“You’ve been through an ordeal,” he said. “Sometimes I wonder how you manage to keep your sanity.”
I smiled. “You’re assuming that I have.”
He studied my features in the candlelight. “We still haven’t discussed the ghost in the room. Or on the porch, I should say.”
“And whose ghost would that be?”
He looked troubled. “You saw the announcement in the paper?”
“I did. His intended is very striking. Will you go to the wedding?”
“What makes you think I’ll be invited? Jonathan Devlin has never been a fan of me or my work, and that’s putting it mildly,” Dr. Shaw said with an unexpected trace of bitterness.
“You’ll be invited. John will to see to it.”
“Then I’m afraid I shall have to decline. I’m well past the age where champagne and small talk hold even the slightest fascination. Give me a good book and a strong Scotch any evening of the week.”
“Dr. Shaw...” I leaned in. “The last time we had dinner you told me about a young man you once knew, a traveler who had looked down into an abyss on the other side and was so frightened by what he saw that he tried to convince himself he’d experienced nothing more than a nightmare. Do you remember his name?”
He glanced away. “It was a long time ago and my memory isn’t what it once was.”
“I figured as much.”
He gave me a sage appraisal. “Perhaps it’s just as well. I’ve always thought it best not to knock on doors you don’t want opened.”
“Maybe you’re right. Some things are best left a mystery.”
No matter the identity of Dr. Shaw’s traveler, I would remain convinced that Devlin had somehow been with me at the bottom of those porch steps warning me of danger. I would always wonder if he’d been the watcher in the woods, observing me from another plane because he couldn’t be with me in the physical world. Maybe the disappearance of the young Congé, undoubtedly his colleague, had prompted him to come and find me. To lead me to those mortsafes and to the death’s-head in order to warn me of danger.
Or maybe I was indulging in a little wishful thinking. Obviously, I wasn’t ready to let go yet despite Devlin’s pending marriage.
A little while later, I walked alone on Tradd Street, savoring the delicate scent of the tea olives that drifted on the night air like a memory. When I arrived at the wrought-iron gate where I had last seen Devlin, I paused, tempted yet again to try Rose’s key in the lock. But how could a skeleton key that had been left for me years ago on a headstone in Oak Grove Cemetery and had later turned up again on my nightstand be connected in any way to this gate or to Devlin or to the deadly Congé?
Maybe some things really were best left a mystery.
Still, I lingered in front of the gate until headlights drove me across the street where I hid myself in the shadows. Devlin’s car pulled to the curb and he got out, striding down the sidewalk to the gate where he once again turned to scan the darkness. The gate swung open and a woman appeared on the other side. I could see the shimmer of her silvery gold hair in the moonlight and the gleam of her blue eyes as she took Devlin’s arm and drew him through the gate.
“You’re late,” I heard her say. “Where have you been?”
“I had business to attend to,” Devlin replied. “But surely I’m not that late.”
“The others are already here and you know how they hate to be kept waiting.”
“Too bad.”
“Shush. Don’t let them hear you say that.”
Their voices died away as he wrapped an arm around her slender waist and drew her to him. I glanced away, wanting desperately to escape but not daring to reveal myself. When I chanced another glance, the woman had disappeared down the fragrant alleyway, but Devlin hovered just inside the gate, peering through the darkness until his gaze lit upon me. I felt his presence as strongly as though he stood at my side. I heard his drawl as clearly as if he had whispered into my ear.
Careful, my love. You’re still in danger.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE AWAKENING by Amanda Stevens.
“Ms. Stevens has managed the difficult feat of combining charm and chills.”
—Heather Graham, New York Times bestselling author
If you enjoyed The Sinner, be sure to read the next installment in the captivating
Graveyard Queen series from award-winning author Amanda Stevens:
The Awakening
(April 2017)
My name is Amelia Gray, a cemetery restorer who lives with the dead. An anonymous donor has hired me to restore Woodbine Cemetery, a place where the rich and powerful bury their secrets. Forty years ago, a child disappeared without a trace and now her ghost has awakened, demanding that I find out the truth about her death. Only I know that she was murdered. Only I can bring her killer to justice. But the clues that I follow—a haunting melody and an unnamed baby’s grave—lead me to a series of disturbing suspects.
For generations, the Devlins have been members of Charleston’s elite. John Devlin’s family secrets make him a questionable ally. When my investigation brings me to the gates of his family’s palatial home, I have to wonder if he is about to become my mortal enemy.
Available March 28, wherever books are sold!
And be sure to follow Amelia Gray on her thrilling journey
with the entire Graveyard Queen series:
The Abandoned
The Restorer
The Kingdom
The Prophet
The Visitor
Looking for more great reads from award-winning author Amanda Stevens?
Don’t miss her other bone-chilling tales:
The Dollmaker
The Devil’s Footprints
The Whispering Room
and
Dead of Night
with #1 New York Times bestselling author Charlaine Harris
Order your copies today!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
SPECIAL EXCERPT FROM
The pernicious ghost of a murdered child leads Graveyard Queen Amelia Gray to a hidden grave in a forgotten cemetery, and to a terrible secret that’s been buried for more than forty years.
Read on for a sneak preview of
THE AWAKENING,
the final installment in Amanda Stevens’s chilling series
THE GRAVEYARD QUEEN.
The Awakening
by Amanda Stevens
I came across the hidden grave on my first day in Woodbine Cemetery. It was late October, warm and sunny with a mild breeze stirring my nostalgia and the colorful leaves that had fallen from the dogwood trees. Despite the temperature, I could feel autumn in the air—or at least in my imagination—as the sun settled toward the horizon.
These fading days always brought twinges of melancholy, and I was glad to have a new project to buoy my spirits. I was still in the early phases of the restoration—mapping, photographing and spending untold hours immersed in historical records. The hard labor of clearing brush and cleaning headstones would soon follow, but for now I luxuriated in the courtship stage, that heady, golden time of acquainting myself with the dead and their history.
Woodbine was one of the forgotten cemeteries in a whole community of burial grounds that fanned out from the Cooper River in Charleston, South Carolina. Tucked away at the end of a narrow lane and hid
den from the street by a shrouded fence, the graveyard had languished in the shadow of the historic Magnolia Cemetery for decades until revitalization efforts in the area had uncovered this withering gem.
The grave was just as well hidden, secreted in the farthest corner of the cemetery and sheltered from the elements and the curious by the graceful arms of weeping willow trees. The graves of children always moved me, but this one affected me in a way I couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was the stone monument cast in the shape of an old-fashioned baby crib that so intrigued me, or the likeness of the child that peeped from underneath the hood. Or the unsettling epitaph, which read “Shush...lest she awaken.”
There was no name on the memorial, but I could make out the birth and death dates. The little girl had passed nearly fifty years ago at the heartbreaking age of two. Setting aside my camera, I smoothed my hand along the edge of the polished stone as I studied her portrait. What a beautiful child she’d been with a heart-shaped face and perfect bow mouth. The black-and-white image had been hand painted to tint her lips and cheeks pink, her curls golden and her eyes a lovely violet blue.
She hadn’t smiled for the camera, and the solemnness of her countenance sent an inexplicable chill down my spine. It was strange to see such a serious expression on the face of an infant. Had she been ill? I wondered. Had her short life been filled with so much pain and suffering that death had come as a blessing?
I couldn’t look away from that sweet, doleful face. The child captivated me. There was something so mesmerizing about her eyes...something almost familiar about the shape of her mouth and nose and the lines of her jaw and chin. I couldn’t have known her. She’d passed long before I was born. I had only Mama and Papa and my aunt Lynrose in the area, none of whom had ever spoken of a dead baby. Despite my recent discovery of so many long-buried secrets, I doubted a familial bond, and yet I was drawn to that nameless child in a way that defied a real-world explanation.
Was she reaching out to me? Had my mere presence somehow awakened her?
It was not a comforting thought. I was a ghost seer, a death walker and sometimes a detective for the unquiet, but I did not embrace my calling. I took no pride in my abilities. I considered my gift a curse because all I’d ever wanted was a normal life. A quiet, peaceful existence, perhaps with a child of my own someday.
But my life was not meant to be ordinary, and I was coming to accept the painful reality that children were out of the question. I couldn’t take a chance that I would pass on my gift just as it had been passed down to me. The ghosts were frightening all on their own, but the malevolent entities that had invaded my world—the Others and the in-betweens, the malcontents and the shadow beings—made for a harrowing existence. I wouldn’t wish my life on anyone, especially a child. And as I had only just discovered, there was yet another danger lurking in the dark underbelly of the city. The Congé was a secret, fanatical group intent on ridding the living world of any force they perceived as unnatural. If they learned of my gift and the light inside me that attracted the earthbound entities, they would come for me and mine.
So, no, a family wasn’t in the cards. I would never willingly subject a child to the horrors and dangers that came with my bloodline.
But...back to this child. Who was she? Why had she been buried in a nameless grave in this sheltered, forsaken corner?
Forsaken perhaps, but not forgotten. The grave had recently been tended to. Someone had cleared away dead leaves and planted purple pansies in the bed of the crib. Someone remembered this child. Someone who still grieved for her perhaps.
The breeze drifted through the willows, tinkling a hidden wind chime. I was so caught up in the mystery of the grave that at first I didn’t take note of the melody. And it was a melody, distinct and haunting as if an invisible hand tapped out the notes. Tearing my focus from the portrait, I lifted my gaze to comb the tree branches. The smell of woodbine deepened even though the blooms had long since faded. I felt something in the breeze, no longer a trace of autumn, but an ethereal chill that raised goose bumps along my arms.
Go. Go now, I told myself. Go back to your work before you get drawn into yet another ghostly puzzle, yet another dangerous mystery.
But I feared I had already lingered too long.
The sun hovered just above the treetops, but inside the grove of willow trees, a preternatural twilight had fallen. Here, the veil had already thinned and I could see a vague, timorous shadow in the deepest part of the shade. I shuddered, my hand still on the edge of the crib as a whispery missive floated over the grave and into my head. Mercy...
“Is someone there?” I called, and then chided myself for my stubborn naïveté. After all these years, after everything I’d seen and heard, I still wanted to believe the presence could be human and benign.
The shadow darted through the wispy strands of the willows and I heard a high-pitched giggle, followed by a muffled thump. Then an old, weathered ball rolled out of the shadows at my feet. I wanted to ignore the overture. I told myself to get on with the exploration of the cemetery, but before I could stop myself, I gave the ball a gentle kick back into the shadows. It was instantly returned, but this time I let it roll into the bushes.
The childish chortle died away and suddenly I sensed a darker emotion. The laughter that followed held no humor and only a remnant of humanness. Fear trickled down my spine as I searched the shade. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”
Mercy.
From who? For what?
It was time to end this game, time to heed the instinct that warned me to distance myself from this grave and the specter hiding in the shadows. But when I would have turned to scurry back into the light, my feet tangled in a vine that snaked around the base of the tomb. I hadn’t noticed the creeper earlier. It almost seemed as if the woodsy tentacle had slithered in while the ghost had caught my attention. As I bent to free my snared shoelaces, I heard the wind chime again, the sweet, haunting melody inharmonious with the darkness I felt from the entity and that high, mocking titter.
Instinctively, I reached for the key I wore around my neck, a talisman blessed by a divine hand and left to me by my great-grandmother Rose as protection against the ghosts. This provoked an even stronger reaction. A gust blew out of the shadows, so strong the blast felt like a physical assault. I was still bent and off balance, and as I staggered backward, the vine tightened around my ankles, jerking me off my feet. I fell in an ungainly sprawl, stressing my right wrist when I tried to catch myself.
I went down hard, gasping as pain darted up my arm. Cradling my tender wrist, I focused my attention on the shadows. I could see her there, watching me from the gloom. Her face reminded me of the embedded portrait, but she couldn’t be the infant’s ghost. This girl looked to have been at least ten when she passed. Sisters, perhaps. Dead but still clinging to their mortal bond.
I wanted to know her name, her history, her connection to the infant in the tomb.
I wanted to scramble to my feet, hurry from the cemetery and never look back.
The ghost’s childish trickery disturbed me in a way I didn’t yet understand. I found myself once again reaching for my talisman, but the key was gone. Frantically, I clutched my neck while tracking the mischievous entity. She giggled again before fading back into the shadows.
Don’t miss THE AWAKENING by Amanda Stevens,
available April 2017 wherever
MIRA Books and ebooks are sold.
www.Harlequin.com
Copyright © 2016 by Marilyn Medlock Amann
ISBN-13: 9781460395936
The Sinner
Copyright © 2016 by Marilyn Medlock Amann
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-l
oaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
The Sinner Page 29