Deev—or Dr. Divine, as was his name—was an artist whose sculptures sometimes decided to come to life. He couldn’t consciously choose to give one of them life, but they spontaneously woke up, and once they were off and running around the town, he couldn’t put the lid on the bottle again.
Deev kept some of his more terrifying sculptures locked away under heavy guard, in hopes they would never break out and harm anyone. He had no explanation for why this happened, but he had confided to me, when I warned him to be cautious of Peggin’s heart, that he thought he was from a parallel universe. He hadn’t told Peggin yet, but I had a feeling that he was on target, even if he couldn’t fully remember everything.
“You never know. She hasn’t yet, but that doesn’t mean she won’t. He said that even if she does, she’ll be safe for you to have around.” Peggin took a deep drink from her cup.
I nodded. “I trust him on that. Why didn’t you want to give this to me next week?”
“Because if you didn’t like it, or if it made you feel uncomfortable, I didn’t want everybody else thinking D-D had fucked up,” she said with a little shrug.
Something in her voice told me that their relationship had shifted. I glanced up at her. “You said the words, didn’t you?”
She bit her lip, nodding. “I told him I loved him last night.”
“And…?” I knew she had fallen in love a month ago, but Peggin was gun-shy about getting hurt and I also knew that she hadn’t said the actual words yet. That is, until now.
“He told me he had been waiting for me to say the words, that we were on my timetable, and that he had loved me from the start. He promised not to push me, but he also made it clear he’s not going anywhere.” She blushed, but her eyes told me that she was delighted. “I’ve never met anyone like him. D-D is so…strange. Even for Whisper Hollow, you know? Sometimes it feels like he’s…I don’t know…you know how Bryan’s a shifter? And you can feel that difference about him?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“Well, it feels like that with Deev. As though he’s not quite human. Anyway, I’m happy, and he’s happy, and everything’s right with the world.” She paused, then added, “I’ve made up my mind about something else, too. You remember how I always wanted to design clothes, but my parents wouldn’t pay for me to go into design in college?”
Peggin had wanted a vastly different life than her family expected for her, and they had written her off because she refused to acquiesce to their demands. As a result, she had skipped college and put herself through a medical assistant course, taking a job as receptionist with one of the local doctors—Corbin Wallace. She was happy enough, but I knew it wasn’t what she had wanted to do in life.
“Right, I remember.”
“Well, I’ve decided that I want to pursue it again. I can’t very well quit my job, but I enrolled in a night class to learn advanced sewing at the Community Center. I figured that was a good place to start. I make most of my own clothes as it is, but I know there are a number of techniques I haven’t learned.”
“Good for you! I always thought you could do so much more.” I paused, staring at the table. “You know, that makes me think about what I want to do. I own my house, thanks to my grandparents, and I’m the spirit shaman, yes. But I don’t…do…anything otherwise. When I lived in Seattle, I made my own way. I was the manager of a coffee shop. For as little as it seemed then, I was busy and active. And after a few months of being out of work, I’m beginning to feel the need for something to fill the hours where I’m not taking care of the dead.”
Peggin smoothly crossed her right leg over her left, sitting back in her chair. She played with her mug. “What do you want to do? Open another coffee shop?”
“Nelly and Michael Branson might take offense at that—the Broom & Thistle is the best coffee shop in town.” I laughed. “Besides, I’d drink all the inventory. No, I don’t know what I want to do. I’ve never had a driving passion, given I always knew I’d be a spirit shaman. I think, even though I ran away, there was something deep inside that knew I’d be returning home one day to take up the post. Grandma Lila and Great-Grandma Mae were housewives when they weren’t out dealing with the dead. But I don’t think I can do that. Even when Bryan and I get married, I don’t think I’m cut out to stay at home and take care of the house.”
“Then you’d better start thinking about what you do want. I know your grandparents left you enough money so that you wouldn’t have to worry for a while, and the house is paid for, but at some point you’re going to be bored stiff.” Peggin lifted her cup. “Mind if I make another?”
“Girl, you’re on one hell of a caffeine high, aren’t you?” I laughed and waved to the machine. “Go ahead.”
“Hey, coffee is the lifeblood and soul of the world.” Peggin moved to the espresso machine. “Besides, I was going to make decaf this time. Are you and Bryan busy tonight?”
I shook my head. “He’s coming over for an hour or so, but he’s still immersed in trying to sort out the mess with his antique business in Ireland. It’s going under thanks to mismanagement and he’s got a mess on his plate.”
“What say we go to a movie? There’s a new Night Whisperer movie out.”
“Really?” Peggin and I both loved the Night Whisperer franchise, about an anti-hero psychic who started out unaware of his own abilities and ended up realizing his self-touted powers were for real. The movies were funny enough to laugh at, while remaining fairly realistic to the actual world of mediums and psychics.
“Yeah. I want to go out tonight, D-D is busy, and if you’re up for it, we could go to a late showing.” She opened the cupboard. “Do you have anything to eat?”
“I was going to make clam chowder for dinner. Stay and join us. And there’s a box of doughnuts over there if you’re peckish.”
“Are you sure? Bryan just got back. I thought you might want a little time alone.” She opened the doughnut box and selected a sprinkle- and chocolate-covered cake doughnut.
“I’m sure.” I snapped my fingers. “Hey, I love to eat. Maybe I should start a catering business?”
“Honey, I’m sorry. You’re a good cook, but I don’t think you’d be happy or all that successful at being a caterer. Maybe you should start a psychic house-clearing business? Or read the cards for people—”
“I don’t read the tarot. And being a spirit shaman is my destiny, not a job.” I laughed and shrugged. “I’ll figure out something. Whatever it is, it’s going to have to be flexible because I never know when I’m going to be called out.” I paused. “I suppose I could write. I always loved writing and I’m an incredible bookworm. I could write ghost stories…or something along that line. Speaking of ghosts, guess what I did this morning?”
I made a mocha myself, and together, we finished our mochas and doughnuts, and I told her about Mandy Theos. “That place is a deathtrap. I know from reading their journals that neither Grandma Lila nor Great-Grandma Mae were able to clear the Johnson House. I wonder if I should try it.”
“Three words: Let. It. Be,” Peggin said. “Some places are just tainted.” She shuddered. “Like Foggy Downs. The neighborhood is so close to the Lady that none of those houses will ever be safe. I can’t believe I tried to buy a house there. By the way, how has her appetite been lately? I heard about Tiger Reine.”
I sobered. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that in a week or so, Ellia and I are going to have to take care of him. We’ll call him out of the lake and make sure he gets back to the graveyard where Penelope can guide him through the Veil. It’s a lot harder with those the Lady takes. She likes to hold on to them. She can keep their bodies, but their spirits? That’s another matter. It impedes them from moving on.”
“Somehow, I don’t think she cares much about that.”
“Somehow, I think you’re right.” I paused. “How are you doing? It’s only been a few weeks since the Lady tried to take you.” I had noticed that for the past month, Peggin had avoided going anywhere
near the lake if she could help it. I didn’t blame her, but I had the suspicion she had some lingering PTSD from the whole mess.
The smile faded and she pressed her lips together. “I have nightmares a lot. I’m better now that I’m back in my house—and now that I know I can stay there. But I find myself avoiding going anywhere near the lake. And when I heard Tiger Reine went over the edge…well…it’s hard for me not to dwell. I heard about it this morning and I’ll admit, that’s why I took the afternoon off. I started to obsess and I couldn’t focus at work.” She gave me a bleak stare. “Do you think I’ll ever get over it? That I’ll ever be able to really relax again?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll do our best to help. You know that. I think in time, it will ease off. You had a horrendous scare. It’s no wonder you’re still feeling the effects. Not to mention the trauma from the ritual to remove her mark.” I crossed behind her and gave her a hug, wrapping my arms around her. “You’re doing great, Peggin. You’ll pull through this and be stronger than before. But if you ever start wigging out, you know you can come over, day or night.”
She let out a long breath, closing her eyes as she leaned her head back against my chest. “Thanks, chica. Just don’t suggest a picnic by the lake any time soon, okay?”
“Too damned cold,” I said, glancing outside. The air was frigid and it felt like the snow they were predicting was imminent. I crossed to the door, opening it to peek out back. Bryan had torn down the fence between his estate and my yard, and the backyard seemed to go on forever. Glancing up at the sky, I could feel the moisture in the air, and the crackle of ozone that preceded snow storms was so thick it made the hairs on my arm stand up. “It’s going to snow before nightfall. Hurricane Ridge is getting battered, I gather.”
“Hurricane Ridge always gets battered.” She paused as the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it.”
I carried our plates and mugs to the sink and began to rinse them out. Peggin returned with a note, in a large, ornate white envelope. She held up the back so I could see it. There was a wax seal on it—blood red.
Penelope.
“Oh boy, I wonder what she wants.” I dried my hands on a tea towel and took the envelope from her, sitting down. Peggin pulled her chair close as I pried the seal open and slid the thick paper out of the envelope. It felt like handmade parchment, and it had a sepia tone, as if it had come down from another age and time. Which it might well have, given who it was from.
I glanced at the writing. The handwriting was delicate and looped in coils, as though an expert calligrapher had written the note.
we need to talk. tonight. eight pm. bring your tools. ~penelope
Peggin whistled. “Something’s up.”
“Well, I asked to see her. I need to talk to her about Tiger Reine. But when Penelope asks me to bring my tools, I know there’s more to it than a simple discussion.” I slid the card back in the envelope. I glanced at Peggin. “Want to go with me? I doubt Bryan will be able to get away and it doesn’t say to bring Ellia, though I might, just in case.”
Peggin shivered, but she nodded. “Sure, I’ll go with you. We can head out to the movie after that, if you aren’t shanghaied into anything else. It’s three-thirty now. What do you want to do until dinner?”
I looked out back. The snow was still holding off and there were a few gardening chores I wanted to get done. Even though Bryan was lending me his gardener’s assistance in bringing the yard back to life from the overgrown tangle it had been in, I still loved to putter in the yard.
“I might go work in the gardens for a little bit. You really aren’t dressed for it—”
“No, I’m not. How about if I stay inside and read? I can play with the cats.”
So, with Peggin occupied, I slipped on my jacket and gloves, then put on a pair of earmuffs, and headed outside to work.
Chapter Four
As I stood in the yard, deciding what to do first, I flashed back to the years I had spent here with my grandmother and Duvall. He hadn’t been my actual grandfather, I had found out, and for that I was grateful. A vicious, cruel man, he had been responsible for my mother and father’s deaths, and I would never forgive him. The thought that he was still out there, held captive by the Lady in the depths of the lake, haunted me. One day she might let him go, and then he would return as one of the Unliving and I would have to drive him out for good.
There are six types of dead, Grandma Lila had taught me. Do you remember what they are?
Once you learned what the dead were like, it was hard to forget. There were the Resting Dead, who had passed through the Veil, onto other existences. Then, there were the Mournful, who relived their deaths over and over, taking little heed of the living. The third type of dead were the Wandering Ones, who wandered the earth, quite often unaware they were dead. Sometimes they noticed people, but usually paid little attention to the world of the living.
However, then we moved into the more powerful dead. Haunts, the fourth type of dead, were dangerous and angry spirits, who delighted in causing trouble for the living. Some were less vindictive and they just liked to create chaos and mayhem. Others were so volatile that they could hurt the living. Poltergeists were included in this category.
Guides were the fifth type of the dead, and they were powerful, generally helpful, and they often acted as guardians for the living, shielding them as best they could against Haunts or the Unliving.
And then…came the Unliving. Corporeal to a point, though not always phasing fully solid, they were formed from sheer determination and focus. They were more cunning than Haunts, though just as unpredictable and dangerous, and they could affect the living on several levels including both mental and emotional. As far as I knew, they were the basis for what people thought of as “zombies” but, unlike fictional zombies, they weren’t out for brains. They were out for blood and life force.
There were times, however, when the Unliving would work with the living if it suited their needs. I had learned not long ago that the Queens of the Unliving—the royalty—were fallen spirit shamans who had been punished by the Morrígan for turning their back on their sworn duties. It was a good incentive to never lose my way.
I shook my head. At least the Lady had given my grandmother’s body back, although I had yet to be asked to escort her across the Veil. She had shown up several times in my house, and I knew she was acting as my guardian until I got my footing under me.
I glanced around the yard. Bryan’s gardener was doing a bang-up job, but there were several things he had left alone, like Grandma Lila’s herb garden. He had weeded it, but hadn’t done much else. Now was as good a time as any to decide what I wanted to do with it.
I knelt down by the raised bed, eying the scraggly plants. The sage and mint were alive and kicking, as was the parsley. But the thyme looked half-dead, and a number of the others—both culinary and magical—looked to be on their last legs. I sat on the edge of the bed and began to look them over closely, trying to decide what I could save and what I couldn’t.
A light flutter of snow fell on my lashes and I darted a look into the sky. It was a shimmering silver, and small flakes were beginning to drift down. The ground was so cold that they weren’t melting, either. They landed on the earth and stuck. I held out my hand, catching one on my fingertip. I opened my mouth and a snowflake landed on my tongue. Overhead, I heard the cawing of crows and then…
…I was standing in the middle of a frozen field.
It looked like a cornfield, the decaying stalks covered with snow. Harvest was long past, and the earth was fallow and barren, echoing with the soft kiss of snow on snow. To all directions, the field stretched. I thought that I saw a scarecrow, stretched out on a wooden cross-stake, and I headed over to it. As I drew closer, though, the scarecrow raised its head. It was the Crow Man, hanging off of the X-shaped structure. He laughed and leapt down into the snow.
He was wearing winter white this time—a white fur cloak replacing the darker cloak that usually
hung over his patchwork duster. His hair was vivid black. Raven black. Inky black with blue highlights. It coiled down his back. His headdress, that of a giant crow’s head and feathers, loomed over his face. His jeans and black leather boots were the same as I remembered, and he still carried the silver wand with a shimmering crystal atop it. He turned to me and his eyes glowed, glossy black with slits of neon white striking through them like lightning.
“The dead are walking,” he said, looming over me. He was a good seven feet tall.
“Is there a reason?” I asked, shivering.
“There’s always a reason. You have only to look for it.” He turned toward the west and motioned for me to walk with him. As we trudged through the snow, he held out the silver wand and lightning crackled from the end. “You will soon be paying a visit to she who guards the Veil. Listen to what she is not saying.”
The Crow Man spoke in riddles. He was a trickster in many ways, but he was also the messenger of the Morrígan and when he appeared, it was wise to pay attention. I had learned that letting him do most of the talking was well worth the effort to keep my mouth shut.
“The next one that surfaces will be a conundrum. Look below the surface. There’s a new darkness in the forest, and can be easily mistaken for other symptoms. The disease may not be what you think it is.”
“Something’s going to happen, then, and I shouldn’t be too quick to assume the cause?”
He grinned at me. “Well said, cowgirl of the dead.” He laughed.
I snorted. “Cowgirl of the dead? I guess I do herd them back to the grave, don’t I?”
I had met the Crow Man a number of times by now and each time, I realized I liked him even more. He was nothing to mess around with—emissaries of the gods could be as deadly as their masters—but the Crow Man had a way about him that was hard to ignore. He reminded me a little of Dr. Divine, though far less human.
“You do.” He paused. We were quite a ways from where we had started. He held his tongue out, catching snowflakes on it. “There will be times when you dread an alliance, but dread alliances can prove helpful, even if they cost a pretty price. You’ll know if the payment is too dear. Listen to your heart. Listen to your soul.”
The Phantom Queen: A Whisper Hollow Novel, Book 3 Page 4
