Читать книгу The Prophet - Amanda Stevens - Страница 9

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.