go by my house, don’t ask any questions. And for God’s sakes, don’t notify the police.”
I had to fight to keep a terrified tremor from my voice. “If you disappear…how can I just let it go? That’s asking too much.”
“You have to.” His dark stare impaled me, besieged me. “Promise me.”
“Now you’re really scaring me.”
He touched his hand to my face. “Don’t be frightened.” His soft drawl invoked forbidden images, and I shivered as his hands slipped into my hair. He brought his mouth down on mine, lightly at first, and then with growing heat until I clutched his arms for support. My eyes closed, my lips parted and I didn’t hold back, nor did he. I had been starving for that kiss, and in spite of Isabel Perilloux, in spite of his ghosts, it seemed as though he had, too.
He lifted his head and whispered my name on a ragged sigh as he pulled me to his chest. I melted into him, and he held me for the longest time in silence. I pressed my cheek to the thud of his heart and savored the scent of him, the feel of him, while I still could.
Then all too soon, his arms fell away, and it was time for him to go. The whole scene had a sense of finality that I refused to accept. Whatever happened, I had to believe that Devlin and I were a long way from over.
I stood on the veranda and watched him go. He didn’t look back. Not even once. He strode down the walkway, and by the time he reached the garden gate, his ghosts were with him. Mariama floated at his side, her hand skimming his arm, touching his shoulder, dashing that glimmer of nascent hope that had sprouted from his kiss.
Shani trailed behind them, her blue dress blowing delicately in a nonexistent breeze. She glanced over her shoulder and pressed a finger to her lips before she quietly vanished.
A moment later, I felt a numbing cold, a paralyzing fear, and glanced down to find her at
I waited until the little ghost faded before going back inside. Shani was coming to me more and more frequently, her manifestations increasingly bold. There was little doubt now that she haunted me and she would not be leaving until I found a way to help her move on. I was equally certain that Mariama would do everything in her power to make certain that didn’t happen. Shani was her tie to Devlin.
The house was very quiet and my nerves were already unsettled. I went to the door to call for Angus. He came at once, as eager for my company as I was for his. I saw nothing out of the ordinary in the dusk, but I had a strange sense that spirits were close. Whether Shani had led them to me or my own transformation had attracted them, I didn’t know. But they were out there, searching for me even as I scoured the shadows for them.
I stood there on the threshold as nightfall deepened and the vanilla scent of the phlox awakened. A three- quarter moon peeked over the treetops and the lamb’s ear and sage took on a silvery glow. The garden became a fairyland, delicate and ethereal, and the song of the nightingale that drifted down through the leaves might have seemed perfectly suited to such a dream world. But there were no nightingales in Charleston.
I saw him then, just beyond the swing, in the deepest shadows of the yard. Not a ghost, but a flesh and blood man, uncommonly tall and mesmeric even in the dark. He lifted a hand and the wind rose, I could have sworn it. Born on that unnatural breeze, the scent of sulfur drifted across the garden, mingling with the night-blooming datura. The perfume enveloped me like a cocoon. Trapped in his spell, I couldn’t move or breathe. The sensation should have been terrifying, but I felt no fear. Just a strange fascination.
Then it was over. The scent evaporated and the man disappeared. I told myself he must have been a ghost or a conjure of my imagination. No human could simply dissolve into the shadows. Not even a
But I couldn’t shake the notion that I had just been paid a visit by the infamous Darius Goodwine.
Chapter Twenty
My night was filled with the strangest dreams and I awoke with a splitting headache. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn I suffered from a hangover, but I’d gone to bed early without so much as a sip of wine. I could barely even remember Devlin’s visit, let alone the incident in the garden. Both visits had joined the surreal parade of visions that had marched through my sleep.
As per Dr. Shaw’s wishes, Temple and I had arranged to meet at Oak Grove Cemetery that morning at nine, but I arrived early and was sorely tempted to remain in my locked vehicle until she got there. I didn’t relish entering that abandoned graveyard alone. My memories of Oak Grove were still too fresh.
This was my first trip back since the police had sealed the cemetery late last spring. After months of tedious and methodical excavating, all the bodies had been recovered, and the investigation had finally come to an end. But my nightmares would linger for years. I wasn’t yet sure how I would cope, but it was too late to back out now. I’d given Dr. Shaw my word.
I took my time lacing my boots, pulling on my jacket and checking my camera. Even after all that, Temple still hadn’t arrived. I got out of the car and glanced around, uneasy in spite of the sunshine. It was so very quiet out here. Quiet…and isolated. I’d forgotten the completeness of that silence, the profound stillness that settled heavily over the overgrown landscape.
Oak Grove had always been an unnerving place. Surrounded by woods and accessible only by foot, the cemetery was owned by the prestigious Emerson University, but for years it had been allowed to languish behind crumbling walls, with no visitors to speak of except for students looking to party and a killer anxious to bury young women’s bodies.
Being all too familiar with
At least I didn’t have to worry about ghosts, I told myself. Oak Grove was one of those cemeteries where even the dead feared to tarry. But I’d seen something far more disturbing than a restless spirit at the edge of the woods late one afternoon. From my description, Dr. Shaw had called the entity a shadow being, and he’d almost had me convinced that those periphery glimpses were nothing more than my imagination or tricks of light and shade. I knew better now. Shadow beings were real, but unlike ghosts that awaited twilight, they seemed to prefer the shifting light of pre-dusk.
I threw off that memory and lifted my face to the sun. The morning was bright and cool, perfect weather to begin a restoration. The prospect of getting back to work, of immersing myself in my own little world, excited me even if it did mean a return to Oak Grove.
But that budding anticipation withered the moment I walked through the gates. The cemetery’s dark past hung like a pall over the blackened headstones and moss-shrouded statues, and I stood there shivering as I glanced around.
Oak Grove had once been the site of a large plantation with underground slave quarters still echoing with misery. Aboveground, it was lush and Gothic, the once parklike setting typical of the Rural Cemetery Movement that had migrated here from England during the Victorian era. The gravestone symbolism was some of the finest I’d ever encountered—willow trees and urns signifying sorrow and the soul’s mortality, hourglasses depicting the fleeting passage of time, roses in various states of bloom that denoted age at time of death.
A dove marked a tiny grave near the gates, the bird of peace a symbol often found on the headstones of children. As I bent to pull back a tangle of weeds from the site, I thought of Shani’s little grave in Chedathy Cemetery, decorated with nothing more than a simple headstone and seashells shaped in a heart. Her visit, too, seemed a part of some half forgotten dream.
Her ghost had remained at my side last evening only until Devlin had been out of sight. Then she, too, had vanished, leaving nothing of her presence behind. No hearts on frosted glass. No jasmine. Nothing but the memory of that little ghostly hand in mine. Instinctively, I knew it was important that she’d drifted from Devlin to me. So significant, in fact, that I almost couldn’t bear to think about her motive. No matter how hard I tried to resist, her
