The Prophet Read online

  He’d been gone for maybe ten minutes when I decided this wasn’t such a great idea. I couldn’t wait around here forever. I’d start to attract attention. The least I could do was circle the block a time or two.

  I started the engine and was just about to pull onto the street when I glanced up at the Victorian’s third-story balcony. A man stared down at me. Even though he leaned against the railing, I could tell that he was very tall, with skin the color of rich mahogany. He had on slacks and a loose white shirt that billowed in the breeze, and I saw a necklace dangling from his throat. He was looking right at me. I had no doubt about that. Even from this distance I could feel the power of his gaze and—I could have sworn—the strength of his will. A shiver chased up my spine as our gazes held for the longest moment. He was smiling. I had no doubt about that, either.

  I felt certain I was staring into the eyes of Darius Goodwine.

  How I could be so positive about the man’s identity, I didn’t know. Maybe it was his height, the power of that gaze. Maybe it was because Ethan had said he’d seen Darius in this part of town at a house where human bones had been uncovered.

  Maybe it was because I could feel him inside my head, creeping around in my memories.

  I was almost relieved when something smashed into my passenger window, breaking the spell of that probing gaze. I whirled to find one of the young men from the porch leering at me. The other one popped up on the driver’s side, and I heard him say something obscene through the glass. I put the car in gear and shot forward, making them both jump back from the tires. I didn’t glance in the mirror as I drove away, but I knew they were laughing at me.

  So was Darius Goodwine.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I dropped by my aunt’s house on the way home to check on my mother. She was napping, so I promised my aunt I’d come back in a day or two for a visit. Now that I was back in Charleston, I tried to have dinner with them at least twice a week, and sometimes we’d all go shopping or to a movie if Mama felt up to it.

  Occasionally, Papa would come by while I was there, but as always, he kept pretty much to himself, puttering around the Trinity house while Mama was gone and keeping himself busy at the cemetery. He was retired from his caretaker position, but he still lent a hand now and then, and he was forever working on the Rosehill angels.

  Mama was nearing the end of her chemo treatments, and she seemed to be getting some of her old spark back—despite everything that had happened in Asher Falls. Papa and I had kept most of the details from her, but like Devlin, she’d only had to glimpse my face to know that I’d been through an ordeal.

  I didn’t want to think about my time in the mountains, though. I didn’t want to dwell on a legacy that would haunt me forever. Things were complicated enough right here in Charleston. I’d unwittingly stumbled upon what appeared to be a blackmail scheme, and I’d overheard a conversation between Devlin and Ethan that connected them both to Fremont’s murder. Devlin had disappeared the night his wife and child had died— perhaps to acquire gray dust from Darius Goodwine—and Ethan had given a deceptive alibi to the police. And Ethan may or may not have been in love with Devlin’s wife. All these suspicious goings-on whirled inside my brain, but none pointed conclusively to a motive, let alone to the murderer. I still considered Darius Goodwine a suspect, but I was not at all anxious to confront him. Whether he had real supernatural power or merely the power of persuasion, I had felt something truly terrifying in his presence.

  My head ached from too much thinking, too much tea and that cloying perfume that I could still smell on my jacket. As soon as I got home, I tossed it into the washing machine, and then Angus and I went for a short walk. After that, I took Dr. Shaw’s book out to the terrace to read while I still had light. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see Robert Fremont or Shani appear out of the shadows, but all was quiet in the garden.

  I sat there for the longest time caught up in the pages of that book. I’d heard about rootwork all my life. It was a practice prevalent in the Sea Islands and the Georgia-Carolina coast, but even as far inland as Trinity, there’d been a woman who kept various powders sprinkled around her doors and claimed she could charm away warts with a special incantation. Some of the local kids swore they’d seen her kill a chicken and bury it in her front yard, but I personally had never witnessed her do anything more sinister than hang some bundled peppers from the rafters of her porch. Although once Papa and I had found a strange altar near a grave in Rosehill Cemetery with candles and pictures of saints and tiny pieces of paper with scribbled notes to the deceased.

  All of that seemed fairly tame compared to the practices Dr. Shaw had told me about. Ritualistic autopsies. The ingestion of hallucinogenic substances. Entering the spirit world to converse with ancestors. Attacking enemies in the dream realm.

  I thought about Darius Goodwine gazing down at me from that balcony. If, in fact, that very tall man had been Darius. He was one of only a handful of outsiders who had access to gray dust, a substance so powerful that it could stop the heart and allow one to enter the spirit world without the crutch of hallucinations. A powder so sacred that it was used sparingly even by shamans and witch doctors.

  I still couldn’t imagine why anyone would willingly pass through the veil, but then I had no great yearning to tap into the power of the spirit world, and I certainly had no desire to bring back the dead. Enough of them were already here.

  “Amelia?”

  Speaking of ghosts…

  A shadow stood at my garden gate. A mirage, I told myself. An illusion called up by memories and loneliness and the dreamy smell of the angel trumpets.

  And then Angus growled.

  “You have a dog,” Devlin said.

  I got up from my chair, aware suddenly that we were on the brink of twilight. The shadows had deepened in the garden, and I could see the telltale glimmer behind Devlin where his ghosts would soon come through.

  My breath quickened, and I felt a little light-headed, as if I’d been walking for miles in thin air. How many times had I dreamed of seeing him at my garden gate? How many nights had I lain awake, thinking about what I would say to him? Now that he was here I found myself awkwardly speechless, my heart beating entirely too fast inside my chest.

  A thousand thoughts raced through my mind, none that I dared share with him. How could I when even the smallest chink in my armor could bring down every last one of my defenses?

  When he moved to open the gate, Angus growled again.

  “Is it safe to come in?” he asked.

  No, it wasn’t safe. Not for me, not for him. His presence in my life was a danger to us both. Mariama had made that abundantly clear. She would do whatever she could to keep us apart. I had no idea how much power she wielded from the other side, but the last thing I wanted was to provoke her.

  Finding my voice, I tried to say calmly, “You’ll have to forgive Angus. He’s very protective of me.”

  “I can see that,” Devlin drawled, his voice sending shivers up and down my spine. I could feel his gaze on me, dark and probing, and a jolt of electricity thrummed along my nerve endings, lifting the hair at my nape.

  “Should I stay out here, then?” he asked.

  “No, just come in slowly. Give him time to get used to you.”

  Devlin did as I instructed, and I heard the gate click behind him. He stood quietly inside while Angus sized him up. After a moment, Devlin knelt and put out his hand. Angus ambled over for a closer inspection. He nuzzled and sniffed, and then stood very still and allowed Devlin to pet him.

  “Do you think I pass muster?”

  “It would seem so.” I still couldn’t believe he was here, but I didn’t know why I was so surprised. I’d gone to see him last night. Why shouldn’t he drop by my house without warning? Why wouldn’t he want an explanation of why I’d run out on him yet again?

  If I were smart, I’d send him away before his ghosts had a chance to manifest. Mariama would not be happy to see me, and she�
�d already proven that she could hurt me. It was madness to tempt her.

  But I said nothing, merely stood there taking him in. He must have come straight from headquarters, I thought. He had on his usual work attire of black sports coat, black pants and a gray shirt open at the neck. All beautifully tailored and trim-fitting. I sighed in spite of myself.

  “He’s been used in fights?” Devlin asked, tentatively scratching behind Angus’s ear nubs.

  “Yes. He’s had a hard time.”

  “Poor guy. Where did you get him?”

  “In Asher Falls. He’d been left in the woods to starve. He came out of the trees one day and just stayed.”

  “Asher Falls,” Devlin said. “That’s an interesting little place, isn’t it?”

  “You’ve been there?” I asked in surprise.

  “No, but it sounded familiar when you mentioned it last night. That made me curious, so I looked it up after you left. The town has a history, but that’s not how I knew the name. It’s been in the news recently because of all those mud slides.”

  “Why would you go to the trouble of looking it up? Why didn’t you just ask me about it?”

  “Because we had other things to talk about. Or so I thought.” Slowly he rose, his gaze meeting mine in the fading light. “Something happened to you in that town, didn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I read the news reports. People died in those slides, and I think you must have somehow been affected by the tragedy. Or by something.”

  I tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear. The breeze had risen, and I could feel a chill through my shirt, but I knew the wind wasn’t the reason for the shivers up my spine. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over. I’m home now.”

  “But I don’t think it is over,” he said, and I heard something in his voice, a proprietary edge that quickened my breath. “Whatever happened there changed you. I can tell just by looking at you.”

  I tried to make light of it. “I told you I got caught in a briar patch.”

  “I’m not talking about those scars on your face. They’re almost healed, but something inside you hasn’t. You’re different. Tell me why, Amelia.”

  God help me, I melted at the sound of my name. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be strong and pragmatic and wise enough to know that his dead family would always be there between us. But when he said my name like that. When he looked at me as though I were the only woman in the world, how could I not just…dissolve?

  Thankfully, his ghosts hadn’t manifested yet. Angus could sense them, though. He left Devlin to stare through the pike fence, fur bristling in agitation. I sensed them, too. They were there just beyond the gate, shimmering softly as they waited for twilight.

  “Maybe we should go inside,” I said and rubbed a hand up and down my arm. “It’s getting chilly out here.”

  “I can’t stay long.”

  Because he had other plans?

  I wouldn’t think about that. Baseless speculation would drive me crazy. I wouldn’t think about his arms around Isabel Perilloux or that murmured invitation I had heard her issue on the phone. Come over whenever you want. I’ll be waiting… .

  Gathering up my book and sweater, I headed for the gate. I couldn’t completely drown out those taunting voices in my head or the unwelcome images they painted, but at least I would be safe inside from Mariama’s wrath, though no sanctuary could ever protect me from Devlin.

  We went in through the side door and I took him back to my office where I could keep an eye on Angus and watch out for the ghosts. Devlin walked restlessly around the room, hands in pockets, studying the books in my shelves and the photographs on my walls. He seemed aimless and edgy, like a panther stalking his cage.

  I said a little too breathlessly, “Do you want something to drink? Some tea or coffee? A glass of wine, maybe?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just on my way to dinner. I saw your car out front so I took a chance that you’d be home.”

  I nodded, fighting the urge to fling myself at him. He was so close, and I’d been so lonely without him. But already Mariama lurked in the shadows. Watching us. Taunting me.

  “I’ve always been intrigued by these images.” He nodded toward the double-exposed photographs I’d taken of old graveyards superimposed over cityscapes. “The first time I saw them, I knew they were an insight into your world. I found them lonely and unsettling, but I was drawn to them just the same.”

  My heart still thudded. “And I told you they were just pictures.”

  “Revealing pictures.” He pinned me with those brooding eyes. “That bothers you, doesn’t it? You don’t like to let anyone in.”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  “My world is sometimes a pretty bleak place,” he murmured, moving over to the bookcases and then to the windows.

  I could see his reflection in the glass, and I watched him there, the hollow in my chest growing deeper by the minute. He had no idea what he did to me. No clue that here in my sanctuary, away from his ghosts, he had unwittingly replenished his siphoned energy with mine. Already my knees had gone weak.

  “This room brings back a lot of memories,” he said.

  For me, too. It was here that we had pondered an investigation together, here that we had shared our first kiss. Here that I had fallen in love with him. No, that wasn’t quite right. I’d fallen for Devlin the moment he’d stepped out of the mist on the Battery. It was only in my office where we’d worked on a case together that I’d finally been able to admit it.

  He turned. “I’ve missed you,” he said softly.

  I closed my eyes on a tremulous breath. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “Then why did you run away from me last night?”

  “I was frightened.”

  “Of what?” When I said nothing, I saw a fist clench at his side. “You have no idea how I’ve racked my brain, trying to figure you out. When you came to my house that night last spring…I would have sworn you wanted me as much as I wanted you. Or did I read you wrong?”

  “You weren’t wrong.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Your ghosts happened.”

  He stared at me for the longest time, something flickering behind his eyes. Doubt? Fear? Disbelief? “My ghosts?”

  “Your memories. Your guilt. They’re still there, aren’t they?”

  “Yes,” he said, and I thought I heard him sigh. “They’re still here.”

  It was a long time before either of us spoke after that. He gazed out into the gathering darkness as I stood there gazing at his reflection. I’d wondered over the months since I’d last seen him if my memory had dramatized his features—those fathomless eyes, the perfect nose, the tiny imperfection of a scar beneath his lower lip. I still dreamed about that face, about those eyes, about that sensuous mouth and what it could do to me.

  There was a time when I’d thought I could move on without him, but that moment was long gone. All he had to do was look at me, say my name in that devastating drawl, and I knew it would never be over. I would always be trapped in this limbo. Suspended in the in-between space of what was safe and what I desperately wanted.

  He finally turned from the windows. “This conversation isn’t going at all the way I planned it,” he said with a trace of irony.

  I lifted a brow. “How did you plan it?”

  “I never meant to come over here and badger you for answers or dredge up old grievances. The time for airing all that is long past. I actually came here to tell you that you were right to run away last night. Somehow I got sidetracked.” His gaze searched my face, lingered on my lips, and I felt a flutter of awareness deep down in my stomach.

  “When did you come to that conclusion?” I asked coolly, even though I knew it was ridiculous to feel hurt and rejected when, in fact, I was the one who had bolted like a frightened colt. With good reason, of course, but he couldn’t know that.

  “Something’s come up. I’m involved in a matt
er that could get a little dicey. I don’t want it touching you.”

  So…his rejection wasn’t personal. He wasn’t being driven away by his ghosts or even by another woman. I felt a rush of unreasonable relief until dread pricked my bubble. That overheard conversation on his porch came rushing back, and suddenly I knew why he was so wired. I recognized the source of all that nervous energy. He was going after Darius Goodwine.

  I walked over to the window, resisting the temptation to place my hand on his arm. To draw comfort from his warmth even as he sustained himself with mine. “This involvement…has to do with a police investigation?”

  “Unofficially.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He gave a slight shrug. “I’m looking into something that isn’t exactly by the book. But that’s all I can say. The less you know the safer you’ll be.”

  “What does any of this have to do with me?” I asked in confusion.

  “It doesn’t, except that someone might try to use you to stop me.”

  “How?” I asked in alarm, my mind on Darius Goodwine.

  “It doesn’t matter because I won’t let it happen.”

  I stared at him for the longest moment, trying to intuit his emotions from his stoic demeanor. “Whatever it is, it sounds dangerous.”

  “Not if you do as I ask.”

  “I wasn’t talking about me.”

  His features softened, and I saw the hint of a smile that made my knees go even weaker. “You don’t need to worry about me. I know what I’m doing.”

  Of course, he did. I’d never known anyone so competent, so utterly focused when he needed to be. But that glimmer of excitement in his eyes troubled me. That pent-up tension worried me even more. He wasn’t at all frightened. He relished the prospect of going after Darius, a man Ethan said had devotees all over the city. A man Fremont said had made the transition from shaman to sorcerer.

  “How can I not worry?” I asked sharply. “You’re telling me just enough to make me worry.”