The Kingdom (28 page)

I gasped.

Behind me, Thane said urgently, “We should go.”

We didn’t run back to the car, but neither did we tarry. All the way home, I trembled, staring out the window as a terrible acceptance settled over me.

Thane walked me to the door, but he made no move to hold or kiss me. Why would he?

“Something was out there,” he finally said. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

My gaze went to those claw marks on his face, and I shuddered. “Yes.”

He turned to the woods. “It wasn’t just out there. It was in
me.
” He lifted a shaking hand in front of him. “It was in you, too,” he said.

I nodded.

“What was it?”

“Tilly called it Evil.”

To my surprise, he didn’t question it. Instead, his eyes rose to the mountains. “Even as a kid, I knew this place was different. I sensed a darkness. It was like a spider always trying to creep inside my head. I told myself it was just my imagination or a nightmare. A waking dream,” he said. “Even so, I would never allow it in. But something changed tonight and I
wanted
to let it in. I welcomed it.” A tense pause. “I know I sound crazy.”

“I almost wish you were,” I said weakly.

“Why?”

I drew away from him. “Because it wasn’t you that let it in. It was me.”

Thirty-Two

I
slipped from bed that night, and I went to stare out at the darkness. The moon was still up, shimmering on the lake and silvering the edges of the pines. As I gazed up at those distant peaks, I had the strangest feeling of déjà vu, but the source of that familiarity came to me almost at once. I could see my reflection in the glass, and it reminded me of all those stone angels—all those upturned faces—gazing toward the mountains. Watching and waiting just as
it
had watched and waited for aeons.

It had always been there, Thane said. Scratching at his mind like a spider. An evil as old as the mountains. A darkness that stirred the dead and unleashed unspeakable desires.

Asher Falls is a ghost town.

I’d had only an inkling of what Sidra had meant that first day in the library. A mere suspicion until the tolling of the bells had awakened me. And then I’d seen the diaphanous forms in the swirling mist. I’d witnessed those phantom hands reaching out for me, felt a presence in the wind, heard that terrible howling, and
still
I remained in Asher Falls because I had a sense of destiny here. Like it or not, I was connected to this terrible place.

I moved away from the window, then glanced back, my heart jumping. Was Freya’s killer out there at the edge of the woods?

I watched for the longest time, but nothing stirred. It was just a tree or a shadow, I told myself. Angus was already sleeping peacefully at the end of my bed. If anyone or anything had been about, he would have roused to sound the alarm.

Or so I wanted to believe.

I climbed into bed and curled up under the covers, but I didn’t want to fall asleep. I intended to lie there and wait out the darkness. But my eyes soon grew heavy, and I kept drifting off only to startle awake every few minutes. During those short naps, my sleep was filled with the strangest images. I dreamed about Devlin and Mariama. About floating with ghosts and destroying hex signs.

And I dreamed about being back at the falls stretched out on the ground as faces hovered over me, and those in-between creatures crawled out of their holes to stare down at me. I felt something wet on my neck, and my fingers came away bloody. Someone said softly, “It’s done,” and then I heard a baby cry in the dark.

I woke up with tears on my face. I had no idea why that dream disturbed me so much, but I refused to close my eyes for the rest of the night.

Rising at dawn, I packed up the car and Angus, and I caught the first ferry. It was raining when we left, the kind of downpour that seemed portentous, as if it could wash the whole doomed town right into the lake. I stood under the cover, protected from the slash of rain as I watched the mountains slowly recede. But I didn’t feel a sense of relief until sometime later when we drove out of the deluge and headed east, straight into the sun.

The light streaming through the windshield was warm and healing. A weight lifted. I plugged in my iPod and hummed along to some music as we left the foothills and entered the gentle rolling countryside of the Piedmont.

Angus watched the passing scenery with avid interest, and I cracked the window so that he could feel the wind in his fur. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to just keep driving until we reached the coast. I didn’t want this feeling of lightness to ever end for him or for me.

I stopped for gas and a quick breakfast in Columbia, and my euphoria held until I approached the Trinity exit. And then the questions resurfaced. My need to know where I came from so that I could understand my place in this world and the next. I didn’t want to be a living ghost. I didn’t want to be hunted by Evil. I wanted to be normal.

The original plan was to drive straight through to Charleston, but instead I made the turn to Trinity and headed for Rosehill Cemetery, the place where I had seen my first specter.

* * *

The white bungalow where I grew up hadn’t changed much over the years. It was shaded by hundred-year-old oak trees that kept the house cool and dim even in the summer months, making it a pleasant refuge for Papa after hours of working under a baking sun. The front porch had always been my mother’s domain. She and my aunt had spent many an hour out there sipping sweet tea and gossiping as the scent of roses drifted up from the cemetery.

My bedroom window looked out on Rosehill. The view of the graveyard never bothered me even as a child, even after my first ghost sighting, because Rosehill had always been
my
refuge, and the hallowed ground had always protected me. Even after all these years, I still felt safe and at peace there as I never had anywhere else, even my own sanctuary in Charleston.

A layer of dust had settled on the concrete porch. Before my mother got sick, she would sweep that floor at least once a day. It was almost an obsession with her. Dirt—especially the grime Papa and I tracked in from the cemetery—drove her crazy. My aunt called her a persnickety housekeeper, to which my mother had once replied that it was a shame Lynrose had never learned to run a vacuum as well as she ran her mouth. My aunt had gotten a kick out of that retort. She loved to get a rise out of Mama, and I so envied their relationship, that constant banter. No one had ever been able to make my solemn mother smile the way her sister could. Not Papa. Certainly not me.

The house was all closed up, which was unusual. Papa would never have locked the front door unless he planned to be away for some time, so I didn’t think he was working in the cemetery or out back in his workshop. The whole place had a forlorn air, as though no one had been home in days.

I suppressed a momentary panic as I fished the key from a flower pot and let myself in. Papa had probably driven to Charleston to spend some time with Mama. He must have missed her terribly during all the months she’d been gone. They’d been together for a long time, and though neither was openly demonstrative—I couldn’t remember having ever seen them hug, much less kiss—I had to believe something more than habit kept them together. Something more than secrets, too.

I left Angus on the porch and went inside. The quiet of the house unnerved me. I took a quick walk through the downstairs just to reassure myself that nothing was amiss, and then I climbed the stairs, peeked into my old bedroom and continued on to the far end of the hallway where I opened the door to the attic stairs. I flipped the light switch and went up without hesitation. I’d never been afraid of the attic. It had been a favorite haunt of mine on rainy days when I grew bored of the family photo albums. Mama had kept a lot of her dresses from high school formals up there, and I had loved going through all those old trunks. She and Aunt Lynrose had been quite the belles, despite the family’s middle-class status.

Papa stored his keepsakes in a metal bin. It was always kept locked.
Always.
I’d been curious about that container since childhood, but it never occurred to me then to try and pick the lock. Now I shoved any qualms aside and used a hairpin to slide open the tumblers. If there was a secret in this house about my birth, it would be in that locker.

Inside was the usual paraphernalia that a man of Papa’s age and stature would have accumulated over the years. Service medals and framed citations from his time in the army. A pair of boots. An old pocket knife. A cigar box of photographs.

The most efficient way to conduct the search was to take everything out. I did so quickly and carefully, arranging the items in order so that I could put everything back exactly as I found them. I hated going through Papa’s things. He was a private man, and rifling through his treasures and memories was a violation that I likened to the desecration of a gravesite. But I didn’t let a guilty conscience stop me. I kept right on looking because I knew I wouldn’t rest until I found
something.

I had almost given up when I happened upon a little blue box tied with a white ribbon. I assumed it was another medal or perhaps his wedding cuff links.

But, no.

Nestled against a bed of cotton was a shard of brown porcelain. I would never have known what it was, let alone the significance, had I not seen that little brown sparrow in Freya Pattershaw’s little blue bedroom.

However he had come by it, Papa had stored that broken wing amongst his most prized possessions.

Thirty-Three

I
called ahead and made an appointment for Angus at a veterinarian clinic convenient to my house in Charleston. I stayed with him for the exam and shots and then left during the grooming to run errands. When we showed up on my aunt Lynrose’s veranda a few hours later, we were both freshly bathed and looking our best.

My aunt lived in a narrow two-story house built deep into the lot, as was the custom in the historic district. She’d bought the house years ago before the real estate market exploded and could undoubtedly net a small fortune if she chose to sell it. She never would, even though she was forever complaining about the taxes. I loved the house and the shady street she lived on. It was very quaint and charming. Very old South.

Her eyes widened when she opened the door and saw me through the screen. As always, she was dressed elegantly in off-white linen slacks and a wheat-colored tunic embroidered with flowers. I caught a whiff of her perfume through the door, and it took me right back to all those summer twilights when I had sat at that open window listening to her and Mama.

A hand fluttered to her heart. “Goodness gracious, girl. I wasn’t expecting to find you on my doorstep. Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? I’d have made lunch. Or ordered out,” she said with a wink. Her gaze dropped to Angus, and her eyes widened even more. “What in the world is
that?
”

“My dog. His name is Angus.”

“
Your
dog?” She gave a delicate shudder as she came out on the porch. “Good Lord, what happened to the creature?”

“He was in a dog-fighting kennel. Then they turned him loose in the woods to starve.”

“Oh, dear.” She gave him a tentative pat. “I suppose you’d better take him around to the back. Your mama’s in the garden. Take care you don’t frighten her half to death with that…with Angus. I’ll go pour us some tea.”

She disappeared back into the house, and I motioned for Angus to follow me down the porch steps and along a narrow path that led through thick beds of fountain grass already sprouting cotton-candy plumes. Mama might keep a perfect house and set an elegant table, but my aunt had been born with a green thumb. The back garden was spectacular this time of year with the last of the summer roses mingling intoxicatingly with the tea olives, all encased in boxwood hedges that wound along stepping-stones and low brick walls shimmering in the afternoon light.

My mother reclined in a green-stripe lawn chair with an open book on her lap. She sat very still, head turned into the cushion, and I thought she might be asleep. I watched her for a moment, a pain in my heart at the sharpness of her cheekbones and the gray tinge to her complexion. Like my aunt, she’d always been very thin, but now she looked gaunt, and I could see new lines in her face and a tremor in her hand as she roused to turn a page. Months of chemo had taken a toll, but she was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on. As sick as she was, her wig was perfectly coiffed, and I could see a pale pink sheen on her lips. She wore a floral skirt and a pretty blue cardigan even though the day was hot and humid.

I said, “Mama,” very softly and she looked up with a start.

Then she smiled in a way I’d seldom been accorded, and it made me very happy that I’d come.

“Amelia! How long have you been standing there? I didn’t even hear the gate.”

“I came in just now.” I went over and knelt beside her chair. She lifted her hand to brush the hair back from my face. It might have been my imagination—or wishful thinking—but I thought her cool fingers lingered for a moment. Then she spotted Angus, and like Lynrose, a shudder went through her.

“Amelia Rose Gray, what on earth?”

“His name is Angus. I found him in the mountains and I’m keeping him.”

She lifted a brow. “Well, of course, dear, if that’s what you want. You have your own home, your own rules.” She paused. “Poor thing looks like he’s been through the wringer.”

“You could say that.”

“He has my sympathies.”

Angus, bless him, was on his best behavior. He didn’t growl or bark or try to encroach. He hung back, sensing Mama’s reticence. Even when she put out a reluctant hand, he didn’t come forward to nuzzle. Instead, he retreated to a spot beneath the angel oak and watched us warily.

“Lyn said you’d been out of town. You had a restoration somewhere?” Mama asked as I settled down in a nearby lawn chair.

“Yes, ma’am. She didn’t tell you where I was?”

A frown flitted across her brow. “She may have. I don’t remember if she did.”

I was just about to tell her myself when Lynrose came out the back door with the iced tea. “You should probably get that dog some water, Amelia. It’s a hot day even with the breeze. I can feel a storm brewing. You feel that air? Thick as molasses… .”

I left her going on about the weather as I filled a bowl from the water hose and took it to Angus. By the time I rejoined my mother and aunt, they’d moved on to a new topic.

My aunt handed me a glass of tea. “I was just telling Etta about an acquaintance of yours I ran into the other day. I was standing in line at the grocery store when I heard someone behind me mention that she grew up in Trinity. Well, naturally, I had to strike up a conversation. Turns out she was a grade or so behind you in school, but she said the two of you had crossed paths just a few months ago.”

“What’s her name?”

“Ree Hutchins. Do you remember her?”

I took a sip of tea. “Ree? Yes, I remember her. She came to see me about Oak Grove Cemetery.”

My aunt looked stricken. “Oh, Lord. She wasn’t involved in any of that terrible business, was she?”

“No. She was interested in the history of the cemetery.”

“Oh. Well…she was with a very good-looking young man. Hayden something-or-other. She said he was a lawyer.”

“He’s also a ghost hunter,” I said.

A brow arched. “You don’t say. He seemed so normal.”

“I’m sure he did,” I murmured.

“Anyway, Ree told me about some of the awful things that went on at that mental hospital where she worked. Abuse, illegal testing, patients admitted under false names by wealthy families who just wanted to forget about them. It was all over the news last spring. I’m sure you saw it. I don’t remember all the particulars but someone was murdered by a doctor—Farrante, I think his name was. He was quite famous, and apparently his grandfather before him had conducted all sorts of gruesome experiments at that place.” She shook her head. “Blood will tell, as they say.”

As my aunt prattled on, I kept glancing at my mother. Her head had fallen back against the cushion, and her eyes were closed.

“Mama, are you okay?”

She smiled faintly. “I’m a little tired. Would you think badly of me if I went in to rest for a little while?”

I set my glass down. “Of course not. Can I help you?”

“No, dear, I’m fine. It’s just…I don’t have much energy these days.”

“It’s that blasted chemo,” my aunt grumbled as she helped Mama to her feet. “Well, never you mind. We’ll get you all settled in for a nice nap.”

“I’m perfectly capable of turning down the covers myself, Lyn. Stay out here and visit with Amelia. I feel terrible deserting her when she only just arrived.”

“Don’t worry about that. We can visit later,” I said.

“Will you stay and eat with us? We’ll go out somewhere. I wouldn’t subject that poor dog to Lynrose’s cooking.”

I smiled. “That would be nice.”

“Now, you hush up,” my aunt scolded good-naturedly. “I haven’t heard you complaining lately about my cooking.”

“Because I have no appetite,” Mama countered.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” I asked.

“No, you two have a nice visit. I’ll join you later.”

After she disappeared inside, I turned to my aunt. “Oh, Aunt Lyn, she looks so frail. Even more so since I last saw her, and that was only a week or so ago.”

“She’s had a bad few days, but the doctor is still optimistic with her progress. Setbacks are to be expected.”

“I guess. But she just seems so…I don’t know.
Old.
”

My aunt’s eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare say that to her!”

“Of course, I won’t! And, anyway, she’s still beautiful.”

My aunt’s eyes grew misty. “The prettiest girl at the dance. Always was.”

I reached over and patted her arm. “You’ve taken such good care of her. She’s so lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have her, too. If anything happens, I don’t know what I’ll do without her—”

“Don’t say it.”

“I know. I know. She’s going to pull through this.” My aunt lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m going to make sure of it.”

“Aunt Lyn, has Papa been here this morning? I drove by the house on my way in and the front door was locked.”

“He may have gone into town for something. You probably just missed him.”

“Does he ever come by to see Mama?”

“You know Caleb. He lives in his own little world. Just like you. Two peas in a pod, Etta used to say.” I saw a shadow in her eyes before she glanced away, and for a moment, the air quivered with something unspoken. I didn’t know why, but I felt a momentary panic. I took a sip of tea to calm myself.

“Does Mama know where I’ve been working?”

My aunt traced a bead of condensation down her glass. “Didn’t you tell her?”

“No, I called here before I left, remember? I told you that a job had come through and I would be working out of town for a few weeks. Mama was resting and you said you’d let her know. But you didn’t say anything to her, did you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I have a lot on my mind these days. We all do.”

“Every time I called this past week, she was always resting or napping. You never let me talk to her.”

“Never let you? What a thing to say. As if I would deliberately try to keep you from talking to your mama.”

“Maybe you didn’t want her to know that I was working in Asher Falls.”

“Why on earth would I be concerned about that?” But her fingers had tangled in the string of pearls at her throat.

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

She said, almost angrily, “You make it sound so manipulative and sinister. It wasn’t like that. I didn’t want her upset, is all.
I
knew where you were, and if anything happened, God forbid, we could always reach you on your cell phone.”

“But why would it upset her to know that I was in Asher Falls? What happened up there, Aunt Lyn?”