My name is Amelia Gray. I’m the Graveyard Queen.
Restoring lost and abandoned cemeteries is my profession, but I’m starting to believe that my true calling is deciphering the riddles of the dead. Legend has it that Kroll Cemetery is a puzzle no one has ever been able to solve. For over half a century, the answer has remained hidden within the strange headstone inscriptions and intricate engravings. Because uncovering the mystery of that tiny, remote graveyard may come at a terrible price.
Years after their mass death, Ezra Kroll’s disciples lie unquiet, their tormented souls trapped within the walls of Kroll Cemetery, waiting to be released by someone strong and clever enough to solve the puzzle. For whatever reason, I’m being summoned to that graveyard by both the living and the dead. Every lead I follow, every clue I unravel brings me closer to an unlikely killer and to a destiny that will threaten my sanity and a future with my love, John Devlin.
Praise for
THE GRAVEYARD QUEEN SERIES
by Amanda Stevens
“The beginning of Stevens’s GRAVEYARD QUEEN SERIES left this reviewer breathless. The author smoothly establishes characters and forms the foundation of future storylines with an edgy and beautiful writing style. Her story is full of twists and turns, with delicious and surprising conclusions. Readers will want to force themselves to slow down and enjoy the book instead of speeding through to the end, and they’ll anxiously await the next installment of this deceptively gritty series.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4½ stars
“The Restorer is by turns creepy and disturbing, mixed with mystery and a bit of romance. Amelia is a strong character who has led a hard and—of necessity—secret life. She is not close to many people, and her feelings for Devlin disturb her greatly. Although at times unnerving, The Restorer is well written and intriguing, and an excellent beginning to a new series.”
—Misti Pyles, Fort Worth Examiner
“I could rhapsodize for hours about how much I enjoyed The Restorer. Amanda Stevens has woven a web of intricate plot lines that elicit many emotions from her readers. This is a scary, provocative, chilling and totally mesmerizing book. I never wanted it to end and I’m going to be on pins and needles until the next book in THE GRAVEYARD QUEEN SERIES comes out.”
—Fresh Fiction
Also by Amanda Stevens
THE DOLLMAKER
THE DEVIL’S FOOTPRINTS
THE WHISPERING ROOM
The Graveyard Queen
THE RESTORER
THE KINGDOM
THE PROPHET
THE VISITOR
Look for Amanda Stevens’s next novel in The Graveyard Queen series
THE SINNER
available soon from MIRA Books.
AMANDA STEVENS
The Visitor
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
One
The blind ghost returned in the spring, and with her more nightmares. The days warmed, the magnolias opened and foreboding settled in like an unwelcome caller.
Night after night I lay in a dreamlike state, worn out from the physical labor of my cemetery restorations, but too frightened to succumb to a deeper sleep because she would appear to me then. The look-alike specter that had followed me back from the other side. I wanted to believe she was merely my namesake, the ghost of some long-dead ancestor, but I very much feared she was a vision of my future self. A manifestation of the tortured woman I would one day become.
Discomforted by my thoughts, I glanced over at John Devlin, the Charleston police detective who lay sleeping beside me. His ghosts were gone now. His daughter’s spirit had finally been able to move on, thus breaking the tie that had kept her mother—Devlin’s dead wife—bound to him. In the ensuing months since Mariama’s departure, I’d allowed myself a glimmer of hope that Devlin and I might finally be together. We’d forged a strong bond since that fateful day. An unbreakable connection that neither ghost nor human could sever. Or so I wanted to believe.
But as the temperature climbed and the days lengthened, my blood only ran colder. A shift in the wind brought a whiff of something unnatural. Distorted shadows crept across my bedroom ceiling. As the pull from the other side grew stronger, I couldn’t help but obsess over my visitor’s ominous prophecy. What you are, I once was. What I am, you will someday become.
She’d only ever come to me in my dreams, but I was awake now and I could feel her presence stronger than ever. Careful not to rouse Devlin, I rose and tiptoed from the room, slipping down the hallway, through the kitchen and out to my office, which was located at the very back of the house. The long windows afforded a view of the garden where moonlight dappled the freesia. I stood there probing the shadows, the flutter of every leaf, the quiver of every limb spiking my pulse.
A draft seeped in through the windows, bringing the smell of dust and dried lavender. Hair on end, I peered through the layers of moonlight and darkness until I found her. I didn’t outwardly react to her diaphanous form, but everything inside me stilled as a terrible acceptance stole over me. She was here. Not just in my imagination, not just in my dreams, but here. And now I could no longer deny that I was being haunted.
She was dressed in a white lace frock suitable for a wedding or burial. Moonlight shone upon and through her so that I had no trouble distinguishing her all-too-familiar features—the straight nose, the high cheekbones and the slightly parted lips. The same understated features that stared back at me from the mirror except for one notable exception. Her eyes were missing.
Levitating outside my window, she pressed a hand against the glass and a wintry chill shot through me, a bone cold that came only from the other side. The windows rimed, a film of ice forming in the corners of the panes. Minuscule fissions fanned out from her splayed fingers as the glass crackled beneath the pressure of her brittle cold.
Why are you here? I wanted to cry out. What do you want from me?
But I already knew the answer. She wanted my essence, my life force, my humanness. She wanted what every ghost craved—to be alive. That was what made them so dangerous. That was what made them so voracious.
No sound came from her moving lips, but I could hear her message clearly in my head: The key. It’s your only salvation. Find it!
Then she dissolved into the shadows as the frost on the windows vanished.
“Amelia?”
I might have jumped at the sound of my name, but after years of living with ghosts, I’d learned to quell my reflexes. Devlin moved up behind me. The power of his presence never failed to thrill me, but I could take no pleasure in his nearness at that moment.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lied.
He placed his hands on my shoulders. “My God, your skin is like ice.”
“It’s cool in here.”
“Come back to bed.” His fingers trailed down my arm. “I’ll keep you warm, Amelia.”
The way he drawled my name, even more than the lingering chill, drew a shiver. “In a minute.”
He rested his chin on my head with a sigh. “Something’s bothering you. What is it? Another nightmare?”
I hesitated, my gaze scanning the darkness. I wanted so much to confide in Devlin, lay all my cards on the table, but that would mean telling him about the ghosts. If he remembered anything of his near-death experience, perhaps he would have been more receptive to my gift. But he’d awakened from his coma without any memory of those moments before and after the shooting. As his wounds healed, his disdain for the supernatural returned stronger than ever, leaving me to brood about how he would react to such a confession.
After everything he’d been through with the malicious and now dead Mariama, an attachment to an unstable woman was the last thing he’d want. So I’d taken the cowardly way out and said nothing.
For most of my life, I’d been sequestered behind cemetery walls, protected from ghosts but isolated from human companionship by Papa’s rules. The loneliness of my adolescence and young adulthood justified my silence now. Or so I told myself. I had a right to happiness, no matter how fleeting, and so I clung to my secrets as tenaciously as the ivy roots that I tugged from my forgotten graveyards.
“Tell me,” Devlin insisted.
“I thought I saw something in the garden.”
He was instantly alert. “Just now?”
“A few minutes ago.”
He turned me to face him. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Because it was probably nothing more than a shadow.” Why had I even mentioned it? Was I testing him? Prodding him to admit that he, too, could sense an otherworldly presence?
“I’ll take a look around,” he said.
“You’re wasting your time. You won’t find anything.”
His expression remained stoic, but I felt the same mixture of exhilaration and trepidation that I’d experienced upon our first meeting. I wondered if I would always be a little unsettled in his company. His charisma could be overwhelming at times, and yet his manner remained formal and reserved. He was a beguiling puzzle, John Devlin. An enigma to his very core.
“It’s not a waste if it puts your mind at ease,” he said, pressing his lips to my forehead. He disappeared into the kitchen and I heard the back door close behind him. A moment later, he was in the garden, the beam of his flashlight outing tree trunks and exposing dark corners.
Moonlight glinted in the new silver at his temples, a souvenir from his journey to the other side. My breath quickened as I watched him. Without ghosts feeding on his energy, he’d lost that gaunt, desolate look. His eyes were no longer sunken, his cheeks no longer hollow, but regardless of his physical well-being, he would always be tormented by memories. There would always be an empty space inside his heart that I could never fill.
He stood in my white garden, shoulders rigid as he lifted his face to the moon before turning—with a shudder, I could have sworn—back to the house.
“All clear,” he said as he came into my office. “Nothing to worry about.”
He moved back to the windows and we stood gazing out into the moonlit garden, where the early yarrow gleamed like silver. Garlands of wild roses cascaded down from the tree branches, adding a touch of romance to the night as nothing else ever could.
Devlin wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me against him once more. Safe within the sanctuary of his embrace, I tried not to think about the past or the future. The only certainty we could ever have was in the moment. I’d learned that lesson the hard way.
But even when he kissed me, I couldn’t shake the feeling of doom that had been building for weeks. Something was coming. The blind ghost’s visit was just the beginning.
Two
I was up and dressed the next morning and on my first cup of tea when the sun crept over the horizon. Leaning a shoulder against the bedroom door, I sipped the tea in the hazy air and watched Devlin button his shirt.
He didn’t always stay over. His job made him restless and he would often get up in the middle of the night to go over the files of a troubling case. Work occupied much of my time, too. I’d been freer over the cold winter months and Devlin and I had grown close during his recuperation. But lately I’d sensed a distance.
It was easy to blame the return of the ghosts and the secrets that I kept from him, but Devlin had become increasingly pensive and withdrawn in his own right. Sometimes when he had no idea I was around, he’d stare out the window with the strangest look on his face or glance over his shoulder as if he could sense a presence that even I couldn’t see. After the trauma of the shooting, his behavior wasn’t unusual, I told myself. But I couldn’t help worrying that something else bothered him. Something he didn’t want me to know about.
I caught his gaze in the mirror and smiled. “Tea?”
“No, thanks. I barely have enough time to stop by the house and change before the first briefing. After that, I’ll be off-line for the rest of the day. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
I nodded. “I understand. I have a full day myself.”
“New restoration?”
“If I win the bid.”
“Good luck.” He draped his jacket and tie over his arm as he strode across the room to the doorway. The sun peeking through the lace curtains gave him an otherworldly glow, and for a moment, I was reminded of the shimmer of a manifestation. But John Devlin was no ghost. He was warm, human and very much alive.
Pausing at the door, he slipped his free hand through my hair, tilting my face as he leaned down to brush his lips against mine. My heart instantly quickened. It was all I could do to keep the cup and saucer balanced as I responded with a parting of my lips, a quick dart of my tongue.
He drew back, eyes gleaming. Then he threw his jacket and tie on the bed, removed the china from my fingers and, threading both hands through my hair, kissed me again. The pressure of his mouth and the heat of his body reminded me all too vividly of what had transpired between us an hour ago. The intimate whispers, the soft moans, his hand sweeping slowly up my thigh.
That was all it took. One kiss, a memory and I was lost to him all over again. In all my twenty-eight years, I’d never known anyone like Devlin. He was everything I’d ever dreamed of in a man and not at all what I could have imagined.
“I really do have to go,” he said.
“I know.” Rising on tiptoes, I kissed him again, lightly now, because it was time for both of us to start our day. “Will I see you later?”
A slight hesitation, so infinitesimal as to be my imagination. “I’ll have to let you know. I’m not su
re when I’ll be back.”
“You’re going out of town?”
A longer hesitation and a shadowy flicker in those dark, dark eyes. “I’m having dinner with my grandfather at his house in Myrtle Beach.”
I lifted a brow but said nothing because I was completely taken aback by the revelation. Devlin and his grandfather had been estranged for years, ever since Devlin had decided to become a police officer rather than joining the family law firm. I suspected the hostility between the two stubborn men ran a lot deeper than Devlin’s career choice, but he had never really opened up to me about his family.
Turning away, he picked up his coat and tie. “His assistant seemed to think it a matter of some urgency, so I don’t know how long I’ll be there. If dinner runs late I may stay over and drive back in the morning.”
“I understand. I hope he’s not... I hope everything is okay.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Devlin said, but the shadows in his eyes belied his casual assurance.
I made no further inquiries even though I’d always been curious about Jonathan Devlin, an illustrious attorney and philanthropist who could trace his roots all the way back to the founding of Charleston. I’d walked past his mansion south of Broad Street any number of times, but I’d never met Devlin’s only living relative. I didn’t like to press him about his people because my own family had more than their fair share of secrets.
Determined to put those lingering doubts behind me, I set out on my morning walk as soon as Devlin drove away. I always enjoyed a brisk stroll through downtown where the magnolias were already in bloom and the city’s past lurked on every cobbled street corner. On those days when I arrived before dawn, I loved to pause on the Battery to watch the sun come up over the harbor. In that quiet time as the ghosts floated back through the veil and the tourists slept soundly in their beds, I had the city to myself. No secrets to worry about, no prickles at my nape to warn me of an uncanny presence. Just the dance of sunlight on water and the silhouette of Fort Sumter shimmering on the horizon. Right before the dew burned off, the trees would sparkle with diamonds, a fairyland of prisms so bright and beautiful I could scarcely catch my breath at the wonder of this city.
The Visitor Page 1
