The Abandoned

Ilsa

As soon as Ree got back to her tiny apartment that night, she put on a pot of coffee and sat down at her desk to work on her thesis—a focus on personality development in old age. But her mind kept returning to the strange events of the evening. Finally she gave in to that incessant tug and scoured the internet for information about the Tisdales—a prominent Charleston family whose roots could be traced to the city’s founding—the Order of the Coffin and the Claw, a secret society that dated back to the mid-1800s—Oak Grove Cemetery, abandoned in the early half of the last century—and finally Amelia Gray.

Following a link to Amelia’s business website, Ree clicked through the portfolio of before and after cemetery images and then scanned Amelia’s bio. Her credentials were certainly impressive. Undergraduate degree in Anthropology from the University of South Carolina. Master’s in Archeology from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Two years with the State Archeologist’s Office in Columbia before starting her own restoration business. And she was only twenty-seven. Comparatively speaking, Ree felt like a slacker.

Carrying her laptop to the sofa, she curled up to peruse Amelia’s blog. The wordplay title, Digging Graves, amused her, as did the posted news articles that referred to Amelia as The Graveyard Queen. The whimsical moniker took Ree straight back to that Sunday afternoon in Rosehill Cemetery.

On impulse, Ree dashed off an email:

My name is Ree Hutchins. You may not remember me. We went to school together in Trinity. I’d like to ask you some questions regarding Oak Grove Cemetery in Charleston. Would it be possible for us to meet?

To her surprise, Amelia responded in a matter of minutes:

Can you come by my place tomorrow at ten?

Ree jotted down the address and phone number, and tucked the note in her bag so she wouldn’t forget. Then she went back to reading the Digging Graves archives. She had no idea how long she’d been engrossed in the entries when she became aware of a chill. The air-conditioning must have cycled on. The outside windows were frosted and a fusty odor hung in the air, which Ree attributed to the moldy vents.

As she got up to adjust the thermostat, she heard the faint strains of a song. She thought at first the plaintive melody was coming through the paper-thin walls of her apartment. Then she realized it was the same tune she’d heard earlier.

Intrigued, she followed the sound into her bedroom. The numbers on the clock radio were flashing, an indication that the power had gone off. Ree had been working on her laptop so she might not have noticed a flicker. When the electricity came back on, the surge probably triggered the radio. Nothing spooky about that.

But the song…it was like being lost in a memory, Ree thought dreamily. She closed her eyes and let the music pour over her, into her, and then the haunting quality began to creep her out a bit so she snapped off the radio and the sensation faded.

After a quick shower, she crawled into bed, but sleep was a long time coming. Even in exhaustion, she couldn’t shut down. Too many disturbing things had happened to her that evening, not the least of which was Miss Violet’s passing.

When she finally drifted off, she had the oddest dream. She was in Oak Grove Cemetery. It was her…but it wasn’t her. And instead of the trashed-out graveyard of present day, the necropolis was lush and well tended, though no less unsettling.…

She wore her favorite frock, an icy-blue sheath shot through with silver threads that caught the moonlight as she moved through the maze of headstones and monuments. Her grandmother had brought the dress back from Paris, a gift for her seventeenth birthday. Father had not been happy. He thought the cut risqué and forbade her to wear it so she’d hidden it away in her closet along with her other illicit treasures. If anyone ever discovered that naughty cache…

She shivered deliciously, the fecund scent of ivy and damp earth enveloping her as she paused in front of a gothic-style crypt, the spires and crosses eerily silhouetted against the night sky. Where was he? They’d agreed to meet at the Bedford Mausoleum, but what if he’d changed his mind? What if he’d decided that she was too young and taboo for someone with his aspirations?

She tried to shake off a nascent unease as she climbed the steps and peered through the leaded glass. Moonlight slanted in from an opposite window, but she could see little beyond a glistening patchwork of cobwebs.

Turning, she scanned the cemetery. The deep shadows cast by the oak trees highlighted the ghostly glow of the marble statues. The unseeing eyes watched her as she ran down the steps and searched among them.

Suddenly, she could hear music from the nearby party and a wave of relief washed her. They were playing her song and that could only be his doing. He was here after all, sending her a secret message. Closing her eyes, she lifted her arms and began to dance.

As she twirled among the angels and saints, she glimpsed him out of the corner of her eye. Dark and brooding, he watched from the shadows. Then he came out into the moonlight and she caught her breath. He was so tall, so regal, so elegantly dressed. She went to him at once and cupping her hands around his neck, pulled him to her for a kiss. He obliged without hesitation, his tongue snaking in and out of her mouth until she grew dizzy with anticipation.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said breathlessly.

“And here I am.” He kissed her again, but this time there was something cold about his touch. “Did you have any trouble getting away?”

“It was almost too easy,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Father left hours ago so all I had to do was wait until everyone else turned in, then slip out the back way.”

“No one saw you?”

“Why would they?” She gazed up at him through her thick lashes. “I’ve had lots and lots of practice, you know.”

“You really are an incorrigible little thing, aren’t you?” His hand stroked her breast and she shuddered. “If the old man knew what you were up to, he’d never let you out of his sight.”

“Must we talk about him?” She pulled away. “You said you had a surprise for me. Where is it?”

“All in good time.”

He still seemed preoccupied and anxiety crept over her. The music had stopped and the night grew unnaturally silent. Where were the crickets? The birds?

“I don’t like this place.”

“I didn’t think you were scared of anything,” he taunted.

“Who says I’m scared?” She lifted her chin in defiance, but couldn’t help jumping when she heard a twig snap. “What was that?”

“Probably someone from the party. Just relax. Here…” He pulled a flask from his pocket and handed it to her. “Drink up.”

She took a long swallow, letting the fiery liquor chase away her apprehension. “Who are all those people back there anyway? Why won’t you tell me their names?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Everything’s a secret with you.” She folded her arms and pouted. “It just seems so silly and childish…these clandestine gatherings in a cemetery.”

“You wanted to come.”

“Will I at last get to witness the ceremony?”

“Oh, yes. You’ll have a very good view.”

“Is that my surprise?”

“Shush. Enough talk.”

Already, his hands were busy at the long row of buttons at her back. When he had them undone, she shimmied out of the dress and stood before him in the moonlight. She felt no shame, no embarrassment. Nothing but the most decadent eagerness.

She touched a finger to the silver medallion he wore around his neck.

“Father has one of these,” she murmured, recognizing the emblem.

“Anyone who is anyone in Charleston has one of these.”

He pulled her to the ground and she rose over him. Her eyes dark and hooded, she bent to kiss him, nipping his bottom lip before she trailed her tongue down his throat. When she reached the side of his neck, she sank her teeth in deeper.

“You little vampire.” He caught her roughly by the shoulders. “I told you not to do that.”

“You told me not to do a lot of things. But then you enjoy them anyway.”

“Not that. You’re like an animal,” he said in disgust. She merely smiled as he rolled her off him. Then he caught her hands and lifted them high over her head. “You need to be taught a lesson.”

She didn’t panic. Even when his fingers tightened around her wrists and his body pressed down on hers.

She felt no fear at all…until she heard the chanting.…

A night bird called from the treetops and Hayden wondered if he should consider it an omen. Where the mist thinned, he could see a ring around the moon. Guard your mirrors and hide your babies, he thought as he absently touched the medallion around his neck. Not tiger’s eye, but silver would have to do. Luckily, he wasn’t overly superstitious. Ironic, considering.

Despite the lunar halo, the spirits were definitely not stirring. His readings remained boringly static. If he left now, he’d still have a few hours to study for the bar. That would keep the old man off his back and the partners at his law firm happy.

He checked the EMF meter one last time and was just about to gather up the other equipment when he felt it again…that strangle ripple in the mist. A chill swept across his skull and lifted the hair at his nape. Something was stirring.

Then, from his periphery, he had a visual. His pulse quickened as he turned slowly. There! Just beyond a broken angel. Hayden could hardly believe his eyes. After all these years, an apparition floated before him in the mist.

He was so startled he very nearly dropped the delicate thermometer he’d been using to check for cold spots. Now his hand gripped the handle excitedly as he watched her, so pale and fragile and lovely she might have been spawned from a gothic poem.

But she was no ghost, Hayden realized almost at once. His phantom was flesh and blood, and dressed in white cotton pajamas that were diaphanous in the filtered moonlight.

When she got to the steps of the mausoleum, she glanced around expectantly, then cocked her head, as if a sound had caught her attention. Slowly, she lifted her arms and began to dance.

Maybe it was the uneven terrain, but she moved with very little natural grace and no discernible rhythm, stumbling every now and then over roots and bits of broken headstone. Hayden was at once amused and totally captivated.

After a moment, though, he began to grow uneasy. He felt a little sleazy spying on her, but he didn’t want to frighten or embarrass her by announcing his presence. Nor did he want to slip away silently, leaving her alone in an abandoned graveyard. What the hell was she doing out here anyway?

He cleared his throat, but she paid him no mind. He took a bolder approach and stepped from the shadows where he knew she could see him. She froze. Their gazes locked. And then she did something Hayden would never have predicted in a million years. She came to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her for a kiss.

He was so taken aback, he didn’t have time to resist. Nor did he mean to respond. The whole situation was just too damned strange, but when she pressed her body against his—and man, those pajamas left nothing to the imagination—he felt the stirrings of an arousal even as he told himself to get the hell out of there. This chick was weird.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said breathlessly.

“You’ve been waiting…for me?” He gazed down into her upturned face. Pale skin, full lips, blue eyes…all framed by a cloud of dark hair that smelled like ginger. Never mind Hawthorne or Poe. She might have sprung straight from his fantasy.

Still moving in a dreamlike stupor, she cupped the back of his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. Her mouth was open and eager and when she nibbled his bottom lip, he shuddered. He couldn’t help himself. And it wasn’t to his credit that it took him a moment to break away.

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t worry,” she murmured. “Father doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“He…doesn’t?”

Smiling, she reached for his hand and placed it on her breast. With her other hand, she reached for him.

“Hey. Take it easy there.” He stepped back.

She gazed at him demurely as she began to unbutton her top.

“That’s not a good idea. You don’t know me, I don’t know you…”

The top fell to the ground. Her skin glowed like marble in the moonlight.

Good Lord. Hayden didn’t want to stare, but…good Lord!

He picked up the garment and thrust it at her. “Come on, now. Put this back on.”

She frowned, glanced around, and then with a slow dawning, gave a little shriek and drew back her hand. He had no doubt she would have popped him across the face if he hadn’t caught her wrist. “Whoa. That’s not a good idea, either.”

Her eyes widened and she looked on the verge of hysteria. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He lifted his hands. “Nothing. I swear—”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“You came on your own. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Then how…” She glanced down, gasped, and clutched the pajama top to her chest. “Oh, God.”

It was as if he’d doused her with cold water. She stumbled back, mortified and not a little frightened. “Don’t touch me!”

“No problem.”

She retreated all the way back to the steps. He peered at her curiously through the mist, but made no attempt to approach her. “Are you okay? You seem a little…disoriented.” To put it mildly.

She struggled into the pajama top, her fingers fumbling with the buttons. “I don’t know. I don’t know how I got here. So help me God, if you drugged me—”

“Drugged you?” This just kept getting better and better. “Until a few minutes ago, I’d never even laid eyes on you.”

“Then how did I get here?”

“You tell me.” Her accusations offended him, but she looked so lost and vulnerable, he couldn’t help feeling protective of her. Outwardly, she appeared fine. He didn’t detect any blood or bruises, but something had obviously happened to her. “You don’t remember anything?”

“It’s all so hazy.” She touched a hand to her forehead. “I remember going to bed and then I had the strangest dream.”

“Dream?” He latched on to the first thing that made sense. “Maybe you were sleepwalking.”

“I’ve never done that in my life.”

“First time for everything. Do you live nearby? In one of the dorms maybe?”

She didn’t answer.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he said. “If I’d wanted to hurt you, I could have already done so by now.”

Her chin came up. “You could have tried.”

He had to admire her pluck. “You’re free to leave,” he said, waving an arm toward the path. “I won’t try to stop you. But just so you know, you’re safer here with me than you are out there alone in the dark. Especially if you don’t know where you’re going.”

“I know where I’m going.” A slight tremor in her voice belied her defiance.

“Well, good. If you’ll wait until I gather up my equipment, I’ll give you a lift. If not…be careful out there.”

Ree knew that she should leave, but instead she lingered, inexplicably drawn to a total stranger. He was slim and attractive with an alternative edge to his demeanor and style that made her wonder if he was a musician, the kind one might see in some cool but slightly decadent after-hours club. Not someone she’d expect to find hanging out in an abandoned graveyard.

She had no reason in the world to trust him, especially considering her state of undress when she’d…awakened, for lack of a better term. But she wasn’t without memories, though hazy they might still be. She’d kissed him. He may have responded—that part was a little sketchy—but she was pretty sure she’d been the instigator. Which wasn’t like her. She was hardly a shrinking violet but she wasn’t exactly aggressive, either. Certainly not with a stranger she’d just met in a graveyard. It was all just so odd. She’d felt compelled to kiss him, as if she had no will of her own. As if she were merely a puppet in someone else’s dream.

She was fully conscious now, completely in control of her faculties, and nothing still made sense. The whole night was beginning to seem like a waking nightmare.

“So do you want a ride or not?” he queried.

An alarm sounded in her head, but so faintly Ree could easily ignore it. “Yes, a ride would be nice. I live a few blocks north of here. Just at the edge of campus.”

“You’re a student then?”

“I’m working on my master’s thesis, but I also volunteer at the Milton H. Farrante Psychiatric Hospital.”

She could almost hear the wheels turning inside his head. Disoriented girl alone in an old graveyard…

“I’m a psych major,” she added.

“Ah.” He made it sound as if that explained everything. “Do you have a name?”

“Ree Hutchins.”

“I’m Hayden Priest. Recent law school graduate and soon-to-be attorney when and if I pass the South Carolina bar.” He took a few tentative steps toward her. When she didn’t retreat, he offered his hand and she reluctantly shook it. A surge of electricity shot up her arm and she felt a little light-headed from the contact. Embarrassed, she dropped his hand and clutched the front of her top, which she’d buttoned all the way up to her neck. It was a little late for modesty, though, seeing as how he’d already seen her half naked. Ree actually caught herself wondering about the impression she’d made on him. Idiot.

His eyes glinted in the moonlight. “Still don’t trust me?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Then why had she told him her name and where she worked? Why not just give him a handwritten invitation to stalk her? At least she’d had the good sense to be vague about where she lived. Not that it would matter if she accepted a ride and/or he turned out to be a serial killer.

She glanced around the old cemetery. Where the mist thinned, she could see stone faces glowing in the moonlight. All those sightless eyes unnerved her.

“What are you doing out here anyway?” she asked with a shiver.

He scratched the back of his arm. “I’m on assignment.”

“What kind of assignment?”

“I’m doing some testing for the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies. Ever hear of it?”

That got Ree’s attention. “You’re a ghost hunter?”

“I prefer paranormal investigator. Ghost hunter is so limiting and I’m not opposed to tracking down vampires and werewolves, or even zombies, if it comes to it.”

A chill crawled up her spine even though she knew he was joking. At least…she hoped he was. “That seems an odd avocation for a lawyer.”

“Soon to be lawyer. The courts are pretty keen on that distinction.”

“So you’re here in the cemetery looking for ghosts?”

“Listening for ghosts. There’s a difference.”

“Have you heard anything?” she asked anxiously. “Voices, music…chanting…”

“Chanting?” He moved a step closer. Despite his easy manner, his gaze was extremely potent. “Now that would be interesting, but no. I haven’t been able to pick up so much as a whisper. No EVPs, no spikes in the EMF readings, no fluctuations in temperature, nothing on the K-2 meter or Frank’s Box. Nothing, nada, zilch.”

“Then why not give up?”

“Because something is here.” His voice dropped and Ree sensed a tremor of excitement go through him. “Can’t you feel it? It’s like an echo…a vibration…”

Ree felt something when he looked at her like that. “But no ghosts,” she said.

He shrugged.

“Maybe you don’t hear them because they don’t exist.”

“A nonbeliever, I take it.”

“Have you ever seen one?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Heard one?”

“Debatable.”

“And yet you still believe.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but merely gazed down at her. He looked pale and very mysterious in the moonlight. Ree trembled in spite of herself.

“Tell me about your dream,” he finally said.

She really didn’t want to talk about it, especially with him, but the moment he took her arm, she was lost. An odd bond had formed between them, one she still didn’t fully trust. But neither could she ignore it. She dropped down on the steps of the mausoleum beside him, and for some reason, it didn’t seem so strange anymore. He was easy to talk to, a very good listener, and Ree found herself telling him about some of the things she’d experienced since Miss Violet’s death, carefully skirting the blackmail scheme. If that somehow got back to Dr. Farrante, he’d suspect she was the source and she shuddered to think how far he might go to protect his work and his family’s legacy.

“You think Miss Violet’s death somehow triggered the dream?” Hayden asked when she was finished.

“Probably. But she wasn’t the young woman in the blue dress. I’m almost certain of that. I think that woman was her mother, Ilsa. According to the inscription in the book, Ilsa was ten years old in 1915. Violet was well into her eighties when she died, which means she would have been born in the early twenties when Ilsa was a teenager.”

“How do you suppose Violet ended up in the psychiatric hospital?”

“I have no idea. But she was there for years. As long as anyone on staff can remember. I think her confinement was somehow connected to her mother. Something bad happened to Ilsa in this cemetery.”

“You said you heard chanting in your dream. Could you tell what they were saying?”

“Not really. I had the sense that it was some sort of ritual, but it was just a dream.”

“And yet here you are.”

Here he was, too. Ree had to wonder about a man who could seem so completely at ease in an abandoned cemetery in the dead of night.

“It’s possible Ilsa is trying to communicate with you,” he said.

“Through my dream?”

“Have you had any other unusual experiences? Cold spots, electrical surges, anything like that?”

Ree thought about the radio playing in her bedroom and the stopped clock beside Violet’s bed. She thought about the frosted windows, the musty smell in her apartment, the sensation of someone behind her. And she drew a shaky breath.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Noted.”

“But…ever since Violet died, I’ve had this sensation of being followed, of needing to glance over my shoulder. And I’ve been hearing this strange song. It’s so haunting. Like a lost memory.”

“Go on.”

“That’s pretty much it. It’s all just my imagination, of course. I’ve been working too hard and I’m under a lot of pressure with my thesis. The mind can play tricks when exhausted.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?”

She hugged her arms around her middle. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“Before tonight, you probably thought sleepwalking in an old graveyard pretty unlikely.”

“That’s different.” But an icy finger traced along Ree’s spine. “Do you really think I’m experiencing some sort of paranormal activity?”

He turned to gaze out over the crumbling graveyard. “I think there are a lot of things in this world—and the next—that can’t be explained.”

His tone, more than his words, deepened Ree’s chill. “Supposing I am being haunted. Why me?”

“Could be a simple matter of proximity. The ghost needed a conduit and you were handy. Or…”

She glanced at him. “Or what?”

“There’s a Chinese legend about hungry ghosts. Entities that devour human emotions. Spirits whose sole purpose is to sustain themselves in our realm by feeding on our warmth and energy.”

It disturbed Ree greatly that he didn’t appear to be joking this time. “How do you get rid of them?”

“You don’t. They get rid of you by slowly draining your life force.”

She hugged herself more tightly. “Just so you know…I still don’t believe in ghosts. But if you’re trying to frighten me, you’re doing a damn fine job.”

“Good. Because until you know the kind of entity you’re dealing with, you have to tread carefully. Best-case scenario, this ghost has an agenda. In which case, all you have to do is find out what she wants.”

“As simple as that.”

“Dealing with ghosts is never a simple matter,” he warned. “Rule Number One: hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”

“What’s Rule Number Two?”

He hesitated. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“We?”

“I’m a ghost hunter, you’ve got a ghost. Match made in heaven. Or hell, depending.”

Looking back the next morning, Ree could almost believe the episode in the cemetery had been part of her “Ilsa” dream because the alternative was just too distressing. At some point during the night, she’d gotten out of bed, left her apartment wearing nothing but pajamas and trekked all the way across campus and through the woods where she’d somehow scaled the wall of an abandoned cemetery and tried to seduce a complete stranger. She hated to think what could have happened if anyone but Hayden had been in that graveyard.

But he’d been the perfect gentleman. Not only had he seen her home safely, he’d even provided his cell phone number in case she found herself in another compromising situation. He’d been so kind, in fact, that Ree had felt obligated to return the favor. Well…not obligated really. In truth, she’d wanted to make it easy for him to contact her because he was the first guy she’d felt attracted to in ages.

After he’d dropped her off last night, Ree had spent an unseemly amount of time thinking about him. She was at such a critical stage of her thesis that any spare moment of the day or night should have been devoted to her writing. But no. Even though she hadn’t been the slightest bit sleepy, she’d crawled into bed and lain there wondering how old he was, where he came from, if he was in a relationship.

It was almost inconceivable that she could be so obsessed after everything else that had happened to her. And he was a ghost hunter, of all things. Not in a million years would she have imagined herself attracted to someone so alternative. But maybe that was part of the appeal. He was the complete opposite of her.

Ree was still thinking about him as she got ready for class. She had the television turned down low so it was easy to let her mind wander and her thoughts had meandered off into a rather fascinating direction—her and Hayden cocooned in a misty cemetery. Alone and forgotten as if the world outside those walls had simply evaporated. Talk about interesting subtext.

Then, as she stood stuffing a stack of research notes into her messenger bag, a photograph flashed across the screen and she forgot all about Hayden. Gasping, Ree grabbed the remote to turn up the volume.

Jared Tisdale, the man she’d seen coming out of Dr. Farrante’s office, had been found shot to death in his home early that morning. The police had no suspects, no witnesses and no apparent motive.

No suspects…no motive…

Ree dropped heavily onto the sofa. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she’d overheard Jared Tisdale blackmailing Nicholas Farrante. And now Tisdale was dead.

Don’t jump to conclusions. The man’s death might not have anything to do with that argument. Tisdale had said he owed a lot of money to some very unsavory people. It wasn’t a huge leap to assume his murder was somehow connected to his gambling debts.

Ree was still trying to convince herself none of this was her concern when the phone rang. She jumped in spite of herself. Normally, she was a calm and levelheaded person, but the news of Tisdale’s death had rattled her.

Still in shock, she lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“I hope I’m not calling too early. Or coming across too eager.”

“Who is this?”

A pause. “Hayden.”

“Hayden…” She clutched the phone.

“From last night.” He said something under his breath. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Of course, I remember you.” He’d pretty much occupied every waking moment until news of Tisdale’s murder had plopped her so unceremoniously back into the real world. “I’m sorry. I’m a little distracted at the moment.” Her gaze went back to the television screen. Thankfully, the photograph was gone and the anchor had moved on to another story.

“Is something wrong?”

“You could say that.”

“Anything I can do?”

The genuine concern in his voice made Ree realize how long it had been since she’d had a confidant. Her mother was still trapped in her bitterness and her father was too busy with his new life. Ree wasn’t sure how it had happened, but at some point between college and grad school all her friends had moved on. And at that moment, she’d never felt more alone.

“Ree?”

“Maybe you can help,” she said. “I think I need some legal advice.”

“Okay. But you do understand I’m not allowed to practice law without a license. Any advice I offer will have to be of the unofficial variety.”

“So long as I can still invoke the attorney-client privilege.”

His voice grew sober. “What’s going on?”

Ree suddenly felt as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. Tears burned her eyes, which made her angry with herself. A man had been murdered. He’d probably left loved ones behind. This was no time for self-pity. “I didn’t tell you everything about that conversation I overheard at the hospital.”

“No?”

“Dr. Farrante was being blackmailed by a man named Jared Tisdale.

He threatened to expose a secret that their families have kept hidden for three generations. Whatever it is, it has something to do with Miss Violet and her mother, Ilsa. I just heard on the news that Tisdale was found shot to death in his home this morning. Maybe it’s just some awful coincidence. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with Dr. Farrante. But if I go to the police—”

“If, Ree?”

She dragged trembling fingers through her hair. “Dr. Farrante will know that I overheard that blackmail scheme. If he killed Tisdale, what’s to stop him from coming after me?”

“If Farrante is involved, going to the police could be your best protection,” Hayden said. “And if you don’t tell them what you know, you’re technically impeding an official investigation. Cops don’t like that.”

“I know, but—”

“For all the inroads in forensic science, the best way to establish a reliable timeline is still finding the person or persons who last saw the victim alive. That could be you, Ree. Not to mention the fact that you can provide a motive.”

“I know all that. I guess I just needed to hear someone spell it out for me.”

“I’ll go with you,” he said. “We’ll call it moral support.”

“You’d do that?” She felt pathetic, even asking.

“Just give me a chance to clear up a few things here. I’ll meet you outside police headquarters in half an hour.…”

But he didn’t show. Ree waited for almost forty-five minutes in front of the building on Lockwood before giving up. Then climbing the south-side stairs, she squared her shoulders and marched inside before she could change her mind. In very short order, she was escorted to a small and rather antiseptic-looking office where she was told to wait for someone named Devlin.

He appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, a tall, stylish man with dark hair and a face so pale and thin, one might even call him gaunt. Strangely, this only enhanced his attractiveness. Ree judged him to be in his early to midthirties, though when he turned his head a certain way and the light hit him just right, he could have been a decade older. His high cheekbones were sharply defined, his lips full and sculpted. When he walked into the room, the air seemed to collapse and Ree struggled to catch her breath. He had an almost palpable charisma, an intensity that was so deeply masculine, she found herself thinking of dark things. Inappropriate things. And that made her think of Hayden and she wished he was there with her.

As the detective’s gaze collided with hers, Ree was reminded of something her grandmother had said about Amelia Gray: She has the kind of eyes that can see right down into your soul.

That described this man’s gaze perfectly.

Shuddering, she glanced away as he strode across the office and sat down behind the desk. “I understand you have information regarding Jared Tisdale’s murder.” His voice was rich and deep, and he spoke with the sensual cadence of the native Charlestonian.

“I have information about Jared Tisdale,” Ree clarified. “I don’t know if it has anything to do with his murder.”

Devlin pushed a recorder toward the edge of the desk. His hands were very graceful, she noticed. His fingers long and elegant—

“If you have no objection…”

She did, actually, but was too intimidated to say so. “No, it’s fine.” It was all she could do not to fidget under the man’s relentless scrutiny.

“State your name, address and occupation,” he said.

She started to speak when the door swung open and a man—another detective, she assumed—stuck his head in the office. “You’re needed outside.”

Devlin scowled. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“This can’t wait.”

He shot Ree an apologetic look and stood. “Sorry. This shouldn’t take along.”

She nodded and sat twiddling her thumbs for a few minutes until she grew restless and stood. Going to the door, she glanced out over the rows of desks and cubicles. She could see Devlin’s profile through a glass panel in an office across the room. Another man stood with his back to the glass as the detective who’d come for Devlin faced him. They appeared to be in the middle of a very tense conversation. Devlin seemed little more than a bystander, though Ree had a feeling that when he spoke, the other two would listen.

The third man turned suddenly, and Ree stepped back, her heart thudding. It was Dr. Farrante.

This was not good. This was not at all good.

Clutching the strap of her messenger bag, she eased back to the door.

“Can I help you?” A female officer walking by had caught Ree staring out over the squad room.

She cleared her throat. “I’m looking for the ladies’ room.”

The officer angled her head. “Back that way. Take a left.”

“Thanks.”

Ree kept walking, right on past the restroom, through the lobby, down the stairs and never once did she look back until she hit the parking lot. And only then when she heard someone call out her name.

It was Hayden. He’d just gotten out of his car and was striding toward her. Relief washed over her and without thinking, she launched herself into his arms. He must have been caught completely by surprise, but he pulled her close without hesitation.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Ree pushed away just enough to glance over her shoulder. “I need to get out of here.”

Nine out of ten men would have wasted time with more questions, but Hayden merely said, “My car’s right over here.”

“What about mine?”

“We’ll pick it up later. Come on.”

A moment later, they sped out of the parking lot and wheeled onto the street.

Hayden glanced at her. “Sorry I’m late, by the way. I got stuck in a meeting with the partners. No cell phones allowed so I couldn’t even text you.”

“That’s okay.” It hit Ree then why he looked so different. He was wearing a suit. This was the attorney-to-be Hayden. The buttoned-down, conventional Hayden. “You look nice,” she said, a rather inane observation considering her predicament.

“Thanks.” He loosened his tie and tossed it aside. Then he unbuttoned his collar. “Now I can breathe.”

She found herself wondering about that subtext.

“So what happened back there, Ree? You’re as white as a ghost.” He grimaced. “Sorry, bad joke.”

She told him about Dr. Farrante.

He heard her out, then shrugged. “You know, it’s possible he was there for the same reason as you.”

“I thought about that. But there was something very strange about that meeting. I had the distinct impression they all knew one another. And they were so intense. I could practically smell the conspiracy.”

“Through the glass and all the way across the squad room? That’s potent.” He sounded amused.

“Make fun all you want, but I’m very good with body language. It’s one of my strengths.”

“I’m sure it is. And I’m not making fun. Just playing devil’s advocate. What would those two detectives have to gain by conspiring with Nicholas Farrante?”

“Maybe he’s bribing them. Or maybe they work for the Order of the Coffin and the Claw.”

He swerved sharply to miss a squirrel.

“It’s a secret society like the Skull and Bone Society at Yale,” she told him.

“Yes, I’ve heard of it.” He kept his gaze focused on the road. “Most people assume it’s an urban legend. And anyway, what does it have to do with Farrante?”

“I think he’s a member. I heard him tell Tisdale that he wouldn’t dare go against the wishes of the Order.”

“Interesting,” Hayden mused. “Did he say anything else?”

“About the Order? No, but I did some research last night,” Ree said. “It’s been around since before the Civil War. They recruit from only the most prominent families in Charleston and they’ve always had members in positions of power in government, business and academia. Evidently, they were once a force to be reckoned with in this city.”

“Not to sound elitist, but it doesn’t seem like a police detective would meet that criteria,” Hayden said.

“Oh, but Devlin would. He’s no run of the mill cop. He’s not a run of the mill anything. The way he speaks, dresses, carries himself…he’s from money. Old money. I’d swear on it.”

Hayden shot her look. “He seems to have made quite an impression. Should I be jealous?”

“No, he’s not my type,” Ree said with a shiver. “And if he has anything to do with the Order of the Coffin and the Claw, he’s really not my type.”

“Good to know,” Hayden muttered.

Ree stared out the window at the passing scenery. The morning was bright and sunny, but she focused on a bank of storm clouds in the distance. “I can’t believe this is happening. This time yesterday, my biggest worry was finishing my thesis so that I can graduate, find a job and start digging myself out of debt. Now I’m a material witness in a murder investigation. And for all I know, the cops could be looking for me right this very moment.”

“Try to relax. We’ll figure something out.”

“Easy for you to say.” She sighed. “Sorry. You’ve been great. I’m just on edge.”

“That’s understandable. Maybe it would help if we go somewhere quiet and talk it through. When do you have class?”

“Not until this afternoon. But I have a meeting with Amelia Gray at ten.”

“Who’s she?”

Ree tucked a strand of hair behind one hear. “Didn’t I tell you about her? She’s the cemetery restorer that Tisdale mentioned. We grew up in the same town so I contacted her. I thought she might be able to tell me something about Oak Grove.”

“Good thinking. Mind if I tag along?”

Ree turned to find him staring at her intently. His gaze unsettled her because she couldn’t quite read him yet. “Don’t you have to get back to the office?”

He grinned. “They’re used to my disappearances. They’ll just think I’ve gone off somewhere to study for the bar.”

“And how long have you been going off somewhere to study for the bar?” she asked lightly.

“Since December. Circumstances kept me from taking the exam in February so now I’ll have to wait until July. Leaves me plenty of time for the odd side project.”

Did he consider her one of those odd side projects? Ree wondered.

He was watching her again, half smiling.

“What?” she demanded.

“Nothing. Tell me about this Amelia person we’re going to see.”

Ree still wondered about that smile. “She was…different. I don’t ever remember seeing her at a party or a ball game or any other kind of social event. She spent a lot of time in cemeteries. Her father was a caretaker and I think she helped him out a lot. She wasn’t a total outcast, but she was known for being a bit of a freak.”

“In that case, I look forward to meeting her,” Hayden said, and a prickle of jealousy caught Ree completely by surprise.

A little while later, Ree wondered if she might have built up Amelia’s eccentricity a little too much because when she opened the door she couldn’t have looked more normal. No fluttering silk. No crown of roses. In fact, she was dressed much like Ree in jeans, T-shirt and sneakers. Light makeup. Ponytail. Just your average girl next door.

Hayden lifted a brow and Ree shrugged as Amelia led them back to her office, a pleasant room with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and tall windows that looked out on a garden. While she went to make tea, they studied the framed photos on the walls—graveyards double-exposed over cityscapes. The effect was lovely, but a little gloomy for Ree’s taste.

“How long have you been interested in cemeteries?” Amelia asked as she came back in with a tea tray.

“It’s a recent development,” Ree said. “Although I used to visit Rosehill with my grandmother. She loved all the symbols on the old headstones. She called it graveyard art.”

“I love it, too,” Amelia said as she fiddled with the cups. “Gravestone symbolism can tell you a lot about the deceased. How they lived and how they died. And about the loved ones they left behind.” She offered them tea, then waved toward a chaise as she sat down behind her desk. Ree and Hayden perched side by side with their cups.

Ree’s gaze slipped back to Amelia. She looked young and innocent sitting there in the morning light—younger than Ree, even—but there was something dark in her face. Something cold and shadowy behind her blue eyes.

“So…Oak Grove Cemetery,” she finally said, and Ree could have sworn the woman shuddered as she said the name. But it was probably just her imagination. Why would Amelia Gray, of all people, be repulsed by the mention of a graveyard?

“I understand you’re being considered for the restoration,” Ree said. “That’s why I contacted you. I thought you might be able to answer some of my questions.”

Amelia looked surprised. “I was led to believe the Oak Grove project is to be kept under wraps until the restoration is completed.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Ree said. “Your name was mentioned in a private conversation I overheard.”

“I see.”

“Specifically, we’re trying to find out when and why the cemetery was abandoned,” Hayden interjected. Until then, he’d been mostly silent, letting Ree take the lead. She glanced at him now as she set aside her cup. She found it both comforting and a little disconcerting to have him there with her. Comforting after the episode at the police station and disconcerting because she was so very aware of him. She’d never taken to anyone so quickly, though she realized the way they’d met had created a fantasy element to her attraction. A misty cemetery, a handsome stranger and a dream that had led her to both.

Ree shivered as she forced her attention back to the present.

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much help,” Amelia was saying. “I’ve walked the cemetery a few times in order to prepare my bid, but I don’t normally do a lot of research unless I’m awarded the contract.”

“Can you at least tell us if there are any Tisdales buried in Oak Grove?” Ree asked hopefully. “Ilsa Tisdale perhaps?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. But if you’ve got the time and enough patience, you can probably find what you’re looking for in the Emerson library. Most of the Oak Grove records are stored in the archives.”

“Thanks,” Ree said. “And thanks for seeing us this morning. I’m sorry we wasted your time.”

“Before you go…there is something you should know about Oak Grove.”

Ree had been in the process of standing, but now she dropped back down on the chaise. Something in Amelia’s voice, an echo of that darkness behind her eyes, caused Ree to draw a sharp breath. Hayden must have heard because she sensed his gaze on her.

Amelia stared down into her cup, as if divining a message from the tea leaves. For some reason, Ree was reminded of her grandmother’s cousin, the one who had supposedly been born with a caul, leaving her with second sight.

When Amelia looked up, Ree felt an odd sense of foreshadowing, like a premonition if she believed in cauls and second sight.

“I’ve always found cemeteries to be lovely, restful places, even the forgotten ones. But Oak Grove is different. There’s something inside those walls I can’t explain. A feeling of darkness…” She trailed away, her gaze going to Hayden, as if sensing a kindred spirit.

“I experienced a similar sensation in a small rural graveyard in Kansas,” he said.

“Stull Cemetery,” she said.

“You’ve been there?”

“Once.” Her eyes darkened. “I’ve never been back.”

“It was a strange experience,” Hayden said. “I definitely sensed something but the readings remained static. I was only able to pick up a minor, indistinguishable sound on the DVR. Pretty disappointing for a place that’s known as one of the seven lost gateways to hell.”

“You’re an investigator?” Was that the vaguest hint of fear Ree heard in Amelia’s voice? “Amateur or professional?”

Hayden shrugged. “A little of both, I guess. Right now I’m doing some work for the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies.”

“You must know Rupert Shaw then.”

“Everyone in my business knows Dr. Shaw,” Hayden said. “He’s a legend. How do you know him?”

“He helped me find this house when I first moved to Charleston. I’ll always be grateful to him for that because I feel very safe here.”

Ree realized she hadn’t said anything for several minutes. Their conversation about Stull Cemetery had both fascinated and repelled her. A lost gateway to hell? Seriously?

Amelia plucked a polished stone from a basket she kept on her desk and handed it to Ree.

“What’s this?”

“A keepsake from Rosehill Cemetery,” she said. “When I was a little girl, I was certain these stones contained magical properties. I kept one with me at all times.”

“I’ve never been a big believer in magic,” Ree murmured.

“Yes, I remember that about you,” Amelia said, her tone unexpectedly soft.

“Thank you anyway.” Ree pocketed the stone with what she hoped was the proper amount of reverence.

Amelia walked them to the door and stood on the front porch to see them off. As they exited the garden gate, Hayden said under his breath, “Wow.”

Ree glanced at him. “Did you like her?”

“Like? I don’t know if I’d say that. But you’re right. She is different. And probably one of the most fascinating people I’ve met in years.”

“Should I be jealous?” Ree tried to mimic his earlier tone.

They were at his car now and Hayden did something very surprising, something Ree would never have predicted. He bent and kissed her. Not a mere peck, but a real kiss, one that deepened almost instantly. The birds stopped chirping and the breeze died away. Everything became very still. At least it seemed so to Ree. Nothing existed for her but Hayden…the scent of him, the feel of him. The slight hitch in his breath… She put her hands on his chest as she tilted her head and parted her lips. She could feel his heart thudding beneath her palm and her own breath quickened as she started to remember things about that night in Oak Grove. How she had gone to him without hesitation. How she had undressed for him without inhibition.

Tunneling his fingers through her hair, he pulled away and gazed down at her. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes,” she said in a shaken voice. And very eloquently.

As it turned out, Hayden wasn’t quite so footloose and fancy free after all. A call from someone at his firm sent him scurrying back to the office, leaving Ree to tackle the Emerson library alone. The archives room was located in the basement, a dim, musty area of overflowing shelves and drafty alcoves. One of the librarians upstairs had given Ree a vague suggestion as to where to find the Oak Grove records, but everything was so disorganized, the search was needle-in-the-haystack tedious.

Ree was muttering to herself in frustration when a man popped out from behind one of the shelves and gave her a stern shush.

“Sorry. I’ll try to keep it down.”

“It’s not for my sake, but for the other students,” he said almost apologetically.

She nodded and glanced around. The place was deserted except for the two of them and she felt a little tingle of alarm as he approached her. He looked harmless enough, though, in his corduroy jacket and khaki.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance. This place can be a bit overwhelming if you’re not familiar with the system.”

“You can say that again. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the way things are stored.”

“I’m Professor Meakin, by the way.”

Ree noticed that he didn’t offer his hand. “The historian?”

“Why, yes. I’m flattered that you recognized my name. Hardly anyone ever does.”

“Oh. Well, I read one of your books a few years back.”

This seemed to please him a great deal. “I take it you have an interest in local history. Are your people from Charleston?”

“No. I came here to attend Emerson.”

“Ah.” A curious smile tugged at his lips. “You have a bit of a Lowcountry drawl so I don’t think you’re too far from home.”

“I’m from Trinity. It’s just north of here.”

“A lovely little town. I used to visit a friend there on occasion. Your family still lives there, I take it?”

“Yes.”

He was starting to creep her out a little, but Ree tried not to telegraph her distaste because she suspected the poor guy’s worst crime was social ineptness.

His gaze darted to the book in her hand. “May I?” He glanced at the spine.

“I’m doing some research on a local family,” she explained. “I wonder if you could point me to the birth and death records, circa 1920.”

“What’s the name?”

“Tisdale.”

He thought for a moment. “Would that be the John Braxton Tisdales?”

“I have no idea. I don’t even know who that is…was.”

He gave her a reproachful look. “John Braxton Tisdale was one of General Lee’s most trusted civilian advisors during the Civil War. His son, James rode with Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders and was later elected to the U.S. Senate. The family still lives in the East Bay house from which John Braxton and young James watched the firing upon Fort Sumter.”

Would that be the same house in which Jared Tisdale had been found murdered that morning? Ree wondered. “Did James have any children?”

“Two sons, John and Braxton, both of whom followed their father into politics. There was also a daughter. She belonged to his second wife, but James adopted her.”

“What was her name?”

“Ilsa, I believe. She was younger than the boys and quite a hedonist for the time.”

“Really? What did she do?”

He seemed more than happy to oblige her curiosity. “The usual. Scandalous parties, unsavory liaisons… She ran off with a French diplomat, an older gentleman, when she was just seventeen. He whisked her away to some remote chalet in the Alps and she was never heard from again. It created quite a stir in Charleston society.”

“Her family didn’t try to find her?”

“I’m sure there was some form of communication, but with the family’s political aspirations, I imagine her estrangement was a blessing.”

“So the Tisdales just washed their hands of her?”

“It was not an uncommon attitude in those days. Young women of ill repute were often shipped off to boarding school or to live with relatives in some remote outpost.”

“Do you know if there was any kind of scandal involving Oak Grove Cemetery?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard. His eyes widened and he shot a glance over his shoulder.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No…no. It’s just…one doesn’t hear much about Oak Grove these days.”

Evidently, he didn’t know about the restoration. “Were there ever any secret ceremonies or rituals conducted in the cemetery?”

“You mean…occult rituals?” he asked carefully.

“I’m not really sure. Do you know anything about a secret society called the Order of the Coffin and the Claw?”

“I’m aware of it,” he said with a frown. “Elitism at its finest. Thankfully, the Order was dissolved several years ago. Of course, there are some who think it merely went underground.”

“Was it ever affiliated with Oak Grove Cemetery?”

“Rumor had it, that’s where the initiation rituals were held.” He lowered his voice. “There were whispers of dark ceremonies involving drunken orgies and absinthe trips, all manner of debauchery. From everything I’ve read, something happened in that cemetery. Something dark and unspeakable. That’s why Oak Grove was abandoned.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I’m afraid no one who isn’t a Claw will ever know the answer to that question.”