out for Chase, he’s on permanent stealth mode.”
“Chase?” I couldn’t believe I’d heard right. She was talking about people.
“He looks like he might be cool,” she said, “but he’s all security this and that. It’s awful.”
My shoulders slumped. I’d really thought she was going to start telling me about ax-wielding ghosts and blood spilling from the walls—not complain about how well the local eye candy was doing his job. “Sounds like it’s lucky you get out at all,” I said, grumbling a bit.
“I’m actually very lucky. Grandfather can’t stand the idea of security cameras watching him, otherwise I might not. You can only cover a camera so many times before someone notices. Newt told me that—and he knows.” She gave my arm a friendly squeeze. “But enough about me and Newt. Do you have a boyfriend?”
Caught off guard by the sudden change in topic, I could only blink at her. I generally didn’t discuss my personal life with people I’d just met, especially someone I wasn’t supposed to trust. But it was hard not to like Selena. Plus it would feel good to finally tell someone and I doubted she’d be judgmental.
Gathering my nerve, I took a deep breath. “There was one guy, Taj. He’s an intern at the Metropolitan Museum. I met him a long time ago through my homeschooling program. We used to text and stuff all the time. We were best friends. I went out with some guys he knew. Then last winter, when Dad and I were in New York, he asked me out and we kind of hooked up.” I lifted my head and looked her in the eyes. “A couple weeks later, I saw a photo of him and some girl online. They were all over each other. It said they were in a relationship.”
She stuck out her bottom lip in a sympathy pout. “That’s awful.”
I shrugged. “I should have known better.”
My throat choked up and I could feel a little wetness at the corners of my eyes.
I blinked it away. Taj didn’t deserve my tears. He was a total shithead. Besides, it was time to get this conversation back on track. “I asked what kind of things you saw at night because I thought you meant ghosts.”
“Oh, I can see how you might think that,” she said.
When she didn’t continue, I nudged again. “I was just wondering if there were any. When Dad and I went to New Orleans, we stayed in a haunted bed and breakfast. I never heard or saw anything, but the owner swore she’d seen shadows and heard a woman singing.” The part about the shadows was made up, but the rest of it was true. If this didn’t get her talking about the shadows, then maybe nothing would.
“Singing?” Selena’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. “You’re not wondering about ghosts in general, are you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, puzzled.
She shifted her weight from one hip to the other, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “You mentioned the woman singing because you want to know if your mother”—her eyes rose to meet mine—“if she’s a ghost. My dad says she had a beautiful voice. It was awful, the way she died.”
My mouth fell open and a tremor of panic went through me. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” It had never occurred to me that Mother might be haunting Moonhill. She couldn’t possibly be one of the shadows. They’d felt malevolent.
Selena shook her head. “I don’t think she is. At least no one’s ever seen a ghost in the house, but if she was haunting the graveyard, no one might have noticed. That’s where her accident happened, you know.” She glanced at the hillside, just north of the driveway.
Through the scattered trees I could make out a domed mausoleum on top of a hill and white monuments climbing toward it. The graveyard. Somewhere up there was a white marble lamb—a lamb, perhaps still stained with my mother’s blood.
“You want to walk up there later?” Selena asked.
I swallowed hard. “No,” I managed to say, but my voice trembled more than I would have liked. The truth was, even when I’d looked at the satellite photos, I hadn’t realized the graveyard was so close to the house. And I definitely didn’t want anyone with me when I went up there.
I wrapped my arms around my knees and rocked forward. The other truth, the one I hadn’t admitted to myself until now, was that even if Dad hadn’t gotten sick, one day, at some point in time, I would have returned to Moonhill on my own. Even if it was to do nothing more than walk where Mother had gone, and to see where she had died.
What few memories I had of her were from Dad: her love of the ocean, her thirst for adventure and fondness for skinny-dipping, her fiery temper and bright silk scarves, her musical voice and wild beauty—like a selkie stolen from the sea, Dad had always said. Her death, a fluke, a one in a million freak accident. Dad racing home from a business trip. His anger at his family. His blame. His guilt. His grief that he had never overcome. These memories felt real to me, but they were threads from stories that belonged to Dad.
I wanted my own memories, even if it was just a small one.
CHAPTER 5
The following day, we anchored in a small cove, rowed ashore, and found our way to the top of the cliff. There we discovered the hill we’d been told of, shaped like a crescent moon.
—Memoir of Henry Freemont
Volume IV, 1601–1609
Selena gave me an extensive tour of the front gardens. She showed me the beach from the cliff top, a glistening wet crescent of stone and sand reached only by a treacherously steep set of stairs.
I would have given anything to have gone down there and walked along the shore alone, the waves washing my feet, the sun heating my shoulders. I could barely focus on what she was saying, the history of our ancestors discovering and settling on Moonhill, way back when the first explorers came
to Maine. About the family’s salt mine here and the larger ones they later established in Canada. My mind was with Mother, seeing her blood on the lamb, wondering who found her body, and if I’d been with her that day.
As we started back toward the house, through another series of gardens punctuated by statuary and stone walls, I swapped to thinking about the absence of ghosts in the house. That meant there shouldn’t be anything weird going on. No shadows. No stains. But I hadn’t imagined everything. I was sure of that.
Selena stopped where a garden curved around a sundial. “This is Grandma Persistence’s Shakespeare garden. Every plant in it is mentioned in at least one of his works. There’s columbine, poppies—and monkshood, some people think it was the poison in Romeo and Juliet. Isn’t it fascinating how so much of modern medicine is based on what they already knew back then?”
“I guess,” I said. Actually, it sounded a little creepy. But who was I to judge? Dad and I had certainly bought enough bizarre antiques in our time.
She took me by the elbow, snuggling me close. “I’m so glad you’re here. I want to have some fun this summer. I’m dreading next fall so bad. I was supposed to go away to Yale for pre-med, but Dad decided I was too young and is making me wait a year.”
“That’s shitty,” I said. Then I backpedaled and clarified. “I don’t mean the taking-a-year-off part. I did the same thing. Well, sort of. I took some classes online. But it’s ridiculous that your dad didn’t let you decide.”
“Exactly. I knew you’d understand.”
Ahead, the garden path transformed into terraces and wide stone steps, leading up to what appeared to be a flagstone terrace, surrounded by Grecian columns and roofed with vine-covered lattice. A low hedge made it impossible to see if anyone was on the terrace from our angle, but as we neared, Zachary’s voice echoed out.
“The Iliad?” he said.
“Indeed. It’s an absolutely brilliant work,” a distinctly British guy’s voice replied.