Читать книгу Haunted - Heather Graham, Heather Graham - Страница 9

“To me, it’s simply one of the most incredible houses—and historical sites—on the face of the earth!” Penny said enthusiastically.

Darcy smiled, thinking that she agreed—despite the difficulty involved with the place, and that difficulty being Matt Stone.

He had maintained something of a pleasant conversation on the drive over, pointing out Civil War skirmish sites, and telling her that at one point, on his way to battle, the great Southern general Robert E. Lee had stayed at Melody House. Then they had reached the house, and though she couldn’t say he had practically thrown her out of the car, he had delivered her to the front door and Penny Sawyer as quickly as possible, explaining simply that he was on duty.

Hm. She wondered if he’d been on duty while sprawling around at the Wayside Tavern as well.

But Penny Sawyer was wonderful. Darcy couldn’t quite determine her age. The woman was certainly somewhere between forty and sixty, which was quite a span. She was slender, about five-five, with an attractive shag type of short haircut in a natural salt and pepper, and had beautiful, bright blue eyes. She was also nicely dressed in a stylish pantsuit, and as friendly as her employer was rude.

“The house is quite incredible,” Darcy said. “A number of historical homes—usually those owned by preservation societies—have been restored with painstaking authenticity, but it’s amazing to see the integrity of this house, especially when it’s been a family home all along.”

“Ah, well, the old gentleman, Matt’s grandfather, really loved the place. Treated the house like a baby. He wanted it to be a home while maintaining all that it had been. He was a remarkable old fellow.”

“Apparently.”

Penny gave her a funny little rueful smile. “Oddly enough, believe me, Matt is just as dedicated to the preservation of the house. He wants to maintain it himself, though—you know, he doesn’t want it going to any societies, no matter how good they might be, because he would lose control. He knows that house has to hold its own if he’s going to hang on to it. Upkeep on these places is staggering. And sheriffs just don’t make that kind of money. Oh! That didn’t really sound the way it should—he’s a man of incredible integrity. What I mean is, no matter how he loves the place, he’d never do anything illegal. Of course, you didn’t suggest such a thing!” Penny broke off with a laugh. “There would never be such a thing as graft involved in Matt’s life. He’s a great sheriff. The people love him. He can defuse the most ungodly situations, speak to the youngsters around here and all…but what it means is that he has to have tours going through here, and he has to make the house pay. That’s all. So! What kind of a feel do you get from the place? Is it haunted?”

Darcy smiled again at the question, wondering how to answer. “There’s a tremendous feel of the past about the place, I can tell you that.”

“But you…well, you see ghosts, right?”

Darcy hesitated again. “For the most part, I would say that, so far, the house actually has a warm feel to it. As if whatever remains of the distant past is mostly benign. But there is a feel to the house. That’s natural when so much has occurred through so many years. Many people believe that since we—humans—are made up of energy, and energy cannot actually be destroyed—that trauma forces that energy to remain, when the soul should have gone on.”

Penny arched a brow to her. “I know what most people feel and think. But you are a psychic. So—what do you think? Actually, no matter what you say, you won’t change what I feel and believe. I know that ghosts exist. I’ve seen one.”

“Oh?”

Penny shrugged. They were in her office, a very nicely done room on the ground floor, near to Matt’s, as Penny had pointed out.

“I’ve seen the woman in the white peignoir who runs from the Lee room and down the stairs. And I’m beginning to believe that she’s not a benign entity at all. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I personally love the ghost stories that abound around here. They’re important—they draw visitors to the house. But lately, the ghost seems to be getting—physical.”

“Exactly how so?”

“Well, not long ago we had a bride and groom staying in the room. She woke up in the middle of the night and the ghost spoke to her, or pulled her hair, or something. She wasn’t terribly clear. She came running down the stairs stark naked in the middle of the night, and refused to go back to the room even to pack up her things. Then, Clara Issy, one of the housekeepers, and a wonderful woman, came flying out because of the same thing happening. The ghost left a mark on her.”

“What did Sheriff Stone have to say about that?” Darcy asked.

Penny waved a dismissive hand in the air. “He says he’s convinced Clara ran into something. Matt simply refuses to believe in anything that doesn’t have full dimensions. However, he has said that we can have a seance here. None of this is making any sense to me. Matt may not know much about Harrison Investigations, but I do. Adam Harrison is supposed to be one of the most credible and influential investigators of psychic phenomena in the world! Matt knew that you all were coming—well, all right, he expected Adam himself—but he told Liz that she could carry on a seance. Go figure. Of course, he doesn’t really believe that anyone will contact the spirits, so maybe he wanted to make Liz happy, and annoy those who might have been able to make a special connection with whatever is going on.”

“It will be interesting to take part in a seance here, no matter who is acting as the medium,” Darcy told her tactfully.

“Well, it’s going to be tomorrow night,” Penny told her. “I’m setting up in the parlor, since Elizabeth says we should be using the center of the house, the heart of it.”

Darcy lifted her hands. “Sounds fine to me.”

“Well, I’m relieved. After all—you’re the professional.”

Darcy smiled. “I’m not so sure there is such a thing as a professional in this particular area. I’m sure Elizabeth will prove to be a fine medium.” Darcy rose. “Mind if I take a walk around?”

“Of course not, dear! Your bag has been taken up to the Lee Room—where the phenomenon has occurred. I imagine that whereas others might wake up in terror, you would wake up and try to talk to the ghost, right?”

“Something like that,” Darcy agreed.

“Well, then, you just make yourself at home.” She handed Darcy a pamphlet. “These are, as you’ll see, obviously for the tour groups. But the little map will help you get your bearings, and there are a few little tidbits of history about the house in there as well.”

“Terrific,” Darcy said. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure, and please, should you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask me. I’m delighted to have you.”

“Thank you.”

Darcy took the little map and exited Penny’s office. It was one of two on the right side of the hall that connected the foyer and the grand stairway.

For a moment, she paused. This was the most important part of her work, as she saw it. Adam Harrison was excellent with machinery. Gauges that registered temperature changes, recorders that caught the slightest hint of sound. There were even gadgets that could record any rise or fall in a magnetic field. When he came, he would work with a Trifield Meter, and measure electromagnetic pollution. He also used a Trifield Natural EM meter, which measured electric as well as magnetic fields—showing disturbances where there should be none—and, as Adam was fond of telling clients—it was also a great tool for finding out if your microwave leaked or not. In his work, however, he knew that any kind of physical manifestation required a certain amount of energy, moving air, heat, cold, all and any changes that might take place in an area.

Adam worked from a seriously scientific point of reference.

But for her, it was the feel of a place. It was getting to know it.

And often, when she first arrived at a place reputed to be haunted, she would feel that Josh was with her. Ready to be beside her, vigilant, her guard in the strange world, perhaps.

She waited. But she didn’t feel his presence. She waited several minutes, dead still, making an effort to clear her mind, which wasn’t usually necessary. And still, she had no sense or feel of him, which was very unusual.

And yet the house seemed more alive with past energy than any other place she had ever been.

She walked back first to the entry, or foyer, and stared at the little map, getting her bearings. Not that the house was that complicated. From the wraparound porch, one entered the foyer, with the superb staircase. The house had been built like many a colonial with the hall—or what was really a massive breezeway—immediately to the right of the stairs. It made a straight and direct path to the back doors. At one time, before air-conditioning, such a breezeway allowed for the house to be cooled in summer by the continual flow of air, since both front and back doors would have been left open for that precise purpose.

There was one room other than the offices on that side of the house, the library. Darcy took a quick peek in at the room. Shelves lined three of the walls while a fireplace with a handsome carved hearth took up a majority of the fourth. The hardwood floor here was covered with a very fine, probably antique, Persian carpet. A huge mahogany desk sat in the room, while overstuffed reading chairs sat by the fire. She wondered if Matt Stone was aware of the value of the many ancient tomes that filled the cases—along with a lot of modern material as well.

The desk had a computer, printer, and seemed well set for any business purpose. She assumed the arrangement of the equipment here was for the convenience of the guests, since it had appeared that Penny’s office was supplied with all the technology she might need to run Melody House. Matt’s office was probably equally as well appointed.

Standing in the library, she closed her eyes for a moment and felt the room. The atmosphere was rich. A great deal of passion, emotion, and simple life had taken place within the room. But there was nothing here that seemed to hint of evil or malignance. She opened her eyes and exited the library, heading back to the foyer.

The staircase seemed somewhat disturbing, which Darcy didn’t find at all odd. She wondered how many men had walked down that stairway, followed by wives, lovers, or children, only to ride away to war, and perhaps never return.

The parlor was truly beautiful. She ignored the velvet ropes that kept the area protected from the sticky fingers of visiting children, the abuse of too many feet, and the overall damage that could be caused by large groups coming through on a frequent basis. Like the library, the parlor had a feel. When she closed her eyes, it drummed with the energy of the past. But again, she felt nothing evil.

Beyond the beautifully appointed parlor were the dining room—elegantly set as if for a dinner party of twenty in the mid-eighteen-hundreds—and the kitchen, kept entirely charming while being in a state-of-the-art condition. She instantly loved the room. There, the back door gave way to the wraparound porch. The view from the porch was exquisite. It was a beautiful day and the mountains could be seen in the distance in a riot of greens, violets, pinks, oranges and golds. The season was rich with flowers and foliage.

Darcy stepped back in. Rather than return to the foyer to take the grand stairway to the second floor, she walked up the far-less-spectacular servants’ stairway, winding from the rear of the kitchen up to the back of the hall on the second story. She gazed at her map again. Originally, there had been six bedrooms up here. Now, there were five, since the master suite these days consisted of a second office or sitting room as well as the master’s—Matt’s?—bedroom.

She assumed his personal area was off-limits to her. For the time, at least.

The rooms had apparently all been named after Southern generals, the Lee Room, or course, being the most prominent and assumably elegant, with the Stuart, Longstreet, Beauregard, and Amistad rooms being a bit smaller, judging by the map. Darcy entered each of the rooms, noting that they were all period, and quite charming, clean as a whistle, and inviting. The crew here kept the place up beautifully.

At last, she stood in front of the Lee Room, and closed her eyes. The atmosphere was heavy, cloudlike, dense, wrapping around her instantly. She opened her eyes and entered the room.

French doors were open to the porch. The breeze swept in. The room was quiet, and touched by the sweetness of the breeze.

Deceptive, Darcy thought. An aura of tremendous turbulence lay just beneath the apparent peace and serenity.

She imagined trying to explain the sensations she felt to Matt Stone.

It was not a pretty picture.

She didn’t think that there was any way she would ever be able to explain her particular talents to Matt Stone. Adam would understand. He was an amazing man. He had some abilities, but his true talent was in understanding that there were people in the world with special senses. She might have gone mad, seeing and hearing what others didn’t, except for Adam. First, he had believed. In his belief, he afforded her great trust. While he worked on a scientific level, proving different levels of heat and electricity, she worked purely through the visions and feelings that came to her—whether she wanted them or not, most of the time. Adam had taught her how to channel the strange images and feelings that came to her. And when she had thought herself a misfit who could live only in fear, he had taught her that she could bring peace and relief to lost souls, and given her purpose—as well as a very decent living that kept her feeling not only sane, but tremendously useful.

In this room, the feelings and impressions of trauma rushed around like a swirl of dark storm clouds.

However, it was incredible. Not a bad place to stay. Far, far, better than the hotel. Her bag was at the foot of the bed. She began to unpack, humming as she did so, yet completely attuned all the while for the slightest shift in the atmosphere.

All that touched her was the feel of the breeze and yet…

She was certain that she was watched. She could feel an unease streaking down her spine. It was as if the eyes of someone—something—were intently upon her, creating a trickle of sensation. An unearthly gaze seemed to reach out and touch her.

Feelings…intuitions. The hackles rising at her nape.

She paused for a moment.

But…

There was nothing solid. Nothing whatsoever. But Darcy knew.

Whatever lay within the room would wait, observe, and bide its time.

Summer hours kept the area light until well past eight in the evening.

Matt arrived home at about six and checked in at the house. He was certain that he’d find Penny and his visitor busily discussing the many ghosts they had already discovered. Maybe they’d even have the Ouija board out.

But Penny was in the kitchen with Joe McGurdy, their chef. Matt hadn’t known that Joe was coming in that night; he usually arrived only when they had a function planned. Finding the two in the kitchen, he arched a brow at Penny while Joe greeted him with a friendly smile.

Penny stared at him reproachfully. “Well, of course, we’re having dinner!” she said.

“We?”

“You, me, Darcy, Clint, and Carter.”

“Of course. Eight-course meal?” Matt asked dryly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. But you didn’t want me to serve beannie-weannies on her first night here, did you?”

“Goodness, of course not,” Matt said. “Where is our guest?”

“Carter saddled up Nellie for her. She’s taken a ride out to see some of the country around here.”

“Do we know that she can ride? There’s some really thick forest if she headed west.”

“Matt, she is an adult. She said she could ride.”

“Maybe I’ll take a ride out to find her anyway,” he muttered, shaking his head at Penny. Great—they were already bringing the chef in and stretching out the welcome mat. He wondered why Carter hadn’t chosen to ride with their visitor.

When he’d changed to jeans and sweater and headed out to the stables, he found out why. Carter shrugged, watching Matt as he led Vernon, his quarter horse, from his stall. “She said that she wanted to do some exploring alone, that it was important for her work. Naturally, I offered to go with her. Are you kidding? The woman is one looker.”

“One kooky looker,” Matt reminded him, slipping a bridle over Vernon’s nose.

“Hey, everybody’s got to make a living somehow, right?” Carter said.

Matt slung a saddle over Vernon’s back. “I imagine she probably had a few other choices.”

“Maybe she’s for real,” Carter said. He thoughtfully chewed a blade of hay, eyes amused as he watched Matt mount up. “You know, I just bought the old Reed place, next county over. If you don’t want her looking for your ghosts, I’ll be happy to have her take a look at mine.”

“I’m sure you intend to have her looking for ghosts,” Matt said, shaking his head. “For the moment, just let me go make sure she’s not lying on a trail somewhere with a broken leg. Whatever possessed you to let her just ride out alone?”

“Let’s see—maybe the fact that she said she didn’t want company?”

“She doesn’t own the place,” Matt reminded him.

Carter shrugged, stroking his beard. “Hell. I don’t own it either, do I now?”

Matt urged Vernon on out of the stable. “Hey—don’t be late for dinner!” Carter called. “Seems like Penny’s got Joe cooking up something good.”

Matt felt his resentment grow, and put a check on it. Adam Harrison had paid a fair price for coming in to do what he was referring to as “research.” And so, hell, they had to feed the woman. Joe would be in again tomorrow night to prepare a meal for those attending the seance. It wasn’t all that big a deal. And as to the horse…

He could just see lawsuits all over the place. She’d ridden out alone. What if she couldn’t really ride? She’d be suing over her injuries.

The logical course was across the vast field to the south of the property, leading into trails that veered to the west. Matt could see that his chosen trail had recently been traveled; hoof-marks dotted the dirt and as he reached the field, flattened grasses assured him his instincts had been right.

Matt crossed the field, and entered into the broad riding trail that led westward, sloping upward from the valley toward the mountains.

Another twenty minutes worth of riding and he came to the narrow little rivulet that meandered its way through the woods. The area was much as it had been for hundreds of years—only the continual use of the trails kept them in such sustained and clear condition. The air was cool, the scent of pine sweet.

When he saw Nellie, riderless, drinking by the stream, he felt a twinge of fear, wondering where the mare might have thrown her rider.

But even as he dismounted, a quick search of the area showed him that he needn’t have been so concerned—nor so certain that his visitor couldn’t ride. Darcy was seated calmly on a fallen log, idly doodling in the dirt with a bonelike length of a broken branch. She watched him without welcome or rejection as he left Vernon to join Nellie, drinking from the crisp, cool water.

“Hello,” he said, striding toward her.

There was still plenty of daylight, but in the forest, the thick canopy of trees created strange slashes of darkness, shadow, and eerie green light. Her hair seemed to shine with an exceptional depth of red, while her eyes appeared a deeper forest shade than the trees themselves. Her complexion appeared paler here, and in her jeans and sweater, she might have been something of an elegant woods nymph. Except, of course, if she were to stand, he knew she would be far too tall to be any elfin creature. It struck him again that what most irritated him about her was that tall, sinewy elegance of hers, the poise and calm that seemed to sit about her shoulders like a cloak.

She clasped her hands around her knees, eyeing him with a certain dry hostility. “Hello, Sheriff. As you can see, I’ve not broken my fool neck, raced your horse into the ground, or gotten lost in the depth of the forest.”

“Did I ever suggest that such things might happen?”

“Only because you had no idea I might ask to ride about the area.”

“You might have mentioned your intentions.”

“When? As you pushed me out of your car at the entrance to Melody House?”

“I did no such thing.”

She shrugged, not deigning to reply. He felt the itch of irritation again. He understood some of what he was feeling. She wasn’t just tall and elegant, but almost absently sensual, her movements smooth and sleek and feline. She seemed to hint of something that smouldered, richly carnal, and yet on top, she was all wrapped up like an ice princess, lips far too often drawn tight and prudish.

“I’d expected to find you exploring the house.”

“I did explore the house.” The green of her eyes rested contemptuously on him.

“And you haven’t found my malignant ghost as yet?”

She replied in an even, dismissive tone, eyes steady on him. “I explored the house, and then the grounds, and now, I’m exploring the area.”

“Ah.” He took a seat on the log beside her. He stared through the trees towards the water, caught now in the sunlight, dazzling like a thousand gems. Then he looked back to her. “The woods are supposed to be haunted, too, you know. And not because of Melody House.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said strangely. “Just what is the legend associated with the forest here?”

“Ah, well, long ago—as far back as the late seventeen-hundreds, I believe, there was a family with a small farm a little closer toward the mountains. A father and mother, and a bucketful of kids. The oldest sister was plain, the youngest beautiful. The oldest sister’s suitor fell madly in love with the younger sister. The fellow had to head back east to take care of business, and when he left, he kissed his dearly beloved, the younger sister, goodbye, and they were both deeply happy, because they would be wed as soon as he returned. Little did they know that the oldest sister was a total psychotic—a scorned one, at that. She lured her younger sister into the woods, pretending they were walking to a neighbor’s. She got her to lean down by the stream…and whap!”

“She killed her with a hatchet, nearly decapitating her. And now, the younger sister’s ghost has been seen running through the forest, blood oozing from the gash in her throat, screaming in terror,” Darcy finished for him.

Matt lifted his hands. “Someone told you the legend!”

She didn’t reply for a moment, then asked him, “What happened to the older sister?”

“Well, the young man came back and hanged himself in misery, thwarting the hopes of the young murderess. I guess they didn’t have much evidence they could use at the time, so no one went to trial. But the older sister went completely insane. She was locked up in the family barn until she died, an old woman of eighty, confessing in her later years, and spending many a day screaming that her sister was coming after her in vengeance.”

“Well, there you have what one might call a truly dysfunctional family,” Darcy said pragmatically.

“Yes, I guess you could say that.” He looked at her. The lines of her face were truly classical, yet her sculpted, porcelain beauty seemed unique as well. She’d been a makeup model, he reminded himself, and she must have made some good money. Why give it all up for this—especially if she was really so heavily laden with academic degrees?

“The body of the younger sister was uncovered by a local dog that had been digging,” Darcy said. “But they didn’t find the skull, and it didn’t receive a decent burial with the body. If someone finds the skull and buries it with the rest of the bones, the haunting in the forest will stop.”

“How simple. How cut-and-dried and simple. Hell, we should all start digging up the place to find a skull that may or may not be there. Hm. Then again—where, oh where, do we start? If there were such a relic of humanity remaining from way back when, animals might have carted in anywhere. The stream might have washed it down to Florida by now. But what the hell—people love the ghost stories. So what if the poor ghost goes racing through the trees, screaming and bleeding?”

“Because it’s pretty damned sad,” Darcy told him.

“Well, when you have time, you feel free to dig around in the forest. It’s county land, but we’ll try to ignore the fact that you’re bound and determined to dig it all up. Just don’t leave any potholes—lots of people use this area for riding, and we wouldn’t want a new ghost running around with its head dangling from a broken neck.”

He stood impatiently.

He must have roused her somewhat from her continual, stiff poise, because she leapt up immediately after him. “What is the matter with you? Why on earth do you have to be so hostile?”

“Because all you’re going to do is feed into the idiots and drunks who should behave intelligently but go all ga-ga over a ghost story! History can be tragic. Tragic—but past. Let the dead lie, Darcy.”

“You brought me here!”

“No. I told Adam Harrison that he could come here.”

She planted her hands on her hips, head cast back, green eyes as dark and dangerous as the embers of a fire. “No—you signed a contract that allowed Harrison Investigations into your house. I am as much a part of Harrison Investigations as Adam.”

He arched a brow slowly and was pleased to see the slightest sign of a flush entering her cheeks.

“Almost as much a part of the company as Adam is himself. And very good at what I do. So—since you hired me to do it, perhaps, just for a while, you could quit being such a macho jerk?”

He wanted to shout back, to put her in her place. He didn’t have the words, or the intelligent argument he needed. He threw up his hands. “We need to get back. Dinner will be ready.”

He turned away, starting for his horse.

“You know, every redhead isn’t a total bitch.”

Startled, he turned back. His voice was far rougher than he intended. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Your ex-wife Lavinia Harper,” she said simply.

“I see. You know this because you’re psychic?”

“You dislike redheads. One doesn’t need to be a psychic to see that. Penny told me about Lavinia.”

“Red hair can be bought in boxes for right around ten bucks. I would never dislike anyone for the color of their hair, skin, eyes, or anything else,” he informed her, meaning to sound as calm and staid as a schoolmaster, displaying his anger nevertheless.

She gave a stiff smile as she walked by him. “Sure. Sorry, then. Excuse me.”

He let her pass him while he fought his simmering temper, wondering why the hell she could get such a rise out of him, when he was usually level, sane, and careful in any judgment or assumption. Tension rippled through his muscles; he got a handle on it and turned, determined that he would politely help her mount back up on Nellie.

But before he could do so, she was already in the process of easily swinging up on the mare.

By the time he mounted Vernon, she was headed back through the forest trail.

He followed her, staying slightly behind and noticing, just as they left the forest trail, that dusk was falling at last.

Across the field, Melody House stood on its little hillock, bathed in a strange and eerie glow of crimson and gold.

The brilliance of light lasted only a few seconds; the sun dipped.

Night was coming in earnest, wrapped in shadow.

Despite Matt Stone, or maybe even because of him, dinner at Melody House was an entertaining affair, and Darcy found herself laughing a lot throughout the meal.

Matt and Penny didn’t seem to agree on anything, but the affection between them was visible and real. Penny wanted to tell legends. Matt wanted to correct her when her legends became too lurid, romantic, or too anything.

“It was as if the entire Southern army was taking refuge at Melody House!” Penny said.

“The entire Southern army!” Matt snorted. “A company at best. Twenty men, Penny.”

Penny waved a hand in the air. “They were exquisite soldiers,” she said, shaking her head and dismissing Matt’s correction. “They might as well have numbered thousands. They beat back the Yankees—”

“What? The entire Northern force?” Matt queried, a sparkling light in his eyes.

“There were at least one hundred!” Penny said, glaring back at her employer. “The point is, our boys wouldn’t give up, and they saved the day, but their leader, a young captain, was killed. Shot in the heart by a minnie ball that whizzed right through the parlor windows. Now, he is said to be here, still guarding Melody House.”

Matt leaned low across the table, amusement in his eyes as they met Darcy’s. “And no one seems to have told him that the war is over, that the South lost. He’s not at all fond of Yankee accents—so they say.”

“Thank God, then, that I don’t have one,” Darcy told him sweetly. “All those years watching late-night shows seems to have paid off.”

“But you trained to be an actress—of course you can get rid of an accent!” Carter applauded her admiringly.

“An actress, hm,” Matt said.

“I was going to study acting,” she corrected. “I never did. Not in college, anyway.”

“That’s right. She majored in everything else,” Matt said.

“You can’t major in ghosts these days, can you?” Clint asked.

“Don’t be silly!” Penny reprimanded.

Both Carter and Clint shrugged.

Dessert had been served. An exceptional baked Alaska. Darcy was certain that at any moment, an immaculate butler was going to walk in and suggest that the ladies retire to one room, the gentlemen to another, for brandy and cigars.

But there was no butler—not tonight, anyway. They had all helped to serve the meal.

“So?” Penny said excitedly, looking at Darcy expectantly. She had a feeling that she was going to hear the word “so” from Penny a lot.

“So?” Darcy repeated, smiling.

“Do you see him?”

“Who?”

“Our captain!”

“The captain who saved Melody House from the marauding Yankees who were going to burn it down,” Matt reminded her dryly.

Darcy shrugged. “I try just to get accustomed to a house the first few days I’m in it,” she told Penny.

“Oh! Of course. Let all the vibrations get through to you,” Penny said, nodding sagely.

“Something like that,” Darcy agreed.

“So, are there vibrations?” Matt asked, seemingly polite.

She stared straight at them. “The place just trembles,” she murmured.

“With?” he prompted.

She widened her eyes. “Hostility.”

Clint burst into laughter. “The living give out vibes, too, huh?”

Matt stared at Darcy, the flicker of a rueful smile curving his lips. A remarkable transformation came over him. He was almost devastatingly appealing, when he looked so.

“If I’m giving out hostile vibes, it’s not with intent of malice.”

From him, Darcy decided, that was the best apology she was going to get.

“Sometimes it’s not easy to pinpoint just where vibes might be centered,” she said, surprised to realize that she was smiling as well.

And that Penny, Clint, and Carter were all staring at them.

She rose, her movement not as fluid and easy as she would have liked. “It was a wonderful dinner. Thank you all very much. I’ve just realized how late it has gotten. If you’ll forgive me, I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

Matt, Carter, and Clint stood as one. A certain amount of courtesy seemed to have been bred into these men; it was as natural as breathing.

“You’ll be fine,” Carter told her. “I’ve slept in the Lee room. And I’m still here.”

“He didn’t even run down the stairs naked,” Clint said with a wink.

“Thank the good Lord for that!” Penny breathed.

“Hey!” Carter protested. “I look good naked.”

Darcy laughed softly. “Well, I imagine I’ll be all right.”

She was startled to see that Matt looked just a little concerned. “I’m in the house tonight, if there is any trouble, just scream.”

“Ah, but you don’t believe in ghosts!” Darcy reminded him.

He shrugged. “I believe in the power of men to do evil,” he murmured. For a moment, his strange deep gray eyes fell on hers. “I’ll be down the hall.”

She nodded, bid them good-night, and headed out of the dining room and for the stairs to the second floor. She walked slowly, thinking it somewhat amazing that Matt Stone couldn’t feel a thing regarding his house. Penny had asked about vibes. The house throbbed with them. Gentle, lost souls for the most part.

The only malice seemed to come from the Lee Room.

Upstairs, she decided on a quick shower, then brushed her teeth, and prepared for bed.

The room was cool, cooler than it should have been in summer. She ignored it, and the feeling of being watched.

She crawled into bed, somewhat exhausted. She fell asleep with the television on, watching a program on the history of Britain.

Deep into the night, she began to dream. She was herself, sleeping upon the bed, and yet she was not, for she moved, and moved within another persona. Fear clutched the heart of her sleeping self for a moment, for from the moment she felt the coming of the Other, she sensed the anger, a fury that was deep and dangerous. And then…

She was the Other, seeing, feeling, knowing everything he did.

A woman scorned…was a deadly one.

He came in deep thought and silence that evening, angry, but not at all sure, in his conscious mind, just what he intended. In the darkness, he stared at the house, and reflected on all that had been, and all that might come to pass.

The house…the majestic house sat as always. A place with as rich and deep a character as any living person. So it had been from the moment they had first broken ground. Time did nothing but add to the drama that must exist in such a place, as he well knew.

She was there.

He knew that she was there.

And there were things that must be said. Things that must be cleared, or ended, between them.

Still…

He stared at the house. And waited. He denied in his mind that he had come with any malice as to his intent.

His heart felt like stone. Seeds of ideas played deep down within his soul, truth and the physical essence of what must be banned from thought. What happened must happen.

At his sides, his hands flexed, eased, and flexed again, as if already slipping around the throat of the lover he knew to be inside.

Because a woman scorned…

Just might as well be dead.

Darcy awoke with a start, shaking. She had felt the past, as if it had entered into her. Felt not so much a person, but the fury and malevolence that had been part of a distant time.

She sat up in bed, and looked around the room, closed her eyes again, and opened them.

Whatever had been with her, whatever remnant of emotion, was gone.

And yet…

Something else was there.

Something, someone, quiet, stealthy.

Watching.

Waiting.