Noah was angry with himself for waiting so late to begin the ride back to Portland. He did not like navigating the narrow roads that hugged the cliffs, especially at night.
And then he reached the roadblock.
Noah slowed the Harley and came to a stop behind a line of cars that were being turned around by the police.
A police officer was walking up to each car in the line one at a time and talking to the driver. Noah recognized the man as the sheriff from Crimson Cove, who he’d seen at Spilatro’s Place with the DEA agent several months earlier. Could they be doing a drug sweep of some kind?
“What’s happening?” Noah asked when the sheriff finally got to him.
“Rockslide,” Clay said. “Heavy rains lately. Creates lots of erosion. You’ll have to turn back.”
It looked like he was going to be spending the night in the caretaker’s house after all.
Noah slowed the bike in the darkness, looking for the narrow lane hidden among the trees that led to the lighthouse. He waited for a car to pass and turned on to the dirt road, the Harley’s headlight cutting a path through the trees.
Noah approached the lighthouse, keeping the bike’s engine as quiet as possible so as not to wake Onyx if she’d already turned in for the night—though he had the sense Onyx didn’t sleep all that much anyway.
There was no way Noah could have prepared himself for what he saw next. A hundred feet away on the lawn were two women in what looked like a fight to the death.
The first woman was older, her head topped with a mop of unruly gray hair. In her sixties probably. She looked slightly familiar, but Noah did not know why.
The other woman…
Noah recognized the second woman immediately. She was younger—in her thirties perhaps—with long dark hair. She was stunningly beautiful.
Noah had seen the woman many times, though never in person. He’d only seen her picture in newspaper clippings. And in old black-and-white film clips from her trial back in 1942.
Noah wasn’t sure how what he was seeing was possible.
But it was Onyx.
CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA
NOVEMBER 22, 2010
Juniper looks worse every time we see her,” Koda said from one of the two chairs in front of the mirror in the second-floor guest room.
“And she’s been coming less and less,” Quinn said from the other chair. “She’s afraid of these Shadow People, whoever they are. Something about them being attracted to her when she gets too much energy.”
“She’s afraid she’ll lead them here,” Koda said.
The problem was clear, Koda realized: The more time Juniper spent around them—especially around Quinn, the person who loved her the most—the more energy she absorbed. The more energy, the more vibrant she appeared. Juniper’s only solution was to avoid them.
Maybe she was right.
“This is exactly what Dane said,” Koda said. “He said it was his fault for attracting them and bringing them into Robyn’s house.”
“And who is Dane?”
“My best friend from college. He was killed four months ago.”
“If he was your friend, then why did—?”
“Dane and Robyn were a thing for a bit,” Koda said. “It was the same situation with the Shadow People, so Dane decided it was best to stop coming.”
Koda could tell this was not what Quinn wanted to hear.
Koda and Quinn were frustrated that Juniper still had not told them everything she knew about who killed her. She’d told Robyn she remembered what happened to her, but they could never get Juniper to stay long enough to provide them with any details. All Juniper said was that it definitely wasn’t Wyatt Scrogger, which made Quinn sick to his stomach.
Quinn’s one-time best friend had spent thirty years in prison for a crime he did not commit. This, too, would have to be dealt with—and soon. But what was Quinn supposed to do? Walk into the DA’s office and simply tell them to let Wyatt go based on the word of his dead sister’s ghost?
Good luck with that, Quinn thought.
However, if they could get Juniper to tell them who did do it, maybe there would be something the authorities could do.
“Speaking of Robyn,” Quinn said. “Where has she been? I haven’t seen her in—”
“She went home for a bit,” Koda said, cutting Quinn off.
Moments later, the door to the guest room opened.
It was Stormy Boyd.
“You’ve been spying on us?” Koda said. “How? With cameras? Listening devices? Does my father know about this?”
“No,” Stormy said. “But your grandfather does.”
“My grandfather? I don’t believe you.”
“Declan is the one who asked me to do it,” Stormy said, stretching the truth somewhat. Declan asked him to find out what was happening in the upstairs guest room, but he left it up to Stormy to figure out how.
“You’ve got cameras in every room?” Quinn asked.
Stormy shook his head. “No, just this room.”
“For how long?” Koda asked.
“Ever since Gerylyn Stoller’s visit several weeks ago,” Stormy said. “Now, are you gentlemen interested in knowing why I’m here?”
They remained silent.
“I know about your sister,” Stormy said to Quinn. “I know about her… situation.”
“And?” Quinn said.
“And I’d like to offer a solution—one you apparently have not considered,” Stormy said.
Again, Koda and Quinn stayed silent.
“The obvious solution is Juniper should leave Loll and stay here,” Stormy said.
“Here?” Koda asked.
“Yes,” Stormy said. “The next time you make contact with Juniper, tell her you’d like her to stay here with you in the living plane. Not to visit but to stay. Permanently.”
“Is that even possible?” Quinn asked.
“Yes,” Stormy said. He offered no further explanation.
“How do you know this?” Quinn asked.
“I’d rather not say,” Stormy said.
“Yeah, well I’d rather you did. Now.” Koda said.
Stormy remained silent, trying to decide how much he wanted to say. There was only one person in the world he’d ever come clean with: Declan Mulvaney.
Admittedly, doing so had been liberating. But the thought of having two more people know the truth—two people with whom he had little history—was frightening. Funny, Stormy thought, a ghost being frightened to show itself to the living. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around?
“Well?” Koda said.
“My given name is John Edward Boyd,” Stormy said finally. “I was born in Louisville, Kentucky, on August 27, 1854, during a tornado—hence the nickname. I died on August 6, 1904, saving a girl’s life. My return to the living plane occurred during the appearance of Haley’s Comet in the summer of 1911, and I have remained here ever since.”
“That’s hilarious,” Koda said.
“Listen, my sister’s death is not a joke,” Quinn said. “I don’t appreciate…”
Quinn’s words trailed off as Stormy removed his bowler hat and placed it on a nearby end table and pulled a wooden-handled folding jack knife from his pocket.
“Here, take this,” Stormy said, holding the knife out to Koda.
Koda took the knife. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Inspect it to see that it’s real,” Stormy said.
Koda shrugged and pulled out the blade until it clicked and locked it in place. “Okay. Now what?”
“Go ahead. Stab me,” Stormy said.
“What? I’m not going to stab you,” Koda said. “You’re crazy.”
Stormy expected this reaction. “Very well,” Stormy said, taking the knife from Koda’s hand and then plunging the blade into his own neck.
Koda and Quinn gasped in horror but relaxed when they saw Stormy was still standing.
Stormy slowly pulled the blade from
his neck and laid it on the end table next to his bowler hat. “I have no beating heart,” he said. “I feel no physical pain, and I cannot be killed—because I am already dead.”
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The story continues in
Onyx Webb: Book Eight.
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About Diandra Archer…
With two previous #1 Amazon bestsellers to their credit, Richard Fenton & Andrea Waltz—writing as Diandra Archer—have had a burning desire to create a paranormal ghost series for as long as they can remember.
Then, one day while walking around Lake Eola in the heart of downtown Orlando, the right idea struck. “The minute we came up with Onyx Webb—a ghost that would give anything for one more day of life, watching in torment while the living sleep-walk through life like ghosts—we knew we had it,” Andrea says.
“The story lines for the major characters were created within a matter of days,” Richard adds. “But getting a collection of complex characters from mind to page—in a 10-book saga that spans more than a century, in an easy-to-consume format—was another matter entirely.”
When not traveling, Richard & Andrea can be found in Orlando, Florida—typing as fast as they can—with their ghost cat, Courage, at their feet.
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