The Phantom Queen: A Whisper Hollow Novel, Book 3

by Yasmine Galenorn

  Sighing, I stabbed a second waffle and drowned it in butter and syrup before texting back: i’ll be there, and so will bryan.

  At quarter to three, I was waiting in Sophia’s office, wondering what Rosemary’s parents would be like. Emmet’s parents had declined to meet me. I couldn’t really blame them. They’d been through a horrendous shock, but I asked Sophia to let them know that I’d be willing to talk to them whenever they were ready.

  I glanced around the office. The police station was in city hall, on Oak Street across from the elementary school. Behind city hall, on Whisper Hollow Way, were the library and the fire station. And to the side, across Emergency Way, stood the hospital. The city hall was a two-story red brick building that reminded me of an old schoolhouse. But the brick was in good repair, and the windows were so clean they sparkled.

  Sophia’s office held the obligatory filing cabinets, bookshelves, and certificates on the wall. Her desk was utilitarian but neat and tidy, and next to the phone was a picture of her family. Sophia was married to Tomás Castillo, a veterinarian. I planned on making an appointment with him to get the cats checked out in the next few weeks. I had heard he had a special talent with small animals—that he was a regular Dr. Dolittle. Sophia had a daughter as well, named Maria, who was a freshman in high school.

  Sophia had asked me to wait for her so I sat in the chair next to her desk, staring at my phone. A stack of file folders sat on the corner of her desk and I glanced at them, but kept my hands to myself. The truth was, I was nervous. While I had talked to the families of the dead before, it was usually some time after the fact, not immediately after their loved ones had been murdered.

  The door opened, and I jumped as Sophia escorted a couple into the room. They looked incredibly young—too young to have a teenage daughter. But then again, if I’d had a daughter at twenty, she’d be nearly fourteen now.

  “Kerris, I’d like you to meet Rosemary’s parents. Edward and Tiffany Leeland.” She turned to the couple. “Please, have a seat. Would you like me to stay while you talk to Kerris? Or I can leave you alone if you’d like.”

  Tiffany Leeland was a short, blond woman. She looked so gaunt and pale I thought she might fade away. Grief did that to people. It turned them into husks and drained the life out of them, until they could find their core once again.

  Edward, on the other hand, was holding up, though I suspected the façade was for the sake of his wife. I could see the grief in his eyes, if not his body language. Our society was cruel to men in that regard, forcing them to play the strong silent type when all they might want to do was sit and weep.

  “You can stay.” Tiffany gave a little shrug as she sat down in the chair next me. Edward sat by her, his hand on her knee. She placed her hand over his, which told me that their grief was bringing them together rather than driving them apart. Thank the gods for small favors.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” I said.

  “Sophia told us that you’re the new spirit shaman. If you have any messages from Rosemary, we want to hear them. Is she in pain?” Tiffany blurted out. “I hope she’s not in pain.”

  I shook my head. “No, she’s not in any pain. To be honest, she didn’t know she was dead at first, but I helped her understand, and then I led her and Emmet to Penelope. The Gatekeeper guided them over to the Veil, and they’re free now. Rosemary asked me to give you a message.”

  Tiffany was crying by this point, but a hopeful look broke through her tears. “I hope she knew how much we loved her.”

  “Don’t have any worries about that,” I said with a smile. “Trust me, she knew you loved her. She asked me to tell you that she loved you and her sister very much. She asked that you give her sister all of her things. And the thing she most wanted you to know is that she doesn’t want you to stop living. She doesn’t want you to grieve for her too long.”

  “That seems an impossible task,” Tiffany said.

  “I know, but she wants you to focus on helping her sister. Also, Emmet asked me to tell you he did his best to protect her. He wants you to know that. And…I married them, at least in spirit. They would have gotten married if they had lived, and it was the last wish I could grant both of them.” I wasn’t sure how that last part would go over, but I hoped it would make them happy.

  Tiffany and Edward sat there for a moment, tears streaming down both of their cheeks. Finally, Tiffany said, “That all sounds so much like her. She wouldn’t want us to be unhappy. And we know how much she loved Emmet. From the first time they met, they were always together.”

  “Rosemary’s main worry was that she felt like she was hurting you. That her death would wound you. I told her that none of this was her fault. Life isn’t fair, and she’s not to blame for this. She accepted that at the end, so you can put your minds at rest. She’ll rest easy. And so will Emmet, who was the love of her life.”

  “Thank you,” Edward said. “I can’t believe our little girl is gone. I can’t believe any of this happened.” He looked around. “Where are Emmet’s parents?”

  Sophia spoke up. “They weren’t quite ready to hear what Kerris had to tell them.”

  “Did… Did Rosemary tell you who killed her?” Tiffany asked, raising her eyes to meet mine.

  I glanced at Sophia who gave me a brief shake of the head. “No, I’m sorry. She gave us a few things to go on, but whoever killed her was a stranger. She didn’t know him.” I couldn’t just lie to them, but I didn’t want to get their hopes up. Not yet.

  “Thank God. I’m so grateful that it wasn’t a friend of ours. You hear about that—perverts preying on their friends’ children. I’m just grateful it wasn’t anyone we knew. Somehow, that a stranger killed her makes it easier to bear,” Tiffany said.

  “I want to hunt him down like a dog. Whoever did this, I want him punished.” A dark cloud rolled across Edward’s face.

  “We’re working on it,” Sophia said. “We have something to go on now. But I can’t promise you when—or if—we’ll manage to find the killer. He could be gone by now. He could have been just passing through Whisper Hollow. But I have officers combing the woods, looking for any sign of him. And we have people manning the phones. Last night’s news broadcast brought in a few tips that we’re checking out.”

  “Is there anything you can tell us?” Edward said, his voice raspy.

  I knew right then that it would be dangerous for Sophia to give him any of the hints or tips that they had gathered. He was ready to go off, like a pistol, and if he targeted the wrong person it could make things so much worse.

  “Sophia, can I talk to you moment?” I jumped to my feet.

  She gave me a puzzled look, but nodded. She turned to Edward and Tiffany. “Please wait here.” Then, leading the way, she guided me to a conference room across the hall. Once the door was shut, I turned to her.

  “Watch out for Edward. He’s ready to go off on the first person he thinks had anything to do with his daughter’s death. He’s so wound up, he’s tighter than a spring. And somehow, I don’t think he’ll stop to ask himself if he’s targeting the right person. Don’t tell him anything, please. Not until you know more.”

  She nodded gravely. “I had the same feeling. Don’t worry, I won’t supply any ammo for him to work with. Thank you, though. I think talking to you is going to help them work through this. Knowing that she’s okay and not in any pain, that’s a blessing.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said. “I’m going to take off. If they ask, that’s all she said to me.”

  As I headed toward the exit, I couldn’t imagine the pain that Edward and Tiffany were experiencing. I hoped what I had said would ease the way for them. No one should have to bury their child, but the world was unfair. The Leelands weren’t the first to lose their child, and they wouldn’t be the last. Trying to shake away the cobwebs, I returned to my car and pulled out of the parking lot.

  On the way home, I decided to pick up dinner. Given that we had to go visit Veronica that evening, I didn
’t feel like cooking and I doubted that Bryan would feel like it either. A new takeout place had popped up on Fir Street, and I had passed it twice already. Each time, I had thought it smelled so good, so I finally decided to give it a try.

  Pirate’s Fish and Chips had a drive-through window. As I eased in next to the menu and rolled down my window, I could smell garlic and onion and the savory scent of fish.

  I scanned the selections.

  When the server asked for my order, I spoke into the intercom. “I want two four-piece fish and chip meals.”

  “Halibut, cod, or salmon?”

  “Halibut. And I want two Deep Bowls of clam chowder, New England style. Can you add an extra order of french fries to that?” Both Bryan and I had healthy appetites. The deep bowls of clam chowder apparently held twelve ounces each, and the fish fillets looked good sized.

  As I pulled ahead and handed over my credit card, the scent of the fish was so good that my mouth began to salivate. I carefully placed the bags of food on the floor, and worked my way back into traffic. There wasn’t much in Whisper Hollow, but at the end of the day we had our traffic jams and gridlock. Luckily, I didn’t live too far away, and even though the roads were icing up, I had good snow tires that Bryan had put on my car a few weeks ago.

  By the time I got home it was almost dark, and the snow had started up again. It had stopped about mid-morning, but now big flakes were fluttering down to cover the already frozen ground. The temperature hadn’t risen above thirty-eight degrees all day, and now it was down to thirty-four. We’d be below freezing before it was time to go see Veronica.

  I carried the food to the house, trying not to slip. I needed to shovel the walk before anybody hurt themselves. I’d bought a new snow shovel when the first snow hit, given the old one’s handle was almost broken.

  As I unlocked the front door and shouldered my way through with my bags, Bryan called out from the kitchen. “Are you home?”

  “Are you expecting anybody else?” I asked, laughing.

  “Only this hot chick I’m engaged to,” Bryan countered, coming out of the kitchen as he wiped his hands on a dish towel. He took one look at the takeout bags and hurried over to take them from me. “Bless you for buying dinner. I was just about ready to start cooking and the refrigerator is still empty. We were about to have macaroni surprise for dinner.”

  “What’s macaroni surprise?”

  “That’s the surprise—it’s macaroni and margarine. You don’t even have cheese. You really need to go shopping tomorrow. If you don’t, I’ll do it for you.”

  “I’ll take care of the shopping tomorrow, if you’ll shovel the walk. It’s getting downright dangerous out there.” I stamped my feet, getting snow all over the floor.

  As I pulled off my jacket and gloves and unzipped my ankle boots, Bryan sat the food on the table and brought out a mop. Shaking his head, he took care of the snow that was rapidly melting on the floor.

  “I’m just glad you made it home safe. The streets are going to suck tonight. I was listening to the weather report and they said it’s due to drop down to twenty-four degrees tonight. It should stop snowing before then, but whatever is on the roads is guaranteed to freeze solid. When we go out to the cemetery tonight, be sure to wear a pair of boots that have good traction. I’d suggest walking there, but I know how exhausted you can get when you’re talking to Penelope and Veronica.”

  “Yeah, unfortunately I think I need to build up my meet-the-dead stamina. Come on, let’s eat dinner. I’m starved.”

  I gave him a quick kiss and hurried into the kitchen, where I turned on the espresso machine and pulled myself three shots of espresso, then heated up milk and cocoa for a sugary mocha.

  As we settled at the table, I told him how things had gone with Sophia and the Leelands. We really were developing a routine, and I suddenly thought that I had a lifetime of this to look forward to—coming home to Bryan, eating dinner with him, making love to him. The thought filled me with warmth, but in the background another murmur whispered things that weren’t so pleasant.

  You also have a lifetime of visiting the dead ahead of you. Of escorting them over to Penelope, and of dealing with the spirits around this town.

  I tried to push the thought away as I dug into my meal, but beneath the surface, I knew it was true. As bright and joyful as my life could be, the constant whisper of the dead ran in the background. And they would never be far.

  Chapter Eight

  Veronica’s lair was past the Pest House Cemetery. As we pulled into the parking area of the cemetery proper, it occurred to me that I was spending a lot of time in the graveyard, and maybe it would behoove me to create a map to orient myself. Over the years, I’d be here a lot, and I might as well get to know my home away from home.

  I carried my bag o’ tricks with me—the tools my grandmother had left to me—including the new dagger that we’d found in the basement of Peggin’s now–burned down house. Well, it wasn’t new, exactly, but it was new to me.

  The Hounds had been hiding it, but like all magical tools in epic tales, the blade had found its way home to me. The dagger had a long obsidian blade, which was surprisingly strong, given the fragile nature of obsidian. The hilt was carved from bone, and whether it was animal or human, I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to know.

  Carrying the dagger into Veronica’s lair was problematic. I could dispel the Unliving with it, and she was one of the Unliving. But we had an oath between us of sorts, and unless she overstepped her reach, I would never lift a finger against her.

  The path through the Pest House Cemetery was tangled, and here, the dead were left to their own devices. The lawn-care guys seldom journeyed to this part of the graveyard, and they were blasé about the fact that the owner of the cemetery called them chicken. The fact was, very few who were buried in the Pest House Cemetery had anyone left to remember them or mourn their loss.

  As I opened the wrought iron gate that barred the way into the Pest House Cemetery, it squeaked on its hinges, letting out a shriek of protest.

  “Dude, next time we come, remind me to bring a can of neatsfoot oil, because both the gate and the hinges on Penelope’s tomb squeak so loudly it startles me every time.”

  Bryan nodded. “All right.”

  The cemetery was dark, even in the silvery light of the snowfall. Shades and shadows lurked here, and the dead who had been buried here rested uneasily.

  Some of them were from the Pest House itself, from that brutal time when the practice of medicine was as harsh as the diseases it sought to cure. There were Shadow People here, as well, but as we walked along sidewalk, trying not to slip on the frozen and compacted snow, I held my dagger out, a warning to keep them at bay.

  The Shadow Man who had been in my house hadn’t shown himself again, not since I last saw him, but I was still wary even though I kept the house warded heavily. My grandmother Ivy had taught me the basics of warding, and I could weave a tight spell of protection now.

  “What are you thinking?” Bryan asked.

  “I’m just wondering what Veronica wants. I have a few questions for her.”

  I paused as we came to the end of the walk. At the back of the Pest House Cemetery, there was a hillside that ran along the lake, a bluff overlooking the watery depths. Here, burrowing into the base of the hill, Veronica made her home.

  Several of the Unliving were wandering around and a few of them eyed us suspiciously as we passed. They could sense the dagger, and they knew I was both the spirit shaman and a threat. Neither trait endeared me to them.

  The Pest House itself was illuminated under the glow of the sky. I could see spirits wandering through it—the place was rife with them. One day, I needed to go inside, just to see how bad it was. But I wasn’t sure just how much damage the Unliving and the Haunts could do. There also appeared to be a number of the Mournful there as well. It was one big potluck of spirits, ripe for trouble and waiting for someone to vent their anger on.

>   “Have you ever been in there?” Bryan asked.

  “You reading my mind now?” I said. Sometimes, it seemed like he could pick up on my thoughts.

  But he just shook his head. “I’m just concerned. Why won’t the city tear it down? It seems like it would be wisest. Then you could salt the earth or something like that.”

  “I think that would be wise, too, but the city council refers to it as a landmark. I should ask Oriel.” I had never thought to look into who was on the city council, and I realized I didn’t even know who the mayor was currently. “You know, I suppose I should get to know the people who run this town up front, as well as the behind-the-scenes players like the Matriarchs.”

  Bryan gave me a dubious shake of the head. “You had better check first, to make sure none of them are connected with Cú Chulainn’s Hounds. We can’t be too careful.”

  I hated to admit it, but he was right. If the Hounds had managed to infiltrate city government, we’d have to walk softly. On the other hand, if they had managed to gain that much power, we probably should meet with the Matriarchs and figure out a way to oust them, so to speak. With a sigh, I returned my attention to the Unliving who were wandering around the cemetery.

  Not far from where we stood, there was an entrance against the edge of the hill, leading deep beneath the bluff. Veronica held court there. I had met her once, and I had hoped to stave off any future meetings, at least this soon. I stepped off the path, and the moment I did so, two of the dead headed my way. I recognized them from my last visit.

  They were twins, and they looked like teenaged boys. They had blond hair and were tall and gaunt, and the flickering light in their eyes glowed a soft incandescent white. They were surrounded by a pale green fire—an aura that most of the Unliving emanated. They stopped short in front of us, their gaze fixed on me.