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
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.
Angus, meanwhile, had placed his quivering body firmly between the apparition and me. Strong and noble, indeed. I couldn’t have loved him more at that moment had we been lifelong friends, because I was pretty sure he would have liked nothing more than to turn tail and run for the woods.
“Good boy,” I whispered.
A light wind rippled through the leaves and the trees began to whisper.
Presently, I got up to go inside. The ghost was still there at the end of the pier, staring after me. Angus whimpered, and I opened the screen door so that he could come up on the porch. As I turned to secure the latch, another breeze sighed through the trees.
For almost as long as I could remember, ghosts had been a part of my world. Papa used to take me out to the cemetery on Sunday afternoons, and I would help him tidy graves as we waited for twilight, waited for the veil to thin so the ghosts could come through. At first, I’d tried to avoid the excursions, but then I realized it was Papa’s way of teaching me how to live with our gift. After a while, I grew so accustomed to those floating specters I never reacted to their presence even when I felt the chill of their breath down my back or their wintry fingers in my hair. I could even walk among them and not give myself away.
But then Devlin had come along, and Papa’s rules could no longer protect me. My defenses had been breached by his ghosts. And now another phantom had entered my world, one with an ability that had allowed me to sense her confusion as I suspected she could sense mine. This intuitive connection was new and frightening because I not only had to guard my physical reaction but also now my thoughts. What would I have to protect next…my soul?
I lay awake that night for the longest time, dwelling on all the old questions. I’d never understood my place in this world or the next. Why had I been given this gift if not for some larger purpose? Papa never had answers. He didn’t like to talk about the ghosts. It was our secret, he would say. Our cross to bear. And we must never, ever tell Mama. She wouldn’t understand.
Looking back, I could see how easily he’d put me off…about the ghosts, about my birth, about everything. He and Mama had taken me in when I was only a few days old, but I still knew nothing of how I had come to them or of my biological parents. All my queries had been met with a wariness that had made me so uncomfortable I’d finally stopped asking. But I knew there were things they hadn’t told me. Especially Papa. He’d never even mentioned that realm of unseen ghosts—the Others—until it was too late, until I’d already fallen for Devlin. Now I had to wonder what else he’d kept from me. What other terrors lay in wait for me?
My thoughts churned on and on. Eventually, I drifted off, only to be awakened by the distant toll of bells. In my hazy, half-asleep state, I wondered if the faint tinkle might be a wind chime somewhere in the woods—at Tilly Pattershaw’s perhaps. But each peal was separate and distinct, as if from a chorus of ringers. Far from melodic, however, the notes were random and discordant, almost angry.
I got up and padded barefoot through the darkened house, glad that I’d taken the time to familiarize myself with the layout. I moved easily from room to room with only the moonlight to guide me.
Pausing at the kitchen window, I glanced out on the back porch where I’d left Angus. He, too, had been roused by the bells. Or by something. He’d planted himself in front of the door, and I almost expected to see a ghost peering in through the screen. But his maimed head was lifted as he looked out over the yard and down the stepping-stones to the lake where a thick mist had fallen over the water. Or had it risen from the underworld?
