“Yeah . . . well, usually that tends to send spirits running for cover, but I think I just gave them a nasty shock and pissed them off. So, what are we going to do about those two? Who are they? Unless ghosts have a retro fashion sense, they didn’t exactly look freshly buried.”
Ellia let out a little laugh. “You’re very observant. And correct. That pair . . . when they were alive, they were Betty Jean Daniels and Tommy Freeman. They went to high school in the 1950s, they were a few years behind Lila and Ivy and me. Betty was the daughter of one of the town bankers, and Tommy . . . he was just trouble. They took up together and he brought out her inner Bonnie to his Clyde.”
“What happened to them? Did they die at the same time?”
She jerked her head toward the lake. “1960 . . . they were headed out to her grandma’s one frosty November evening. Rumor has it they were on their way to steal her money. Before they could get there, the Lady took them. Car skidded off the road. Witnesses said that for once, they were actually driving the speed limit, not speeding. It was chilly but the road was dry. One moment they were on the road, the next, they broke through the guardrail and went into the lake. The car sank so deep they never recovered it—or the bodies.” She paused.
I closed my eyes, thinking about my grandparents. About the Lady, dragging them down to drown in her icy arms. A slow burn rose in my heart and I sucked in a deep breath, trying to shake off the mix of emotions. Because as angry as I was that the lake had claimed Lila, the truth was—you live in Whisper Hollow, and you had to accept that there was always the chance that she would drag you down.
“What did the cops say?”
“Not much. You know how it goes here. They officially listed it as a murder-suicide, but everybody knew the truth.”
I stared at the gravestones. Empty graves, then. But you couldn’t very well stick a headstone on the surface of the lake. “So they’re still out there . . . whatever might be left of them.”
“Along with who knows how many other souls. Along with your grandfather.” Ellia shook her head softly as she rested her hand on my arm. “At least the Lady had the respect to give you back your grandmother’s body. But here’s the thing: Tommy and Betty? Not once have they ever walked . . . not before the past few months. I played for them at their funeral, and they were at rest. I was younger then, but I was more than able to work with your great-grandmother. Betty and Tommy started rising about three months back, and nothing Lila and I could do would send them back to the Veil, back to Penelope. When you think about it, they should have long gone through the Veil itself and moved on, so even there—something is amiss. Regardless of why, we need to banish them before they take it into their heads to unleash their anger on the town, because after all these years, they’re still a volatile pair. Whatever they learned after their death, well, if it was any good, it sure didn’t return with them.”
“So you and Lila tried to send them back?”
She nodded. “Several times. I’ve played over their graves twice a week since they were first spotted, but it doesn’t seem to do any good. And the magic Lila used . . . something was countering it, Kerris. Someone.” She stared down at the violin case. “At first, I was worried that I was losing my touch. That it was time to train someone new.”
I nodded, cautiously sitting on one of the gravestones. “That’s not it, though, is it? Ellia, you’ve been playing for the dead since long before I was born. You won’t lose your touch till you cross over.”
She smiled, then. “Thank you. Yes, I have the gift and it will stay with me till the end. And you’re right—I may be seventy-five, but I still have a lot of good years in me. My family is . . . long lived.” Squinting, she scanned the graveyard. “Without your grandmother, it’s only going to get worse. We need you to take over immediately, and then we need to sort out what’s infiltrating the town before . . .”
She gazed off toward the lake, her voice falling silent. The wind swept through and sent a cold line of fear down my back. There was something riding it, some night hag laughing in her joy. The bare branches gleamed against the dim lights of the cemetery as smoke from the chimneys of the town drifted past, a pale hex against the cold chill of the autumn night.
Ellia shivered and rubbed her hands together, slowly pulling off her gloves. “There’s not much more we can do tonight. I’ll walk home after I play a few songs to try to quiet the evening. You go ahead and head out.”
Not wanting to leave her there, I argued. “It’s dangerous on the roads. I know you don’t live far, but . . .”
She laughed, her voice ricocheting off the gravestones. “Kerris, this is my symphony hall. I come here to play both under the moonlight and in the dark of the moon. This is my home away from home, and soon it will be yours, as well. Don’t worry about me—I’ll be fine. I want to try out a new ballad I learned last week to see if I can keep anybody else from walking. Meanwhile, you go home. Search for your grandmother’s Shadow Journal. She’ll have a notebook that she kept as spirit shaman. You’ll need to find it and read it because it will tell you more than the rest of us can.”
I nodded, and then with a sigh, I added, “Right. There’s a lot to do, isn’t there?”
“More than you want to know.” And with that, she draped her gloves over a gravestone and sat down on the bench next to it. She opened her case and lifted out her violin. As she struck bow to strings, a mournful echo of notes filled the air.
“A lament song for the dead,” she said as I gazed at the quivering strings. “But as good as I am, without your powers in conjunction? I might as well put down my bow.” And with that, she closed her eyes, and her song echoed out, weaving through the graveyard like a net of silver light, spinning a mournful lullaby to calm the restive dead. A whirl of leaves gusted up, caught by the wind, and fluttered past us, swirling to the rhythm of her song.
I flashed back, through the years, to the nights with my Grandma Lila. A sudden memory of her and Ellia dancing through the graveyard, weaving magic to quiet the spirits, filled my thoughts and I could almost reach out to touch the web they had been spinning. And then, as quickly as it had come, the image vanished.
Shaking off the haunting strains, I headed back to my car. Ellia could handle herself. She was right. She was as much a part of the cemetery as were the headstones and markers. She belonged here, and soon, so would I. Resting secure that she would be safe for the evening, I fastened my seat belt and then, hands on the steering wheel, I stared into the darkness. Within the space of twenty-four hours, fifteen years had slipped away and I was back in a world I’d sworn to leave behind. But it felt so natural, so right, that I wondered—just with the littlest part of my heart—why I had ever left in the beginning. Pushing aside the jumble of thoughts crowding my mind, I started the ignition and headed for home.
* * *
As I turned onto Bramblewood Way, the fog rose thick and fast to surround the car. It smothered the road in one quick swoop. I slammed on the brakes as a dark figure vaulted out from the trees on the side of the road, loping into the street. It looked for all the world like a huge wolf, hunched and misshapen. Another figure followed—this one human—and I skidded to the side as I tried to avoid hitting him. As I brought my CR-V to a halt, I lurched forward against the seat belt, almost hitting the steering wheel.
My ribs felt bruised and I was panting but otherwise unharmed. I gripped the wheel with one hand as I fumbled to shift the SUV into park.
What the hell had just happened?
Hands shaking, I slowly unfastened my seat belt, then reached beneath the seat for the crowbar I kept stashed there. Being a single woman in a big city, I had learned how to defend myself with whatever I had at hand. After a moment, I also grabbed the switchblade I kept hidden in my glove box and shoved it into my jacket pocket. Hesitating another moment—there could be anything out there from a coyote to a serial killer—finally, I opened the door a
nd stepped out of the car.
I stood there, scanning the road around me, the crowbar clutched in one hand, while I kept the other free and near the knife in my jacket. I knew how to throw a punch, and I could use a baseball bat with decent effectiveness, but it all depended on who was on the receiving end.
The road was silent, a hush of fog. My house was a block and a half away, but right now it felt as good as a mile. As my breath coalesced into a cloud of white vapor, I tried to sort out whether I had actually hit anyone. No body in the road—check. No sign of what dog . . . wolf . . . whatever had launched itself in my path—check.
“Are you all right?”
Startled, I whirled around, raising the crowbar. To my left stood a man, around five eleven. He was lean and fit, and so close he could have grabbed my arm. I took one deliberate step back.
What the hell? I hadn’t seen any sign of him—or anybody else—when I’d stepped out of the car. Nor had I heard him approach, and I had good ears. “Where did you come from? Who are you?”
He held up his hands, gesturing to the raised crowbar. “I promise, you won’t need that. I’m not going to hurt you.” He took a step back and kept his hands out in plain sight.
As I slowly lowered the makeshift weapon, I looked him over. His wheat-colored hair was in a casually tousled shag, reaching his collar in back and on the sides. A well-trimmed beard and mustache shrouded his face. But something about his eyes caught my attention. I realized that, even this close, under the streetlamps, I couldn’t tell what color they were. And yet his gaze pierced through the fog. I frowned. There was something familiar about him . . . but I knew we hadn’t met.
He ventured a smile, still holding his hands where I could see them. “Allow me to introduce myself—and apologize for startling you.” His voice was soft but firm. I had the feeling he could sing with that voice. “My name is Bryan Tierney. I’m your neighbor.”
Neighbor? When I’d left Whisper Hollow, the estate next door had been empty, and I hadn’t realized somebody lived there now.
I gazed at him calmly, but inside, alarm bells were going off—but I couldn’t tell what they were warning me about. I wasn’t afraid of him, not really. I didn’t sense danger from him, and he most definitely wasn’t a spirit—but something was tugging at the edges of my consciousness.
“Neighbor? Really?”
“Really. Don’t worry, I’m not hiding a second head anywhere.” He laughed again, and I realized I had been staring.
I blushed but found it hard to drag my eyes away. He was an arresting man. His black leather jacket looked vaguely European in style—the sleeves were pushed up to show what looked like, in the dim light, a line of Japanese kanji on his inner arm. The jacket’s collar shrouded his chin and neck. Tight-fitting jeans hugged his ass, and a pair of knee-high boots with three straps that buckled across the lacings, and chains that jangled above and below the straps completed his outfit.
Suddenly aware that I was standing there like an idiot, I cleared my throat. “So, Bryan Tierney, where did you come from?” I glanced around. “I don’t see a car.”
He gave me a long look. “I was out for a walk.”
Realizing that he wasn’t going to elaborate, I debated continuing the conversation.
“Are you going to tell me your name, or do I have to guess?” His smile was irritating—it wasn’t smug, but it did feel a little too familiar.
I let out a faint huff—the chill was damp on my lungs and I was rapidly becoming disenchanted with the entire evening. “Kerris Fellwater. I just took possession of my grandparents’ home, so you must live in the estate next door?”
A large mansion sat on the double lot next to my house. When I was a child, it had been empty and I had thrown rocks at the windows until my grandmother caught me and spanked me.
“Right.” He glanced at my car. “I thought I saw your SUV this morning as I drove past. So, I was right. You are Duvall and Lila’s granddaughter.” The way he said it could mean that he thought that was a good thing or a bad thing. There was definitely something about him that struck me as odd, but try as I might, I couldn’t put my finger on it. Well, other than the fact that he had run right in front of my car. Normal people generally didn’t plaster a road kill target on their backs.
“Yes, I am. Was. Did you know them?” I wondered just how chummy he had gotten with my grandmother . . . and with Duvall. If he was a friend of my grandfather’s, I’d have to be cautious.
He flashed me a subdued smile. “Your grandmother was very sweet to me. Your grandfather, on the other hand . . .” He trailed off, a frown crossing his face. “You lived with them when you were younger, didn’t you? Lila said you left as soon as you graduated.”
I wondered what else my grandmother had told him about me. I was about to ask when a gust of wind wailed past, hurting my ears with its howling. The mist had grown thicker, creeping through treetops to shroud the road. Shivering, I realized I needed to get inside now. There was something out here in the night that was dangerous to me, and until I knew what it was, I needed to get inside and lock the door against the night.
“I left when I was eighteen.” I glanced back at my truck, debating one last question. I wanted to know what he’d been chasing. But something held me back. For one thing, I wasn’t sure how much I really wanted to know. Every person in Whisper Hollow had secrets tucked away. Sometimes it was better to just pretend they didn’t exist. And second: I wasn’t at all sure whether he’d tell me the truth.
I stowed the crowbar back under the seat. “If you’re sure you’re okay, I’d better get home. My cats are waiting for me.” At his look, I laughed. “Yeah, it sounds like a cliché, but I am the crazy cat lady. I have three Maine Coons—two sisters and their brother, and it’s past their dinnertime. They’re not happy campers when I give them their dinner late, so I’d better get my ass in the house and feed them.”
The somber look fell away and he smiled back with his eyes. Giving my car a nod, he said, “Go on with you, then. Have a safe evening.”
As I started to get back in the car, he added, “Maybe we can . . . grab a cup of coffee some time? We’re neighbors, we should get to know each other. Just in case . . . you know. Emergencies.”
That made me laugh. After all . . . I was standing with a handsome, mysterious stranger in the middle of a dark road as the mist rose around us and he had just suggested a coffee date. Who could resist that?
“Maybe we can. After all . . . emergencies do happen. And it’s always good to know one’s neighbors.” I popped into the car, and as I eased back onto the road, I called out the window, “You know where to find me. Drop over whenever you like.”
Long after I was home and cuddling with the cats, the strange figure bounding across the road, and my altogether too intriguing neighbor, preyed on my mind.
CHAPTER 4
The next morning, I had just turned the espresso machine on when there was a knock at the front door. Sighing, I put down my mug and headed to answer it.
“Kerris Fellwater, you beautiful bitch! Welcome home!” Peggin was leaning against the door frame. A little taller than me—she was about five seven—she was luxuriously padded in all the right places like I was. The epitome of an opulent, plump pinup girl. Her hair was a deep copper and she was wearing a retro fifties dress that cinched in at her waist to flare into a full skirt, a cropped blazer, and chunky heeled pumps. She lit up my front porch like a bottle of fireflies.
All of a sudden, coming home seemed like the best idea ever.
“Peggin! You’re back! Get in here.” Unable to control the smile that spread across my face, I grabbed her hand and yanked her inside. We had been best friends in high school, and she was one of the few people I had kept in contact with all through the intervening years. We’d met for an occasional lunch in Seattle, called at least once every couple of weeks, texted off and on. “How was
your vacation?”
She shrugged. “Not bad, but I don’t think I’m cut out for California weather. Or the lifestyle. I was only there for a few days, but I’m glad to be home, to be honest.” She shimmied out of her jacket. The woman was basically sex-on-legs, with a damned good brain to go along for the ride. “Coffee first, then talk.” She had her priorities straight, that was for sure.
I headed to the espresso machine. “Three shots espresso, a little milk, and a lot of sugar, right?”
“You remembered.” She grinned. “I rushed out the door without grabbing a drop, but I couldn’t wait to see you. I would have come over last night but my flight got in late and by the time I got home, I wasn’t sure if you’d still be up.”
“Yeah, I crashed pretty early. Yesterday was . . . a lot happened. I learned more in one afternoon than I did my entire eighteen years here before I ran off.” I fitted the mesh cup in the filter and spooned in ground coffee, then gave it a turn to lock it into position. I flipped the switch and a stream of creamy brown espresso flowed into the shot glasses. “I can’t believe I’m really back here, Peggin. Back in Whisper Hollow. The intervening years vanished like smoke when I drove back into this town.”
She nodded. “I hear that happens. I’ve never tried leaving . . . not for good . . . so I don’t know. But I’m glad you’re home, if only for my sake. I missed you.” She leaned against the counter, the satin finish of her dress brushing against the granite with a soft sound. The style fit her perfectly. Peggin also wore glasses—horn-rimmed frames that fit her personality perfectly. Even when I knew her in high school, she had been the odd one out, always setting her own style.
“You have to go to work today, or can you stay? I wanted to ask you about some things that I learned.” I pulled the rest of our espresso and carried the cups to the table. Peggin carried the creamer and sugar bowl. She poured a dollop of cream into her coffee cup, then added two spoons of sugar.