The Prophet (Graveyard Queen)

by Amanda Stevens

  His urgency took me aback. “Why now? It’s been over two years since you were shot.”

  He glanced up at the sky. “The stars have finally aligned. The players have all taken their places.”

  Could he have sounded any more cryptic?

  “Does that include me?”

  “Yes.”

  I turned back to the garden, searching the shadows. “And if I refuse to be a part of this?” Whatever this was.

  “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?” he asked.

  Now it was I who fell silent.

  “Have you not noticed the dark circles under your eyes? The sunken cheeks? The weight loss? You’re not eating or sleeping. Your energy is waning even as we speak.”

  I stared at him in horror. “You’re haunting me?”

  Chapter Three

  My heart tripped at the implication of his words. I thought of my stalker, the elusive watcher who had been dogging me for days. Now I understood my lethargy and my insomnia. Fremont’s very presence was draining me of my life force just as Mariama had siphoned my energy earlier. Or had that been Fremont even then?

  “You have to help me,” he said.

  I gazed down at my trembling hands. “I’m beginning to realize that.”

  “As soon as we find him, as soon as justice is served, I’ll leave you in peace.”

  “I have your word?” The word of a ghost. That was a new one.

  “What reason would I have for lingering?” he asked.

  I shuddered to think.

  “You said find him. If you were shot in the back, how can you be so sure the killer was a man?”

  “I’m not sure of anything,” he admitted, and for the first time, I sensed some doubt. Maybe even a hint of fear. “I don’t even know why I was in the cemetery that night.”

  “You have amnesia?” A surreal question if ever there was one.

  “About the events surrounding that night? It would seem so.”

  He gazed out at the street as I searched his profile. The detail I could see in the twilight was amazing. The strong line of his jaw and chin, the sharp shelf of his cheekbone, the outline of his lips. Even knowing what I knew, I still found it difficult to accept that he was dead.

  “I suppose that makes sense,” I said, tearing my gaze away. “I’ve read that accident victims often can’t recall details leading up to the crash. This is similar. You suffered a severe trauma.”

  “Yes, the trauma was severe,” he murmured.

  “What’s the last thing you do remember? Before you died, I mean.”

  He fell silent, and now I sensed some turmoil, some inner conflict. “I remember meeting someone.”

  “At the cemetery?”

  “I don’t know. All I remember is the scent of her perfume. The smell was still on my clothes when I died.”

  “So the killer could have been a woman.”

  “It’s possible. I have a vague recollection of an argument.”

  “Do you know who she was?”

  Another hesitation. “Her name eludes me.”

  “What did she look like?”

  In the split second before he answered, I could have sworn I saw a shudder go through him, but it seemed unlikely a ghost would be affected in so earthly a manner. Surely I was ascribing my own human emotions to him.

  “I don’t know. But her perfume…”

  “Go on.”

  “The scent is still on my clothes,” he said, almost in defeat. “I can smell it even now.”

  I thought of the exotic fragrance that had drifted to me earlier, riding the same ghostly breeze as the nightingale’s song. If Fremont had been following me then, the scent might have come from him.

  And then something else occurred to me. Had he seen Mariama and Shani’s ghosts? Was that why he’d disappeared?

  Could ghosts even see one another? Interact with one another?

  Years and years of questions bubbled up inside me, but it was so strange to be able to ask them of a ghost. Stranger still that my fear had dissipated. Was I still under a spell?

  Once again I found myself heading into dangerous territory, spurning Papa’s warning and flirting with disaster. One door had already been breached because of my wanton disregard of the rules. Would my connection with a ghost open yet another?

  “What’s it like?” I heard myself ask him. “Behind the veil, I mean.”

  “It’s called the Gray. The place in between the Dark and the Light.”

  The place, he’d said. Not the time. The distinction seemed significant.

  “Does it still hurt? From where you were shot?”

  “There’s no pain,” he said. “There’s nothing really.”

  “But you feel something. You must. You’re here because you want vengeance. That means you’re still capable of human emotion.”

  “I’m here because I can’t…” His ghostly voice trailed off.

  “You can’t what?”

  “Rest,” he said wearily. “Something is keeping me here.”

  “And you think if we expose your killer, you’ll be released?”

  “Yes.”

  I thought about that for a moment. His urgent need to find the killer corroborated what I’d always suspected. Not all ghosts were drawn through the veil by their rapacious hunger for human warmth or their insatiable desire to rejoin the living. Some were earthbound for reasons beyond their control. Apparently, Robert Fremont was one of them. I wondered if Shani was another. If Mariama’s ghost kept Devlin chained to her by his guilt and grief, did those same emotions keep Shani bound to him?

  “Can you see them?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  “The other ghosts. They’re all around us. Surely you’ve noticed them.”

  “I keep my distance.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re insidious,” he said with contempt. “Leeches preying on the living because they refuse to accept death. I’m not like that.”

  “But isn’t that what you’re doing to me?”

  “Only for as long as I need your help. I have to sustain myself until I can find a way to move on,” he said. “I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here.”

  “So, what do we do first?”

  He moved, stirring the air, and I felt a faint chill creep up my spine. I had to remind myself yet again that, despite our strange arrangement, he was still a ghost and, therefore, dangerous to me.

  “We follow the clues,” he said. “No matter where they lead us. Understood?”

  “I…”

  “Understood?”

  I almost jumped. “Yes. Understood.”

  He nodded and turned away. “Someone was in the cemetery after I was shot that night, someone besides the killer. We have to find that person or persons and get them to talk.”

  I gave him a skeptical look. “Did you see someone?”

  “No,” he said. “But I sensed a presence.”

  A presence. “If you were that close to death, how can you be so sure you weren’t dreaming or hallucinating?”

  “I felt someone going through my pockets. It was real, but if you don’t believe me, read the police report. My cell phone was missing when my body was recovered.”

  “How am I supposed to get my hands on the police report?”

  “You said you could be resourceful when the need arises. Find a way.”

  I was starting to get frightened again. This was absolutely the strangest night of my life, and that was saying something for me.

  Was I really being blackmailed by a ghost? Did he truly expect me to conduct a murder investigation all on my own? If I failed, if I couldn’t uncover his killer, would he haunt me for the rest of my life? Would he continue to devour my warmth and energy until I remained nothing more than a shell?

  I tried to remain calm. “Assuming we somehow manage to find this…whoever it was, how do you propose we make them talk? I’m not a cop. I know nothing about interrogations. And frankly, what you’
re proposing sounds incredibly risky. Not that you have to worry about it.”

  “I’m not out to get you killed,” he said.

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “So long as you do as I say, you’ll be fine.”

  And I was supposed to believe him?

  Yet, even as I quivered in fear, an unexpected excitement coursed through me. All my life, I’d been sheltered and protected, not just from the ghosts, but from the world outside my cemetery gates. There was a time when I would have clung to that seclusion, to that safety, even to my loneliness, but the secrets I’d uncovered about myself in Asher Falls had made me reevaluate my ability and my very existence. I wanted to believe there was a purpose to my life, a reason why I saw ghosts. It wasn’t just a dangerous legacy. I had been given a gift.

  And now here was a ghost who offered me a way to attain a higher purpose. A reason to embrace that dark gift rather than hide from it on hallowed ground.

  If I could help the Prophet move on, perhaps I could do the same for Shani and Mariama. And then Devlin would be mine—

  I was a little shocked by the direction of my thoughts, and I told myself I wouldn’t go there. It was too dangerous. Too foolish to even contemplate a time when Devlin and I might possibly be together. Besides, for all I knew he’d already moved on with the brunette. He might already have put our past behind him.

  Then why had he sent a message on the day I’d left Asher Falls?

  Why had his ghosts lured me into that woman’s garden tonight? Why did Mariama feel so threatened by me?

  It wasn’t over with Devlin. A part of me knew that, no matter what happened, no matter the passage of time or the miles between us, it would never truly be over. Devlin was my destiny. The one man I wanted above all others was the one man I could never have.

  Unless I could somehow find a way to close that door.

  I tried to tamp down that sinister glimmer of hope as I glanced at the ghost. “If I help you, we’ll be even, right? My debt to you will be paid in full.”

  Robert Fremont smiled. “Never bargain with the dead. We have nothing to lose.”

  Chapter Four

  Long after Fremont vanished, I sat there shivering in the falling twilight even though the evening was still quite warm. At some point, it occurred to me that Angus was barking in the backyard. Strangely, he’d been silent during the visitation, but now something had excited him. I called out, but my voice didn’t quiet him.

  I grabbed my shopping bag and hurried through the side yard to the back gate, contemplating the impact of my meeting with Fremont. In the space of a few short minutes, my whole life had changed. I’d knowingly entered into a relationship with a ghost. Talk about acknowledging the dead. Talk about tempting fate. I could only imagine what Papa would say about such an association.

  Which made me wonder…had he ever encountered an entity like Robert Fremont?

  I thought about the ghost of the old white-haired man I’d seen in Rosehill Cemetery, the hallowed place of my childhood. He had been my first manifestation and I’d only glimpsed him one other time since that long-ago day. My father had told me that ever since the initial sighting, he’d been afraid the old man’s ghost had been sent to watch over me by something evil on the other side of the veil. But I had to wonder if Papa was still holding out on me. Despite everything he’d revealed about my birth and my heritage, I couldn’t shake the notion that he kept things from me still. That he had secrets I’d yet to uncover.

  Opening the back gate, I slipped inside. There was still light in the garden though the moon hadn’t yet risen. Angus stood in the center of the yard, his gaze transfixed on the swing. It moved slowly back and forth.

  Shani?

  I didn’t say her name aloud. I didn’t think I needed to.

  She didn’t answer. I heard no sound at all except for the faint tinkle of the wind chimes and the pounding of my heart in my ears.

  But the swing continued to move in the breeze.

  Something was there. I could feel a chill in the air, and as I stood riveted, a scent drifted to me. Not the exotic fragrance from earlier, but the familiar scent of jasmine that harkened Shani’s presence. Once again she had followed me home, but for some reason, she wouldn’t or couldn’t appear. Was she afraid of Mariama?

  I didn’t want to contemplate what that might mean. A child—even a ghost child—frightened of her own mother.

  I was certainly afraid of Mariama.

  “Shani?” Her name slipped out on a whisper.

  Silence.

  I watched the swing move back and forth, imagining the sway of the little girl’s hair, the billow of her blue dress. The innocent peal of her sweet laughter.

  How many times had Devlin remembered her that way? How many times had he roused from a dream, aching to hold his child in his arms only to recall his painful reality? He must have relived her death over and over in the two years since she’d been gone. A fresh despair every time he awakened.

  My heart turned over. “I know you’re there,” I called softly.

  I was playing with fire, and I could almost hear my father’s condemnation. What are you doing, child? Why are you flaunting the rules? Haven’t you learned your lesson by now? The Others are still out there. Evil is still out there. By acknowledging the dead, you’re inviting forces of which you know nothing into your world. Once inside, they’ll have you at their mercy. Your life will never again be your own…

  Angus stood frozen just as I was, his gaze focused on the swing. He didn’t growl as one would expect in the presence of a ghost. He seemed almost…enchanted. Mesmerized.

  What’s his name?

  I heard the question as surely as if she’d spoken it aloud, but the only sounds in the garden were the gentle music of the wind chimes and the rustle of leaves in the live oaks.

  “Angus.”

  My voice seemed to release him from his spell, and he came to my side, whining piteously as he nuzzled my hand with his cold nose. Even in the dim light of the garden, I could see the horrible scarring on his snout and the nubs where his ears had been cut off. I ran my hand along his back where the tan fur still bristled.

  Did the bad man hurt him?

  Was that a note of fear I detected? Or was I merely projecting my own terror onto Shani? Onto a ghost. “The bad man?”

  The trees seemed to shudder, and I heard a whimper. I continued to smooth Angus’s fur with a trembling hand, but I didn’t think the sound had come from him.

  “Who is the bad man?” I asked carefully.

  Another whimper.

  “It’s okay,” I crooned, as much to reassure myself as to soothe Angus and Shani. “Everything will be fine.”

  But would it?

  A line had been crossed tonight, and if Papa was right, I could never go back. For all my lofty ruminations of a higher purpose, I had no idea what I was getting into. What I was inviting into my life. Was I ready to accept the consequences of such a dangerous transformation?

  Will you help me?

  The question seemed to echo all my worries and self-doubt. All my midnight terrors. “What do you want me to do?”

  The swing stopped, and I had a sense that Shani’s spirit was already starting to fade back into the netherworld.

  Come find me.

  Chapter Five

  The next day, I took Angus for a walk in the same neighborhood where I’d seen Devlin and the woman. And I even managed to convince myself that I had a legitimate motive for doing so.

  I’d broken a statue in the garden and had then fled the scene without a word. The least I could do was extend an apology and an offer of compensation, even if the accompanying explanation would require a lie. A white lie, but an untruth nonetheless. After all, I could hardly confess that I’d been lured into her garden by a ghost and had then been accosted by another. And not just any ghosts, but the spirits of Devlin’s dead wife and daughter. I could only imagine how that would go over with his…whatever the woman was to him.


  Of course, the bigger lie was the one I told myself. My return trip to that neighborhood had very little to do with a guilty conscience. I wanted to find that woman’s house and see her in daylight to assuage my curiosity.

  I fully appreciated that my judgment in the matter wasn’t what it should be. I blamed it on exhaustion. All those otherworldly visitations had wreaked havoc on my nerves, and I hadn’t slept a wink. In the course of one evening, I’d been drawn into two disturbing mysteries—Robert Fremont’s murder and Shani’s need for me to find her. I had no idea what either search would entail and already I felt emotionally and physically worn out. But, as Angus and I strolled along the sidewalk, I told myself I wouldn’t dwell on those unsettling contacts today, not even Shani’s disquieting plea. The weather was just too gorgeous, so warm and mellow that the netherworld chill of last evening seemed like a bad dream. I had Angus on a leash, but that was a mere formality. He never strayed far from my side, nor did he rebel against the restraint, so I indulged him as much as I could, letting him take his time with whatever new sight or smell caught his fancy.

  I used those frequent interludes to admire the gardens that I glimpsed through wrought-iron fences. The sweet fragrance of autumn clematis wafted from trellises, and now and then, I caught the spicier aroma of the ginger lilies that were just starting to open. I drew in a breath, letting the perfume of a Charleston morning wash over me.

  I’d just stopped to admire the electric yellow of a ginkgo tree when the dark-haired woman from last evening suddenly came around the corner of her house. I recognized her immediately, though she looked somewhat different in daylight. A little shorter and curvier than I remembered, but by no means overweight. She had a round, pleasant face and an air of sweet gentility that conjured up images of lacy parasols and English tea roses.

  Not at all the impression I’d been left with the night before.

  Simultaneously, I noticed the burnish of auburn in her hair and the pink in her cheeks, neither of which I’d been able to detect in the waning light of her garden. She was dressed in faded cords and a droopy cardigan that hung past her generous hips, and judging by the stains on her knees and the large pair of pruning shears in one hand, she’d already been up to some gardening. If not for her ingénue-like countenance, I might have thought the gleam of those large blades a little sinister.