The Sinner Page 25

  “What did you do?”

  “I huddled under the covers for the rest of the night, and then the next day, I told my father. He didn’t believe me, of course. Or at least he pretended not to.”

  “Did it ever happen again?”

  “Almost every night before we returned to New Orleans. I never knew what the entity wanted. What any of them wanted. It was almost as if they were testing me somehow.”

  The base of my spine prickled. “Testing you for what?”

  “I don’t know. After that conversation with my father, I never mentioned the encounters again. I never told anyone about them until I went to live with my grandmother. I learned from her that the sight runs in our family and that my father was frightened of it. And then he grew frightened of me so he sent me away.”

  “What about your mother? You mentioned that she still lives in this area. You don’t have any contact with her?”

  “She left us when I was a baby. I don’t really have a desire to see her.”

  “Then why did you come back to Beaufort County?”

  “For a lot of reasons. I’ve always loved the area.” He paused and I saw his fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “Maybe there is something to be said for roots.”

  I didn’t think he was quite as blasé about his mother’s abandonment as he tried to let on. I had a feeling his history was as dark and muddled as my own, but far from repelling me, his complicated nature drew me in deeper.

  “You told me the other day that you feel a presence in the woods every time you go to the circle. Did you feel it today at the symbol?” I asked him.

  A frown fleeted across his brow. “For a moment.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know, but whatever it is, it came when you came.”

  I turned in shock. “What?”

  Something flashed in his eyes, an emotion I didn’t want to name. “Don’t you feel it, too?”

  My suspicions bristled as my heart flailed in trepidation. I said slowly, “How do you know it came when I came? I was under the impression you’d never been to the circle before the day I found the body.”

  “That’s true. But I don’t just feel it in the woods,” he said. “Not anymore. I sensed it briefly that day we spoke in the alley. I felt it even stronger last night in the shed. That’s when I realized that I’m only aware of it when you’re around.”

  A chill shot through me as I moistened suddenly dry lips. “How do you know it’s not here because of you?”

  His gaze was dark and steady. “It’s not. I can’t explain how I know, but I do. Call it a hunch or a premonition. Whatever that presence is, I think it’s here to protect you.”

  “From what? From who?”

  “That’s what we need to find out.”

  I said almost fearfully, “Is it here now? Can you feel it in the car with us?”

  “No.” A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “There’s no one here but us. Maybe that means it’s decided you aren’t in any danger from me.”

  Wasn’t I?

  I sat back, gazing out the window at the passing scenery as I wondered again at the wisdom of our excursion. Being alone in the swamp with a virtual stranger wasn’t a good idea. “How much farther?”

  “We’re almost there.”

  He pulled onto a narrow road with a blue mailbox at the end.

  I sat up as a clapboard cottage came into view. Built on stilts, the house was shaded by a grove of water oaks dripping with Spanish moss. “Is this where you live?”

  “Yes. What do think?”

  “It’s a beautiful place, but very isolated.”

  “I like the quiet.” Kendrick parked the vehicle and turned with an enigmatic smile. “Gives me plenty of space to think.”

  * * *

  We went down the sloping yard to a small dock and boathouse where a fiberglass fishing boat with an outboard motor was moored alongside a wooden rowboat. Kendrick climbed into the fishing boat first and then helped me down. The boat rocked beneath our feet and he grabbed both my arms to steady me.

  He didn’t immediately let me go, but instead stared down into my upturned face. His gaze darkened as his lips parted slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me. Despite my reservations, I probably wouldn’t have stopped him. I was curious to know what it would be like. But he didn’t kiss me. Instead, he moved away to untie the rope and push off.

  We cruised the narrow channels as the sun sank and the water lilies began to close. I sat facing forward, the breeze cool on my face. Every so often, we passed the blackened skeleton of a cypress tree that had been struck by lightning, and I couldn’t help but note the juxtaposition of life and death in the swamp. Turtles huddled on fallen logs as water snakes glided among the bladderwort. A glossy ibis stepped delicately through the shallows, searching for dinner. Insects skimmed over the water and buzzed in my ears. An owl took flight from the treetops. Beneath the surface serenity of the primal landscape, life teemed.

  We glided onward, deeper and deeper into the swamp. Spanish moss hung so thick in places I could hardly glimpse the bank. The scenery was eerily beautiful, but a more menacing landscape I could hardly imagine.

  We rounded a bend and suddenly I caught sight of the symbol. Wings lit by the crimson glow of a fiery sunset, the death’s-head loomed over the treetops—to guide or to warn? I wondered. As I stared up at the macabre creation, I had the strangest sensation that the thing was alive somehow and that it might swoop down on us at any moment.

  “Do you see it?” Kendrick asked over the rumble of the outboard.

  “Yes. The wings look on fire.”

  He steered the boat to the center of the channel and then cut the motor. We drifted toward the bank as the light faded and the wings turned dark against the sky. It was very quiet on the water. I could hear the lap of waves against the hull and, somewhere downstream, a loon called to his mate.

  Kendrick moved up behind me and spoke softly in my ear. “It’s out there now,” he said. “Can you feel it?”

  I shivered as his breath fanned against my neck. “Is it a ghost?”

  “It’s not a ghost.” He spoke so definitively I turned to observe him. He knelt behind me, eyes closed, head slightly cocked as he concentrated his senses. “It’s not a flesh-and-blood presence, but it’s human. The energy and intelligence is alive. It’s a traveler, I think.”

  Gooseflesh exploded along my bare arms. “A traveler?”

  “Someone with the ability to separate the spiritual self from the corporeal self.”

  “You mean an astral traveler?”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “You say that with such skepticism and yet only a little while ago you spoke so convincingly about transmigration.”

  I wasn’t skeptical. I believed in body and spirit separation. Wasn’t that how gray dust worked? I’d once experienced the effects of the mysterious botanical myself when I’d crossed over to the other side.

  Kendrick searched the bank, his demeanor suddenly uneasy. “I can’t say for certain what it is, but it’s a powerful presence. I’ve never encountered anything like it.”

  Nor had I. I wanted to believe he was right and the presence meant no harm, but I didn’t think the watcher’s intent was benign. If anything, I felt an undercurrent of malice in the breeze. The presence had manipulated me from the first, compelling me to those cages and then to the winged effigy. Whatever lurked in those woods had an agenda.

  “We should head back,” Kendrick said. He seemed as spooked now as I was by the watcher. “It’ll be dark soon. Not a good idea to be caught out here once we lose all the light.”

  He fired up the motor and turned the boat, steering us back toward the center of the channel. I glanced over my shoulder. The wings were nearly invis
ible against the deepening sky, but I could see bits of light between the branches. Maybe it was the eeriness of our surroundings that fueled my already overwrought imagination, but for a moment, I could have sworn the effigy took flight. I watched in horror as it swooped down from its perch, skull face gleaming in the twilight as it dove for our boat. I actually put my hands over my head and ducked. But when I looked again the wings were still fastened to the treetop.

  I turned to glance at Kendrick but he faced away from me. I sat huddled on the seat, clutching Rose’s key as we made for home.

  * * *

  I didn’t tell Kendrick what I’d seen. What would be the point since the animation of that symbol could have been nothing more than a strange hallucination or a nasty mind trick? But he must have sensed my disquiet because he insisted on taking a look around the yard and orchard when we got home.

  While he searched the grounds, I went through the house. Angus met me at the front door and followed my every step. I started at the back and worked my way up to the front bedroom where he once again refused to enter. He waited at the threshold while I made my usual inspection. Then he trailed me outside and plopped down on the mat in front of the door.

  “I suppose this means I won’t be invited in for a nightcap,” Kendrick teased as he climbed the steps and went over to give my guard dog a quick scratch.

  “It’s a little early for a nightcap,” I said. “But Angus and I can offer you a cup of tea or a glass of wine.”

  He rose and came back over to where I stood at the edge of the porch. “I should head back to the station. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork waiting on my desk.”

  “I sympathize. I’ve got plenty of work to do myself.”

  “I won’t keep you, then.”

  We stood at the top of the steps, gazing at each other as black clouds deepened the twilight. Lightning flickered in the distance and the air felt heavy with static.

  “Looks like we got off the water just in time,” I said.

  He glanced at the sky. “It’ll blow over. I doubt we get even a drop of rain from that cloud.”

  “You sound pretty certain.”

  “I know the weather patterns around here.” He paused, his gaze returning to me. “Amelia...”

  “Yes?” My breath caught in spite of myself. It was only the second time he’d ever said my name and the slight elongation of the e made me wonder again about his background. About his French grandmother who saw ghosts and the time he’d spent with her in Paris. He seemed very exotic to me at that moment. A man with an affinity for the supernatural.

  He was still staring down into my eyes, searching my features anxiously. “You’ll be all right here, won’t you?”

  “I have been so far.”

  He frowned. “I don’t like leaving you alone. Not after everything that has happened.”

  “I’m not alone. I have Angus.”

  “Your gentle warrior,” he said with a smile. “You also have my number. Call me anytime. I mean that. I can be here in a matter of minutes.”

  “I’ll call if I need you.”

  “I should go,” he said again.

  But he made no move toward the steps or to me. I leaned back against the porch post, hands behind me as I gazed into those mesmerizing eyes. He wasn’t touching me at all and yet I could feel him just as I had earlier. His hands sliding up my arms. His mouth pressing against mine.

  My lips parted and I saw something flare in his eyes, but he still didn’t reach for me. I could still feel him, though. I wasn’t hallucinating or imagining his touch. It was real. He never moved a muscle and yet somehow his fingers wove through my hair, tilting my head as he deepened the kiss with his tongue.

  “How are...”

  “Shush,” he said.

  My head fell back against the post and I closed my eyes, seeing him at the back of my mind as he lifted my shirt over my head and tossed it aside. He undressed me completely and yet I stood on the porch with all my clothes on. I could feel his hands on my bare skin now, skimming over my breasts and trailing along my inner thighs. Teasing and teasing until I heard myself gasp.

  My eyes flew open.

  How could this be? How could I experience something so intensely intimate and pleasurable when we had never even touched?

  How had I allowed him to infiltrate my head and entice me so easily? Why did I not push him out now and slam the door against his carnal manipulations?

  But I didn’t push him out. Instead, I visualized myself unbuttoning his shirt and shoving it aside as I trailed my mouth along his shoulder.

  “How are you doing this?” I whispered.

  His eyes were dark and glowing and so intensely focused I worried the glare might burn right through me.

  “It’s not me,” he murmured. “It’s you.”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “But you are. You’re making it happen because it’s what you want. And only you can stop it. You have the power to send me away with the blink of an eye.”

  I told myself to do exactly that. Go inside, lock the door and end this dangerous fantasy right this minute.

  But I remained motionless, and the next thing I knew, we were both inside the house, entwined inside the front bedroom. That room gave me pause, but he silenced my protest with an even deeper kiss. We moved to the bed, embracing and peeling off clothing until we were both naked. His hands were all over me now, making me burn with hunger. Unchained from my earthly reservations, I moved down his body, touching and stroking and tasting. I couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

  We kissed and kissed and when I invited him in, he turned me, drawing me back against him as he rose behind me. He was moving inside me now, on and on and on until I felt consumed and half-crazed with need. Until a violent shudder brought me back out to the front porch where I stood fully clothed and shivering.

  He did touch me then, a mere brush of his knuckles down my cheek. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured.

  “Good night” was all I could manage.

  Thirty

  The next afternoon, I drove to Charleston to have an early dinner with Dr. Shaw. Angus rode with me and I left him at the house on Rutledge, curled up in my office with food and water bowls brimming.

  I had allotted myself enough time to take a predinner stroll through the historic district. I missed my morning walks and wanted to savor a bit of the city before I met up with Dr. Shaw.

  I started out on Tradd and headed toward the water. The houses along this street were very old and in varying states of disrepair and renovation. One could always tell the season by the delectable scents drifting over the garden walls—jasmine in the spring, magnolia in early summer and the elusive tea olive in fall and winter. The four-o’clocks were blooming now and I enjoyed their subtle perfume as I sauntered along the cracked sidewalks, peering into the wrought-iron gates that opened into mysterious alleyways and lush courtyards.

  When I reached East Bay, I paused. I could cross the street and stroll along the Battery or I could turn right and continue down the peninsula to White Point Garden. This time of day, the fragrances spilling from the park would be captivating. But that walk would take me past Devlin’s ancestral mansion, a white, three-storied confection of gleaming pillars and shady piazzas. I’d never been inside the home, nor had I met Devlin’s grandfather. They’d been estranged until last year when Jonathan Devlin had taken ill and Devlin had been lured back into his grandfather’s orbit, back into the world he’d left behind when he married Mariama Goodwine.

  But dwelling on his relationship with Mariama never led to a good place. I would be better off not thinking about Devlin at all if I could help it. I was still shaken by the episode with Kendrick the evening before and I felt vulnerable to forces I didn’t understand. I wanted to put those fears behind me, shove as
ide all my worries and premonitions so that I could enjoy my brief stay in Charleston.

  I turned left on East Bay, wandering past the colorful houses on Rainbow Row and eventually making my way past the shops and eateries to Queen Street. Dr. Shaw was already at the restaurant by the time I arrived. I found him in the bar sipping a double dram of Scotch. It was still early and we had no trouble being seated near a window where we could watch the hustle and bustle on the street.

  “How have you been?” he asked as he observed me from across the table.

  “I’m well, but a lot has happened since the last time we spoke.”

  “So I gathered from your email. You must tell me everything, my dear. Don’t leave out a single detail.”

  “We could be here for hours,” I said drily.

  His eyes gleamed from the prospect. “I’m yours for the evening,” he said as he motioned for the waiter. He ordered a fresh Scotch for himself and a glass of wine for me, and once the drinks were served, he sat back to listen with relish as I recounted my latest experiences in Ascension.

  I told him about my conversation with Essie Goodwine, about my sighting of the man in the mask at the cemetery, about the toxic smoke, the slashed screen and the strange cylinder beneath the floor of the shed. I took my time with each revelation and he was quick to have our glasses replenished when the libations ran low. By the time I finished, I was feeling flushed and light-headed from all the wine.

  “We should order something to eat,” I said as I glanced out the window to find that twilight had fallen. The restaurant was starting to fill up and I was glad we’d had the place to ourselves while I spoke of ghosts and witch doctors and transmigration of souls.

  We studied our menus until Dr. Shaw finally settled on the scallops and bacon and I chose a root vegetable salad with a side of ricotta gnocchi. While we waited for our food, I told him a little more about the watcher in the woods and Kendrick’s assertion that the presence was human.