The Prophet

by Amanda Stevens

  That would have been the perfect time to show him the medallion I’d found in Gerrity’s office, but I said nothing. I was too afraid of my own suspicions.

  As I watched him disappear up the stairs, I had to battle the impulse to follow, but the last thing I wanted was to cause him any trouble, so for now I would do as he asked. I would go home and wait on pins and needles to hear from him.

  Halfway back to my car, I realized the hand that had clutched his arm was smeared with blood.

  * * *

  I was still staring at that blood a few minutes later when I climbed into the SUV.

  Was that Devlin’s blood on my hand? It had to be. I hadn’t seen any in Gerrity’s office, and I wasn’t hurt. Although it was certainly possible I’d come into contact with it without even realizing it.

  But what about Devlin’s odd behavior and the fact that he’d arrived at Gerrity’s office so quickly? If my frantic plea for help hadn’t brought him there, what had?

  Too many questions swirled in my head. I felt overwhelmed and weighed down by my suspicions. I kept telling myself I could do nothing but go home and wait for Devlin. I had to trust that my questions would be answered and my doubts laid to rest all in good time.

  Safely sequestered inside my car, I dug through the console for the pack of wet-naps I kept stored there. As I scrubbed the blood from my hand, I detected a stealthy movement in my periphery. Under normal circumstances, I would have shown no outward reaction. All my years of living with ghosts had steadied my nerves. But it wasn’t every day one found a dead body covered in beetles, so I was a little off my game and I whirled with a start.

  A woman with matted blond hair shuffled up to the car, and my finger went automatically to the lock button even though the mechanism had engaged when I closed the door. I saw no weapon, and from her tattered clothing, I took her for one of the homeless that gathered in nearby Marion Square. She was probably just looking for a handout, but my every instinct sounded a warning as she peered into my window.

  Her unblinking stare chilled me. The irises of her eyes were colorless and frosted as though afflicted with cataracts, but she was a young woman. Her skin was unlined, her complexion pale and translucent. My heart went out to her. She was so painfully scrawny I wondered how long she’d been on the street.

  I remembered something Devlin had said about some of the unfortunate souls who made their way back from a gray dust trip. His description fit this woman perfectly—glazed eyes, a shuffling walk as though she’d dragged something back from hell with her.

  She wasn’t a ghost. I was almost certain of that, unless she had the same ability as Robert Fremont to present herself as human.

  “Will you help me?” Her voice through the glass sounded flat and defeated, and I had the unwise urge to take her home and feed her a decent meal.

  Digging in my bag, I found some bills and lowered the window just enough to shove them through. “Please, take them,” I said. “That’s all I have on me.”

  The money fluttered to the ground unnoticed. “Will you help me?” she repeated in that same, strange monotone. Her voice, those eyes…everything about her deeply troubled me. If not money, what did she want?

  Anxiously, I scanned the street behind her as I reached for my phone. “Are you hurt?” I asked through the window. “Should I call somebody?”

  “Will you help me?”

  “I’m calling 911—”

  “Will you help me?” The inflection was barely perceptible, but it stopped me cold.

  I clutched my phone. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Make it go away.”

  I swallowed in dread. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  She was still muttering as she turned to shuffle away, back bowed like that of an old woman.

  It was only after she reached the shadow of a nearby building that I saw the fragile, glimmering outline of the ghost that clung to her.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  As soon as I got home, I went straight to the bathroom, stripped and took a shower. I’d scrubbed all the blood away earlier, but I could still feel those beetles crawling over me. I stayed under the hot water for only a few minutes, though, because I was afraid of missing Devlin’s call. Dressing warmly in jeans, boots and a thick sweater, I took Angus out for a quick walk around the block, but I could hardly enjoy our time together. My mind kept bouncing from Gerrity’s murder to Devlin’s medallion to that poor girl on the street who had wanted my help.

  How had she known to come to me? Was this yet another door that I’d inadvertently opened?

  I longed for the time when Papa’s rules had kept me safe, but those days were long gone. My life was changing in ways that I could hardly imagine—didn’t want to imagine—but there was no going back. Papa had warned me about the dangers of falling for a haunted man, but even now, I couldn’t bring myself to wish Devlin from my life. He was too important to me. He was everything to me.

  My fingers curled around the medallion in my pocket, and I rubbed my thumb over the cool texture as though the talisman could somehow connect us. Where was he? I wondered desperately. Why hadn’t he called?

  The breeze blowing through the trees sounded like whispers, and I found myself huddling in my sweater as I hurried Angus along. I remembered thinking how close the spirit world had seemed on that night I’d gone to Devlin’s house. The nip in the wind had been unusual, a sudden gust tainted by the frost of death. I felt that same chill now, and my skin rippled as I sensed the stealthy creep of a ghost.

  I kept my head lowered and accelerated my pace. Angus growled a warning and dropped back beside me, my constant protector. I murmured to him in a soothing tone as we sped down the darkened street toward home, the unknown phantom at our heels.

  They were coming out of the woodwork now, seeking me out as though I emitted a ghostly signal. I wouldn’t be able to ignore them for much longer because, like Robert Fremont and Shani, like that poor girl on the street, the spirits came to me for a reason. And they wouldn’t go away until I found a way to give them what they wanted.

  * * *

  A little while later, I sat down at my desk and opened my laptop. Now that the shock of finding Gerrity’s body had subsided, I could think about that whole scene a little more rationally, and I decided to do some research on those beetles. Scrolling through insect photographs, I quickly identified the one that had crawled onto my shoe at the graveyard. The name was hardly a comfort. Necrophila americana. A carrion beetle.

  No doubt the beetles on Gerrity’s body had been carrion, as well, but their arrival to a carcass was usually preceded by blowflies. I’d seen no other insects or any other evidence of decomposition except for a very slight scent that may or may not have been the odor of death.

  I’d talked to Gerrity only that morning when he informed me he would be out for most of the day. Assuming he’d only returned to the office at five or so, he couldn’t have been dead for more than an hour when I arrived. Much too early for an insect infestation, I would think.

  Plus, the killer had still been in the building. Or at least, someone had dragged off the body and then returned to go through the files. If that someone hadn’t been the murderer, why take the time to wrap and dispose of the corpse? Why light a candle and trap one of the beetles underneath that glass if not to send a message or a warning?

  The beetles from my dream were a little harder to identify, which wasn’t surprising. My imagination had undoubtedly created a hybrid. The closest I could come was a cross between a scarab and an African Goliath.

  The longer I read, the more intrigued I became with insect folklore and mythology. That I was seeing beetles all of a sudden meant something. They played an important role in divination and were considered both the bringers of good luck and ill fortune and, in some cases, the harbingers of death.

  The sound of the doorbell startled me from my research, and I hurried down the hallway to peer through the side window only to draw back in surprise. My
visitor wasn’t Devlin as I had hoped, but Clementine Perilloux. I hesitated to open the door because I didn’t want company when Devlin arrived. And truth be told, Fremont’s premonition of blood on Isabel’s hands had made me a little wary of both Perilloux sisters. But my car was in the drive, and I was fairly certain she’d spotted me at the window.

  I opened the door to greet her and she smiled nervously. “I’m so sorry to drop in on you like this. I know I must look a fright,” she said, tucking back an unruly strand of hair.

  I would never describe her appearance as frightful, but she was a bit unkempt. She’d tossed on an old baggy sweater over leggings, and messy tendrils crept loose from her ponytail, giving her the disheveled air of someone who had left home in a great hurry.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “But how did you know where I lived?”

  “John sent me.”

  My breath caught and I moved back from the door. “Come in.”

  “No, I can’t stay. In fact…” She paused to glance over her shoulder, and I began to grow uneasy. The drama of this night seemed unending. “I’m here to collect you,” she said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m to take you to Isabel’s house.”

  An alarm sounded inside my head. “Why?”

  “John is waiting for you there.”

  “Why is he at Isabel’s house?” My tone was much too sharp, and I saw Clementine wince. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. You caught me by surprise.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry for that.”

  “Why is he there?” I said in a more even tone. She had no idea what that detachment cost me.

  “He didn’t think it a good idea to come here, and he couldn’t go to the emergency room.”

  “Emergency room?” Her words frightened me, and my heart started to pound as I thought instantly of that blood on my hand. “He’s hurt? How bad?” Even as I bombarded her with questions, I reached for my jacket.

  “He’ll be fine,” Clementine assured me. “Isabel fixed him up. She’s had some medical training. Anyway, all I know is that I’m to bring you to him.”

  “Just let me call the dog inside.” I left her hovering in the doorway while I went to summon Angus. He came eagerly, no doubt hoping for some attention. I checked his water bowl and then hurried back to Clementine.

  “I’ll follow you over there,” I said as we went down the porch steps.

  “No, you’re to ride with me,” she said. “He was very clear about that.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Your car shouldn’t be seen there.”

  “This is all very cloak-and-dagger,” I said shakily.

  “Yes, and quite nerve-racking,” she agreed. “I don’t handle this type of excitement all that well, I’m afraid. Isabel is the rock.”

  “Would you like me to drive?”

  “It’s only a few blocks. I’ll be fine,” she said as we climbed into her car.

  I had hoped she would take me up on the offer because being behind the wheel would have given me a measure of control. It was a little reckless to place my trust in a woman I barely knew, and I berated myself for not having taken the time to call Devlin’s cell phone. It was too late now. We were off, and my fate was already in her hands.

  As I watched her grip the wheel, I thought again of Robert Fremont’s vision about Isabel. She has killed or will kill in the very near future.

  And yet, there I was, hurrying off into the night with her sister.

  Clementine shot me a glance as we sped along the street. “I had no idea you even knew John Devlin. Why didn’t you say so that morning in my garden?”

  “I don’t know. It was awkward. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

  “Are you two—”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Meaning you don’t want to talk about?”

  “No, it really is complicated,” I murmured. She had no idea. “Are you sure he’s okay?”

  “Don’t worry. He’s in good hands.”

  I turned to watch the passing scenery without comment.

  “I knew something would happen today,” Clementine said as she slowed for a traffic light.

  “How so?”

  “My grandmother saw something in her tea leaves this morning. She’s rarely ever wrong. But then, you don’t put much stock in that sort of thing, do you?”

  “I never said. I just don’t like to have my fortune told. The future is a little scary to me.”

  “Why?”

  I watched the light with a frown. “A lot of strange things have been happening to me lately and I had a very disturbing dream last night. I think it means something.”

  “What was the dream?” she asked curiously. “That is, if you don’t mind telling me.”

  “I dreamed about beetles and now I’m seeing them everywhere.”

  She glanced at me in alarm. “You haven’t stepped on any, have you?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “That would be very bad,” Clementine said. “Especially if you find one in your house. But beetles in a dream…that’s interesting.”

  I turned to study her profile. “Interesting good or interesting bad?”

  “Beetles are signs. If you dream about one, it means you have a destructive force at work in your life and a lot of negative energy surrounding you.”

  Her words struck a chord. “What should I do about this destructive force?”

  “My grandmother would tell you to pay attention to your nocturnal activities to see if you can pick up on any more signs. Be wary of unexpected journeys and be especially mindful of synchronicities.”

  I pulled my jacket more tightly around me. “Synchronicities?”

  “According to Grandmother, when you experience a series of what she calls meaningful coincidences, it’s because they’ve been arranged by your spirit guide and should never be ignored.”

  “This all sounds vaguely new-agey,” I said. “I’m not even sure I know what a spirit guide is.”

  “Some people call them angels, others think of them as energy. To some they may appear as the ghost of an ancestor.” She gave me another curious scrutiny. “I’m very surprised that someone like you isn’t more in tune with your guide.”

  “Someone like me?”

  “You have a quality about you,” she said. “An aura. It’s like a warm light. Almost a beacon, I would say. I find it very soothing.”

  My mind drifted back to Rosehill Cemetery and to the first ghost I’d ever encountered. I hadn’t given much thought to the old white-haired man since my return from Asher Falls where I’d seen him for the second time, but now there he was in my head. For what purpose, I had no idea. Papa had been afraid of him, and so I was afraid of him, too. But maybe he had appeared to me that day for a reason. Maybe, like Shani, he was trying to tell me something.

  Maybe every ghost that had ever crossed my path had tried to tell me something, but Papa’s rules had kept me from listening.

  It was an unsettling thought.

  Clementine murmured something, and I turned back to her. “I’m sorry?”

  “You said you were seeing beetles everywhere.”

  “Yes. Earlier, I saw one on my shoe at the cemetery.” And then later, all over a dead man’s face.

  “On your shoe?” she asked anxiously.

  “Yes, why? Does that mean something?”

  “A beetle crawling across your shoe is considered a death omen.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Clementine pulled to the curb in front of Isabel’s house, and my gaze went immediately across the street to the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies. The lights were still on, and I wondered if Dr. Shaw was there alone or if Layla might still be around.

  I hadn’t thought much about her since my conversation with Temple, but the fact that I’d seen the woman in the blue Victorian house on America Street had to mean something. I didn’t trust her nor the circumstances of her employment at the I
nstitute, particularly if she had close ties to Goodwine. I still couldn’t forget that Dr. Shaw’s first episode had occurred right after she’d brought him the tea.

  Clementine turned off the engine. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, sorry. I was just lost in thought for a minute.”

  We went through the front garden and up the porch steps together. Clementine let us in, then led me down a dim hallway toward the back of the house. The door to the bathroom stood open, and I caught a glimpse of Isabel at the sink washing her hands. She looked up as we walked by, and my heart gave a little jerk as our gazes met briefly in the mirror. Then she reached over and closed the door. The eye contact lasted no more than a split second, but I felt unnerved by her stare.

  At the end of the hallway, Clementine opened a door through which a soft light spilled. The blinds had been drawn to shut out the night and a lamp glowed from one corner. Candles had been lit, too, which struck me as an odd touch for this occasion.

  Clementine stepped aside for me to enter, and I saw that Devlin waited for me in the room. He turned when he heard the door, and I caught my breath. He was shirtless, and the play of candlelight over skin and lean muscle ignited an unwise impulse. I couldn’t tear my gaze from him.

  He reached for his shirt and I noticed then the bandage on his left forearm. Isabel’s handiwork, I thought, and wondered briefly if the blood that Fremont had envisioned on her hands had, in fact, been Devlin’s. I didn’t want to resent her. She’d patched him up, according to Clementine, and I knew I should be grateful, but her first aid was yet another intimacy between them.

  Clementine backed out of the room and closed the door softly behind her. I went straight to Devlin. “Are you all right?”

  “It’s just a cut. Nothing serious.”

  A dot of blood had already seeped through the bandage. “Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?”

  “Isabel went to medical school. She knows what she’s doing.”

  “And now she’s a palmist.”

  He gave a careless shrug. “That makes her no less skilled.”

  “No, of course not.” I wondered if he felt camaraderie with her because of the choice she’d made. He’d gone to law school but instead of joining his family’s prestigious firm, he’d enrolled in the police academy. In that respect, the two of them had far more in common than he and I ever would.