Devlin didn’t call out to me again and I never glanced back. But the warmth of his touch lingered as did the frost of his ghosts. I’d spent many a sleepless night trying to convince myself that as long as I kept my distance, his ghosts wouldn’t be a threat to me. After tonight I could no longer delude myself. I had done nothing to lure them back into my life. They had come despite my best efforts, and I hadn’t a clue how to rid myself of them.

Shani had implored me to help her, and even now the memory of her voice in my head tore at my resolve. But I had to maintain a distance, my perspective. Whatever she needed, I couldn’t give her. Whatever she wanted, I couldn’t help her. I wasn’t a medium. I didn’t communicate with the dead—at least not intentionally—nor did I guide souls into the afterlife. Ghosts were dangerous to me. They were ravenous parasites. Hadn’t Mariama just proven that?

If I were smart, I would ignore Devlin’s ghosts just as I had ignored the hundreds of other manifestations I’d seen throughout the years. I would cling to the remnants of Papa’s rules for dear life because, without them, I had little protection from any of the netherworld beings that crept through the veil at dusk.

Best just to put the whole disquieting episode out of my mind.

But…even if I somehow managed to disregard the ghosts, I knew the image of Devlin and that strange woman would torment me. I had no right to feel betrayed. I was the one who had broken things off with Devlin, and I’d done so without even a proper explanation. But how could I tell him that our passion had opened a passageway into a terrifying realm of specters that were colder and hungrier than any I’d ever encountered?

Drawing a shaky breath, I tried to soothe myself. I should be grateful that he’d found someone else. The sooner he moved on, the safer he would be. The safer we would both be. Hadn’t I tried to do the same with Thane Asher?

But no amount of rationalization could ease the pain in my chest, nor did the sight of my home offer solace, though it was more than just a residence. It was a hallowed sanctuary, the one place in all of Charleston where I could sequester myself from the ghosts and hide from the rest of the world.

Rising from the remains of an orphanage chapel, the narrow house was built deep into the lot with upper and lower balconies and front and rear gardens in the Charleston tradition. I had the ground level to myself and that included access to the backyard and the original basement. A medical student named Macon Dawes rented the second floor. He was away at the moment, which gave Angus, the abused stray I’d brought home with me from the mountains, a chance to acclimate to his new surroundings before having to deal with a stranger.

Angus must have sensed my return because I heard him bark from the rear garden to welcome me home. I called out to him as the gate swung shut and I stood for a moment letting the scent of the tea olives settle over me. Later, we would sit out back together watching my white garden come to life as the moon rose over the treetops. It had become a nightly ritual, the only time that I actually welcomed the darkness. I had always admired the walled gardens of Charleston, but I enjoyed mine especially by moonlight when the moths stirred and the bats took flight. Sometimes I felt as if I could sit out there forever, dreaming my life away.

The old southern graveyards I restored held much the same fascination with their dripping moss, creeping ivy and, in the spring, the lavender gloom of their lilacs. Summer brought sweet roses; winter, luscious daphne. A perfume of death for every season. Each unique, each invoking a different emotion or a special memory but always reminding one of the past, of the fleeting nature of life.

I don’t know how long I stood there with eyes closed, drowning in melancholia as I drank in the evening scents. Misery still held a firm grip, so perhaps that was why I didn’t see him straightaway. Or even sense him.

When I finally spotted his silhouette, he was little more than a deeper shadow on the veranda, but somehow I knew who he was. What he was. I had the strangest urge to turn and dash back through the gate, but my muscles wouldn’t obey and so I stood there suspended in fear.

In all my years of seeing ghosts, I’d never encountered one quite like Robert Fremont. He could emerge from the veil before dusk and after sunrise, and he could converse with me. Or at least…he communicated in a way that made me think he was speaking. He wasn’t just in my head the way Shani had been. I could hear his voice. I could see his lips move. How he managed any of that, I had no idea. Nor did I understand how he could sit there so calmly on the steps of my sanctuary, a place no other ghost had ever penetrated.

That was the most frightening aspect of his manifestation. None of the rules seemed to apply to him, and so I was completely at his mercy with no way to protect myself from him.

The timing of his appearance couldn’t be a coincidence. Nothing about this evening was happenstance. Not the nightingale, not my run-in with Devlin, not even Shani’s disturbing nursery rhyme. Taken alone, each might seem incidental, but together they meant something specific. There was a word for such a string of events. Synchronicity.

And as I stood there staring through the deepening twilight at the murdered cop, I could feel myself being drawn into something dark and mystical. A supernatural puzzle for which there might be no earthly resolution.

Slowly, I walked through the garden, the crepuscular scent of the angel trumpets perfuming the air with an under note of dread. I came to a stop at the bottom of the steps to gaze up at him.

He looked much as he had the first time I’d seen him, his nondescript attire that of an undercover cop who needed to blend seamlessly into the criminal underbelly of Charleston. As always, his eyes were hidden by dark glasses, but I could feel the power of his dead gaze through those lenses. The sensation was chilling.

“Amelia Gray.” The way he spoke my name was like the prick of an icy needle down my spine.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“You know why. It’s time.”

The hair at the back of my neck lifted. “Time for what?”

“To make things right.” His voice was deep and hollow like a well, and I shivered again as he watched me from behind those tinted lenses. I tried to avert my eyes, but he held me enthralled.

I’d forgotten how handsome he was, how perversely charismatic even as a ghost. Despite his dark skin—and the fact that he was dead—he’d always reminded me of Devlin. Both possessed that same smoldering charm, that same dangerous allure. They’d once been friends, and I had a feeling it was my association with Devlin that had allowed Robert Fremont into my world.

“We have a lot to talk about,” he said.

“We do?”

“Yes. Maybe you should sit. You look a little unsteady on your feet.”

Was it any wonder?

But I didn’t want to sit. I wanted him gone, banished back to the realm of the dead, along with Shani and Mariama. I considered bolting past him into my house, into my sanctuary, but I wasn’t altogether certain it would protect me from the likes of this ghost. For all I knew, he could follow me inside, and I didn’t want to lose the peace of mind of a hallowed place, illusionary though it might now be.

My legs felt leaden as I climbed the steps, the burden of his unspoken demands already a heavy weight. He didn’t rise, but then I could hardly expect him to. Why should a ghost be bound by earthly ceremony? Especially the spirit of a man whose life had ended in murder.

I sat down on the veranda, placing distance and the shopping bag between us. I felt nothing more than a faint chill emanating from his presence, and even that might have been my imagination.

“I told you once that I needed you as a conduit into the police department,” he said.

“I remember.”

“I need more than that now, I’m afraid.”

I was afraid, too. Deathly so.

“I need you to be my eyes and ears in this world. The living world.”

“Why?”

“Because you can go places I can’t enter. Talk to the people who won’t see me.”

“No, I mean…to what end?”

“As cliché as it sounds, I need you to help find my killer.”

I stared at his manifestation in silence. “How is it you can do all these things—converse with me, invade my sanctuary, appear to me as though you’re still alive—and yet, you don’t know who murdered you? Shouldn’t you know? You told me once you had a gift. You said that’s why you were called the Prophet.”

“I never claimed to be omniscient,” he said, and I thought he sounded annoyed, whether at my questioning of his ability or his current limitations, I had no idea. “I could never control the visions.”

I could relate. I had no control over my gift, either.

“Haven’t you read anything about my death?” he asked.

“Not much.”

“That’s disappointing. I would have thought after our last meeting you’d want to know more about me. You struck me as the curious sort. Or was I wrong about you?”

That aroused a spark. “I’ve been a little preoccupied since that night. I was almost murdered myself, remember? And I have a living to make, a business to run. But…” I paused to draw another breath. “I did look you up once. There wasn’t much on the internet about you and I don’t talk to Devlin. How else was I supposed to learn about you?”

He sighed. “I was hoping you’d be a little more resourceful.”

I wasn’t exactly thrilled with him, either. I really wanted him to just…vanish. “In that case, maybe you should look to someone else for help.”

“There is no one else. I searched a long time to find you.”

That gave me pause. “How did you find me?”

“That’s not your concern.”

“Not my concern!” My voice hardened. “Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t look you up because I wanted nothing more to do with you?”

Careful, a little voice warned. I’d already been the recipient of one ghost’s ire that night. It wasn’t wise to provoke another.

He took a moment to answer. “You have a backbone, at least. That’ll come in handy.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

“Maybe I was a little too quick to judge you. You have to know that I have a lot riding on this relationship.”

We had a relationship? The notion of that made me shiver.

A neighbor walked by on the street. She gazed up at the house, then hurried on past. I saw her glance over her shoulder once. She must have thought me crazy, sitting out there in the dusk arguing with myself. I could hardly blame her. If not for Papa’s ability to see ghosts, I might have wondered about my sanity a long time ago.

“What happened to you?” I asked with grudging curiosity. “I know you were killed in the line of duty—” I broke off. “Is it okay that I speak so bluntly about…?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Good. I didn’t want to have to walk on eggshells around him.

That drew me up short again. Even my internal dialogue was starting to freak me out. How had Robert Fremont managed to slip into my life so effortlessly? How had I allowed myself to accept him so readily?

He’s a ghost. He’s a ghost. He’s a ghost.

I chanted the mantra to myself even as he continued to converse with me.

“I was shot in the back,” he said. “I never saw my killer. My body was found the next day in Chedathy Cemetery. That’s in Beaufort County.”

My gaze had still been fixed on the street, but now I jerked around in shock. Mariama and Shani were buried in Chedathy Cemetery.

“You were a Charleston cop,” I said. “What were you doing all the way down in Beaufort County?”

“I’m…not sure.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?”

He said nothing.

I did not like the feeling of foreboding that knotted my stomach. “I’m still not exactly clear on what it is you expect me to do.”

“I already told you what I need.”

“I know, but—”

“Just listen to me. We have to act quickly. Do you understand? It has to be now.”

His urgency took me aback. “Why now? It’s been over two years since you were shot.”

He glanced up at the sky. “The stars have finally aligned. The players have all taken their places.”

Could he have sounded any more cryptic?

“Does that include me?”

“Yes.”

I turned back to the garden, searching the shadows. “And if I refuse to be a part of this?” Whatever this was.

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?” he asked.

Now it was I who fell silent.

“Have you not noticed the dark circles under your eyes? The sunken cheeks? The weight loss? You’re not eating or sleeping. Your energy is waning even as we speak.”

I stared at him in horror. “You’re haunting me?”

Chapter Three

My heart tripped at the implication of his words. I thought of my stalker, the elusive watcher who had been dogging me for days. Now I understood my lethargy and my insomnia. Fremont’s very presence was draining me of my life force just as Mariama had siphoned my energy earlier. Or had that been Fremont even then?

“You have to help me,” he said.

I gazed down at my trembling hands. “I’m beginning to realize that.”

“As soon as we find him, as soon as justice is served, I’ll leave you in peace.”

“I have your word?” The word of a ghost. That was a new one.

“What reason would I have for lingering?” he asked.

I shuddered to think.

“You said find him. If you were shot in the back, how can you be so sure the killer was a man?”

“I’m not sure of anything,” he admitted, and for the first time, I sensed some doubt. Maybe even a hint of fear. “I don’t even know why I was in the cemetery that night.”

“You have amnesia?” A surreal question if ever there was one.

“About the events surrounding that night? It would seem so.”

He gazed out at the street as I searched his profile. The detail I could see in the twilight was amazing. The strong line of his jaw and chin, the sharp shelf of his cheekbone, the outline of his lips. Even knowing what I knew, I still found it difficult to accept that he was dead.

“I suppose that makes sense,” I said, tearing my gaze away. “I’ve read that accident victims often can’t recall details leading up to the crash. This is similar. You suffered a severe trauma.”

“Yes, the trauma was severe,” he murmured.

“What’s the last thing you do remember? Before you died, I mean.”

He fell silent, and now I sensed some turmoil, some inner conflict. “I remember meeting someone.”

“At the cemetery?”

“I don’t know. All I remember is the scent of her perfume. The smell was still on my clothes when I died.”

“So the killer could have been a woman.”

“It’s possible. I have a vague recollection of an argument.”

“Do you know who she was?”

Another hesitation. “Her name eludes me.”

“What did she look like?”

In the split second before he answered, I could have sworn I saw a shudder go through him, but it seemed unlikely a ghost would be affected in so earthly a manner. Surely I was ascribing my own human emotions to him.

“I don’t know. But her perfume…”

“Go on.”

“The scent is still on my clothes,” he said, almost in defeat. “I can smell it even now.”

I thought of the exotic fragrance that had drifted to me earlier, riding the same ghostly breeze as the nightingale’s song. If Fremont had been following me then, the scent might have come from him.

And then something else occurred to me. Had he seen Mariama and Shani’s ghosts? Was that why he’d disappeared?

Could ghosts even see one another? Interact with one another?

Years and years of questions bubbled up inside me, but it was so strange to be able to ask them of a ghost. Stranger still that my fear had dissipated. Was I still under a spell?

Once again I found myself heading into dangerous territory, spurning Papa’s warning and flirting with disaster. One door had already been breached because of my wanton disregard of the rules. Would my connection with a ghost open yet another?

“What’s it like?” I heard myself ask him. “Behind the veil, I mean.”

“It’s called the Gray. The place in between the Dark and the Light.”

The place, he’d said. Not the time. The distinction seemed significant.

“Does it still hurt? From where you were shot?”

“There’s no pain,” he said. “There’s nothing really.”

“But you feel something. You must. You’re here because you want vengeance. That means you’re still capable of human emotion.”

“I’m here because I can’t…” His ghostly voice trailed off.

“You can’t what?”

“Rest,” he said wearily. “Something is keeping me here.”

“And you think if we expose your killer, you’ll be released?”

“Yes.”

I thought about that for a moment. His urgent need to find the killer corroborated what I’d always suspected. Not all ghosts were drawn through the veil by their rapacious hunger for human warmth or their insatiable desire to rejoin the living. Some were earthbound for reasons beyond their control. Apparently, Robert Fremont was one of them. I wondered if Shani was another. If Mariama’s ghost kept Devlin chained to her by his guilt and grief, did those same emotions keep Shani bound to him?

“Can you see them?” I asked.

“Who?”

“The other ghosts. They’re all around us. Surely you’ve noticed them.”

“I keep my distance.”

“Why?”

“They’re insidious,” he said with contempt. “Leeches preying on the living because they refuse to accept death. I’m not like that.”

“But isn’t that what you’re doing to me?”

“Only for as long as I need your help. I have to sustain myself until I can find a way to move on,” he said. “I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here.”

“So, what do we do first?”

He moved, stirring the air, and I felt a faint chill creep up my spine. I had to remind myself yet again that, despite our strange arrangement, he was still a ghost and, therefore, dangerous to me.

“We follow the clues,” he said. “No matter where they lead us. Understood?”

“I…”

“Understood?”

I almost jumped. “Yes. Understood.”

He nodded and turned away. “Someone was in the cemetery after I was shot that night, someone besides the killer. We have to find that person or persons and get them to talk.”

I gave him a skeptical look. “Did you see someone?”

“No,” he said. “But I sensed a presence.”

A presence. “If you were that close to death, how can you be so sure you weren’t dreaming or hallucinating?”

“I felt someone going through my pockets. It was real, but if you don’t believe me, read the police report. My cell phone was missing when my body was recovered.”

“How am I supposed to get my hands on the police report?”

“You said you could be resourceful when the need arises. Find a way.”

I was starting to get frightened again. This was absolutely the strangest night of my life, and that was saying something for me.

Was I really being blackmailed by a ghost? Did he truly expect me to conduct a murder investigation all on my own? If I failed, if I couldn’t uncover his killer, would he haunt me for the rest of my life? Would he continue to devour my warmth and energy until I remained nothing more than a shell?

I tried to remain calm. “Assuming we somehow manage to find this…whoever it was, how do you propose we make them talk? I’m not a cop. I know nothing about interrogations. And frankly, what you’re proposing sounds incredibly risky. Not that you have to worry about it.”

“I’m not out to get you killed,” he said.

“That’s reassuring.”

“So long as you do as I say, you’ll be fine.”

And I was supposed to believe him?

Yet, even as I quivered in fear, an unexpected excitement coursed through me. All my life, I’d been sheltered and protected, not just from the ghosts, but from the world outside my cemetery gates. There was a time when I would have clung to that seclusion, to that safety, even to my loneliness, but the secrets I’d uncovered about myself in Asher Falls had made me reevaluate my ability and my very existence. I wanted to believe there was a purpose to my life, a reason why I saw ghosts. It wasn’t just a dangerous legacy. I had been given a gift.

And now here was a ghost who offered me a way to attain a higher purpose. A reason to embrace that dark gift rather than hide from it on hallowed ground.

If I could help the Prophet move on, perhaps I could do the same for Shani and Mariama. And then Devlin would be mine—

I was a little shocked by the direction of my thoughts, and I told myself I wouldn’t go there. It was too dangerous. Too foolish to even contemplate a time when Devlin and I might possibly be together. Besides, for all I knew he’d already moved on with the brunette. He might already have put our past behind him.

Then why had he sent a message on the day I’d left Asher Falls?

Why had his ghosts lured me into that woman’s garden tonight? Why did Mariama feel so threatened by me?

It wasn’t over with Devlin. A part of me knew that, no matter what happened, no matter the passage of time or the miles between us, it would never truly be over. Devlin was my destiny. The one man I wanted above all others was the one man I could never have.

Unless I could somehow find a way to close that door.

I tried to tamp down that sinister glimmer of hope as I glanced at the ghost. “If I help you, we’ll be even, right? My debt to you will be paid in full.”

Robert Fremont smiled. “Never bargain with the dead. We have nothing to lose.”

Chapter Four

Long after Fremont vanished, I sat there shivering in the falling twilight even though the evening was still quite warm. At some point, it occurred to me that Angus was barking in the backyard. Strangely, he’d been silent during the visitation, but now something had excited him. I called out, but my voice didn’t quiet him.

I grabbed my shopping bag and hurried through the side yard to the back gate, contemplating the impact of my meeting with Fremont. In the space of a few short minutes, my whole life had changed. I’d knowingly entered into a relationship with a ghost. Talk about acknowledging the dead. Talk about tempting fate. I could only imagine what Papa would say about such an association.

Which made me wonder…had he ever encountered an entity like Robert Fremont?

I thought about the ghost of the old white-haired man I’d seen in Rosehill Cemetery, the hallowed place of my childhood. He had been my first manifestation and I’d only glimpsed him one other time since that long-ago day. My father had told me that ever since the initial sighting, he’d been afraid the old man’s ghost had been sent to watch over me by something evil on the other side of the veil. But I had to wonder if Papa was still holding out on me. Despite everything he’d revealed about my birth and my heritage, I couldn’t shake the notion that he kept things from me still. That he had secrets I’d yet to uncover.

Opening the back gate, I slipped inside. There was still light in the garden though the moon hadn’t yet risen. Angus stood in the center of the yard, his gaze transfixed on the swing. It moved slowly back and forth.

Shani?

I didn’t say her name aloud. I didn’t think I needed to.

She didn’t answer. I heard no sound at all except for the faint tinkle of the wind chimes and the pounding of my heart in my ears.

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