The Prophet

Needless to say, I slept very little that night. Long after the frost on the windows melted, I’d remained in my office reeling from this new development. Never had I felt threatened by a ghost in my home. Never had the boundaries of my sanctuary been breached by any entity, and yet, somehow Shani had traced a heart on my bathroom mirror.

Why on the mirror and not on the window? Did she want me to know that she had found a way into my haven? Was she making sure that I couldn’t ignore her?

And what of that other presence?

I really, really wanted to believe the face I’d glimpsed outside my window had been nothing more than a manifestation of my fear or a wine-induced hallucination. I hadn’t been sleeping or eating properly, and by Fremont’s own admission, he’d been haunting me. Plus, after my trip to see Devlin, I’d hardly been in the most stable frame of mind, so it wasn’t hard to conclude that in such a state, my imagination could have played tricks.

But on Angus, too?

I kept a tense vigil in my office until well after midnight. Exhaustion finally drove me to bed where I tossed and turned for hours.

Despite a restless night, I arose the next morning at my usual time even though I had no particular place to be. I didn’t have a restoration scheduled until the following month and, other than a few headstone repairs, nothing much else on the books. But between my savings and the ad revenue generated from Digging Graves, I was certain I could manage for a while.

Actually, I could do more than manage. An unexpected legacy had provided me with a generous nest egg, but that money was safely tucked away until I could decide how and when I wanted to use it. Considering the circumstances of my birth, I’d wanted no part of any inheritance from my blood family, the Ashers, but then I reminded myself that my mother’s illness had likely depleted her and Papa’s savings. If I could help them out financially, perhaps everything I’d been through in Asher Falls would be worth it.

Dressing for my morning walk, I donned a track jacket over a UNC T-shirt and then let Angus out into the backyard. The horizon glowed as I headed down Rutledge toward the harbor. I performed a few warm-ups and then picked up the pace. The morning was crisp and clear, and the jacket felt good all the way to Broad Street before I finally had to shed it.

Tying it around my waist, I turned left on Meeting Street, striding past the parade of historic churches and grand old homes with barely a glance. Another left and I found myself on Tradd, the most scenic of all avenues in a city known for its beautiful boulevards and thoroughfares. It was the only street in Charleston where one could glimpse the Ashley and Cooper Rivers at the same time, but this morning, I looked neither right nor left as I made my way to East Bay Street, where the colorful row homes and stately mansions were still bathed in misty gray.

I passed only a few early birds on the Battery. Migrating to my favorite spot, I stood facing the harbor as the sun broke the horizon and the sea burst into flames. It was a sight I never tired of.

Against the background of tiny Fort Sumter, a formation of pelicans glided low across the water, searching for the telltale shimmer of silver beneath the surface. It was very quiet where I stood. I could hear the gulls out in the harbor and the murmur of voices from the tourists that had risen early to watch the sunrise, but the sounds were muted and easy enough to tune out.

Someone appeared beside me at the railing. My gaze was still glued to the light show over the water, but I knew who he was. I slanted a glance at Fremont’s ghost. Right here on the Battery was where I’d first seen him months ago. Only then, I’d still thought he was a flesh-and-blood man. Perhaps even a murderer.

“You don’t look so good,” he commented.

“I just walked all the way from my house. I’m a bit winded.”

“No, that’s not it. You look ill. What’s wrong with you?”

I cut him a glance. “Oh, I don’t know. Could it be that you’re haunting me?” I asked with more than a shade of sarcasm.

I couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark lenses, but I felt the frost from his gaze. The sensation was eerie and unsettling. “I’m not doing that to you.”

“Really? Because as I recall, you admitted to draining my energy so that you could sustain your presence in the living world. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

“That was then. I needed a way to get your attention. I had to make sure you would agree to help me. But now that we’ve come to an arrangement, I’ve backed off.”

I merely lifted a brow.

“I’ve purposely kept my distance so that you could build your strength back up.” He paused, and I felt that icy stare yet again. “You’ll need every ounce of it.”

“Is that a prediction?”

“You can take it as such.”

Ignoring his ominous tone, I leaned against the railing. “If you’re not draining me, then who is? Or should I say what?”

“Another ghost would be my guess.”

Another ghost. I didn’t know why, but it struck me as significant that, despite his humanlike appearance, he thought of himself as a ghost. He was under no delusions of remaining in the living world. Far from it. He just wanted to solve his murder and move on.

I tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “You don’t look like any of the other ghosts I see. You have no aura, no transparency. How do you manifest after dawn and before twilight? Don’t you have to wait for the veil to thin? How are you here now, when the sun is coming up?”

“It takes a lot of energy and concentration.”

“If you’re not draining me, where do you get your energy?”

“Why does it matter?” he asked tersely. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“Everything about our arrangement concerns me. You came to me, remember? And for all I know, you brought something with you that is draining me.” I thought of that lurking shadow outside my window and shivered. “I know you’re probably tired of answering all my questions, but this is important. My house is built on hallowed ground and yet you were sitting on my front porch. You were able to breach my sanctuary and now something else has, too.”

“I told you it wasn’t me.”

“I know that’s what you said, but assuming you wanted to, could you manifest inside my house?”

“No, not inside.”

I paused in relief. Then glanced at him doubtfully. “Is that the truth or are you just telling me what I want to hear?”

“The real truth? I’ve never tried.”

“Why not?”

“Because, believe it or not, I’m not looking to inconvenience you any more than I have to.”

Inconvenience me? That was certainly an interesting way of putting it.

“I appreciate your consideration,” I said. “But unfortunately, my sanctuary has been violated. A heart was traced in the frost on my bathroom mirror. I don’t see how it could have been done unless a ghost entered my home.”

“Psychokinesis,” he said.

“You can do that?”

“On occasion. If you’re worried about a visitation, try burning some sage in the house. You can use the ashes to smudge the mirrors and windows.”

“That actually works? Sage will repel you?”

I saw a thin smile. “Me? No. But it might discourage a lesser manifestation.”

“Like a ghost child?”

He shrugged.

“If you’re not draining me, then it must be Shani,” I mused.

His voice sharpened. “Shani?”