The Kingdom

Twenty-Two

The storm blew over quickly, and the sunset that evening was spectacular. I sat out on the back steps with Angus at my feet as the sky over Bell Lake ripened from a rosy blush to a deep apricot, then faded to smoky lavender shot through with gold.

Up in the hills, the nocturnal creatures began to stir as twilight gathered. I would need to go inside soon, but for now I allowed myself a moment to enjoy the deep respite of the in-between, that bated breath of half-light before darkness descended.

A moth lit, with quivering wings, on the bee balm beside the steps. Out on the lake, a loon called to its mate, the melodic wail thin and haunting and a little unnerving as night sounds tend to be. Somewhere deeper in the forest, I heard the faint yip of coyotes and what might have been the scream of a “painter,” the elusive black panther from my father’s stories of his childhood in the mountains.

I was restless and lonely and still frightened by what had transpired in the tomb. I wanted to believe that terrible presence had been my imagination, a conjure of my fear, but I couldn’t forget the feel of that hot breath on my face, the whispery promise in my ear… .

I drew a trembling breath. Any sensible person would turn tail and run. There was no shame in it. I could head out now and be home in Charleston in a matter of hours. Fix a cup of chamomile in the kitchen. Browse through the mail on my desk. Sleep in my own bed. Be nearer to Devlin.

Another tremulous breath.

But would I be any safer there? In all those agonizing months of avoiding Devlin, I’d somehow managed to convince myself that I would be fine so long as I kept my distance. But now I had to wonder if everything happening to me in Asher Falls was a direct result of my wanton disregard of Papa’s rules. My love of a haunted man had not only opened a door, but it had also weakened me, made me susceptible to the dark forces at work in this town and in these mountains.

Was that too fantastical? I didn’t think so. Not anymore.

I thought again of that old man who had appeared in the cemetery, his grotesque behavior neither animal nor human but the embodiment of every strange thing that had happened to me here.

Catrice was right, I thought. The natural balance was off-kilter in these mountains. The axis had tilted in Asher Falls. Cemeteries had been drowned, hex signs had been altered and now nature had been reordered. And somehow I was a part of it all. I had been brought here for a reason.

I glanced down at my calloused palms and thought again of my father. He’d always tried to shelter me. From the moment I saw the ghost of the old white-haired man in Rosehill Cemetery, Papa had given me those rules so that I would be protected. But he had kept things from me, too. They all had. He and Mama and Aunt Lynrose. They had information about my birth. I was convinced of it. Whatever they knew, whatever dark secret bound them, had closed Mama’s heart to me and made Papa retreat so deeply inside himself, I could scarcely remember the man who had told me those mountain stories, who had instilled in me a reverence and love of old cemeteries. Their secrets and silence had shut me out and made me retreat into my own little world.

Devlin had managed to penetrate that world to dire consequences. And now there was another threat knocking at the gate. Thane Asher.

I closed my eyes on a shudder. I was drawn to Thane in a way that I didn’t understand because it wasn’t just him, the man. The pull came from this place, this town, the very earth beneath my feet.

Pell Asher’s voice seemed to echo down from the hilltop. The strongest ties are blood and land. They are constant. Romantic love is all too fleeting.

I glanced toward that hilltop. I thought if I stared hard enough, I might be able to see the lights of Asher House. I might be able to will some answers. But the silence only deepened.

Dusk dropped swiftly and still I sat there. The gray sky shimmered above the treetops where the moon would soon rise, but beyond the forest, the blue haze of hill and mountain darkened into a seamless shadow.

And I held my breath, waiting. Somewhere in that twilight, the veil had thinned, and I imagined Freya’s ghost drifting through. Would she come to me tonight? Drawn by my warmth and energy? My life force? Did she crave what she could never have again?

Or did she haunt me for another reason?

I should seek sanctuary. I knew that. By acknowledging the dead, I was once again tempting fate. But the door had already opened, and I needed to know why I had been brought here. I needed to know the secrets of my birth, the secrets of my destiny. I needed to know why I was so drawn to Thane Asher.

Soon, the trees whispered, and I shivered.

Freya’s ghost didn’t appear to me that night, although I may have missed her. I went inside before full dark and curled up in bed with my laptop. I’d been neglecting my blog shamelessly since I left Charleston, and now I spent some time moderating the comments from my last entry and outlining a new article about hex signs.

I also checked my in-box. There was an email from Devlin.

The mouse hovered indecisively. Should I click or should I let sleeping dogs lie? Move on from the past? Leave Devlin to his ghosts?

In the end, I couldn’t resist. I opened the email and devoured the one-sentence message. Then I read it again, scowling: Where are you?

Was it my imagination—my wishful thinking—that a hint of desperation had crept into that brief missive?

I closed the in-box, shut down the laptop and slid under the covers. As I lay there in the darkness, night sounds invaded my sanctuary, and Devlin once again invaded my dreams.