by Kelley York
“Nothing I’ve seen out here has felt malicious, so there’s that. I suppose they feel…older.”
“Older? How does a ghost feel older?”
“Oh, I don’t know how to describe it. Like… The shape of them. The feel of them. People who belonged to this land long before those who live here now.”
Preston hmm’s and scratches at his jaw. “Suppose we ought to show some respect and not anger any of them while we’re here.” He sits up, careful to pick up the remnants of our lunch and pack everything back into our bags before we’re on our way.
We take our time more than we ought to, really. Distracted by the beauty, the scenery, the sound of birds, the occasional deer that crosses our path. A herd of massive elk we spot in the distance, whose cries resonate throughout the woods around us. We wind through twisting, forested hillsides and the road gets rocky, difficult to navigate here and there, and Rogue becomes more and more reluctant to press on, especially once we begin to lose our light.
I did have the foresight to bring along a lantern, which I ignite once the sun has begun to set. It’s even darker in the woods, the tall red trees blocking out much of the sky. Our earlier excitement has begun to wane because what was fascinating before begins to hinder us when our visibility is decreased.
Lantern or not, the road becomes impossible to navigate. I can no longer see Ellie. We’ve surely got turned around at some point or taken a wrong turn. It smells like rain, and fog has begun to roll in from the coast, thick and stifling.
Do we stop, I wonder? Do we make camp and hope to keep warm through the night? We’ve got no supplies to make a fire, assuming we could find wood dry enough. I wouldn’t know the first thing about it, though I suspect Preston would.
“We may be getting a bit lost,” I say, hating the way my voice seems to get swallowed into the blackness around us.
“Just a bit further,” Preston says. His tone is tight, uncertain. I decide not to argue with him about it.
It appears to be the right choice. Shy of an hour goes by when we see lights up the road. Faint, through the mist, but there. I could cry out in relief. Preston puts his heels to Rogue, coaxing her into a trot toward the source.
What I presumed was a farm is, in fact, a town. A very small town, and very dark. Only a few windows of the buildings are aglow, making them near impossible to see until we’re right on them.
I see no obvious hotels or inns, but I do spot a sign hanging from a shop window that says Rooms for rent. I point it out to Preston and he draws Rogue off the side of the dirt street for me to dismount and approach the door. My legs and rear ache something fierce from riding on horseback all day.
I’ve no idea what the hour is, but the windows are still dimly lit so I hope I’m not waking whoever may be inside. I knock firmly but only twice, then try to smooth a hand down the front of my shirt, which is rumpled and dirty. After a spell, the door creaks open and a woman peers out.
“What is it?”
“I’m terribly sorry to come calling so late. My companion and I have just found our way into town and I worry we might be lost. Are we near Point Reyes Station?”
She squints. “Yep. Bit of a weird place to get lost. Not much else out here.”
Oh, thank the Lord.
“Then we are, in fact, where we’d hoped to be. I saw your sign there—might you have a room available?”
The woman is a bit older, forties or fifties I’d wager. Though that’s going by the lines of her face. Her hair is still a shade of pitch black, not a sign of grey to be seen. She looks me over once, almost suspiciously. Which I suppose is fair when two men show up at one’s door this time of night.
“Or anything vacant, really. We’d be happy sleeping in a barn,” jokes Preston, sliding off the horse.
The woman stares. “Got one of them, too, if you’d rather.”
Preston laughs as though he’s uncertain if she’s joking. “Ah, a room would be lovely, if we could. We can pay.”
“If you couldn’t, you wouldn’t be staying.” She beckons us to follow her around to the back of the building, where she shows us to a small set of stables where we’re permitted to put Rogue. Preston makes quick, practised work of removing her saddle and getting her some feed.
Inside, a fire is burning in the main room of the shop, which is lined with shelves and supplies for, I presume, trappers and hunters. It’s blissfully warm, chasing the ache from my fingers as I scrub my hands together before the flames.
Our host’s name is Paige and she brings us to a room upstairs that is much colder than downstairs but will still be notably warmer than sleeping outside. She leaves us to wash and dress, though thirty minutes later, she returns with a knock.
“Got food, if you’re hungry.”
“Bless.” Preston opens the door.
Paige steps in, offering us each a bowl. It’s stew, likely leftover from her own meal, and it smells strongly of meat. Venison, perhaps. But there are onions and potatoes and carrots, and I don’t want to be rude by turning my nose up at her hospitality. We take a seat on our beds to eat, given the lack of anywhere else to sit. Rather than leave, Paige lingers there, watching with her arms folded.
“Where you two from?”
“England,” I say between bites. “Though we’ve just come from San Francisco, if that’s what you mean.”
She shrugs. “Just makin’ conversation. You’re a long way from home.”
“We are. And as such, do you think you could tell us about the area? Are we close to the ocean?”
“‘Course. Can’t you smell it? You can reach it all around the peninsula.”
“And people live here, aside from this town?”
“Here and there. Couple of dairy farms, mostly. Might find a few people living illegally off patches of land.”
“What about…” I pause. “What about the Natives? The ones who originally lived here?”
At that, she gives me an odd look. “Miwok. Not many of them left these days. My granddad was one. Passed when I was little, though.”
I frown. “Where did they go?”
“Died, mostly. Forty, fifty years ago. Smallpox.” She shrugs. “Couple families still around, but most left, trying to secure land elsewhere. Don’t know beyond that.”
That sounds...thoroughly depressing.
Preston appears to have completely cleaned his bowl. I’ve picked out the edible components of mine, so I offer him what remains and his face lights up.
“Sad,” I murmur. So much for the idea of trying to find Ellie’s people, if she had family in the area. “Then, where would the nearest access to the sea be?”
Paige snorts. “Ain’t that a question. I’ll draw up a map for you in the mornin’.”
“Ah, yes, of course. Thank you kindly for supper, Miss Paige.”
She bids us goodnight and leaves. Preston polishes off my food, too, then lays back on the bed with a heavy sigh. “I say, do you know what I miss?”
“Your mother’s cooking?”
He laughs. “Yes. My mum’s cooking. She made the best roasts… She could make a rabbit stew that was to die for.”
“We shall have to ask her nicely to make it when we see her next.” I smile.
Preston turns his head to watch me. “Will we be going back after this is done?”
A good question. “I had wondered that when we first embarked, but then we’ve had our hands full and it slipped my mind. Do you want to stay here…? Not here, here, but...” I gesture broadly.
“Well, there is certainly plenty to see. Although I do miss my family.”
“Visiting is always an option,” I say softly.
He scoots over to make room for me as I crawl in beside him, seeking out the warmth of being near. “Mm… What do you think? Honestly?”
Honestly? Oh, he’s pinning me down with that word. Before, I’d have smiled and said whatever made him happy was fine by me.
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” I admit. “The idea of alwa
ys traveling, of never having a place to call home…of being so far from family and friends. It seems sad to me. But there are worse things.”
Preston raises his brows. “Like what?”
“Like being without you.”
A hush falls over the room. Clearly, it was not what Preston had anticipated me to say, but it is the truth. I have no family left to speak of—my father not withstanding—and although I have Preston’s family and Spencer back home, what good would any kind of stability be if I didn’t have Preston in my life? His absence takes the shine out of the world.
When Preston doesn’t speak, I shift uncomfortably. “What is it?”
“Nothing. That was just a bit of an admission.” Preston reaches for my hand, lightly tracing his fingertips across my knuckles. “It was sweet.”
I shrug, cheeks growing warm. “I was being honest.”
Preston wraps his fingers around mine and gives my hand a tug, insistent, until I lean back into him and his arms come around my middle. He says nothing, but the way that he squeezes me, hugs me to him, says plenty that his silence does not. And I have no qualms with remaining right here in his arms, cheek against his chest, my eyes drifting closed.
I must be more comfortable than I thought, and far more tired. The next thing I’m aware of is waking to a dark room and finding myself lying down, Preston fast asleep beside me.
Something woke me.
Howling. The wolves.
I can hear them again. The sound makes my pulse thrum and my blood run cold.
I slide from bed and pad over to the window to peer outside. The trees and fog are so thick that even the nearly full moon does little to lend itself to visibility. I squint. I do not see Ellie. Are there wolves in these woods? Could I be hearing real wolves instead of the phantom ones that have followed us across the country? Given the crawling sensation across my skin, I sincerely doubt that’s the case.
I steal a look at Preston, uncertain if I ought to wake him. We’ve slept so poorly lately and we did so much travelling that I’m loath to disturb him if I don’t have to.
We’re safe. We have to be. There is no way Crane’s group would know to follow us here.
I crawl back beneath the covers, burrowing beneath them and pressing my face against Preston’s shoulder. He grunts, shifts, slings an arm across my middle and nestles against my hair with a sigh. If I squeeze my eyes shut and put my hands to my ears, I can block out the worst of the howling. It picks up in intensity for several agonizing moments, to the point where I’m convinced that I’ll not be able to sleep, and then it…stops.
I almost gasp in relief, my body going slack.
Peculiar.
“Benji,” Preston mumbles, voice thick. “What is it…?”
“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
He yawns, and he must not be terribly awake because he doesn’t argue with me. Before long, his breathing has slowed again and he’s full and well asleep. It’s all I can do to force myself to try to follow suit.
Somewhere in the recesses of my dreams, as I drift off again, I could swear I hear footsteps outside our door, followed by a low, threatening growl.
CHAPTER 21 – PRESTON
I’ve spent so much time on horseback at home that soreness after a day of riding is startling. But I wake with such a prevalent ache in my legs, back, and arse that I could laugh at myself. When I was a child, I could have handled it, no problem. As I’ve got older, spent more and more time away from home at school and such, I suppose I’ve gone a bit soft.
I had hoped a night in relative safety would see us both well-rested, but Benji looks like death warmed over as he drags himself out of bed this morning. He scrubs viciously at his face at the washbowl, then braces his hands against the worn wood of the table with a few deep breaths.
“Didn’t sleep well?” I ask.
He shoves his damp hair back from his face and tries a smile on for size. “The wolves. I kept hearing them all night.”
“Think that’ll stop once we’ve found some peace for Ellie?”
“I certainly hope so. I can’t figure out what else would be causing it.”
I step over to take his shoulders and turn him around to face me. There are shadows beneath his eyes and a faint crease between his brows. Cupping his face in my palms, I smooth the pad of my thumb over that crease to smooth it out, and Benji’s expression relaxes.
I murmur, “God willing, today should be the day. Then we can get the hell out of here.”
He folds a hand over one of mine. “And go where?”
We never did reach a conclusion on that, did we? Though, I did fall asleep mulling it over in my head for the better part of an hour, long after Benji had drifted off in my arms. I have ideas, but I couldn’t say which of them are any good.
“We’ll worry about it a bit later, hm? One thing to deal with at a time.” I bow down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Benji makes a tired noise and despite his exhaustion, he accompanies me downstairs, the box in his rucksack slung over one shoulder, to greet Paige. She’s puttering about her shop, dusting and stocking shelves. Already the shop door is open wide and a wooden sign hanging in the window has been flipped from Closed to Open.
She glances up at the sound of our steps. “Mornin’.”
“Good morning,” Benji greets, muffling a yawn against the back of his hand.
“Sleep all right?” She turns away again.
“Of course, thank you,” I say, figuring it wouldn’t do to rudely point out that Benji didn’t sleep. It’s hardly her fault.
“Left a map on the counter there for you. Drew it myself, but it ought to do the trick.”
I retrieve the paper from the countertop and look it over. It’s a crudely sketched drawing of the peninsula, with wiggling lines leading to what I assume are various access points to the sea. A bit difficult to follow, perhaps, but at least she’s labelled a few landmarks for us to use along the way, and which roads are likely to be unsuitable for a horse and require us to travel on foot.
“We can’t thank you enough, Miss Paige,” Benji says. “We’ll likely be staying another night or two, if it’s all right.”
“Ain’t exactly got people kickin’ down my door for them rooms. Help yourself.”
We thank her and head out to the barn to fetch Rogue. She’s well-rested and seems happy to see us, snuffling at Benji’s hair when he comes near and nudging her nose into my shoulder. We get her saddled and head out.
The tiny town of Point Reyes Station is awake now, though still slow and quiet. We pass a bakery, whose smells wafting from inside are so tempting that I can’t help but stop to let Benji run in and grab us a few treats to snack on throughout the day. Aside from Paige’s store and the bakery, Point Reyes appears to have a couple of homes, a general store, and very, very little else. But the people are friendly enough, lifting their hands to wave as we pass by, and the weather—while cold and a little drizzly—isn’t altogether bad. At least it isn’t snowing. I wonder if they even get snow here.
We take the road Paige labelled Sir Francis Drake out of the town and into the peninsula, again surrounded by towering trees and hills with the scent of rain and ocean clinging to the air. Benji, riding behind me, breathes in deep. I can’t see him without twisting around, but I can tell that he’s smiling.
The further up the winding road we go, the thicker the fog rolls in until, just like last night, we’re having difficulty seeing the path. I’m fairly certain we’ve missed a turn somewhere, or else Paige’s map is very off.
“Can you see Ellie anywhere?” I ask with a sigh.
Benji looks around. “Haven’t seen her at all today, no. Though that might be a turn, up there, perhaps?”
I think he’s right. A road that veers off to the left. I study Paige’s map, trying to pinpoint which trail it might be from the volley of squiggled lines. “I say, that doesn’t look like ‘Chimney Rock’ to you, does it? Here?”
“If it is, we’ve gone a fair bit farther
than we intended.”
Likely, given that it’s now well past midday, I think. Though the fog is thick enough and the sky overcast enough that pinpointing the location of the sun is not easy. By the rumbling of my belly, however, it is most certainly around or past lunchtime.
We could turn back and try for one of the trails we may have missed, or…we could continue. I loathe the idea of backtracking just yet, though I think we did pass a farm not too far back that may be able to give us directions.
Behind me, Benji shudders. His arms tighten around my waist. “Let’s keep moving.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“The wolves,” he whispers. “Can’t you hear them?”
I cover his hands with my own. It takes a moment, but the faint, distant howl reaches my ears, making the hair along the back of my neck stand on-end. But it’s coming from behind us, not before us.
“Onward it is.” I take up the reins again and give Rogue a nudge. She hesitates, craning her head around with her nostrils flaring, but then reluctantly starts forward.
The left-leaning trail is narrow and cluttered in comparison to the main road. Branches droop low. The path is worn by the passing of those before us, but it is nowhere near wide enough for a carriage. Maybe two horses to ride abreast—maybe.
It’s darker here, as well. The sky has grown so thick with angry grey clouds and the canopy of trees obscures what little sunlight we might otherwise have got. Benji folds his fingers around my chilled wrist. I begin to notice the same shadows he must see: ghostly figures slipping in and out amongst the towering red and brown trunks. Never am I able to get a solid look at them. Always gone when I turn to look.
Except for one—the silhouette of a figure lying on the side of the road up ahead.
Benji gasps, and I realise what we’re seeing isn’t a ghost at all, but an actual person lying unconscious on the ground.
Swift and automatic, we slide out of the saddle. Benji remains with Rogue while I rush forward, crouching near the figure, though a feeling of dread makes itself known the moment I’ve begun to drop to one knee.
That mop of dark, curly hair certainly looks familiar, doesn’t it?
