The Kingdom

“No, not really. I stay pretty busy.”

“I sympathize. Running a business doesn’t leave much time for play. I can’t remember the last time I had a real vacation. Maybe next summer… .” She trailed off, her gaze moving to the door where the blonde still lurked. “Sidra, this is Amelia Gray, the cemetery restorer I told you about. Sidra Birch. She helps out in the library after school and sometimes on weekends.”

I glanced over my shoulder and nodded. “Hello, Sidra.”

She still said nothing but tilted her head and studied me so intently I grew uncomfortable. There was something about that girl. Something at once familiar and off-putting. She had the air of someone who knew dark things. Like me.

I suppressed a shudder as I turned back to Luna.

“I’m sure you’re anxious to get settled in,” she said briskly. “I’ve arranged for you to stay in Floyd Covey’s house while he’s in Florida tending to his mother. She’s laid up with a broken hip so I expect he’ll be gone for a couple of months at the very least—”

A sound from the doorway drew both our gazes. Sidra was staring at Luna with an expression I couldn’t begin to fathom.

“What’s wrong?” Luna asked.

“Why’d you put her way out there?”

“Why not?” Luna asked with a note of irritation.

Sidra’s blue gaze fell on me, then darted away. “It’s creepy.”

“Nonsense. It’s a lovely place right on the lake and the location is perfect. It’s halfway between town and the cemetery,” Luna explained. “I think you’ll be very comfortable there.”

“I’m sure I will be.” But Sidra’s comment, along with Thane Asher’s tale of restless souls beneath Bell Lake had planted an insidious seed.

Luna straightened from the desk. “Why don’t you make yourself at home while I run next door and fetch the key? We can go over the contracts and permits and then I’ll take you out to see the house.”

Sidra had already disappeared, and I assumed she’d gone back to her work behind the counter. After Luna left, I wondered if I should go out there and ask the girl what she’d meant about the Covey place. Then I decided it was probably best to wait and form my own opinion.

Killing time, I glanced around Luna’s office. It was one of those eclectic, overstuffed places that I’d always been drawn to. So many interesting and unusual treasures to admire, from the hand-carved pedestal desk to the brass ship’s bell mounted over the doorway. I hadn’t noticed the bell before, but now I detected the faintest ting, as if a draft had stirred the clapper. There was a second, narrow door with an arched top and an ornate keyhole plate that made me wonder where it led to.

Slowly, I circled the room, admiring the bric-a-brac in mahogany cabinets, everything from blown-glass figurines to antique pocket watches, from fossils and shells to an assortment of oddly shaped knives. Framed photographs covered the walls, most of them local historical buildings, but the people shots interested me more. One in particular caught my attention—a picture of three young women, arms entwined as they stared dreamily into the camera. I recognized a teenage Luna, and one of the other girls bore an uncanny resemblance to Sidra, but I knew it couldn’t be her. A good twenty-five years separated their ages, and besides, the hairstyles and clothing screamed the eighties. Sidra wouldn’t have even been born then.

A fourth girl hovered in the shadowy background, her wavy hair floating about her in a breeze as she glared into the lens. I felt an odd tightening in my chest as I studied that stony face, and for the longest time, I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, couldn’t tear my eyes from that fiery glower.

“Are you all right?”

I took a step back, Sidra’s voice breaking whatever hold the photograph had on me. I turned to find her watching me from the doorway. Light from the window picked up the silvery threads in her hair, creating an ethereal illusion that, along with her paleness, made me wonder if she might be a ghost. I’d been fooled before, but since Luna could interact with her, too, the likelihood seemed slim.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked with a frown.

“Was I staring? I’m sorry,” I managed to say calmly. “I was just thinking how much you resemble the girl in this picture.”

She came over to stand beside me. “That’s my mother, Bryn.” Pointing to the redhead on her mother’s right, she said, “That’s Catrice, and, of course, you know Luna. The three of them were best friends in high school. Still are, I guess.”

“Do they all live here in Asher Falls?”

She hesitated. “You heard what Luna said. She’d wither away if she left the mountains. My mother would, too, I think. None of them would last long out in the real world.”

“This isn’t the real world?”

“God, I hope not,” she said with a shiver.

“You don’t like it here?”

“Like it? This place is a ghost town,” she said, and something in her voice made me shiver.

“Sounds as if Luna manages to stay busy.”

“Oh, yes. Luna is a very busy woman.”

We were both staring at the photograph, and I could see Sidra’s pale refection in the glass.

“I like her name,” I said. “It’s unusual but it suits her. And yours is unusual, too.”

“I’m named for her. Sidra means ‘of the stars,’ and Luna means moon, so…” She shrugged. “Kind of cheesy, but they’ve always been into that mystical stuff.”

“Who’s the fourth girl?”

I heard her breath catch and glanced over to find her in the grip of some strong emotion—eyes wide, hand pressed to her heart—but then she swallowed and tried to recover. “What girl?” she asked in a thin voice.

“The one in the background. Her.” I put a finger over the glass and felt a rush of something unpleasant go through me.

Sidra said nothing. In the ensuing silence, I heard the bell again, so faintly I wondered if my imagination had supplied the sound.

“There’s no one else in the picture,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I could clearly see an angry countenance in the background, but suddenly I understood. Whoever she was, she’d already been dead when the picture was taken. The photographer had captured her ghost.

It was the clearest shot of an entity I’d ever seen. But…if I was the one who saw ghosts, why was Sidra so distressed?

“It’s just a shadow or some trick of the light,” she insisted. “There’s no one else in the picture.”

Our gazes met and I nodded. “Yes, that must be it,” I agreed, as icy fingers skated up and down my spine.

Four

As I followed Luna’s Volvo through town a little while later, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Sidra’s face when I mentioned the fourth girl in the photograph. I’d always assumed my ability to see ghosts was a rare thing, and because of Papa’s warnings, I’d lived a solitary existence. I had no close friends, no confidante, no one other than Papa with whom I could share my secret. I’d spent most of my life behind cemetery walls, cloistered and protected in my graveyard kingdoms. And at times I’d been unbearably lonely.

But now I had to wonder if Sidra could see them, too, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that possibility. The ghosts were a heavy burden. I didn’t wish such a dark gift on anyone.

My mind drifted back to my first encounter. I could remember that twilight so well…the glimmering aura beneath the trees in Rosehill Cemetery and the peculiar way the old man’s form had become clearer to me as the light faded. Somehow, I’d known he was a ghost, but I hadn’t been so frightened until Papa had sat me down and grimly explained our situation. Not everyone could see them, he’d told me, and it was important that we do nothing to give ourselves away. Ghosts were dangerous to people like us, because the one thing they craved above all else was acknowledgment, so they could feel a part of our world again. And in order to sustain their earthly presence, they attached like parasites to the living, draining away energy and warmth in much the same way a vampire fed on blood.

Papa had spent a lot of time teaching me how to protect myself from the ghosts. He’d given me a set of rules by which I had always lived my life: never acknowledge the dead, never stray far from hallowed ground, never associate with those who are haunted and never, ever tempt fate.

And then I’d met John Devlin. I’d lost myself in Devlin, lost all sense of reason. I’d allowed his ghosts into my world, strayed too far from hallowed ground and, because of my weakness, because of our passion, a door had been opened.

If only I’d listened to Papa’s warning… .

If only I’d followed his rules… .

But I’d foolishly let down my guard, and now I could not unsee what I’d witnessed the night I fled Devlin’s house.

He was still my weakness, and if I’d learned anything in the past few months, it was the necessity of shoring up my defenses against him…and his ghosts. No matter what I had to do.

As I kept pace with the Volvo, I caught a flash of metallic jet paint and vintage lines out of the corner of my eye. Thane Asher’s car was parked in front of a place called the Half Moon Tavern, and I thought instantly of what he’d told me on the ferry. “I drink,” he’d said. “And I bide my time.” I couldn’t imagine a more depressing existence, but I knew nothing of his family or his background, and it wasn’t my place to judge.

As the tavern receded in my rearview mirror, I tried to purge Thane Asher—and Devlin—from my thoughts by concentrating on the passing scenery. Edged by the forest on either side, the road narrowed and the quaint gingerbread houses I’d noticed earlier disappeared. For the longest time, I saw no sign of humanity other than an abandoned grain elevator and the occasional dilapidated shed. I rolled down my window, and a faint but ubiquitous smell of mildew and compost seeped in.

Up ahead, Luna turned left onto a single-lane trail that led straight back into the woods. Where the trees had been thinned, I could see the points of a roof.

A moment later, I pulled up beside her and got out of the car as my gaze traveled over the arched windows and steep gables of the house. Luna waited for me on the front porch, key in hand, but I took my time joining her. I needed to orient myself to the surroundings.

Hugging my arms to my body, I let the deep silence settle over me. We were sheltered by woods and the looming mountains in the distance, but there were no bird calls from the trees, no scampering feet in the underbrush. I heard no sound at all except for the faint whisper of a breeze through the leaves.

I turned back to Luna. She stood watching me with the oddest expression, her thumb caressing the moonstone cabochon she wore at her throat. She looked…bemused, as though she couldn’t quite figure me out.

“Well?” She folded her arms and leaned a shoulder against a newel post. “What do you think of the place?”

“It’s so quiet.”

She smiled dreamily, lifting her face to the sky. “That’s what I love about it.”

Her voice held a husky timbre I hadn’t noticed before, and she looked very different to me now. No, not different, I amended. She looked…more. Her figure appeared fuller, her skin creamier, her hair so darkly lush I had to wonder if she’d donned a wig in the car. Everything about her—the sparkle of her eyes, the enigmatic curve of her lips, that earthy sensuality—seemed heightened by the natural setting.

For some reason, I was reminded of that photograph in her office and the furious visage lurking in the background. And then I heard, very faintly, the wind in the trees again as I glanced up at the house.

“Was this place once a church?”

She cocked her head in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“The architecture—carpenter Gothic, isn’t it?—was commonly used for small churches in the nineteenth century.” I couldn’t help but wonder about the selection for my temporary quarters. The hallowed ground of churches and some cemeteries offered protection from ghosts. But how would Luna Kemper know about that?

“What happened to it?” I asked.

Those gray eyes gave me a curious appraisal. “Nothing sinister. The congregation dwindled until it became more feasible to attend one of the larger churches in Woodberry. The place stood empty for a number of years, and then Floyd Covey bought it and gave it a complete renovation. All the modern amenities. You should be quite…cozy here.”

I noted the slight hesitation as I nodded and followed her into the house, pausing just over the threshold to allow the peace of a hallowed place to envelop me. I would be cozy here, but more important, I would be safe from ghosts. Which once again begged the question as to why Luna Kemper had picked this particular house for me.

“You mentioned something on the phone about an anonymous donation,” I said as I watched her move gracefully about the room. She seemed to bask in the late-afternoon sunshine pouring through the pointed arched windows. She reminded me of the gray tabby in her office—sleek, exotic and a bit superior. “I was just wondering how involved this person was in making the arrangements. I’m not the only cemetery restorer in the state. Was the decision to hire me yours or the donor’s?”

She smiled. “Does any of this really matter?”

“I suppose not. But I am curious how it all came about.”

“There’s no big mystery. It really is as simple as I explained it,” she said.

“And this house…was that your idea, as well?”

“I’m the only real estate agent in Asher Falls. Who would know the available property better than I? But if you’re dissatisfied with the accommodations—”

“No, it’s not that. This place is perfect, actually.”

Her smile seemed knowing. “Then let me show you the rest.”

Once again, I obligingly followed her lead. The bedrooms and bath were located on one side of the house, the living room and large eat-in kitchen on the other. A screened porch had been added to the back, and already I looked forward to having my morning tea out there watching the sunrise.

We walked single file down a flagstone trail to the water and strolled along a private dock. As the sun dipped below the treetops, I felt a familiar bristle of apprehension, that eerie harbinger along my backbone that preceded every twilight. The veil was lifting. Soon, the ghosts would come through.

A boat bobbed in the gentle waves at the end of the pier, but I saw no other movement. Heard nothing at all. In that in-between moment of light and dark, the night creatures hadn’t yet stirred.

The air turned chilly, and I was glad for my jacket as I stood contemplating the water. I saw something float to the surface and thought it might be an apparition before realizing in relief it was my own reflection.

I turned to say something to Luna, then stilled as I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye. A scrawny brown mutt—part German shepherd—stood at the end of the wooden dock gazing down at us. The dog was so emaciated, the outline of his ribs was clearly visible beneath the coarse fur. But what disturbed me even more was the wretched creature’s deformity. His ears were missing, and his snout and mouth were horribly scarred from some trauma.

“What happened to that poor dog’s face?” I kept my voice soft so as not to spook the animal, but he started when Luna whirled.

She scowled in distaste. “Looks like a bait dog.”

“A what?”

“Do you know anything about dog fighting?”

My stomach turned over. “I know it’s illegal. And it sickens me.”

She nodded absently. “Bait dogs often have their ears cut off to avoid unnecessary injuries, and their jaws are wired shut so they can’t bite the fight dogs. When the owners have no more use for them, they turn them loose.”

A wave of rage washed over me. “How could anyone be that cruel?”

“This isn’t Charleston,” she warned. “You’re apt to see a lot of things around here you don’t understand.”

“What’s not to understand?” I asked in disgust. “Someone has abused this dog and we need to get him to a vet.”

“A vet? There isn’t one for miles. Best just to leave him be. He’ll go back into the woods eventually.”

“But he needs help.” When I would have started toward him, Luna caught my arm.

“I wouldn’t do that. He could be rabid for all you know.”

“He doesn’t look rabid, he looks hungry.”

“For God’s sake, don’t feed the creature!”

Her vehemence startled me, and I glanced at her as a rush of fresh anger warmed my cheeks.

Before I could stop her, she clapped loudly, scaring the poor dog. “Get out of here! Go on, get!”

“Don’t do that!”

Now it was I who caught her arm, and she spun, eyes blazing. We faced off, the malicious curl of her lips chilling me to the bone. I almost took a step back from her, but I caught myself. Our gazes clashed for the longest moment, then her expression softened so rapidly I thought I might have imagined the whole troubling confrontation.

“Strays are common around here, I’m afraid.” She gave a regretful shrug. “You can’t feed them all, nor can you allow yourself to get overly sentimental. But I expect you’ll have to learn the hard way.”

I didn’t care to argue, so I let the matter drop. The dog had already retreated to the edge of the woods where he watched warily from the shadows. He observed us for a moment longer before slinking back into the trees.

Luna glanced at her watch. “I should be getting back to town. I have a meeting tonight.”

We walked around the house to the driveway.

“If you need anything, you have my number.” She opened her car door, anxious to be on her way. “Tilithia Pattershaw is your nearest neighbor. Everyone calls her Tilly. She’s been keeping an eye on the place while Floyd is away. I asked her to come by yesterday to clean the house, and she left some food in the refrigerator. She’s just down that path.” She waved toward the woods. “She may drop by now and again to check up on you. Don’t be alarmed. She’s a little peculiar, but she means well.”

“I’ll be on the lookout for her.”

Luna smiled as her eyes strayed to the woods. “Oh, you won’t see Tilly until she’s ready to be seen.”

I followed her gaze to the trees. Was the woman out there right now? I wondered.

“The cemetery is a mile or so up the road,” Luna said. “There’s a turnoff just after you round the first curve. You’ll see it.”

“Thanks.”

She climbed into her car, started the ignition and waved as she drove off. The sound of the engine faded, the silence deepened, and I turned once again to scour the trees.

Five

After Luna left, I carried my bags into the house, then made one last trip to the car to make sure I had everything. As I turned from the vehicle, I felt that warning tingle again and realized that twilight was upon me. The evening was still but no longer silent. I could hear the trill of a loon somewhere out on the lake and, even more distant, the eerie howl of a dog. I thought about the mutt that had crept out of the woods earlier and wondered where he’d gone off to.

Inside, I headed straight for the bedroom where I unpacked my clothes and toiletries, and then I made another trip through the house, familiarizing myself with all the nooks and crannies while making sure all the doors and windows were secure. Ending my tour in the kitchen, I checked the refrigerator to see what Tilly Pattershaw had left for dinner. Peeling back the foil on a mysterious casserole, I sniffed, grimaced and quickly recovered. Thankfully, the crisper yielded enough fresh vegetables to assemble a salad, and I settled down to eat my dinner at a small table that looked out on the lake. I also had a view of the woods, and I could just make out the path to Tilly’s house that Luna had mentioned. The stir of the low-hanging branches over the trail caught my attention, and my scalp prickled a warning. It wasn’t that I saw anything specific, but more a gnawing suspicion that something was out there. Tilly?

I didn’t want to stare directly into the forest for fear that the watcher might not be of this world. So I pretended to admire the last shimmer of light on the water while I studied the woods from my periphery. A few moments later, a shadow detached from the black at the tree line and moved toward the house.

My heart thudded until I realized it was the battered dog. Evidently, he had retreated into the woods, waiting for Luna to depart before making another cautious foray into the yard. He sniffed the ground and rooted through dead leaves, then finding nothing of interest, plopped down in my direct line of sight between the house and the lake. Even in the fading light, I could see the protrusion of his rib cage and the mutilated head and face. And yet, despite everything he’d been through, he carried himself with great dignity, with great soul.

I got up and searched through the refrigerator again, throwing together an unappetizing bowl of casserole and rice, and carried it outside. Ever aware of the gathering dusk, I moved carefully down the steps and placed the food halfway between the porch and where he lay. He didn’t move until I’d retreated behind the screen door, and then he trotted over to smell the contents. Within a matter of moments, the bowl was licked clean, and he stood staring at me with dark, limpid eyes.

Without thought to the danger—from him, from the twilight—I opened the door and eased down the steps. He looked at the empty bowl, gave a little whine, then finally came over to nuzzle my hand. I rubbed behind the nubs where his ears should have been and cupped his scarred snout in my hands. He whimpered again, this time more in contentment, I thought, as I ran my hand along his side, feeling his bones.

“Still hungry? Well, don’t worry. There’s plenty more where that came from. We’ll wait a bit, though, so we don’t make you sick. Tomorrow I’ll drive into town and get you some proper food.”

His nose was cool and moist against my hand.

“What’s your name, I wonder. Or do you even have one? You look like an Angus to me. Strong and noble. Angus. Has a nice ring to it.”

I prattled on in a soft voice until he plopped down at my feet, and I had to lean over to scratch him. We stayed that way for the longest time until I felt him tense beneath my hand. The hair along his back quilled as he emitted a low, menacing growl.

I continued to pet him even when he rose warily and slanted his head toward the lake. Beneath my lashes, I glanced past him and saw nothing at first. Then my own hair lifted as my eyes adjusted to the twilight.

She was there at the end of the dock, a diaphanous form wavering like a reed in a current. I kept my expression neutral even though my heart had started to pummel my chest. Somehow I managed to soothe the dog even as he whirled toward the water and bared his teeth. Animals—both domestic and feral—are highly attuned to ghosts. They not only see them, but also can sense them. That was one of the reasons Papa had never allowed me to have a pet. I’d had a hard enough time learning to ignore the ghosts, let alone an animal’s reaction to them.

“What’s the matter?” I asked Angus. “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you? Nothing out there but squirrels and rabbits and maybe a possum or two.”

And a ghost.

I couldn’t see her face, but I had the impression she’d been young when she died. She had long, wavy hair that blew over her shoulders in a nonexistent breeze, and she wore a black dress that seemed much too austere for her willowy frame. But she was exactly how one might want to envision a ghost—ephemeral and lovely, with no outward sign of any physical distress she might have suffered in life.

And then she turned her dead gaze on me. I wasn’t staring at her but I could feel it. Like an icy command. Look at me!

Which was crazy because she couldn’t know that I saw her. I’d done nothing to give myself away. And yet I felt something inside my mind, a nebulous tentacle that gave me the blackest of chills. I’d never experienced anything like it, even with Devlin’s ghosts. Shani, the child entity, had made contact on at least two occasions, and Mariama’s specter had tried to manipulate me in Devlin’s house. But nothing like this had ever happened. What I felt now wasn’t a possession, but some strange telepathic link that allowed me to sense the ghost’s bewilderment. The connection terrified me, and I had to use all my willpower not to jump to my feet and dart inside the house. But I knew better. The most dangerous thing I could do was acknowledge the presence of the dead.