Authors: Amanda Stevens
I turned to glance at Kendrick but he faced away from me. I sat huddled on the seat, clutching Rose's key as we made for home.
* * *
I didn't tell Kendrick what I'd seen. What would be the point since the animation of that symbol could have been nothing more than a strange hallucination or a nasty mind trick? But he must have sensed my disquiet because he insisted on taking a look around the yard and orchard when we got home.
While he searched the grounds, I went through the house. Angus met me at the front door and followed my every step. I started at the back and worked my way up to the front bedroom where he once again refused to enter. He waited at the threshold while I made my usual inspection. Then he trailed me outside and plopped down on the mat in front of the door.
“I suppose this means I won't be invited in for a nightcap,” Kendrick teased as he climbed the steps and went over to give my guard dog a quick scratch.
“It's a little early for a nightcap,” I said. “But Angus and I can offer you a cup of tea or a glass of wine.”
He rose and came back over to where I stood at the edge of the porch. “I should head back to the station. I've got a mountain of paperwork waiting on my desk.”
“I sympathize. I've got plenty of work to do myself.”
“I won't keep you, then.”
We stood at the top of the steps, gazing at each other as black clouds deepened the twilight. Lightning flickered in the distance and the air felt heavy with static.
“Looks like we got off the water just in time,” I said.
He glanced at the sky. “It'll blow over. I doubt we get even a drop of rain from that cloud.”
“You sound pretty certain.”
“I know the weather patterns around here.” He paused, his gaze returning to me. “Amelia...”
“Yes?” My breath caught in spite of myself. It was only the second time he'd ever said my name and the slight elongation of the
e
made me wonder again about his background. About his French grandmother who saw ghosts and the time he'd spent with her in Paris. He seemed very exotic to me at that moment. A man with an affinity for the supernatural.
He was still staring down into my eyes, searching my features anxiously. “You'll be all right here, won't you?”
“I have been so far.”
He frowned. “I don't like leaving you alone. Not after everything that has happened.”
“I'm not alone. I have Angus.”
“Your gentle warrior,” he said with a smile. “You also have my number. Call me anytime. I mean that. I can be here in a matter of minutes.”
“I'll call if I need you.”
“I should go,” he said again.
But he made no move toward the steps or to me. I leaned back against the porch post, hands behind me as I gazed into those mesmerizing eyes. He wasn't touching me at all and yet I could feel him just as I had earlier. His hands sliding up my arms. His mouth pressing against mine.
My lips parted and I saw something flare in his eyes, but he still didn't reach for me. I could still feel him, though. I wasn't hallucinating or imagining his touch. It was real. He never moved a muscle and yet somehow his fingers wove through my hair, tilting my head as he deepened the kiss with his tongue.
“How are...”
“Shush,” he said.
My head fell back against the post and I closed my eyes, seeing him at the back of my mind as he lifted my shirt over my head and tossed it aside. He undressed me completely and yet I stood on the porch with all my clothes on. I could feel his hands on my bare skin now, skimming over my breasts and trailing along my inner thighs. Teasing and teasing until I heard myself gasp.
My eyes flew open.
How could this be? How could I experience something so intensely intimate and pleasurable when we had never even touched?
How had I allowed him to infiltrate my head and entice me so easily? Why did I not push him out now and slam the door against his carnal manipulations?
But I didn't push him out. Instead, I visualized myself unbuttoning his shirt and shoving it aside as I trailed my mouth along his shoulder.
“How are you doing this?” I whispered.
His eyes were dark and glowing and so intensely focused I worried the glare might burn right through me.
“It's not me,” he murmured. “It's you.”
“I'm not doing anything.”
“But you are. You're making it happen because it's what you want. And only you can stop it. You have the power to send me away with the blink of an eye.”
I told myself to do exactly that.
Go inside, lock the door and end this dangerous fantasy right this minute.
But I remained motionless, and the next thing I knew, we were both inside the house, entwined inside the front bedroom. That room gave me pause, but he silenced my protest with an even deeper kiss. We moved to the bed, embracing and peeling off clothing until we were both naked. His hands were all over me now, making me burn with hunger. Unchained from my earthly reservations, I moved down his body, touching and stroking and tasting. I couldn't seem to get enough of him.
We kissed and kissed and when I invited him in, he turned me, drawing me back against him as he rose behind me. He was moving inside me now, on and on and on until I felt consumed and half-crazed with need. Until a violent shudder brought me back out to the front porch where I stood fully clothed and shivering.
He did touch me then, a mere brush of his knuckles down my cheek. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured.
“Good night” was all I could manage.
Thirty
T
he next afternoon, I drove to Charleston to have an early dinner with Dr. Shaw. Angus rode with me and I left him at the house on Rutledge, curled up in my office with food and water bowls brimming.
I had allotted myself enough time to take a predinner stroll through the historic district. I missed my morning walks and wanted to savor a bit of the city before I met up with Dr. Shaw.
I started out on Tradd and headed toward the water. The houses along this street were very old and in varying states of disrepair and renovation. One could always tell the season by the delectable scents drifting over the garden wallsâjasmine in the spring, magnolia in early summer and the elusive tea olive in fall and winter. The four-o'clocks were blooming now and I enjoyed their subtle perfume as I sauntered along the cracked sidewalks, peering into the wrought-iron gates that opened into mysterious alleyways and lush courtyards.
When I reached East Bay, I paused. I could cross the street and stroll along the Battery or I could turn right and continue down the peninsula to White Point Garden. This time of day, the fragrances spilling from the park would be captivating. But that walk would take me past Devlin's ancestral mansion, a white, three-storied confection of gleaming pillars and shady piazzas. I'd never been inside the home, nor had I met Devlin's grandfather. They'd been estranged until last year when Jonathan Devlin had taken ill and Devlin had been lured back into his grandfather's orbit, back into the world he'd left behind when he married Mariama Goodwine.
But dwelling on his relationship with Mariama never led to a good place. I would be better off not thinking about Devlin at all if I could help it. I was still shaken by the episode with Kendrick the evening before and I felt vulnerable to forces I didn't understand. I wanted to put those fears behind me, shove aside all my worries and premonitions so that I could enjoy my brief stay in Charleston.
I turned left on East Bay, wandering past the colorful houses on Rainbow Row and eventually making my way past the shops and eateries to Queen Street. Dr. Shaw was already at the restaurant by the time I arrived. I found him in the bar sipping a double dram of Scotch. It was still early and we had no trouble being seated near a window where we could watch the hustle and bustle on the street.
“How have you been?” he asked as he observed me from across the table.
“I'm well, but a lot has happened since the last time we spoke.”
“So I gathered from your email. You must tell me everything, my dear. Don't leave out a single detail.”
“We could be here for hours,” I said drily.
His eyes gleamed from the prospect. “I'm yours for the evening,” he said as he motioned for the waiter. He ordered a fresh Scotch for himself and a glass of wine for me, and once the drinks were served, he sat back to listen with relish as I recounted my latest experiences in Ascension.
I told him about my conversation with Essie Goodwine, about my sighting of the man in the mask at the cemetery, about the toxic smoke, the slashed screen and the strange cylinder beneath the floor of the shed. I took my time with each revelation and he was quick to have our glasses replenished when the libations ran low. By the time I finished, I was feeling flushed and light-headed from all the wine.
“We should order something to eat,” I said as I glanced out the window to find that twilight had fallen. The restaurant was starting to fill up and I was glad we'd had the place to ourselves while I spoke of ghosts and witch doctors and transmigration of souls.
We studied our menus until Dr. Shaw finally settled on the scallops and bacon and I chose a root vegetable salad with a side of ricotta gnocchi. While we waited for our food, I told him a little more about the watcher in the woods and Kendrick's assertion that the presence was human.
“Have you ever heard of such a traveler?” I asked.
I could have sworn I saw something dark flash in his eyes before he glanced down at his Scotch. “Astral projection has been practiced for aeons,” he said. “Although there are some who would argue the experiences are nothing more than lucid dreams.”
“Have you ever experienced it for yourself?” I asked.
“No. For all my otherworldly interests, I seem to be stubbornly earthbound,” he said with no small amount of irony. Absently he toyed with the pinkie ring he wore on his right hand, the snake and claw symbol identical to the one on Devlin's medallion. “But I would suggest that you yourself are a traveler. Perhaps not in the sense that one normally thinks of astral projection, but when a ghost passes through you, do you not leave your body to help it cross over, even if only for the blink of an eye?”
“I don't like to think so,” I said. “I don't like to think about ghosts passing through me at all. What if one decides not to leave?”
“Like the ghost in the pit that you spoke of?”
I shuddered. “Yes, exactly like that one. I've encountered some very evil spirits, Dr. Shaw, but the ghost of Mary Willoughby was a special kind of malevolency, perhaps because of what she let happen to her own daughter.”
“You're right to fear the dark ones,” he said. “Not only because they might try to possess you, but also because they could conceivably drag you with them through the veil.”
I had felt that very tug to the other side, so his concern wasn't without merit.
“In mythology, there's a designated place for the darkest of souls,” he said. “A place beyond hell if one is a believer. The Greeks called it Tartarus, a pit of torture and despair as far below Hades as earth is to heaven. I knew a young man once, a traveler who claimed to have looked into such an abyss. He was so shaken by the sight that he tried for years to convince himself what he experienced was nothing more than a nightmare. I don't think he ever traveled againâat least not consciously. He had a fear of being trapped in such a place.”
“Is that possible?”
“According to some, if the astral cord snaps or is cut, the traveler could become lost for all eternity. The physical body would eventually wither and die unless something else took possession of it.”
“Something else?”
“A ghost, a lost soul...or worse.”
I shuddered as I stared down into my glass.
The discussion had taken a disturbing turn, even for us. I was glad when our dinners were served and the conversation trickled to a halt as we luxuriated in the Lowcountry delicacies. We ate in silence until both of us pushed back our plates with satisfied sighs.
“That was wonderful,” I said. “I haven't had a meal like that in ages.”
“You look a little peeked to my eye,” Dr. Shaw said with a frown. “Have you been working too hard on top of everything else that's occupying your time?”
“No harder than usual. I like to keep busy. What about you? I've dominated the conversation all evening and I got the distinct impression from your email that you also have news.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I have turned up something of interest.” He glanced around uneasily at the well-heeled clientele. “This may not be the best place to discuss it, though.”
I took a look around, too, noting the proximity of the other patrons. “Let's take a walk,” I said.
We sorted the check and then headed out into the evening, retracing my steps on East Bay. We crossed the street and walked along the Battery until we found a private spot where we could look out on the harbor as we chatted. We weren't far from the place where Devlin had first appeared to me out of the mist, and I wondered why, after all this time, he was still so much on my mind. Why couldn't I forget him and move on?
“You're very quiet all of a sudden. Are you all right?” Dr. Shaw asked solicitously.
“Yes, I'm fine. I'm just happy to be back in Charleston for the evening. I didn't realize how much I missed it.”
“The holy city. There's no place like it.” He watched the lights in the harbor. “When will you be finished with your current restoration?”
“I'll be there for a few more weeks at least.” I turned, peeling a strand of hair from my face that had blown loose from my ponytail. “What have you found out, Dr. Shaw?”
He glanced around at our surroundings to make certain we couldn't be overheard. “Since we last spoke, I've put together a list of people I believe may be affiliated with the
Congé
,
culled from those families rumored to have had an association with the Order of the Coffin and the Claw going back all the way to the city's founding fathers. Names you'll find on the oldest gravestones in our oldest churchyards. As you can imagine, the project has been quite an undertaking, but I haven't been alone in my endeavor. I've had a great deal of input from my contacts, people who know far more about these clandestine organizations than you or I could ever hope to learn. They risk a lot by even speaking with me so it's important that we keep this information to ourselves.”
“I understand, but how do your contacts even know about the
Congé
if they have so much power and they guard their identities so assiduously?”
“Secrets always have a way of coming out,” he said. “I don't have to tell you how dangerous it would be for all concerned if the existence of such a list were ever made public. Having said that, there is a name that keeps turning up, one I think you'll find most enlightening.”
I leaned in, searching his face in the glow of the security lights. “Is it Kendrick?” I asked on a breath.
He said in surprise, “The police detective you've been working with? No, not Kendrick, my dear. Devlin.”
The name shocked me into silence, though I wasn't sure why it should catch me so off guard. Hadn't that notion been swirling around in my subconscious ever since I'd first heard of the group from Darius Goodwine? My suspicion had flitted to the surface again after my conversation with Temple, but I hadn't allowed it to foment into anything stronger than vague doubt.
I said shakily, “Are you sure?”
“As sure as one can be. It fits with the reason he gave you for distancing himself, does it not? He said it would be dangerous for you to be with him because his grandfather had gotten mixed up with some very dangerous people. John must have found out about the
Congé
during the old man's illness last year. He would have quickly concluded that his continued association with you could call attention to your gift and abilities, thus putting your life in imminent danger.”
“But he wouldn't have known about my gift then. We never addressed it directly or even indirectly until at the very end when he'd already made his decision.”
“Oh, I'm quite certain he knew.” Dr. Shaw leaned an arm on the railing as he studied me. “I once told you that John has the kind of sensitivity I've rarely come across, so at the very least he must have strongly suspected. Didn't you say the two of you had experienced a supernatural encounter together?”
My mind raced back to our time in Kroll Cemetery to the sighting of the malcontent in my bedroom and the ghost of my great-grandmother in the window of a burning house. Devlin had denied it all, but Dr. Shaw was right. He
knew
.
Even so, I still found his name on that list hard to accept. “Wouldn't his sensitivity to the supernatural pit him
against
the
Congé
?”
“It's my contention that many of the members are sensitive to some degree or another. Originally, they used their powers to track and combat the evil they feared had infiltrated Charleston. Those were dark times and they considered themselves the spiritual guardians of the city. Aristocratic sentinels with a noble purpose, but over time their arrogance and fanaticism corrupted the mission.”
My mind reeled from Dr. Shaw's stunning revelation and perhaps from the lingering buzz of the wine. I stared down at the spot where the Ashley and Cooper rivers merged in the harbor. The churning waters seemed to mirror my internal agitation. “You said membership is legacy. A recruit is only brought in when an old member dies. Devlin's grandfather is still very much alive.”
“Yes, I did say that, but possibly exceptions are made when a member becomes infirm and unable to carry out his duties. Perhaps John is being groomed for the inevitable. A man of his talents would be an invaluable asset to such a faction.”
“His talents?”
Dr. Shaw turned back to the water. “I'm speaking about his experiences in law enforcement, of course.”
But I didn't think that was what he meant, far from it. For all our confessions and revelations, I had a feeling Dr. Shaw still kept things from me, especially where Devlin was concerned.
I gripped the railing as my thoughts continued to whirl. “I'm sorry, Dr. Shaw, but after everything you've told me about the
Congé
, I have a hard time believing this. They're as ruthless and deadly in their mission as the Brotherhood is in their black pursuits. That's what you said. How can you expect me to think that John would be involved with such a group? I can't accept it. I
won't
accept it until I hear it from him.”
Dr. Shaw turned in consternation. “You must consider the consequences before you do anything so rash as to confront him. A provocation of any kind is a very bad idea for many reasons.”
“What reasons? What are you still keeping from me?”
He couldn't meet my eyes. “There hasn't been an announcement yet, but I hear through the grapevine that the formalities are forthcoming any day now. My dear...” He placed his hand on my arm. “John is engaged.”