Amanda Stevens - The Kingdom

Slowly, I circled the room, admiring the bric-a-brac in mahogany cabinets, everything from blown-glass figurines to antique pocket watches, from fossils and shells to an assortment of oddly shaped knives. Framed photographs covered the walls, most of them local historical buildings, but the people shots interested me more. One in particular caught my attention—a picture of three young women, arms entwined as they stared dreamily into the camera. I recognized a teenage Luna, and one of the other girls bore an uncanny resemblance to Sidra, but I knew it couldn’t be her. A good twenty-five years separated their ages, and besides, the hairstyles and clothing screamed the eighties. Sidra wouldn’t have even been born then.

A fourth girl hovered in the shadowy background, her wavy hair floating about her in a breeze as she glared into the lens. I felt an odd tightening in my chest as I studied that stony face, and for the longest time, I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, couldn’t tear my eyes from that fiery glower.

“Are you all right?”

I took a step back, Sidra’s voice breaking whatever hold the photograph had on me. I turned to find her watching me from the doorway. Light from the window picked up the silvery threads in her hair, creating an ethereal illusion that, along with her paleness, made me wonder if she might be a ghost. I’d been fooled before, but since Luna could interact with her, too, the likelihood seemed slim.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked with a frown.

“Was I staring? I’m sorry,” I managed to say calmly. “I was just thinking how much you resemble the girl in this picture.”

She came over to stand beside me. “That’s my mother, Bryn.” Pointing to the redhead on her mother’s right, she said, “That’s Catrice, and, of course, you know Luna. The three of them were best friends in high school. Still are, I guess.”

“Do they all live here in Asher Falls?”

She hesitated. “You heard what Luna said. She’d wither away if she left the mountains. My mother would, too, I think. None of them would last long out in the real world.”

“This isn’t the real world?”

“God, I hope not,” she said with a shiver.

“You don’t like it here?”

“Like it? This place is a ghost town,” she said, and something in her voice made me shiver.

“Sounds as if Luna manages to stay busy.”

“Oh, yes. Luna is a very busy woman.”

We were both staring at the photograph, and I could see Sidra’s pale refection in the glass.

“I like her name,” I said. “It’s unusual but it suits her. And yours is unusual, too.”

“I’m named for her. Sidra means ‘of the stars,’ and Luna means moon, so…” She shrugged. “Kind of cheesy, but they’ve always been into that mystical stuff.”

“Who’s the fourth girl?”

I heard her breath catch and glanced over to find her in the grip of some strong emotion—eyes wide, hand pressed to her heart—but then she swallowed and tried to recover. “What girl?” she asked in a thin voice.

“The one in the background. Her.” I put a finger over the glass and felt a rush of something unpleasant go through me.

Sidra said nothing. In the ensuing silence, I heard the bell again, so faintly I wondered if my imagination had supplied the sound.

“There’s no one else in the picture,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I could clearly see an angry countenance in the background, but suddenly I understood. Whoever she was, she’d already been dead when the picture was taken. The photographer had captured her ghost.

It was the clearest shot of an entity I’d ever seen. But…if I was the one who saw ghosts, why was Sidra so distressed?

“It’s just a shadow or some trick of the light,” she insisted. “There’s no one else in the picture.”

Our gazes met and I nodded. “Yes, that must be it,” I agreed, as icy fingers skated up and down my spine.

As I followed Luna’s Volvo through town a little while later, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Sidra’s face when I mentioned the fourth girl in the photograph. I’d always assumed my ability to see ghosts was a rare thing, and because of Papa’s warnings, I’d lived a solitary existence. I had no close friends, no confidante, no one other than Papa with whom I could share my secret. I’d spent most of my life behind cemetery walls, cloistered and protected in my graveyard kingdoms. And at times I’d been unbearably lonely.

But now I had to wonder if Sidra could see them, too, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that possibility. The ghosts were a heavy burden. I didn’t wish such a dark gift on anyone.

My mind drifted back to my first encounter. I could remember that twilight so well…the glimmering aura beneath the trees in Rosehill Cemetery and the peculiar way the old man’s form had become clearer to me as the light faded. Somehow, I’d known he was a ghost, but I hadn’t been so frightened until Papa had sat me down and grimly explained our situation. Not everyone could see them, he’d told me, and it was important that we do nothing to give ourselves away. Ghosts were dangerous to people like us, because the one thing they craved above all else was acknowledgment, so they could feel a part of our world again. And in order to sustain their earthly presence, they attached like parasites to the living, draining away energy and warmth in much the same way a vampire fed on blood.

Papa had spent a lot of time teaching me how to protect myself from the ghosts. He’d given me a set of rules by which I had always lived my life: never acknowledge the dead, never stray far from hallowed ground, never associate with those who are haunted and never, ever tempt fate.

And then I’d met John Devlin. I’d lost myself in Devlin, lost all sense of reason. I’d allowed his ghosts into my world, strayed too far from hallowed ground and, because of my weakness, because of our passion, a door had been opened.

If only I’d listened to Papa’s warning… .

If only I’d followed his rules… .

But I’d foolishly let down my guard, and now I could not unsee what I’d witnessed the night I fled Devlin’s house.

He was still my weakness, and if I’d learned anything in the past few months, it was the necessity of shoring up my defenses against him…and his ghosts. No matter what I had to do.

As I kept pace with the Volvo, I caught a flash of metallic jet paint and vintage lines out of the corner of my eye. Thane Asher’s car was parked in front of a place called the Half Moon Tavern, and I thought instantly of what he’d told me on the ferry. “I drink,” he’d said. “And I bide my time.” I couldn’t imagine a more depressing existence, but I knew nothing of his family or his background, and it wasn’t my place to judge.

As the tavern receded in my rearview mirror, I tried to purge Thane Asher—and Devlin—from my thoughts by concentrating on the passing scenery. Edged by the forest on either side, the road narrowed and the quaint gingerbread houses I’d noticed earlier disappeared. For the longest time, I saw no sign of humanity other than an abandoned grain elevator and the occasional dilapidated shed. I rolled down my window, and a faint but ubiquitous smell of mildew and compost seeped in.

Up ahead, Luna turned left onto a single-lane trail that led straight back into the woods. Where the trees had been thinned, I could see the points of a roof.

A moment later, I pulled up beside her and got out of the car as my gaze traveled over the arched windows and steep gables of the house. Luna waited for me on the front porch, key in hand, but I took my time joining her. I needed to orient myself to the surroundings.