“Go to sleep,” he whispered when we were finished. He drew the covers up over my shoulders. “I’ll stay up the rest of the night and tomorrow, and then hit the sheets early tomorrow night.”
Grateful that he was home, I snuggled down and closed my eyes. Agent H—my Maine Coon brown tabby with massively tufted ears—curled up by my feet. Daphne had stayed out in the living room with Bryan, and Gabby was asleep on one of the heating vents. Agent H’s steady purr—audible all the way from the bottom of the bed—lulled me back to sleep and once again, I closed my eyes and crashed.
Morning broke through my sleep on the wafting scent of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. I sat up, my mouth watering.
Bryan was a good cook, though I was no slouch in the kitchen either, and he loved making breakfast for me. My appetite warred with my need for a shower, but finally the grime won out. I quickly lathered up and rinsed off, my long black hair pulled back in a high ponytail so I wouldn’t get it wet. As I dried off and slipped into a bra—underwire to corral my 38F girls—and panties, I remembered what he had said about his business.
Bryan didn’t need to work, but he liked doing so. He was a business mogul of some sort, and he loved every minute of it. But the closure of any small business was sad, and I felt bad for him. I quickly applied my makeup, winging the eyeliner out in cat’s eyes, and then decided on a pair of pale blue jeans and a cobalt blue turtleneck. It was cold outside, and I needed to pay a visit to Mandy Theos later this morning.
I zipped up a pair of leather ankle boots, fastened a silver belt around my waist, and brushed out my hair, glancing back in the mirror for one last reassuring glance. I was working out regularly, and the toning was beginning to show. I was a solid size eight, and fine with it, but I wanted to be a strong and fit size eight as well.
“Good morning!” I called ahead as I entered the kitchen.
Bryan was by the stove, pouring more batter into a pan. A stack of pancakes sat on the counter, along with a plate of bacon, and a skillet of scrambled eggs sat on the back burner. The smell of freshly pulled espresso filled the air, making my morning complete.
He held out one arm and I slid into it, kissing him. “Thank you for last night. I needed you.”
“I always need you,” he said. “You’re my mate, Kerris. My partner. And come this autumn, you’ll be my wife.”
He handed me a plate and I held it out while he scooped scrambled eggs onto it, and I stabbed three pancakes and set them next to the eggs, then added six slices of bacon. As I carried my plate over to the table, I saw that he had made me a triple-shot mocha, and I slid into my chair, content.
“You’re the best. But aren’t you tired?”
“Yeah, but if I sleep now, I won’t sleep tonight,” he said from the stove. Finishing up the last pancake, he stacked his plate high with food and sat down opposite me. “How did you sleep?”
“Like a log. Man, I was exhausted last night. But you helped me relax so that my dreams were easy.” I told him about chasing the ghosts around the playground. “August is now back across the Veil, but Penelope said she’s not sure if he’ll stay there. She’s not even sure how the spirits are getting free to return. Oh, in further news, I get to play welcome wagon today. Somebody moved into the old Johnson house this week and they’re already having problems.”
Bryan paused, his fork mid-air. “Who the hell would move into that place?”
“Obviously someone new to Whisper Hollow. Someone who hasn’t figured out yet that the place is haunted by a psychopathic ghost.” I rolled my eyes. “Oriel, Ivy, Ellia, and I are going over to welcome her to Whisper Hollow, and to warn her about the place. The woman has already called Sophia twice about suspicious noises inside the house. Sophia sent Frank over but, of course, he found nothing out of the ordinary.”
Bryan buttered his pancakes. “I know it’s haunted, but is it bad? Can they manage to live with the spirits?”
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t bet on it. The Johnson place is dangerous. It’s so bad that it’s seen a string of over fifty renters since 1962. Ezra Johnson went nuts and slaughtered his family. Nobody’s lasted there more than a few months, and a few of the renters have been hurt. The two or three families who actually bought the house didn’t last more than a week or two before putting it back on the market. The real estate agency who owns it—or who did, it might have changed hands—used to warn people, but you always get the crazies who think living in a haunted house might be fun. And it’s all fun and games until Casper turns into the Headless Horseman.”
While we ate our breakfast, he told me about his troubled business and how the manager had bungled things so badly there was no hope for anything except to cut his losses and run. “I tell you, the guy I hired for the job put on a good show and his resume checked out, but he just wasn’t able to hold it together.”
I was about to ask how much he had lost when my phone rang. I groaned, glancing at the caller ID. Sophia again. “Hello?”
“Hey, Kerris. I know you’re going over to see Mandy Theos today, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. Tiger Reine? Went into the lake about half an hour ago.” Her voice was hushed.
I stared at the table for a moment. I barely knew who Tiger was, other than the fact that he was in his twenties and he liked to ride around town on a Harley.
“Did he drive off the road?” I asked.
“Looks like it. Skid marks show he tried to stop, but he broke right through the guard rail and went over, bike and all.” She let out a long sigh. “He didn’t make it out.”
“Crap, everything seems to be happening this week. All right, I’ll tell Ellia. Let me know if a body surfaces in the next few days. If not, I’ll talk to Penelope and we’ll perform the rites to drag him out of the Lady’s clutches.” With that, I signed off. I glanced over at Bryan, who was watching me closely.
“The Lady take another one?”
I nodded. “Yeah, Tiger Reine. He was barely twenty-four, I think. That seems so young.” But the Lady didn’t care. The Lady took who she would and nothing mattered to her—age, gender, class. Young and old, rich or poor, she lured them in. I leaned back, rubbing my head. “Most likely, Ellia and I will have to drag his spirit out of the water and deliver it to Penelope in a few days. I swear, if one more thing happens this week, I’m going to scream.”
I pushed my chair out from the table. “All right. I need to gather a few things together that say welcome to the neighborhood and meet the Matriarchs over at the Johnson house.” I glanced at the backyard. The rain was pouring in the bleak morning. The snow had melted, but reports were predicting another round in the next day or so. Most of our snow came during January and February in Western Washington. For once, I realized that I was craving sunlight.
It would be a nice change, that was for sure.
The town of Whisper Hollow rests out on the Olympic Peninsula, on the edge of Lake Crescent near the Strait of Juan de Fuca. The peninsula is home to all sorts of odd creatures and spirits, and we’re easily the most haunted spot in Washington State. Living on the edge of the ocean, we get the winds that come in off the Straits. They howl through the night and rock the forest and topple long-rooted timbers. Out here, we try to be self-sufficient, because too often, we’re on our own. While we aren’t that far from Seattle as the crow flies, it takes several hours and a ferry or two to get there. We might as well be isolated in our own world when bad things happen.
While there are other small towns around here, Port Angeles and Port Townsend namely, really, we’re all sitting on the edge of the wild.
The Olympic National Forest is an old-growth temperate rain forest, one of the only temperate rain forests in the lower forty-eight. Deep in the heart of the woodland, the forest is saturated with rain—the Olympic Peninsula gets over four hundred inches of rain a year. Sasquatch lives in the depths of all that moss and mildew, as well as the Grey Man, and the spirits of miners and loggers from ages past. There are tribal lands nearby, and the Native Americ
ans weren’t all that friendly and peaceful around these parts, not surprising since a stream of settlers invaded and took over their lands. Homesteaders lived here, and they died here.
Whisper Hollow has its own agenda. Built over a convergence of ley lines, the town is home to a wayward set of spirits, not all of which are human, and not all of which are actually dead. From elementary school on, we’re all taught the rules, and we remember and follow them. To ignore them is to invite trouble—more trouble than it’s wise to incur. I remember reciting them aloud in first grade:
If you hear someone call your name from the forest, don’t answer.
Never interrupt Ellia when she’s playing to the dead.
If you see the Girl in the Window, set your affairs in order.
Try not to end up in the hospital.
If the Crow Man summons you, follow him.
Remember: Sometimes the foul are actually fair.
And most important: Don’t drive down by the lake at night.
Follow the rules and you stand a good chance of surviving. Don’t follow them, and no one can vouch for your safety.
But Whisper Hollow holds its own charm and magic, too, and if the town wants you to stay, it will welcome you in and never let you go. Even if you do manage to escape, chances are good it will summon you back, like it did with me. Despite the danger, despite the hauntings, I love Whisper Hollow. And now that I’m here, I’ll never leave again.
I slid on my jacket and picked up the basket I had managed to put together. I had added mini-muffins, a bottle of wine, a bottle of sparkling apple cider, oranges and apples and some bananas, an unopened box of chocolate, and a sheet of paper on which I had written the names and numbers of a reliable plumber, handyman, Dr. Corbin’s phone number, and several other services that newcomers might need.
“I’m leaving,” I called over my shoulder. Bryan was still in the kitchen, washing up from breakfast. I suspected he was too tired to do much else.
“Are you coming right back?” he asked, drying his hands on a dish towel as he peeked out into the living room.
I shook my head. “I have some errands to run, so I won’t be home for a while. You should take a nap while I’m gone.”
“I might at that,” he said, yawning widely. “As long as you’re out, we could use something for dinner, unless you want takeout. There’s not much in the fridge.”
I picked up the basket, draped it over my arm, and headed out. As I got into my CRV, I realized how very different my life was from a year ago. And I had to admit, as spooky and dangerous as it could be, I was grateful for everything that I’d gone through.
Chapter Two
Oriel’s big old SUV was waiting as I pulled alongside the curb in front of the Johnson house. Ellia and Ivy were with her; I could see them through the windows of the car. I turned off the ignition and slid out of my car, pocketing my keys.
One look at the old house set me on guard. Why anybody would want to take it on was beyond me, even barring the ghosts. Fixing it up would take a massive amount of money and time.
The house was one of those giant houses built back when families were large and the owners had money. It could have been beautiful, if it wasn’t weathered and left to decay.
A two-story Georgian-style house with a balcony directly over the front porch, it hearkened back to days long gone. With octagonal towers on either end, the house was large and symmetrical. The front porch was supported by four large columns, and above the porch was a balcony, again supported by columns. An ornate railing ran across the entire balcony, and the same type of railing connected the columns on the front porch that guarded the entrance, set on delicate balusters that had been hand carved.
But as beautiful as the house had once been, the siding was weathered, the last paint job peeling off in large flakes. There were cracks on some of the columns, and the porch steps looked precarious, the boards splintered and breaking.
The yard wore the same air of neglect, the tangle of foliage barren for the winter and looking like a brown spiderweb. Even the trees looked scraggly and forlorn. The entire lot—the house sat on a large parcel of land, at least three lots in one—felt hushed and predatory.
I walked over to Ivy, my paternal grandmother. A shapeshifter, she looked barely older than me. She gave me a kiss on the cheek as I took my place beside her. Oriel and Ellia joined us. Oriel was the Heart of Whisper Hollow, sort of like the spirit of the town incarnate. Ellia, my lament singer, was the third member of the Matriarchs who watched over the town. The women had no official say, but everybody respected them and most everyone listened to their warnings and suggestions.
“I remember when I was little, the stories were still making the rounds of how Ezra Johnson went stark crazy and killed his family, then himself,” Ellia said. She was seventy-five years old, but she cut a tall, regal figure, who moved and looked like she was far younger. With silver hair that hung down to her mid-back, she wove magic with her music. She held up a gloved hand, pointing to one of the upper windows. “That’s where they found the younger children in that room, strangled.”
I shuddered. “They’re still here. The children, and more. I don’t think anybody who’s died on this land has ever left. I can feel them all.” Even as I spoke, a wisp of fog moved across the front porch and vanished through the wall. “Do you know if Grandma Lila ever tried to clear this place?”
“Your grandmother tried, and so did your great-grandmother, but neither were successful,” Ellia said. “I played for both of them when they came out here, but the spirits were too traumatized to listen. Ezra’s rage tainted the ground, even after he killed his wife and kids. It binds them all here, and they’re locked into the land.”
“Then they’re doomed.” I chewed on my lip, wishing I could do something to break the cycle. Sometimes, when humans were killed so brutally, they couldn’t move on, and if they stayed long enough in an area, they became part of the setting where they died.
If we were lucky, they became part of the Mournful Dead—those who relived their deaths over and over, but seldom interacted with the living. If the Mournful Dead were rooted into the land, they would spend eternity re-enacting their deaths until one day, they faded away like old film. But spirits who were tied to the land could also become Haunts, dangerous to both the living and the dead. Haunts were angry, and out to cause as much havoc and pain as they could.
“Well, I suppose we should go talk to Mandy,” I said after a moment. I started up the walk, trying to ignore the whisper of ghosts around me. It was like a constant breeze in the background, a susurration of wind ruffling my hair as it tried to get my attention.
As we cautiously ascended the porch steps, avoiding the rotten boards, it crossed my mind that the Theos family must have been desperate to buy this place. Even the head-blind should be able to sense the anger and despair clinging to the walls.
I rang the bell. I couldn’t hear any sound from inside, so I raised the heavy knocker and let it drop on the door.
A moment later, a rather frantic-looking woman opened it. She was wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt with a long cardigan, and her red hair was pulled back in a messy bun. She gave us the once-over, looking puzzled.
“Yes? May I help you?”
“Hi, are you Mandy Theos? We’re here to welcome you to Whisper Hollow,” I said, lifting the basket so she could see it. “My name is Kerris Fellwater, and this is Oriel Woodbury, Ivy Primrose, and Ellia Volkov. I guess you might call us the welcome wagon.”
Hesitating for a moment, Mandy finally stepped back and asked us in. “It’s a mess. I just moved in last week.” She flashed us a forced smile, looking anything but pleased.
As we entered the foyer, I caught a glimpse of a child on the stairwell behind her. The girl was misty, and looked pissed off. She caught my gaze and tilted her head to the side, holding up one finger and shaking it at me in an oh no you don’t gesture. Disconcerted, I tried to focus on Mandy as she led us into a side room—
a living room by the looks of it—but the ghost’s piercing stare remained in my thoughts.
Ellia cleared her throat. “Ms. Theos—”
“Mandy, please,” the woman said, moving several boxes off the sofa so that we could sit down. “I’d offer you coffee, but my coffeemaker died this morning.”
“Mandy,” Ellia continued, “we’re curious. What drew you to Whisper Hollow?”
Looking startled, Mandy shrugged. “Several things, actually. I came out here for a vacation, and ended up driving by one day. I decided to stop in. I was visiting Port Townsend and wanted to drive along the strait. As I drove through Whisper Hollow, I just knew that I wanted to live here. That I belonged here.”
“Whisper Hollow’s a lovely town, but it’s got its eccentricities—” I began to say, but Mandy stopped me.
“If you’re talking about the ‘rules’ posted at the entrance to the town, well, I get the whole tourist thing. Like Forks and Twilight—right?” She laughed. “Whatever brings in the tourists.”
Oriel cleared her throat. “Not exactly. Twilight was fiction. The rules of Whisper Hollow aren’t. Pay attention to them. They’ll keep you alive.” She sounded so serious that Mandy’s smile slipped away and she slowly lowered herself into an armchair nearest my end of the sofa. “I don’t mean to frighten you, but if you truly are drawn to live here, we have to talk to you about the nature of this town. Especially since you chose this house to live in.”
“It’s old, yes…but…” Sounding less certain, Mandy glanced at each of us in turn.
Seeking reassurance, I thought.
“Oriel’s right,” Ivy said. “Sophia—the chief of police—mentioned you had called in a couple times reporting odd noises in this house. Do you know the history of this place?”
“The real estate agent told me there have been a few deaths here, but this is an old house. Any older house will have seen death.” Mandy glanced at me. “Wait a minute…are you trying to tell me this house is haunted?”
The Phantom Queen: A Whisper Hollow Novel, Book 3 Page 2
