The Kingdom (3 page)

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

A
s 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.”