Autumn Thorns (6 page)

Not wanting to leave her there, I argued. “It's dangerous on the roads. I know you don't live far, but . . .”

She laughed, her voice ricocheting off the gravestones. “Kerris, this is my symphony hall. I come here to play both under the moonlight and in the dark of the moon. This is my home away from home, and soon it will be yours, as well.
Don't worry about me—I'll be fine. I want to try out a new ballad I learned last week to see if I can keep anybody else from walking. Meanwhile, you go home. Search for your grandmother's Shadow Journal. She'll have a notebook that she kept as spirit shaman. You'll need to find it and read it because it will tell you more than the rest of us can.”

I nodded, and then with a sigh, I added, “Right. There's a lot to do, isn't there?”

“More than you want to know.” And with that, she draped her gloves over a gravestone and sat down on the bench next to it. She opened her case and lifted out her violin. As she struck bow to strings, a mournful echo of notes filled the air.

“A lament song for the dead,” she said as I gazed at the quivering strings. “But as good as I am, without your powers in conjunction? I might as well put down my bow.” And with that, she closed her eyes, and her song echoed out, weaving through the graveyard like a net of silver light, spinning a mournful lullaby to calm the restive dead. A whirl of leaves gusted up, caught by the wind, and fluttered past us, swirling to the rhythm of her song.

I flashed back, through the years, to the nights with my Grandma Lila. A sudden memory of her and Ellia dancing through the graveyard, weaving magic to quiet the spirits, filled my thoughts and I could almost reach out to touch the web they had been spinning. And then, as quickly as it had come, the image vanished.

Shaking off the haunting strains, I headed back to my car. Ellia could handle herself. She was right. She was as much a part of the cemetery as were the headstones and markers. She belonged here, and soon, so would I. Resting secure that she would be safe for the evening, I fastened my seat belt and then, hands on the steering wheel, I stared into the darkness. Within the space of twenty-four hours, fifteen years had slipped away and I was back in a world I'd sworn to leave behind. But it felt so natural, so right, that I wondered—just with the littlest part of my heart—why I had ever left in the beginning. Pushing aside the jumble of thoughts crowding my mind, I started the ignition and headed for home.

*   *   *

A
s I turned onto Bramblewood Way, the fog rose thick and fast to surround the car. It smothered the road in one quick swoop. I slammed on the brakes as a dark figure vaulted out from the trees on the side of the road, loping into the street. It looked for all the world like a huge wolf, hunched and misshapen. Another figure followed—this one human—and I skidded to the side as I tried to avoid hitting him. As I brought my CR-V to a halt, I lurched forward against the seat belt, almost hitting the steering wheel.

My ribs felt bruised and I was panting but otherwise unharmed. I gripped the wheel with one hand as I fumbled to shift the SUV into park.

What the hell had just happened?

Hands shaking, I slowly unfastened my seat belt, then reached beneath the seat for the crowbar I kept stashed there. Being a single woman in a big city, I had learned how to defend myself with whatever I had at hand. After a moment, I also grabbed the switchblade I kept hidden in my glove box and shoved it into my jacket pocket. Hesitating another moment—there could be anything out there from a coyote to a serial killer—finally, I opened the door and stepped out of the car.

I stood there, scanning the road around me, the crowbar clutched in one hand, while I kept the other free and near the knife in my jacket. I knew how to throw a punch, and I could use a baseball bat with decent effectiveness, but it all depended on who was on the receiving end.

The road was silent, a hush of fog. My house was a block and a half away, but right now it felt as good as a mile. As my breath coalesced into a cloud of white vapor, I tried to sort out whether I had actually hit anyone. No body in the road—check. No sign of what dog . . . wolf . . . whatever had launched itself in my path—check.

“Are you all right?”

Startled, I whirled around, raising the crowbar. To my left stood a man, around five eleven. He was lean and fit,
and so close he could have grabbed my arm. I took one deliberate step back.

What the hell? I hadn't seen any sign of him—or anybody else—when I'd stepped out of the car. Nor had I heard him approach, and I had good ears. “Where did you come from? Who are you?”

He held up his hands, gesturing to the raised crowbar. “I promise, you won't need that. I'm not going to hurt you.” He took a step back and kept his hands out in plain sight.

As I slowly lowered the makeshift weapon, I looked him over. His wheat-colored hair was in a casually tousled shag, reaching his collar in back and on the sides. A well-trimmed beard and mustache shrouded his face. But something about his eyes caught my attention. I realized that, even this close, under the streetlamps, I couldn't tell what color they were. And yet his gaze pierced through the fog. I frowned. There was something familiar about him . . . but I knew we hadn't met.

He ventured a smile, still holding his hands where I could see them. “Allow me to introduce myself—and apologize for startling you.” His voice was soft but firm. I had the feeling he could sing with that voice. “My name is Bryan Tierney. I'm your neighbor.”

Neighbor?
When I'd left Whisper Hollow, the estate next door had been empty, and I hadn't realized somebody lived there now.

I gazed at him calmly, but inside, alarm bells were going off—but I couldn't tell what they were warning me about. I wasn't afraid of him, not really. I didn't sense danger from him, and he most definitely wasn't a spirit—but something was tugging at the edges of my consciousness.

“Neighbor? Really?”

“
Really.
Don't worry, I'm not hiding a second head anywhere.” He laughed again, and I realized I had been staring.

I blushed but found it hard to drag my eyes away. He was an arresting man. His black leather jacket looked vaguely European in style—the sleeves were pushed up to show what
looked like, in the dim light, a line of Japanese kanji on his inner arm. The jacket's collar shrouded his chin and neck. Tight-fitting jeans hugged his ass, and a pair of knee-high boots with three straps that buckled across the lacings, and chains that jangled above and below the straps completed his outfit.

Suddenly aware that I was standing there like an idiot, I cleared my throat. “So, Bryan Tierney, where did you come from?” I glanced around. “I don't see a car.”

He gave me a long look. “I was out for a walk.”

Realizing that he wasn't going to elaborate, I debated continuing the conversation.

“Are you going to tell me your name, or do I have to guess?” His smile was irritating—it wasn't smug, but it did feel a little too familiar.

I let out a faint huff—the chill was damp on my lungs and I was rapidly becoming disenchanted with the entire evening. “Kerris Fellwater. I just took possession of my grandparents' home, so you must live in the estate next door?”

A large mansion sat on the double lot next to my house. When I was a child, it had been empty and I had thrown rocks at the windows until my grandmother caught me and spanked me.

“Right.” He glanced at my car. “I thought I saw your SUV this morning as I drove past. So, I was right. You are Duvall and Lila's granddaughter.” The way he said it could mean that he thought that was a good thing or a bad thing. There was definitely something about him that struck me as odd, but try as I might, I couldn't put my finger on it. Well, other than the fact that he had run right in front of my car. Normal people generally didn't plaster a
road kill
target on their backs.

“Yes, I am.
Was.
Did you know them?” I wondered just how chummy he had gotten with my grandmother . . . and with Duvall. If he was a friend of my grandfather's, I'd have to be cautious.

He flashed me a subdued smile. “Your grandmother was
very sweet to me. Your grandfather, on the other hand . . .” He trailed off, a frown crossing his face. “You lived with them when you were younger, didn't you? Lila said you left as soon as you graduated.”

I wondered what else my grandmother had told him about me. I was about to ask when a gust of wind wailed past, hurting my ears with its howling. The mist had grown thicker, creeping through treetops to shroud the road. Shivering, I realized I needed to get inside
now
. There was something out here in the night that was dangerous to me, and until I knew what it was, I needed to get inside and lock the door against the night.

“I left when I was eighteen.” I glanced back at my truck, debating one last question. I wanted to know what he'd been chasing. But something held me back. For one thing, I wasn't sure how much I
really
wanted to know. Every person in Whisper Hollow had secrets tucked away. Sometimes it was better to just pretend they didn't exist. And second: I wasn't at all sure whether he'd tell me the truth.

I stowed the crowbar back under the seat. “If you're sure you're okay, I'd better get home. My cats are waiting for me.” At his look, I laughed. “Yeah, it sounds like a cliché, but I
am
the crazy cat lady. I have three Maine Coons—two sisters and their brother, and it's past their dinnertime. They're not happy campers when I give them their dinner late, so I'd better get my ass in the house and feed them.”

The somber look fell away and he smiled back with his eyes. Giving my car a nod, he said, “Go on with you, then. Have a safe evening.”

As I started to get back in the car, he added, “Maybe we can . . . grab a cup of coffee some time? We're neighbors, we should get to know each other. Just in case . . . you know.
Emergencies.
”

That made me laugh. After all . . . I was standing with a handsome, mysterious stranger in the middle of a dark road as the mist rose around us and he had just suggested a coffee date. Who could resist that?

“Maybe we can. After all . . .
emergencies
do happen. And
it's always good to know one's neighbors.” I popped into the car, and as I eased back onto the road, I called out the window, “You know where to find me. Drop over whenever you like.”

Long after I was home and cuddling with the cats, the strange figure bounding across the road, and my altogether too intriguing neighbor, preyed on my mind.

T
he next morning, I had just turned the espresso machine on when there was a knock at the front door. Sighing, I put down my mug and headed to answer it.

“Kerris Fellwater, you beautiful bitch! Welcome home!” Peggin was leaning against the door frame. A little taller than me—she was about five seven—she was luxuriously padded in all the right places like I was. The epitome of an opulent, plump pinup girl. Her hair was a deep copper and she was wearing a retro fifties dress that cinched in at her waist to flare into a full skirt, a cropped blazer, and chunky heeled pumps. She lit up my front porch like a bottle of fireflies.

All of a sudden, coming home seemed like the best idea ever.

“Peggin! You're back! Get in here.” Unable to control the smile that spread across my face, I grabbed her hand and yanked her inside. We had been best friends in high school, and she was one of the few people I had kept in contact with all through the intervening years. We'd met for an occasional lunch in Seattle, called at least once every couple of weeks, texted off and on. “How was your vacation?”

She shrugged. “Not bad, but I don't think I'm cut out for California weather. Or the lifestyle. I was only there for a few days, but I'm glad to be home, to be honest.” She shimmied out of her jacket. The woman was basically sex-on-legs, with a damned good brain to go along for the ride. “Coffee first, then talk.” She had her priorities straight, that was for sure.

I headed to the espresso machine. “Three shots espresso, a little milk, and a lot of sugar, right?”

“You remembered.” She grinned. “I rushed out the door without grabbing a drop, but I couldn't wait to see you. I would have come over last night but my flight got in late and by the time I got home, I wasn't sure if you'd still be up.”

“Yeah, I crashed pretty early. Yesterday was . . . a lot happened. I learned more in one afternoon than I did my entire eighteen years here before I ran off.” I fitted the mesh cup in the filter and spooned in ground coffee, then gave it a turn to lock it into position. I flipped the switch and a stream of creamy brown espresso flowed into the shot glasses. “I can't believe I'm really back here, Peggin. Back in Whisper Hollow. The intervening years vanished like smoke when I drove back into this town.”

She nodded. “I hear that happens. I've never tried leaving . . . not for good . . . so I don't know. But I'm glad you're home, if only for my sake. I missed you.” She leaned against the counter, the satin finish of her dress brushing against the granite with a soft sound. The style fit her perfectly. Peggin also wore glasses—horn-rimmed frames that fit her personality perfectly. Even when I knew her in high school, she had been the odd one out, always setting her own style.

“You have to go to work today, or can you stay? I wanted to ask you about some things that I learned.” I pulled the rest of our espresso and carried the cups to the table. Peggin carried the creamer and sugar bowl. She poured a dollop of cream into her coffee cup, then added two spoons of sugar.

“No. I took today off so I could catch up on my errands. I
wish
I could just hang out, but I have to do laundry and go grocery shopping and pick up Frith and Folly at the kennel before I head back to work tomorrow.” Peggin owned ferrets.
They were more of a handful than Maine Coons, into everything and as curious as cats. As she stared into the cup, a soft smile crossed her lips. “Corbin's a good boss, but he's sure an odd duck. Remember him?”

I nodded, though I mostly remembered that he had been tall, with skin the color of espresso, and his eyes had been odd. They reminded me of a snake's eyes. “He was a few years older than us, right?”

“Right. He was a senior when we were freshmen. He's the only one I'd trust as a doctor. He got married and they have a thirteen-year-old daughter. She's following in his steps, I think.” Peggin lifted her espresso, cupping the china in her hands as she inhaled the rising steam with a grateful sigh.

“I've missed you so much.” She stared into her cup. “Whisper Hollow is changing, Kerris. Something's going on, and it isn't good. It's always been dangerous to live here, but when you're brought up here like we were, you learn the ropes. Now, I'm not so sure. Everything seems off-kilter and even people who should be safe, aren't so much. Don't trust anybody blindly.”

Her concern unnerved me. Peggin had always been able to home right in on potential problems. When we were fifteen, she kept me from dating Danny Tremain, a boy I'd had a crush on. She warned me that he was trouble waiting to boil over. Sure enough, after I turned him down, he took up with a girl named Wendy and she ended up with two black eyes, a broken nose, and a broken rib. And Danny hightailed it out of town before Wendy's brothers could catch hold of him.

I mulled over her words. “Yeah, I got the gist of that yesterday from Ellia, Oriel . . . and Ivy. Peggin, do you know Ivy Primrose?”

She frowned. “Yeah, I know her. Not well, but she comes in for her physicals every year and I see her at the farmer's market now and then. What's going on?”

I hesitated, then told her everything that had gone on, asking—at last—“Did
you
know that Ivy was my grandmother? Did anybody ever tell you?” If she said yes, it was
going to be hard to navigate that point. Peggin and I had never lied to each other, or withheld anything important.

She stared at me, her eyes wide. “Well, if that isn't a tangled mess. And to answer your question, no. I had no clue.” Pausing, she stirred another spoon of sugar into her espresso. “No wonder the woman never aged. I guess I never even thought about it—so many odd people live here in Whisper Hollow.” She paused, then added, “There's more to Ellia than meets the eye, Kerris. Rule number six keeps popping up in my head . . . You remember the rules, right?
Sometimes the foul are actually fair.
The converse can be true, as well. What seems fair, might just be foul. Lately, I've found myself being very aware of just who I tell anything to.”

I listened to the subtext below the words. Peggin often spoke in riddles. It was her nature and I had realized over the years growing up that she was like an unwitting oracle. And right now, she was warning me not to trust anybody at face value.

“What about Bryan? My neighbor? Got anything on him?”

“Bryan Tierney. He keeps to himself a lot but I've met him a time or two. He's an odd sort, not rude but he definitely isn't forthcoming with information about himself. Handsome man, though.” She smiled then, and shook her head. “You're intrigued.”

“Yeah, I am. There's something about him that I can't shake off. A feeling . . . that I know him even though I know full well we've never met before last night.” The image of those piercing eyes flashed into my mind again, and I found myself unsettled all over. “I wish I knew what secret my grandfather had wanted to tell them. It's almost as if the Lady didn't want him talking . . .”

Peggin shivered. “The Lady is a force unto herself, but I know—in my bones, I know—that she will work with others if supplicated enough. I just . . .” Her voice trailed off for a moment, and then she said—almost squeaked—“I feel you're in a lot of danger. I don't want to see you end up at the bottom of the lake, too. Promise me you'll be careful?”

I finished my espresso and, staring at my cup, nodded.
“I promise.” Trying to lighten the cloud of gloom that had enveloped the both of us, I added, “Today I'm on a hunt to find Lila's Shadow Journal. I can learn a lot more from that than anything or anybody except Lila herself. Are you sure you don't want to hang around and help?”

Reluctantly, she stood. “I wish I could, but I really do need to run some errands. And Frith and Folly are waiting for me. But what about getting together for dinner? I can bring chicken.”

The cloud suddenly lifted as a sense of nostalgic joy swept through me. How many dinners had Peggin and I shared over the years when we were young? How many confidences had we shared? And now, I was going to have that back again. I realized how keenly I had missed having my best friend by my side . . . any friends, really. The cats were great, but sometimes I needed somebody who could talk back to me in actual words. But, not wanting to sound maudlin, I just said, “Sounds good. I'll make a salad and bake some potatoes.”

I saw her to the door, hugging her once more before she left. In an odd way, I had my life back. The past couple of days, even given everything I'd learned, I felt more at home than I had all the years I'd been away. I shut the door and started hunting for Grandma Lila's Shadow Journal.

*   *   *

T
he Fellwater house resembled a castle en miniature. The central area—the living room and kitchen, were single story, but the two wings off to either side rose two floors high. They weren't connected—you couldn't get to one side of the second story from the other without going downstairs first.

To the left of the kitchen and living room were my grandfather's den, a bathroom, a pantry-utility room, and a staircase leading up to what had been two bedrooms and a bath. The bathroom was a Jack-and-Jill between my old bedroom and the guest room, though my room had been the more spacious of the two. Still furnished with my bed and some of the things I'd left behind, it was waiting like an old friend.
Grandma Lila hadn't changed the brilliant purples and pale gold I had chosen the last time we'd painted. The guest room, however, had been redone in shades of pale gray and light blue, with a vivid royal comforter on the bed, and the furniture had been painted white.

To the right of the kitchen and living room, the hallway led to the master suite where my grandparents had slept and another staircase, leading up to an attic and a spare room that my grandmother had used for her sewing.

As I stood in the doorway to their bedroom, I realized just how much I'd been dreading this. Everywhere I looked were reminders. The air was tinged with the lingering scent of Grandma Lila's favorite perfume: Lilac Orchard, a spicy floral scent. It mingled with the stale scent of Grandpa Duvall's cigars and the acidic note of the aftershave he had used.

I hesitated for another moment, then resolutely marched into the room. Gabby, Daphne, and Agent H sashayed their way behind me, curiosity lighting up their faces.

“Don't get into trouble, you three.” I frowned as they ignored me and promptly began to sniff their way into the closet and under the bed. I let them have at it. The bed was barely far enough off the ground for Agent H to slide under, but when I got down on my hands and knees and peeked, he seemed to be getting around okay. I just didn't want him stuck. Maine Coons were big, and he was a good twenty-four pounds. Gabby opted for the closet, and the sound of shifting boxes and shoes told me she was working her way to the back. Daphne, however, decided she wanted to sprawl out on top of the bed, where she rolled over on her back, tufted feet hovering in the air. The blending of orange and black fur didn't extend to her stomach, which was a blaze of white. She squirmed happily. Laughing, I leaned over and rubbed her tummy with my nose. She purped and bounced away.

Refocusing, I headed for the bathroom. Though I'd taken my showers in there, I hadn't really poked around yet. It was an en suite and, like the kitchen, had been renovated since I'd left. A sunken tub had replaced the claw-footed one, and a walk-in shower had been installed, along with marble
countertops on the vanities and a new linen closet. I went through the vanity drawers, but it was easy enough to see that Lila hadn't kept her journal in there.

No, the bedroom was the logical place to start. And while I was at it, now was as good a time as any to begin packing up some of their things. The thought left me melancholy, but it had to be done. I couldn't live in the middle of what had been their lives. I had to make the house my own, even though moving in and taking over meant my grandmother was really dead.

With a long sigh, I trucked myself back into the kitchen and then out to the back porch, where I'd left a stack of cardboard boxes and a couple of boxes of large trash bags. Clothing would go in the bags, other items in the boxes. I added a roll of strapping tape to my supplies, along with a flashlight and a pair of scissors, and carted everything into the bedroom.

I decided to start with the dressers. Clothing was easy. There were a few scarves of my grandmother's that I wanted to keep, and maybe a hat or two, but most of the clothes could be donated. I quickly worked through my grandmother's dresser, then my grandfather's. But when I reached the last drawer, though, it seemed to stick. I pulled, hard, and the drawer gave way, coming all the way out. A flurry of handkerchiefs covered the floor as everything went flying.

Probably needed some oil on the sliders, I thought. But as I stuffed the handkerchiefs into the bag and went to replace the drawer, I saw something in the space between the bottom and the floor. There was a little box there. Cautiously, I flashed the light into the space. No spiders, no vermin. I reached in and lifted the box out, forgetting all about the drawer.