by Cate Dean
Annie grabbed Claire’s arm and pulled her to the door. She recognized the look on Claire’s face—a quiet fury that would probably explode with only a little more finger poking. It was better to drag her out before that explosion happened.
Once they were outside, she let go and backed away, not sure how Claire would react. After a few deep breaths, Claire pushed hair off her still flushed face and met Annie’s eyes.
“Thank you. I was about to lose control in there.”
“Got that. Why the hell did she snap like that?”
“I’m afraid the street fair this past August may have tipped her.” Claire pinched the bridge of her nose. “I was very selective with the items I sold at my booth, and they turned out to be quite popular.”
“Wait—you had those crystal pendants that everyone was raving about, didn’t you? I didn’t go.” She was too busy sleeping through the days, after burying her parents. “But several of the instructors at the yoga studio did, and all they could talk about was the cute booth with the amazing pendants and charms. That was you.”
“Madame Serena crammed every surface of her booth, and I watched many of her potential customers walk away, frustrated because they couldn’t find anything. Unfortunately, we were right across from each other, so she witnessed my successful sales firsthand.”
“She’s been the reigning queen of the supernatural for so long, having you quietly show up and outshine her would sting.”
“It was never meant that way.”
“Hey, I know that.” She slung her arm over Claire’s hunched shoulders. “You’re a class act, Claire Wiche. Any idiot can see that.”
“Thank you, I think.” She took another deep breath, and stepped back. “Let’s head over to the mansion.”
“We’re in this together, Claire. Got that?”
“I believe it’s sinking in.” She flashed a smile and headed for the coast road. “I think it’s better if we walk over.”
“And leave no suspicious car out front.”
“Nice to know we’re on the same page.”
They talked about everything from favorite foods to horror stories of past apartments, and sooner than Annie expected, they stood in front of the Sutherland mansion.
No one had lived here since the last Sutherland died, more than thirty years ago. Whoever inherited the mansion had left it to sit, probably with the least amount of maintenance they could get away with and not be fined. So it was standing, and the landscaping looked surprisingly well tended, but it had to have decades of dust everywhere. And decades of bugs.
“Ready?” Claire looked over at her.
Annie seemed to be answering that question a lot lately. Maybe it was time to be ready, to start living her life again. Mom and Dad would blister her ears if they knew she’d been hiding away from the world because of them.
She took a deep breath. “Ready.”
They walked up the long, wide sidewalk, and Annie stared down at the beautiful, huge stone pavers. They were chipped in places, but otherwise, they looked like they had been as well maintained as the landscape. She looked up, discovering she had fallen behind, and rushed to join Claire at the bottom of the porch.
Cold air slapped her, and she understood why Claire had stopped.
“Daniel.” Claire did not sound happy. She climbed the steps to the porch. “I told you to stay away until tonight.”
He glided out of the shadows, the black double doors visible through him. “I had to see her. It has been so many years, too many to count, since I have seen her before she was murdered.”
“Why haven’t you come before now?”
“The way was closed to me. But you, Claire, you have opened it, by acknowledging me, by stepping across the line drawn by her suffering.”
“You can’t be here, not until the time of her murder—”
“I have watched her die, over and over, every year since her murder, and I cannot bear to watch her suffer again. Will you help me?”
“How is it that you have never seen her killer’s face?”
“The coward wears a cloak, and a deep hood conceals their face.”
“Claire.” Annie joined her on the porch. “If Daniel’s seen the murder every year since she was killed—”
“The murderer died before the next Halloween. We can look that up, narrow the possible list of suspects we may face. But first,” she turned back to Daniel. “I want to see the crime scene.”
“This way.”
He turned, and raised his hand. Annie jumped when the double doors swung open, her heart still pounding as she followed Claire inside.
The mansion was more beautiful than she expected, the furniture and floors dust free.
“How—”
“I suspect the last cleaning was recent,” Claire whispered. She kept her gaze on Daniel. “It’s the two hundred year anniversary of the murder.”
“God—I hope that doesn’t give our killer ghost some kind of power boost.”
“Annie.” Claire stopped, her face so serious that Annie knew it was bad news. “Every time this murder played out, it has made the ghost stronger.”
“Shit.” She ran one hand through her hair. “Holy shit.”
“Exactly.”
They started walking through the spacious foyer, until Daniel froze in front of the portrait that hung above a narrow, obviously expensive table. The woman looked like she was in her early thirties, with a heart-shaped face, and a tumble of dark brown curls that fell to her narrow waist. She wore a simple gown, and was breathtaking.
“Is this Juliet?” Annie’s whisper echoed around them.
Daniel closed his eyes, briefly, pain radiating off him. “Yes. It was painted just after we were engaged.”
He swept past them and stalked deeper into the mansion.
Claire followed after him, and Annie ran to catch up. No way would she be alone in this place, not with a murdering ghost who could do only God knew what at this point. Hopefully, he or she only showed right before the murder.
They reached the doorway to a huge room, and Daniel halted. “It was here,” he whispered, anguish edging his voice. “I can go no farther. Not until right before she—”
He turned away and disappeared, blasting them with cold air.
“Annie.” Claire held out her hand, and Annie took it, glad for the human contact. “If something happens, I want you to get out. Don’t wait for me, just run.”
“Okay.” She wasn’t going to argue.
They moved into what was obviously the library, with shelves lining every wall. A second story balcony ran the perimeter of the room, with more shelves. Thousands of books filled those shelves, more than Annie had ever seen in a private collection.
The room was dusty, like whoever cleaned the rest of the mansion avoided it as much as possible. Dusty, Annie noticed, except for a spot in the middle of the floor, where the rug had been taken up. A dark stain marked the hardwood floor.
Claire let go of her hand. “Stay here.” She moved to the stain and crouched, her hand hovering over it.
Annie watched her, startled to see a white-gold glow around her hand, and her eyes widened when she realized it was Claire’s power. Heart pounding, she stared as it surrounded the dark stain. Claire let out a harsh gasp when the glow recoiled—and she flew across the room, colliding with a wing chair.
“Claire—”
“Get out of here, Annie!” She pushed to her feet and raised her hand. More white-gold light shot out of her palm. “Now!”
Annie sprinted toward the door, and stumbled to a halt when she glanced over her shoulder. Claire’s power slammed up against a barrier. An invisible, human shaped barrier.
“Oh, God.”
“Annie—” Claire sounded more desperate, her voice strained. “Go—”
“I’m not leaving—”
“Daniel—”
Icy, invisible fingers closed around Annie’s wrist and jerked her out of the room. The door slammed before she could
break free.
“Let go of me—” She nearly fell when he did, and caught herself against the door. “Claire!” The knob refused to turn. “Claire—can you hear me?” She spun, searching for Daniel. He appeared next to her, the biting cold warning her a second before he materialized. “Get this door open. I can’t leave her in there—”
“I cannot. I am sorry. Until tonight, I am powerless beyond this point.”
“Damn it. Claire!”
“I’m all right, Annie.” Claire’s voice came through the door, faint and muffled. “I need you to check the front doors for me.”
“What the—ˮ
“Just do it, Annie.”
She sprinted through the mansion, making a couple wrong turns before she found the wide foyer. The ornate knobs wouldn’t budge. Annie checked the deadbolt, then tried again. Nothing. Cursing the entire way, she ran back to the library.
“Claire! The doors won’t open.”
“Try the library door. You should be able to enter now.”
The knob turned, and Annie flung the door open. Her heart nearly jumped into her throat when she saw the cloaked figure in front of Claire.
“What the hell—ˮ
“We are guests of our mystery host, and won’t try to leave again.” After a short nod, the figure faded, leaving the room ice cold. Claire held up her hand, waited a few seconds, then strode over to Annie, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the library. “Not a word,” she muttered, “until I tell you it’s safe.”
They moved deeper into the mansion, Daniel gliding after them. Claire finally stopped in an outrageously masculine room, the scent of cigars still lingering. She freed Annie and sank to the closest leather chair, her face shock pale.
“Claire—ˮ
“I’m all right. I just need to catch my breath.” Her hands shook against the arms of the chair, and Annie saw sweat slip down her face. She was definitely not all right.
“What happened in there?”
Claire took a few more deep breaths, then glanced over Annie’s shoulder before she answered. “I just met Juliet’s killer. And I have good reason to believe it is a woman.”
‘Who?” Daniel lunged forward, moving through Annie. She gasped and jerked sideways. It felt like ice water had been injected into her. “Tell me who—ˮ
“Daniel.” Claire held up her hand, and he halted, crouching in front of her.
“You fear this woman.”
“Yes,” she whispered. They looked at each other for a long time, until Daniel finally nodded. “I don’t know who she is, yet. But we will have to find out, and quickly.”
Claire finally met Annie’s eyes, and Annie saw the fear Daniel mentioned, her heart pounding. If the ghost scared someone like Claire—God, they were in trouble.
“What happened in there?”
Claire took a deep, not so steady breath. “We just became unwelcome guests, and our host destroyed all the supplies I brought with us.”
EIGHT
Claire wanted to do nothing more than stretch out on the floor and sleep. Touching the barrier over her buried power took more strength than she expected—and protecting herself from the angry power radiating off the spirit cost more than it should have.
But because she had underestimated their opponent, they were trapped, with no supplies, no way to help Juliet. Worse, the closer they got to the time of the murder, the stronger the spirit would become.
She pushed to her feet, taking a moment to steady herself. Annie caught her arm, concern in the warm brown eyes. Thank God for her; Claire could not have done this alone.
“Daniel.” She eased out of Annie’s grip and turned to him. He held out his hands, concern for her in his dark blue eyes. He was becoming substantial again, most likely able to draw on the power that pulsed through the mansion. “Did Juliet have any journals, or diaries? Even letters might help.”
Annie moved to her side. “Why do you think it’s a woman?”
“Small clues, and the sense of rage coming from the spirit felt—feminine.”
“You mean spiteful and bitchy.”
Claire smiled. “Something like that, yes. I also got the sense that they knew each other, well enough for Juliet to allow her close enough. She was stabbed from behind, wasn’t she?”
Daniel closed his eyes, and Claire took his now solid hand, his fingers cool against her too hot skin. “Yes,” he whispered. “She turned her back, and the murdering coward trapped her, stabbing her through the heart.”
He freed his hand and strode out of the lounge, one Claire had chosen because she had a distinct feeling that it was a no women allowed sanctuary. She caught Annie’s hand and followed, running to keep up with his long stride.
Whoever held them would have control over areas they had been in, but their power didn’t stretch to what they did not know. Meredith had been quite clear about that in the grimoire, and Daniel had agreed, offering personal experience. Claire touched the grimoire, tucked in her jacket pocket; thankfully, she had kept it separate from the now destroyed black bag.
Daniel waited for them at the top of the main staircase, impatiently tapping the curved balustrade. “Juliet’s room is this way,” he said when they joined him, heading to the left. “Once we were engaged, she moved in, with her Aunt Beatrice as chaperone. I refused to allow her to stay one moment longer with her overbearing jackass of a father.”
Claire looked over at Annie. “Tell us more about him.”
“He considered them chess pieces, pawns to be sacrificed to his business. Before Juliet had even reached sixteen, she was aimed at some ancient banker, a man who had already buried two wives, and known for his perversions. All Juliet’s father cared was that marrying Juliet to him would mean more money in his bank account.”
“Disgusting,” Annie said. She moved to Daniel’s side, her long legs making it easy for her to keep up with him. “You said them. Did Juliet have sisters?”
“One. A younger sister. She had already been dead for years when I met Juliet. Emily died in childbirth.” He halted in front of the door at the end of the long corridor, and a smile tugged at him mouth. “Juliet swore she could feel Emily with her, watching over her.”
“Have you ever seen her?”
Daniel looked over at Claire, surprise on his face. “I have not—when I realized I could not reach Juliet, I did not spend much time here, except on the night of her murder. Every year, I try to stop it. Every year, I fail her.”
“If Emily is still here, we might have another ally.”
He shook his head. “Juliet told me that Emily was a frail, timid thing.”
“Love can be stronger than hate, Daniel. Especially the love of a sister. Were they close?”
“Yes.” For the first time, Claire saw hope ease some of the despair that was a constant in his eyes. “You believe she may still be here?”
“We can find out. Open the door, and we’ll start here.”
He led them inside.
The bedroom would have easily fit Claire’s living room and kitchen. It was enormous, but felt cozy, with overstuffed furniture that had been taken care of, like most of the furnishings she had seen in the mansion.
“Whoever looks after this place obviously cares about it.”
Daniel looked up from the worn armchair in front of the beautiful, carved marble fireplace. “He is the descendent of my butler. They have passed down the duty, from one generation to the next. I have always been humbled by the regard they still hold for me, despite the mark on my reputation.” He shook his head and moved to a small but exquisite secretary. “Juliet kept any important papers in here.”
“May I?” He nodded to Claire and moved away, touching pieces of Juliet’s life, his grief palpable.
Annie joined her, rubbing her arms. “It’s cold in here, and I don’t think it’s coming from Daniel. Not now that he’s solid.”
“You noticed that as well.” Annie continued to impress her. For someone so young, she had a maturity tha
t gave her a strong sense of self. It would serve her well, if she decided to pursue her power. “If Emily is here, she’ll know we are on Juliet’s side and hopefully show herself.”
Claire sat in front of the secretary and started searching. The faint scent of lavender floated up from the lined drawers. She picked up a piece of flowery stationery and sniffed. Yes, it was coming from there, as well as from the delicately flowered lining. Claire recognized the pattern—a new one, which meant someone had replaced old lining, or added this to brighten, and protect the wood.
A cold chill struck her a moment before the voice.
“She would not approve you rummaging through her private papers.”
Annie’s gasp told Claire before she looked up just what she would see. Or rather, who she would see.
A small, delicately beautiful woman stood at the end of the bed, her arms crossed. Whatever age she may have carried in life had been erased in death, and she looked like a younger version of Juliet, with the same heart-shaped face and tumble of dark brown curls.
“Hello, Emily.” The ghost started, her mouth dropping open. “Daniel told us about you, and that Juliet believed you had been watching over her.”
“I was,” Emily whispered. She looked past them, and Claire followed her gaze to Daniel, who stared at Emily, his body stiff. “But I could do nothing to save her that night. I am so sorry, Daniel. I was trapped in this room by some kind of barrier, and I heard her scream, unable to do anything...”
She covered her face with both hands, quiet sobs shaking her. Daniel strode across the room and gathered her into his arms. Even solid, he didn’t slip through her like a living person would have. Emily buried her face against his shoulder and cried.
Annie watched them, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pain stark in her tear-bright eyes.
Claire touched Annie’s hand as she stood, and moved to the adjoining room, a small sitting room, with another carved fireplace, and a faded floral settee.
“Sit, Annie.” She took Annie’s hands, not surprised that she was so affected by Emily’s grief. “Don’t be embarrassed. Your own grief is still new, and crying can often be the only way to help ease the weight of it.”
