Читать книгу The Awakening - Amanda Stevens - Страница 13

Eight

I said good-night to Temple and left the restaurant alone. She didn’t seem to mind. She headed off to the bar for another drink and I suspected she’d already made plans with Rance Duvall. I didn’t like the idea, but there was nothing I could do about it. Temple had a mind of her own and even if I could have offered a cogent argument for staying away from Duvall, she wouldn’t have listened to me. I comforted myself with the reminder that she’d always been a savvy judge of character and could take care of herself. Right now I had other issues to worry about.

My head swirled with everything the ghost child had revealed to me in the garden. The sound of her scream still echoed in my ears. As stunned as I’d been by that dreadful howl, an even greater shock came with the realization that the ghost’s focus had been trained on Claire Bellefontaine. What was their connection?

Claire’s attention had been directed at me, but something in her frozen expression made me wonder if she’d seen or heard the apparition for herself. Or had at least sensed a supernatural presence. Dr. Shaw had once told me that he believed many of the Congé were sensitive to the other world, thus making them adept at ferreting out the unnatural. Had she read something on my face or in my eyes that aroused her suspicions? Or—an even darker thought—had Devlin told her about me? Had he confided his own suspicions regarding my gift?

Whatever the case, the encounter had left me trembling and dazed. Her involvement with Woodbine Cemetery couldn’t be a coincidence and I had to wonder why Dr. Shaw, knowing what he knew of my gift, knowing what he knew of the Congé, hadn’t at least warned me about her. Instead, according to Claire, he’d recommended me for the job and until I had a chance to speak with him again, I could only speculate as to his motive. Surely it would have been best for everyone if I’d stayed far away from Devlin’s fiancée.

I turned on Queen Street, walking all the way over to Rutledge Avenue. It was still early and the streets buzzed with traffic. I passed any number of pedestrians on my way home, mostly tourists and a few students from nearby UMSC. Despite my uneasiness over the evening’s events, I wasn’t frightened. I had my phone and pepper spray handy. Even so, I kept a watchful eye on my surroundings as my mind continued to spin.

Not surprisingly, my thoughts eventually turned back to Devlin, as they almost always did. Why couldn’t I move on? Why couldn’t I accept once and for all that he was gone from my life and was never coming back? I didn’t want to think of myself as a woman who pined. I’d been alone for most of my life. I knew how to endure, even to flourish, on my own so why couldn’t I forget him?

Maybe Temple was right. I’d created a dangerous fairy tale around him, one that kept me clinging to the past. He was my one and only serious love affair, so instead of facing the reality of our breakup, I’d allowed myself a bittersweet hope that his departure had somehow been a noble gesture. I’d convinced myself that because of his reluctant involvement with the Congé, he’d distanced himself in order to protect me. Why else would he have found a way to warn me of the danger I’d faced in Seven Gates Cemetery? I told myself that no matter his association with that deadly faction, no matter his engagement to Claire Bellefontaine, he still cared for me.

My thoughts continued to churn as I turned right on Rutledge Avenue. The palm trees lining Colonial Lake cast long shadows across the moonlit surface. The water looked eerie and mysterious, and as I hurried along the street, the long row of Charleston-style houses seemed to crowd in on me. At the intersection of Rutledge and Beaufain, I paused to glance in the direction of the lovely old Queen Anne where Devlin had once lived with his dead wife and daughter. I couldn’t see the house clearly from my vantage, but I had no trouble conjuring the turrets and arches and the shimmer of ghosts at the front window.

Up until that point, I hadn’t felt a sense of urgency to get home, but as the memories faded, a vague worry descended. A nagging premonition that something wasn’t right.

The steady drip-drip-drip of the rain-soaked trees niggled at my nerves. A streetlight hummed and sputtered and I turned anxiously to survey the shadows as a dog barked in the distance. Traffic had dwindled. Suddenly, I felt very alone in the dark and I continued on down the street, glancing over my shoulder now and then until my house came into view.

I couldn’t deny a sense of relief as I pushed open the gate and entered the garden. I sailed up the porch steps and unlocked the front door, but I didn’t go in. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe some instinct warned that I should remain vigilant or my heightened senses had picked up an uncanny vibe. Or maybe it was as simple as wanting to enjoy the fresh air from the safety of my front porch. Whatever the reason, I moved to the corner where the shadows were the deepest and I could watch the street without being seen.

I drew calming breaths and focused. The night came alive for me. The waxing moon hung just above the treetops, and here and there stars peeked through a translucent veil of clouds. I could smell the tea olives at the side of the house and the last of the fall gardenias in the front garden. The perfumes mingled and drifted through my senses like a dream. Awash in that heady aroma, I stood there thinking of Devlin.

Where was he now? I wondered. Still at the restaurant with Claire and the others? Or had the two of them slipped away to spend the rest of the evening alone?

A night bird called from a treetop, coaxing me out of my reverie. The air had grown cooler and I pulled my sweater around me as I turned to go inside. Then I halted at the sound of an approaching car. Normally, this wouldn’t have alarmed me. Rutledge was a busy street. But I was certain the vehicle had slowed as it neared my house.

I was still hidden at the end of the porch, but I found myself sinking even deeper into the shadows as I peered across the garden to get a look at the long, sleek sedan with tinted windows. The vehicle pulled to the curb and stopped in front of my house. I caught my breath as the driver cut the engine. Was I being followed? Watched?

I wanted to believe paranoia was getting to me. After everything I’d been through, it would hardly be surprising. But was it really paranoia? I had enemies among the living, the dead and the possessed. All those malevolent faces flashed through my mind as I huddled in the dark and waited.

The back window slid down. I could see the shadowy profile of the passenger as he leaned forward to speak to the driver. I had the impression of a rigid posture and a sleek cap of silver hair. When he turned his head to stare up at my house, I caught my breath in astonishment. I knew him. As with Claire Bellefontaine, I’d never met him, had never even heard his voice. But I would have recognized Devlin’s grandfather anywhere.

This was turning out to be a night of unnerving firsts.

I pressed back against the wall as I tried to make myself invisible. I heard the click of a car door and a moment later, the driver came around to the open passenger window. He was a big man with wide shoulders and a menacing presence. I heard the soft murmur of their voices in the dark, but I couldn’t make out the conversation.

The driver left the car and came up the walkway, pausing with his hand on the gate as he tilted his head to stare up at the second-story windows. His behavior troubled me. I had the notion he was trying to determine whether or not the upstairs tenant was home. Another moment passed and then he opened the gate and stepped into the garden.

The night had gone deathly still. Even the songbird fell silent. Oddly, the scent of the gardenias deepened, as if Jonathan Devlin’s arrival had somehow stirred the heavenly scent. The driver’s footsteps were muffled as he strode up the walkway and climbed the porch steps.

I didn’t move a muscle as I tracked him. If he peered into the shadowy corner, he would spot me huddled and quivering, but he didn’t even look my way. Instead he paused on the top step as Angus barked a warning from inside. Then he turned to glance over his shoulder at the car.

“You hear that?” he called softly.

“You mean the dog? Yes, come away from the porch before the whole neighborhood is awakened,” Jonathan Devlin said gruffly. “We’ll wait until morning.”

The driver immediately turned and exited the premises as quickly and as quietly as he had come.

I cowered in my hiding place as my heartbeat thundered in my ears. Only when the sound of the car faded did I rise and clamor down the porch steps, rushing along the walkway, through the gate and out to the street. I even took a few steps toward those receding taillights before I came to my senses and halted. What was I doing?

If Dr. Shaw’s research and conjecture proved correct, then the elderly Devlin was not only a member of the Congé, but perhaps the leader. He could be every bit as dangerous as Claire Bellefontaine, perhaps even more so.

Why else would he have come to my house? Why now, if not on a mission for that dastardly faction?