The Awakening

by Amanda Stevens

  The memory spun away, leaving me drowning in a terrible sadness.

  Once more, I berated myself for lingering. Leave well enough alone, at least for the rest of the evening. I needed to be home with Angus and my dark thoughts. I wouldn’t go knock on Prosper Lamb’s door, I wouldn’t seek out the source of that music. I wouldn’t leave the safety of the road no matter what happened.

  But even as I hardened my resolve, my gaze strayed to a small outbuilding at the back of the house. The door hung open and the music seemed to be coming from inside.

  A thrill rippled along my spine as I peered through the shadows. The structure was small and nondescript, white like the house, with a tin roof and long windows on either side of the gaping door. I could detect no movement or light, but I knew the music emanated from somewhere inside.

  Was that dark presence waiting for me in there? I wondered. Had it found a new way to lure me back to the dead world?

  I cast an uneasy glance toward the cemetery. With a little perspective and distance, it was easy enough to pretend that my imagination had gotten the better of me earlier. That particular presence was a long way from me tonight, still trapped in the hills and hollows of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It couldn’t get to me here. There was no doorway in Woodbine Cemetery. No portal through which it could crawl. All I need worry about was the real-world danger from the Congé and the familiarity of that song. The melody was connected to me somehow, connected to my mother and aunt. The haunting refrain might well be a clue to a child’s murder.

  I stood there for another moment still trying to talk myself out of what I had in mind to do. But the memory of my mother and aunt listening to that song was so strong I couldn’t ignore it. I couldn’t walk away without at least trying to ascertain their link to that dead child.

  Easing across the road, I jumped the shallow ditch to stand at the edge of the yard, once against scouring the front windows. I knew better than to trespass on private property without at least finding out whether or not anyone was home. Prosper Lamb had made a point of letting me see that he was armed, so it was probably best not to catch him by surprise. I walked across the yard, climbed the porch steps and knocked on the door. I even called out to him.

  “Mr. Lamb? Are you in there? It’s Amelia Gray. I’m sorry to bother you like this, but I wonder if I might have a word about the cemetery.”

  No answer.

  I felt foolish standing on the porch shouting through the door when I didn’t even know for sure that the caretaker, or anyone, lived there. But as I turned back to the steps, I noticed a pair of work boots near the porch swing. The mud in the treads looked fresh, leaving me to conclude that someone had removed them before entering the house. I couldn’t be certain, but they looked very much like the boots Prosper Lamb wore to the cemetery.

  Crossing back over to the door, I rapped harder and called out to him again. Still unable to rouse anyone, I ran down the steps and made for the corner of the house. I could still hear the music. The hypnotic notes floated through the twilight as mournfully nostalgic as the memories it stirred.

  Halfway around the house, I stopped with a start. The tin roof popped as if from a misplaced step. I had the disquieting notion that someone—something—was on top of the house tracking my progress. I told myself the sound was nothing more than a pinecone falling from one of the loblolly pines that surrounded the property. Nobody was on the roof. No thing stared down at me in the darkness.

  I moved on and as I approached the outbuilding, I called out once more. “Mr. Lamb? Are you in there? Hello?”

  I removed a flashlight from my backpack and flicked on the switch as I stepped up to the doorway. It was dim inside the building. Very little illumination came through the dusty windows or even through the doorway. I swept the beam inside and the light was reflected back to me from dozens of glowing eyes.

  The hair at the back of my neck quilled. For a moment I wanted to turn tail and run, but instead I gripped the rubber casing of the flashlight as I splayed the light over the walls, over all those eyes, over feathers and paws and creatures in all manner of poses. The eyes were not real, but glass facsimiles set into the frozen faces of long-dead animals.

  Slowly, I moved the beam around that strange menagerie, capturing a squirrel here, a raccoon there, but mostly what I saw were birds. Owls. Starlings. Crows. Even a sparrow. Apparently Prosper Lamb was not only a cemetery caretaker but also a taxidermist.

  A chemical scent permeated the area to quell—I suspected—the odor of decomposition. At the far end of the space was a worktable filled with an assortment of tools and cans and an old-fashioned record player. As the last of the notes faded, the arm lifted and repositioned the needle. A moment later, the song started over.

  The stool behind the worktable wobbled slightly as if someone had just gotten up. The caretaker must have left by way of the back door when he heard me coming, but why? Why not stay and talk to me?

  “Mr. Lamb? Are you around? It’s Amelia Gray. I’m really sorry to disturb your work, but I need to talk to you about the cemetery. There was a visitor this morning. A woman, I think. I wondered if you had seen her.”

  While I talked, I continued to move the light around the room. A burlap bag lay crumpled in a corner near the worktable and as I focused the beam, I saw the folds of the fabric twitch as if something alive remained inside. The floor around the bag was littered with black feathers and I thought at once of the dead starlings in the cemetery. Prosper Lamb had assured me they were all dead, but the movement inside the bag told me otherwise.

  I had remained in the doorway this whole time, but now I eased inside to kneel beside the bag. If the caretaker or anyone walked in on me at that moment, I wouldn’t be able to justify my presence. But how could I turn away knowing that one of those starlings had survived and remained trapped inside the bag? That kind of cruelty was abhorrent to me, even though rescuing animals had a tendency to get me in trouble. So be it.

  Loosening the ties, I scrambled away in case something more dangerous than a wounded bird popped out.

  Nothing happened. The bag remained motionless as if the trapped starling was now too badly frightened or hurt to try to escape. I gave it another try, gently upending the bag on the floor. A pile of black feathers floated out, nothing more.

  You’re losing it, Amelia. Time to go.

  My instincts warned that I had waited too long and as if to punctuate that caution, the tin roof crackled overhead. Another pinecone, I told myself. But the sound came again and again, so many times that I lifted my gaze to track what I could only imagine were footfalls. The steps moved across the building right over my head and then halted abruptly. After a moment, I heard an odd swishing sound and then a more distant pop.

  I rose and exited the building. Outside, twilight had deepened to nightfall and the moon was just coming up. The space between the shed and the house lay in deep shadows. I tried to gauge the distance, wondering if someone could have jumped from roof to roof. As my eyes became accustomed to the dark, a silhouette slowly took shape.

  He—it—was perched on the roof of the house just above the eaves, resting on haunches, hands draped over his knees, long coat flapping in the breeze. His silhouette mimicked the lines of a predatory bird or a vulture perhaps, drawn by the scent of death.

  Whoever—whatever—I saw was not Prosper Lamb, of that I was certain. I didn’t think it human at all, rather one of those netherworld in-betweens. As I gazed up at the creature, my thoughts once again turned to Asher Falls and to an unlikely guardian that had reeked of decaying animal carcasses.

  I stood there enthralled by the thing, trapped by the spellbinding quality of its luminous eyes. I sensed more than heard another nearby presence and I realized too late that someone had slipped up behind me.

  Seventeen

  Before I could flee or even reach for t
he pepper spray in my pocket, an arm snaked around my waist, holding me fast as a hand clapped over my mouth.

  I had a sudden and terrifying image of my captor. Beady eyes, gaping beak. I could hear the rasp of his breath in my ear as he pulled me back against him. I froze but only for an instant, and then instinct and adrenaline took over and I squirmed and bucked and elbowed him as hard as I could in the rib cage. I heard a satisfying grunt as he tightened his hold.

  Unable to retrieve the pepper spray from my pocket, I kicked at his shins and clawed at his arms. I may even have bit his hand. The ferocity of my defense must have caught him by surprise because his hold finally relaxed and I nearly got away before he wrapped both arms around me to subdue me.

  “Will you stop?” he drawled against my ear. “It’s me, for God’s sake.”

  Recognition seeped in but the adrenaline was still pumping and before the rational side of my brain reclaimed me, I reached up and raked my nails down the side of his face.

  He swore viciously beneath his breath and it was his language more than anything else that made me drop my arms limply to my sides in surrender. In the whole of my time with John Devlin, I couldn’t remember ever hearing him utter even the mildest of swear words. His old-world courtliness and Southern manners had always charmed me even if at times his overprotectiveness had irritated me. Hearing that vulgarity from his lips stunned me.

  As soon as the fight went out of me, he released me and I spun out of his grasp, intent on berating him for giving me such a fright. But before I could let him have it, he put a finger to his lips to silence me. Then he glanced around, taking in the looming facade of the house, running his gaze over all those rear windows and into the shadowy hiding places in the yard. I had a feeling he’d summed up in one split second any number of dangerous areas that might have escaped the attention of a normal person.

  I wasn’t normal, however and I had also taken note of all those windows and doors, all those concealed places. I had learned a thing or two since we’d been together, and the last person I needed watching over me was Claire Bellefontaine’s fiancé. No matter how tough and menacing he looked in the dark.

  Trembling, I locked my arms around my middle as I glared up at him. He stood in front of me, mere inches away, but the moon was so thoroughly blocked by the house and trees that he was little more than a shadow.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded furiously.

  He didn’t answer, but instead cocked his head as if listening for those telltale footfalls on the tin roof. I lifted my gaze, but the figure I’d seen earlier was gone or at least in hiding. I glanced around uneasily at our surroundings. The thing could be anywhere, lurking just over the peak of the roof or in a nearby treetop. I had an image of it now swooping down from the branches to grab me up in its talons.

  Devlin spoke at last, still in that ominous half whisper. “It’s not safe here. We should get back to the road.”

  What did he mean, not safe? Had he seen what I’d seen? Would he even admit it if he had? He had always had an aversion to the supernatural. It was only since last year that I was coming to understand why.

  A dozen questions bubbled in my head and my first inclination was to stubbornly refuse to comply until he explained himself. But something came to me as we faced off. The music inside the building had stopped. Whoever had been in there earlier must have returned while Devlin and I had struggled outside the door. The caretaker—or someone—might be inside watching us at that very moment.

  I nodded and pointed toward the street to let him know that I concurred.

  Hoisting my backpack to my shoulder, I eased away from the building, keeping my eyes peeled for moving shadows or lurking figures. Devlin fell in behind me and, as he had earlier, he moved in complete silence. I didn’t hear so much as a snapped twig or a hitched breath, but I had no trouble picturing him back there, eyes sharp, nerves steady.

  I was still buzzing from the adrenaline, and as we progressed through the shadows, I couldn’t help but analyze my reaction to the situation, how I had automatically struck back at my assailant. Finding myself in such a dire situation might once have paralyzed me with fear, but my recent experiences had taught me a lot about survival and base instincts and the lengths I would go to in order to protect myself.

  Devlin wasn’t the only one who had changed. I might not be a hero, but neither was I the same person I’d been even a year ago, let alone the girl who had once sequestered herself away from the rest of the world behind cemetery gates. My gift had evolved along with my senses. I was stronger, more resolved and, yes, still a bit foolish at times. Where capitulation and begging for mercy might have been the smarter moves, my natural inclination had been to fight back. I didn’t know if this was a good thing or not.

  We rounded the corner of the house and moved quickly across the yard, where we jumped the ditch to the road. Only when we were safely away from the house did I turn once more to confront him.

  Whatever I’d been about to say flitted away as I took in his countenance. Now that we were out in the open, I caught my first good look at him. His features were blanched by moonlight, the planes and angles defined by light and shadow. I was still astounded by the changes the last year had wrought in his appearance. The stubble, the casual attire, the longer hair were the least of it. His suaveness had given way to an air of ruthlessness that I found unnervingly attractive. Even the timbre of his voice was more menacing.

  But what gave me pause at that precise moment were the ugly red marks I’d left on his face. Four long scratches across his right cheek, all of them beaded with blood.

  I stared at him aghast. “Your face—I can’t believe I did that to you.”

  He wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. “At least you missed my eye.”

  “Yes, thank goodness for that.” Still, I was deeply disturbed by the evidence of my violence as I awkwardly tried to explain myself. “I didn’t know who you were at first and even after I recognized your voice, the adrenaline was still pumping...” I trailed away. “I’m a bit reactionary these days.”

  “Yes, I got that.”

  I glanced away, not at all comfortable with my actions or Devlin’s proximity. I wanted to take a step back from him, but I also didn’t want to appear thrown by his presence. I had my pride, after all. “What were you doing back there, anyway?”

  “I might ask you the same thing.” He turned so that the moonlight was now full upon him. A shiver raced up my spine and tingled at my nape.

  “You first,” I said. “What did you mean we aren’t safe?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the house and then swept his gaze through the trees and along the fence line of the cemetery. He seemed collected and controlled, but something had obviously put him on alert.

  “I asked you a question—”

  “I heard you, but keep it down, okay?” A frown fleeted across his features as he turned back to me.

  “You’re starting to scare me.”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” he muttered as he pulled me to the edge of the road where we could blend into the shadows. He was standing even closer now. So close I could see the gleam of his eyes—as hypnotic as ever—and I told myself to glance away, erect whatever defenses necessary in order to protect myself from old memories and his dark charisma.

  But despite my best intentions, my gaze drifted to his mouth. His lips were parted as though he meant to kiss me and I closed my eyes briefly as I fought for poise along with my dignity. He belonged to someone else now and I would not be that woman. I would not.

  But the memory of that mouth...those hands...what he could do to me in the dark with just the whisper of my name...

  “You okay?” he asked softly.

  His fingers were still wrapped around my arm and I could feel the warmth of his skin through my jacket. I shook off his
hold as I moved away from him.

  “Yes, I’m fine, but I need you to tell me right now what’s going on. Something has obviously spooked you.” I returned his stare, daring him to tell me about the Congé, willing him to confess the real reason he had come back to the cemetery. Strangely, even knowing what I knew about him, I didn’t feel threatened. Not physically, anyway. Emotionally was another story.

  “Take a look around,” he said. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this area can be after dark? Do you have any idea the kind of people that hang out in deserted houses like that? You walk in on the wrong situation and you’re as good as dead.”

  “Like a drug deal, you mean.” Even though we were talking in hushed tones, he had made me paranoid and now I worried how far our voices might carry.

  “Not only drugs. There are a lot of dangerous people doing a lot of dangerous things out there.”

  I suppressed another shiver as I thought about that silhouette perched on the edge of the roof. “So you thought it a good idea to sneak up on me and grab me from behind? You’ve no idea how close you came to getting pepper sprayed.”

  “Don’t I?” He grimaced as he again ran the back of his hand across his damaged cheek.

  “Sorry,” I murmured. “Anyway, for your information, the house isn’t deserted. At least, I don’t think so. I believe the cemetery caretaker lives there and he apparently uses the outbuilding for taxidermy.”

  “That would explain the smell,” Devlin said. “But it doesn’t explain why you were there.”

  “I went looking for him. He told me to holler if I ever needed his help and so I did.”

  He canted his head, watching me in the dark. “Why did you need his help?”

  I shrugged. “Not that I feel the need to explain myself, but I went to see him on cemetery business. There was a visitor this morning. She left something on one of the graves. I wanted to know if he had seen her. Satisfied?”

  “For now. But we’re not done yet.”