Autumn Thorns

by Yasmine Galenorn

  “No. I took today off so I could catch up on my errands. I wish I could just hang out, but I have to do laundry and go grocery shopping and pick up Frith and Folly at the kennel before I head back to work tomorrow.” Peggin owned ferrets. They were more of a handful than Maine Coons, into everything and as curious as cats. As she stared into the cup, a soft smile crossed her lips. “Corbin’s a good boss, but he’s sure an odd duck. Remember him?”

  I nodded, though I mostly remembered that he had been tall, with skin the color of espresso, and his eyes had been odd. They reminded me of a snake’s eyes. “He was a few years older than us, right?”

  “Right. He was a senior when we were freshmen. He’s the only one I’d trust as a doctor. He got married and they have a thirteen-year-old daughter. She’s following in his steps, I think.” Peggin lifted her espresso, cupping the china in her hands as she inhaled the rising steam with a grateful sigh.

  “I’ve missed you so much.” She stared into her cup. “Whisper Hollow is changing, Kerris. Something’s going on, and it isn’t good. It’s always been dangerous to live here, but when you’re brought up here like we were, you learn the ropes. Now, I’m not so sure. Everything seems off-kilter and even people who should be safe, aren’t so much. Don’t trust anybody blindly.”

  Her concern unnerved me. Peggin had always been able to home right in on potential problems. When we were fifteen, she kept me from dating Danny Tremain, a boy I’d had a crush on. She warned me that he was trouble waiting to boil over. Sure enough, after I turned him down, he took up with a girl named Wendy and she ended up with two black eyes, a broken nose, and a broken rib. And Danny hightailed it out of town before Wendy’s brothers could catch hold of him.

  I mulled over her words. “Yeah, I got the gist of that yesterday from Ellia, Oriel . . . and Ivy. Peggin, do you know Ivy Primrose?”

  She frowned. “Yeah, I know her. Not well, but she comes in for her physicals every year and I see her at the farmer’s market now and then. What’s going on?”

  I hesitated, then told her everything that had gone on, asking—at last—“Did you know that Ivy was my grandmother? Did anybody ever tell you?” If she said yes, it was going to be hard to navigate that point. Peggin and I had never lied to each other, or withheld anything important.

  She stared at me, her eyes wide. “Well, if that isn’t a tangled mess. And to answer your question, no. I had no clue.” Pausing, she stirred another spoon of sugar into her espresso. “No wonder the woman never aged. I guess I never even thought about it—so many odd people live here in Whisper Hollow.” She paused, then added, “There’s more to Ellia than meets the eye, Kerris. Rule number six keeps popping up in my head . . . You remember the rules, right? Sometimes the foul are actually fair. The converse can be true, as well. What seems fair, might just be foul. Lately, I’ve found myself being very aware of just who I tell anything to.”

  I listened to the subtext below the words. Peggin often spoke in riddles. It was her nature and I had realized over the years growing up that she was like an unwitting oracle. And right now, she was warning me not to trust anybody at face value.

  “What about Bryan? My neighbor? Got anything on him?”

  “Bryan Tierney. He keeps to himself a lot but I’ve met him a time or two. He’s an odd sort, not rude but he definitely isn’t forthcoming with information about himself. Handsome man, though.” She smiled then, and shook her head. “You’re intrigued.”

  “Yeah, I am. There’s something about him that I can’t shake off. A feeling . . . that I know him even though I know full well we’ve never met before last night.” The image of those piercing eyes flashed into my mind again, and I found myself unsettled all over. “I wish I knew what secret my grandfather had wanted to tell them. It’s almost as if the Lady didn’t want him talking . . .”

  Peggin shivered. “The Lady is a force unto herself, but I know—in my bones, I know—that she will work with others if supplicated enough. I just . . .” Her voice trailed off for a moment, and then she said—almost squeaked—“I feel you’re in a lot of danger. I don’t want to see you end up at the bottom of the lake, too. Promise me you’ll be careful?”

  I finished my espresso and, staring at my cup, nodded. “I promise.” Trying to lighten the cloud of gloom that had enveloped the both of us, I added, “Today I’m on a hunt to find Lila’s Shadow Journal. I can learn a lot more from that than anything or anybody except Lila herself. Are you sure you don’t want to hang around and help?”

  Reluctantly, she stood. “I wish I could, but I really do need to run some errands. And Frith and Folly are waiting for me. But what about getting together for dinner? I can bring chicken.”

  The cloud suddenly lifted as a sense of nostalgic joy swept through me. How many dinners had Peggin and I shared over the years when we were young? How many confidences had we shared? And now, I was going to have that back again. I realized how keenly I had missed having my best friend by my side . . . any friends, really. The cats were great, but sometimes I needed somebody who could talk back to me in actual words. But, not wanting to sound maudlin, I just said, “Sounds good. I’ll make a salad and bake some potatoes.”

  I saw her to the door, hugging her once more before she left. In an odd way, I had my life back. The past couple of days, even given everything I’d learned, I felt more at home than I had all the years I’d been away. I shut the door and started hunting for Grandma Lila’s Shadow Journal.

  * * *

  The Fellwater house resembled a castle en miniature. The central area—the living room and kitchen, were single story, but the two wings off to either side rose two floors high. They weren’t connected—you couldn’t get to one side of the second story from the other without going downstairs first.

  To the left of the kitchen and living room were my grandfather’s den, a bathroom, a pantry-utility room, and a staircase leading up to what had been two bedrooms and a bath. The bathroom was a Jack-and-Jill between my old bedroom and the guest room, though my room had been the more spacious of the two. Still furnished with my bed and some of the things I’d left behind, it was waiting like an old friend. Grandma Lila hadn’t changed the brilliant purples and pale gold I had chosen the last time we’d painted. The guest room, however, had been redone in shades of pale gray and light blue, with a vivid royal comforter on the bed, and the furniture had been painted white.

  To the right of the kitchen and living room, the hallway led to the master suite where my grandparents had slept and another staircase, leading up to an attic and a spare room that my grandmother had used for her sewing.

  As I stood in the doorway to their bedroom, I realized just how much I’d been dreading this. Everywhere I looked were reminders. The air was tinged with the lingering scent of Grandma Lila’s favorite perfume: Lilac Orchard, a spicy floral scent. It mingled with the stale scent of Grandpa Duvall’s cigars and the acidic note of the aftershave he had used.

  I hesitated for another moment, then resolutely marched into the room. Gabby, Daphne, and Agent H sashayed their way behind me, curiosity lighting up their faces.

  “Don’t get into trouble, you three.” I frowned as they ignored me and promptly began to sniff their way into the closet and under the bed. I let them have at it. The bed was barely far enough off the ground for Agent H to slide under, but when I got down on my hands and knees and peeked, he seemed to be getting around okay. I just didn’t want him stuck. Maine Coons were big, and he was a good twenty-four pounds. Gabby opted for the closet, and the sound of shifting boxes and shoes told me she was working her way to the back. Daphne, however, decided she wanted to sprawl out on top of the bed, where she rolled over on her back, tufted feet hovering in the air. The blending of orange and black fur didn’t extend to her stomach, which was a blaze of white. She squirmed happily. Laughing, I leaned over and rubbed her tummy with my nose. She purped and bounced away.

  R
efocusing, I headed for the bathroom. Though I’d taken my showers in there, I hadn’t really poked around yet. It was an en suite and, like the kitchen, had been renovated since I’d left. A sunken tub had replaced the claw-footed one, and a walk-in shower had been installed, along with marble countertops on the vanities and a new linen closet. I went through the vanity drawers, but it was easy enough to see that Lila hadn’t kept her journal in there.

  No, the bedroom was the logical place to start. And while I was at it, now was as good a time as any to begin packing up some of their things. The thought left me melancholy, but it had to be done. I couldn’t live in the middle of what had been their lives. I had to make the house my own, even though moving in and taking over meant my grandmother was really dead.

  With a long sigh, I trucked myself back into the kitchen and then out to the back porch, where I’d left a stack of cardboard boxes and a couple of boxes of large trash bags. Clothing would go in the bags, other items in the boxes. I added a roll of strapping tape to my supplies, along with a flashlight and a pair of scissors, and carted everything into the bedroom.

  I decided to start with the dressers. Clothing was easy. There were a few scarves of my grandmother’s that I wanted to keep, and maybe a hat or two, but most of the clothes could be donated. I quickly worked through my grandmother’s dresser, then my grandfather’s. But when I reached the last drawer, though, it seemed to stick. I pulled, hard, and the drawer gave way, coming all the way out. A flurry of handkerchiefs covered the floor as everything went flying.

  Probably needed some oil on the sliders, I thought. But as I stuffed the handkerchiefs into the bag and went to replace the drawer, I saw something in the space between the bottom and the floor. There was a little box there. Cautiously, I flashed the light into the space. No spiders, no vermin. I reached in and lifted the box out, forgetting all about the drawer.

  The case was silver, with a moon and stars embossed on it in a cloisonné design and the box felt . . . sparkly . . . when I touched it. Some sort of energy was attached to it. I held it up, looking for a lock, but there was only a fastener. I carefully eased it open. Inside, a small key nestled on a pillow of black velvet.

  “What have we here?” I picked the key up, turning it over in my hand. It was long and ornate, embellished with scrollwork, and reminded me of a skeleton key, though the shaft was shorter than usual. It had obviously been important enough to my grandfather to keep safely hidden away. My guess was that my grandmother hadn’t even known it was there.

  A loud shriek startled me and I glanced over at the window. A crow was perched in the great maple overshadowing this wing of the house, and as I watched, the bird swooped off the branch and toward the house, aiming directly at the bedroom window. At the last moment, it pulled a sharp left and disappeared.

  The Crow Man. He was still watching me, which meant that just returning to Whisper Hollow wasn’t the whole of his message.

  Seeing nothing that might be unlocked by the key, I tucked it back in the box and slipped the box into my pocket. Replacing the drawer, I moved on to the vanity. Most of Lila’s creams and perfumes I kept—they were still good and I liked their scents. When I came to her jewelry box, I slowly opened it. Her wedding ring had been on her finger when they found her, and that I had in my possession. But here were her daily-wear items. Some things were obviously costume; others I wasn’t so sure about. As I stared at the jumble, I decided that I’d just take the whole lot in and have it all appraised. I didn’t want to give away anything without knowing exactly what was there first. I searched for any sign of Avery’s ring, but there was nothing in sight that matched Ivy’s description.

  After that, I fell into a rhythm and the rest of the room went quickly. Soon, I was lugging bag after bag of clothing out to the car. I also stripped the bed, washed all the sheets, and packed up the linens. I kept the handmade quilts that were family heirlooms, and some of the tea towels, but as much as I had loved my grandmother, we had vastly different style and color choices, so I decided just to start fresh and give most everything away. All through clearing out the bedroom and bath, I kept an eye out for her journal but only came across notepads with to-do lists written on them. Careful ticks showed completed tasks to the point of making me feel like a slacker.

  After I was done, I took a break for lunch. I made myself an omelet and sat at the table, staring at the box with the key in it, and wondering where Lila’s journal was. Maybe she kept it in the desk in the living room? Grandpa Duvall’s den had been off-limits to everybody, so I doubted that I’d find it there, but I’d have to go through the room anyway. Another day for that, though.

  As I nibbled on a slice of toast, my mind a million miles away, I was startled by the sound of a door closing. It hadn’t been the front door, but I had heard it loud and clear. I quietly set down the bread. If somebody was in the house, I didn’t want them to know I knew.

  Slowly, I eased my way out of my chair, remaining by the table as I listened for any further sound. Nothing. The cats weren’t door-closers, though I knew of a few who could—and did—push doors shut. No, this had come from the direction of Lila’s bedroom. My heart beating rapidly, I cautiously turned toward the hall leading to the master suite. I had barely gotten to the edge of the kitchen when a door on one of the bottom cupboards next to me opened, slowly but deliberately.

  “Well, then, you want me to know you’re here.” I paused. I could see spirits fairly easily, but they had to want to be seen or conditions had to be right. I held out my hand, palm facing the cupboard door. Sure enough, the energy was strong enough to make my skin tingle.

  I closed my eyes, reaching out. Making contact with spirits could be dangerous, but Lila had taught me early on how to protect myself from being jumped, so I wasn’t worried about possession—I always kept my shields up. But once contact was made, it could be difficult to push them out, if need be. It was almost like in the vampire novels where, once you invited the vampire in, it was hard to stop them until you rescinded the invitation.

  * * *

  There are six categories of the dead, Kerris.” Grandma Lila had taken me out to the graveyard one lovely spring afternoon. We were sitting on a bench. I was holding a candy bar. “You need to remember this, because it can mean the difference between putting yourself in danger and keeping yourself protected. The dead can be harmless, or harmful. Do you understand?”

  I was seven years old, but I already knew that one day I’d take my grandmother’s place. I had her gift, and even though I didn’t say much about it, inside I was proud of the fact that I’d grow up to be a spirit shaman. It felt like continuity—and ever since my mother had vanished, the fear had been there that, at any day, at any time, I could lose everything important to me.

  I nodded. “Yes, I’ll remember. What are they?”

  My grandmother smiled. “The first type, the Resting, we don’t have to worry about. They have passed into the Veil, though they haven’t passed through the other side yet. But after they go through the Veil, they aren’t our responsibility, unless they try to come back. And the Resting are content with knowing they’re moving on to the next cycle in their existence.”

  “Penelope helps them, then, right?” I squinted, staring at the graves. Old bones and bodies filled the ground here, but they weren’t what we had to worry about. Bones didn’t walk. Spirits did.

  “Yes, Penelope lives in the Veil and she helps them cross to their next destination. The second type of spirit is called a Mournful. They mourn their loss of life, and sometimes you see them repeat their deaths, but they don’t usually bother us. They know we’re here, but they don’t really care unless they want us to help them. Think of them . . . like a TV show—a rerun of what happens.”

  “Do they move through the Veil to the other side, too?”

  My grandmother shaded her eyes, tipping her hat so it reflected the light. “Yes, if Penelope or one of the ot
her Gatekeepers can help them. Sometimes a spirit shaman will help jog them free from being stuck. That’s part of our job at times, too.”

  I frowned. “I don’t think I want to become a Mournful when I die. It sounds lonely.”

  “It is, love. It is. Now, the third type of spirit is known as a Wandering One. Do you know what they are?” She crossed her legs and leaned back, handing me a handkerchief to catch the dribble of ice cream running down my chin.

  I wiped my face, thinking. I had heard about the different categories of the dead, but Grandma had never made it one of our actual lessons before. I thought about the name. Wandering Ones . . . that meant they weren’t tied to one spot—not that most ghosts were trapped in an area. But there had to be a deeper meaning. After a moment, I shook my head.

  “I’m not sure. They walk around a lot?”

  “The Wandering Ones travel and are seldom found near their graves or the places where they died. They don’t really pay attention to us, like the Mournful, but the Wandering Ones don’t repeat their deaths over and over. They just wander the earth, lost. A lot of times they don’t even realize they’re dead. They tend to be confused. We also try to help them, when we can. If we can guide them into the Veil, we can help them realize that they have died and that it’s time to move on.”

  I processed the information, feeling rather sad. “It must be awful to die and not realize it.”

  Grandma patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Kerris. Spirit shamans never join the ranks of the Wandering Ones. Now, the fourth kind of dead can be dangerous. They’re called Haunts—”

  I finished my chocolate. “I know what a Haunt is. They scare us—they’re Halloween ghosts.”

  Lila laughed. “Yes, they are Halloween-type ghosts. They enjoy scaring people. Sometimes they can cause physical harm to us, and sometimes they can possess people. Poltergeists usually fall under this category. They’re angry ghosts, and they don’t want to go into the Veil. Sometimes, they’ve gone over but are able to break free and return. So we have to drive them back before they cause too much havoc. Now, the fifth kind, the Guides, are helpful. They come to tell us things we need to know, or they come back to check on those they loved. They’ve gone through the Veil, and they . . . well . . . they act like guardians for a while before going on to their next destination.”