The Kingdom

close and pressed his body against mine. He kissed me, again and again, his tongue weaving a trail of black magic that lured and enthralled and seduced.

We sank to our knees in the circle of Asher angels, in the remains of that romantic white garden, and I skimmed my hands down my sides, lifting my dress as I lay back, drenched in starlight.

I no longer wondered or cared about the consequences of my actions or the desecration of a place I would have once revered. There was nothing in me now but need, a greedy, grasping hunger. Thane’s hands were all over me, strumming and stroking, his mouth hot against mine. I tangled my fingers in his hair, pushing him down, down, down until the feather of his lips on my thigh evoked a shudder, until the dart of his tongue within drew a moan.

My cries mingled with the primitive sounds in my vision, those carnal screams that called forth the creatures, the half-beings, those terrible atrocities that crawled up from the underworld to slink through the door that could never be closed.

As Thane brought me to the very edge, the night came alive with sound and motion. With moans and whispers and shadows creeping from the woods and flitting through the treetops. Moonlight animated the statues, and I could feel those sightless eyes cast upon us now as those stone lips whispered my name over and over, an incantation that stoked my frenzy.

Thane yanked off his shirt and moved over me, and for one breathless moment, he didn’t look like Thane at all, but something dark and beautiful and otherworldly.

A familiar medallion dangled from his neck—a painful reminder of my time with Devlin. I tore it away with a vicious jerk, and I heard the sharp intake of his breath as though I had ripped something up from his soul. I sensed a hesitation, a withdrawal, but I would have none of it. I pulled him back to me, arching violently into him as my hand went to his face and I sank my nails into his flesh.

He reared back with an oath.

I’d broken the skin. The ooze of crimson both frightened and exhilarated me. I reached up and touched a fingertip to the blood, drawing a deep shudder from Thane.

A breeze trembled through the trees and a distant howl brought his head up. “What was that?”

“It’s coming,” I whispered.

He scrambled to his feet, his gaze scanning the darkness as I rose more slowly, in the grip now of a strange lethargy. The wind picked up, thrashing branches and whirling dead leaves underfoot. I turned instinctively to the mausoleum and could have sworn I saw a silhouette squatted and hunched on the rooftop, pale eyes gleaming, the tails of a coat flaring in the wind. And then a rasping laugh sawed through the trees.

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