How to Live and Die in Crescent Rock (Crescent Rock Series)

by Bree Wolf

  “I see,” Soo-Ji said, her eyes going back and forth between them.

  “However, in this case it’s not her fault,” Arnaud clarified. “She could be the sweetest, kindest, —”

  “Are you suggesting that I’m not?” Quinn asked, hands on her hips, glaring at him. At the moment she had an even shorter fuse, and he knew well how to push her buttons.

  His brows went up. “Oh please! You know how you are. No need to sugar-coat it.”

  Watching their exchange, Soo-Ji nodded. “The true face,” she mused, her eyes still darting back and forth between them. “Does that mean she knows?” she asked openly, obviously sure of the answer.

  Her words reminded Quinn of her own thoughts regarding Arnaud and the mask he wore when dealing with other people. So far he had only been himself around Tate and herself.

  Arnaud nodded, still grinning. “It’s actually a quite funny story.” Quinn frowned at his words. “C’mon, it really is.”

  “How so?” Soo-Ji asked.

  “She staked me,” Arnaud said, which in his mind was obviously the essence of their encounter.

  Before Quinn even saw Soo-Ji’s shocked face, she glared at him. “You damn well know that I had a damn good reason for that!” she snapped, pointing an accusing finger at him. “And unless you’ve forgotten, you bit me! Which kind of evens out the score. Didn’t we agree on that?”

  Obviously pleased with himself, Arnaud nodded. “We sure did, but it still is a funny story.”

  Although shaking her head, Soo-Ji now had an amused smile on her face. “That’s some relationship you two got there. But before we all get carried away with funny,” she looked from Arnaud to Quinn, “or not so funny stories, shouldn’t we be talking about tonight?”

  “Tonight?” Quinn asked, turning her eyes to Arnaud.

  “Right,” he said. “We’re going to talk to your great-great-great-….” His eyes narrowed. “Let’s just say your ancestor.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Tonight,” he confirmed. “Witching hour.”

  Soo-Ji heaved a sigh. “I’m not a witch.”

  Arnaud grinned at her. “No one said you were.”

  “Then stop teasing me,” she ordered. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

  Quinn grinned. “He does, doesn’t he?”

  “He sure does,” Soo-Ji agreed.

  And suddenly it was Quinn and Soo-Ji standing shoulder to shoulder, eyeing Arnaud with a mixture of reproach and disapproval.

  Looking at them, his eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I like what’s going on here. You’re not supposed to be bonding. Especially not against me.”

  Quinn shrugged. “Tough luck.”

  Soo-Ji laughed. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

  Chapter 33 – Cross-border Cooperation

  There was a silent knock on her window. Quinn pushed back her blanket and, tiptoeing across the room, opened it.

  “You ready?” Arnaud asked.

  “One second.” Only pulling on her shoes – she hadn’t bothered to change into her pajamas – Quinn grabbed a flashlight. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  “I know a faster way,” he said and before she knew it, Arnaud pulled her through the window. She could barely keep herself from screaming, as they plunged into the dark outside. As soon as her feet met solid ground, Quinn elbowed him in the ribs. “I told you not to do that again,” she hissed under her breath.

  Soo-Ji was waiting for them in the car parked by the curb in front of her house. She sat in the front and so Quinn climbed onto the back seat, again feeling a little sting as she saw her place threatened by this newcomer. For a second, it occurred to her that Soo-Ji probably felt the same way about her. However, Quinn quickly pushed that thought away. She wouldn’t be the girl she was if she suddenly considered other people’s perspectives.

  From her home, it wasn’t far to the remnants of the old McPherson house just around the corner from the hospital, where Quinn had been treated after her accident. After it had burned down in 1928, the family had moved, deciding not to rebuilt it after the tragedy.

  According to Soo-Ji, who in this case was the expert, it was only possible to call a spirit – she refused to call them ghosts, for her taste it was too commercialized a word and to top it off gave the wrong idea – from the place of its bodily remains, meaning its grave. Arnaud wanted to talk to his friend Martin, who had died over two hundred years ago and had thus been buried in the old family cemetery. The public cemetery down the road from Arnaud’s place had only come into use in the last century. Before that time people had been buried not far from their place of residence.

  Turning off the street and onto the sandy driveway leading up to the few last structural remains of the old manor house, Arnaud parked the car only a few yards from the little cemetery to the west of the house. It lay under a grove of maple trees, encircled by an artful iron fence, rusting in many places from lack of maintenance. The simple granite headstones stood like silent reminders of the people who had once lived and died there. With the car’s headlights still on, the area looked too bright for such a dark place, especially at night. But the moon was locked out by a tight cover of clouds.

  As he closed the door, Arnaud’s eyes swept over his friend’s former home, holding a wistful expression. For a moment Quinn thought he had all put forgotten about them, his mind caught by memories of long ago.

  “I can’t believe the house is gone,” he said, more to himself than to them.

  Walking up to him, Quinn asked, “When have you last been here?”

  “Not since the day I left,” he said, turning to look at her. “That was over two hundred years ago.”

  “That’s unbelievable,” Quinn whispered, trying to imagine what it was like to live as long as he had, and what it would feel like for the world to change like it had, when he didn’t.

  “Sometimes I can’t believe it myself,” he said. “The memories are still so close.” He pointed to the small creek running by the house in the distance. “In the summer we spent the whole day swimming and fishing and building rafts, most of which quickly sank to the bottom.” He laughed. “Once I almost drowned when my foot got caught on a root.”

  Quinn’s eyes opened wide. “What?” she said, before reminding herself that he too had been human. Once. It was a strange thought.

  “Martin pulled me out.” His face held a distant expression, and Quinn realized that even after all these years he still missed his friend.

  “Shall we get started?” came Soo-Ji’s voice from behind.

  Arnaud nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.” Reluctantly, he turned away from the house, and with slightly hesitant steps walked over the wild growing lawn to the small cemetery that harbored his friend’s grave.

  Dark-green moss grew all over the gray headstone, and long-stemmed grass and wild flowers rising from the ground blocked the view onto the engraving. Only the name was clearly visible. MARTIN ALEXANDER MCPHERSON

  Kneeling down beside his friend’s grave, Arnaud brushed away the grass and flowers, revealing more of what was written there.

  BORN 17 MAY 1755

  DIED 24 APRIL 1779

  BELOVED SON AND BROTHER

  Arnaud’s face fell. “I didn’t know he died this young,” he whispered, absentmindedly touching the little amulet hanging from the chain around his wrist. “Why didn’t I know?” A hint of anger showed on his face. “Why didn’t you wear it? Why didn’t you let me help you?”

  Seeing the pain and loss on his face, Quinn felt like an intruder. She didn’t know what to say, but silently she kicked herself for not realizing sooner that this nightly excursion was dragging painful memories back to the surface for Arnaud.

  “If you want,” Soo-Ji said, coming to stand behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder. “You can ask him.”

  “I’m not so sure I want to know,” he whispered. For a moment his eyes lingered on the engraved words on the headstone, before he seemed to be able
to shake off the hold they had on him. Rising to this feet, he turned to Soo-Ji. “So, what do we do? How does this work?”

  “It is pretty simple,” she said, walking to the end of the grave, facing the stone. “But you need to make a choice. I can translate for you,” she looked from Arnaud to Quinn, “or you speak to him yourselves. It’s up to you.”

  Quinn shook her head. “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

  “When Martin’s spirit appears, only I will be able to see him. But I can share my gift with you – temporarily, if you like.”

  For a moment Quinn couldn’t decide which would creep her out more, seeing a ghost, or not seeing it while knowing it was there.

  “I doubt that he’ll speak to me any way,” Arnaud said, not taking Soo-Ji’s offered hand.

  For the first time since Quinn had met him, the air of confidence that usually engulfed him was gone. Seeing how uncomfortable he felt, she stepped forward and took Soo-Ji’s hand. “I want to know what he’s like,” she said, eyes on his.

  With a faint smile on his face, Arnaud nodded his head to her, before taking a few steps back, leaving the two women to face the weathered headstone alone.

  “What do I need to do?” Quinn asked, her eyes tracing the overgrown letters.

  “Nothing,” Soo-Ji said. “Just wait.”

  The young Korean woman was more than a head shorter than her, but holding her hand Quinn could feel the strength that lived within her, rolling off her body in waves reaching outside. Frowning Quinn looked at her. She didn’t know what Soo-Ji was doing, but something was happening. The air seemed to grow heavier, as she stood with her head bowed, eyes closed, senses calling for those only she could perceive.

  Suddenly there was a low crackling in the air. Quinn turned her head back to the gravestone before her, eyes wide with anticipation and apprehension. She didn’t know what to expect, but when another sound cut through the air, she was surprised that her attention shifted from the headstone before her to the one right next to it. Martin’s grave seemed still, the air undisturbed. Although this was her first experience in communicating with the dead, she knew that Martin was not answering Soo-Ji’s call.

  Instead, there were flashes of light streaking the air over the headstone beside Martin’s. Something was happening there. Something Quinn’s eyes couldn’t make out. But her skin crawled with the changes in the air, perceiving a presence that her eyes were still blind to. Slowly the air grew thicker, gathering form and substance as Quinn stared with open eyes at the grave to her right.

  “Is everything alright?” she heard Arnaud asking from behind her. But for nothing in the world could she have shifted her attention to him. Captivated by the spirit gradually taking form before her eyes, slowly starting to detect that there was someone there, Quinn held her breath until she found herself looking at a middle-aged man with gray hair. His face held as much surprise as her own.

  The spirit, dressed in old-fashioned clothes from times long gone, looked at the two women before him with wide eyes, uncomprehending. His gaze swept over the place he had been called to until it came to rest on Arnaud. He still stood in the back almost hidden in the shadows of the mighty oak trees, growing around the small cemetery. Seeing him, the spirit clasped a hand over his mouth in shock.

  “Arnaud?” he whispered. His voice was hoarse, but held the same emotions the living called their own.

  “He can’t hear you,” Soo-Ji answered, taking a step forward without letting go of Quinn’s hand.

  The spirit looked at her, a frown on his face. “Who are you?”

  “We came to speak to you,” Soo-Ji said. “We hope that you can help us.”

  The spirit looked surprised. For a moment his eyes remained with Soo-Ji before they shifted back to Arnaud, who stood looking at his friend’s grave, shoulders tense.

  “This man is Arnaud de la Roche, is he not?” the spirit asked.

  “He is.” Soo-Ji nodded. “But you are not Martin McPherson, are you?”

  “I’m his father,” the spirit said. “You wish to speak to my son?”

  Soo-Ji nodded when Arnaud suddenly came forward. “This is not Martin?” he asked, eyes staring. “Who are you talking to? What’s going on?”

  Eyes shifting to him, she held out her hand.

  Arnaud hesitated, but then he took a deep breath and in one swift motion his hand settled into hers.

  Quinn knew exactly when his eyes began to see, because the expression of apprehension on his face broke and was replaced by one of unbelievable joy. A smile illuminated his features that reached his eyes, almost making them glow.

  The spirit noticed the change too, and he looked with fatherly affection at Arnaud. “My boy, you look good,” the spirit said. “Is this a dream?”

  “It’s not, sir,” Arnaud said, his voice heavy with emotion. “Are you well?”

  The spirit smiled. “I am dead.”

  Arnaud nodded, an easy smile on his face. “I apologize. I did not expect to see you.”

  “Neither did I,” the spirit said. “This lady said you wish to speak to Martin.”

  Again Arnaud nodded. “We have questions. I hoped he would be able to answer them. Is there a way we can speak to him? It is urgent. It appears someone is after the McPherson line. Many have died in unnatural ways.” His eyes shifted to Quinn. “And now she is in danger.”

  The spirit’s face grew pale as ashes at Arnaud’s words. His gentle brown eyes turned to Quinn, searching her face. “You have my daughter’s eyes,” he whispered, a sad smile returning to his features.

  Choked with emotion, Quinn just stood there, the ghost of a smile on her lips as she found herself face to face with the past of her family, not alive but still existing.

  Turning his gaze back to Arnaud, the spirit said, “Someone wishes to harm her?” Arnaud nodded. “For what reason? I am sure she has done nothing unjust.”

  “We do not know. It is one of the questions we wish to ask your son.”

  The spirit frowned. “Why would he know?”

  “He died young, did he not?” Arnaud said. “Before his time.”

  Sadness crossed the spirit’s face. “He did.”

  “And so have others. We believe that the accidents that took their lives may have been orchestrated.” Arnaud glanced at his friend’s grave. “How did he die?”

  “In the war,” the spirit said, face sad with remembered pain. “Not long after we lost you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Arnaud said.

  A frown showed on the spirit’s face. “How is it that you are here?”

  “That is difficult to explain,” Arnaud said, suddenly unable to meet the spirit’s eyes. “I fear time is of the essence. Is there a way you could pass on a message to Martin?”

  The frown on the spirit’s face deepened. “I do not know where he is.”

  Arnaud turned to Soo-Ji, eyes questioning.

  Stepping forward, she asked, “He is not with you?” The spirit shook his head no. “And the rest of your family?”

  “They are here,” the spirit said. “Over time more and more came, but Martin wasn’t one of them. We haven’t seen him since he went off to war and didn’t return.” Sadness almost choked his voice. “I outlived my son and when my time came, he was not there to welcome me. I haven’t seen him.”

  “How is this possible?” Arnaud asked, again looking at Soo-Ji who shrugged.

  “I don’t know. I have never heard of anything like this before.” She turned back to the spirit. “When your son died, were his remains returned to you? You buried him? Here?” She pointed to the grave.

  Again the spirit looked sad. “We did not. He was reported dead by comrades who’d seen him fall, but his body was never recovered.”

  “Would it keep the spirit from moving on if he wasn’t buried properly?” Arnaud asked.

  Soo-Ji shook her head. “That is irrelevant. Once a person dies, spirit and physical form lose their connection. What happens to one does not affect th
e other. A burial is purely ceremonial and only beneficial for those staying behind. The departed do not benefit from it.”

  “Then no matter what happened to his body he should be with his family?” Arnaud asked.

  “Yes,” she said, forehead creased as her mind worked. “Maybe …”

  “What?” Arnaud pressed. But he wasn’t the only one impatient to know what could have prevented Martin from reuniting with his family.

  Looking a little uncomfortable, Soo-Ji said, “Sometimes when a person dies violently, the spirit can’t accept the loss of its physical form and lingers. But it’s very rare.”

  “You mean he could still be here?” Quinn asked, looking around herself.

  “It’s possible,” Soo-Ji said. “And just in case you’re wondering, I haven’t seen him.”

  “Is there a way to help him?” the spirit asked, a father’s concern on his face.

  Soo-Ji shook her head. “Not really. I mean, should I see him, I will talk to him. But without his remains I can’t call him and there is no way to determine where he is.”

  The spirit’s shoulders slumped, but he nodded his thanks. “If you see him, please tell him we wish for nothing more than for him to return to us.”

  “I will.”

  Silence settled in. No one knew what to say. All caught in their own thoughts.

  “I will talk to the others,” the spirit said into the silence of the night, looking at Quinn. “Those who died before their time.” His eyes shifted to Soo-Ji. “I will find you and tell you what I can.” His eyes returned to Quinn. “Be careful. It’s a parent’s worst nightmare to lose their child.”

  Quinn nodded. “Thank you.”

  With a last look at Arnaud, the spirit’s form started to blur. Individual particles slowly drifted away on the wings of a balmy night breeze until there was no trace of him left. His grave was undisturbed, not a blade of grass out of place.

  Letting go of Soo-Ji’s hand, Quinn sank down into the high grass, suddenly feeling exhausted.

  “Are you alright?” Arnaud asked, coming to kneel beside her. “Too creepy?” He brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear.