Grave Refrain: A Love/Ghost Story (68 page)

Unexpectedly a motorcycle zoomed around the corner. Andrew yelled and Emily spun around, her eyes frozen on his. The look on his face must have terrified her, for she swung around, but it was too late. It was gunning directly for her. Christian flew off the steps and grabbed her; the motorcycle skidded out, missing her by inches. The driver barely managed to right himself before he came to a stop and tore off his helmet.

“Jesus! Where did you come from?” he shouted, gasping at Emily.

“Don’t drive so bloody fast!” Andrew yelled, getting in his face.

“I’m fine,” said Emily, breathless; he felt her hand on his shoulder. “It was an accident.”

With a growl he let him get back on his bike, and the driver was off in a flash. Andrew knelt down and retrieved the book from where it lay in the dirt, handing it to Emily.

“Man, that was close. You sure you’re okay, Emily?” Christian asked. She nodded.

“Let’s head back to the hotel,” suggested Simon, motioning toward the end of the street.

“Good idea.” Andrew’s tone was clipped as he took Emily’s hand in his. He gave her a soft kiss on the side of her face. “That’s twice in one day.”

“Three times,” Simon corrected him. And Andrew knew he was right. She’d nearly been killed in the caves, in the van, and now this.

“Three times,” Andrew repeated, but Emily slipped her arm around him tightly and continued on.

By the time they neared the hotel, Andrew’s nerves had calmed somewhat and he heard faint strains of music coming from the lobby. It was that song again—the song that had haunted him ever since they had arrived at this place. He knew it far better than he should, as though he had sung it countless times. But it was too late to allow guests to be playing the piano in such a manner. Even though the chords were muted, whispered almost, it was nearly midnight.

Upon passing through the front doors Christian swept Zoey away, waving them goodnight, and Simon and Margot followed suit, leaving Emily and him alone in the empty room. Alone, except for a small fire in the fireplace and a lonely lamp glowing on the vacant front desk. Everyone was abed apparently, except the ghosts that undoubtedly lurked in the shadows, enjoying the sultry music.

Whoever was in the adjacent room was quite an accomplished pianist, tossing off a complicated jazz progression with a faint flourish of ragtime. He slinked his arm around Emily’s waist and walked her over to a faraway corner where they could stand closer to the fire.

“Dance with me,” he said, already taking her in his arms. The music was too fine to say goodnight to quite yet.

He watched the firelight play off the soft auburn waves of her hair. She rested her head against his chest and sighed. Aware for the first time of how very tired he was and how exhausted she must be as well, he laid his cheek on her head and held her closer. It was the end of a hell of a day, and he could do little but sway back and forth and hum softly to her, losing himself to the plaintive piano strains.

He thought about what they would face tomorrow and all that they still had left to do. Surviving Vandin had been one thing, but now they would face a creature that was not of this world and, if she had her way, did not want Emily to remain there either. Why? What had Emily ever done except bear the name of Thomas?

Yet if they found Nick first, they wouldn’t have to have this horrible meeting with Nick’s mother, this notorious Lady in Red. They were close to finding him, he was sure of it. The answer was right there, just out of reach. An old house near a graveyard—that’s where he would be. Near where wild raspberries grew. “I dwell with a strangely aching heart…”

What did that mean?

As he closed his eyes, his thoughts were diffused like a song he had left undone, and he was too weary to wrestle with the problem anymore. He listened as the piano player began to sing.

Andrew’s arms tightened around Emily, and he felt sleepy, so sleepy, like he was falling into a waking dream. He yawned and felt his forehead drop to hers. She hummed softly.

He drifted and lost himself in a reverie. In his mind he could see Emily sitting at a bar. Her hair was swept up, and she was wearing a stylish suit, her lips painted a deep burgundy. A row of martinis were lined up in front of her.

“How many of these are yours?” he asked, smiling as he took his seat next to her. His cufflinks reflected in the polished wood of the bar, and his heart was beating uncommonly fast, so thrilled he was to be with her.

“Only one,” she announced. “I ordered the same for you.”

“But there are four.” He laughed, wanting to kiss her but refraining.

“Hmmm. Then you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Where are the olives?”

“I ate them. I was hungry and you promised me dinner.” She cast him an enchantingly stern look that left him mesmerized.

He motioned to the bartender. “Ray, more olives, and where are the nuts tonight?”

In his vision, Emily raised an eyebrow at him.

Why did he know the bartender’s name? How did he know him? He glanced down at Emily’s hand. Where was her ring?

He was dreaming. He must have fallen asleep dancing with Emily, and now he was dreaming, but he was too captivated to wake up. He felt different in his skin, more mature, more sophisticated, but no less enthralled with the woman before him.

Emily scanned the room where they were seated; it was an elegant dining room full of people dressed in sharply pressed suits and smart dresses. As she surveyed the crowd, her face held a marvelous vivacity, interested in everyone and everything. He watched her in fascination, feeling jealous that she wasn’t gazing at him in the same way.

“So you have no idea why I have these ghosts, I take it?” She returned her attention to him and sipped her martini, her eyes alert and wry.

“I told you to leave traps, but you wanted to go the more humane route.”

“I think you’re angling to see them yourself, if you ask me. They tend to favor my bedroom. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

“Smart ghosts. Sorry to disappoint you, Madam, but I’m not partial to a
ménage à trois
—even the supernatural variety.”

“It would be a
ménage a quatre
, I believe. But you look like you could handle it. No, wait—you’re right—it would be a
ménage a trois
. You see, my ghosts can’t be in the same room for some reason, otherwise I guess I could just vacuum them up or something.”

“Didn’t peg you as the kind of dame who’d get her hands dirty.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” She smiled wickedly and took a long sip of her martini. He watched her lips caress the glass.

“My, sugar, is that an invitation?”

“A disclosure.”

“Hmmm.”

Then the vision changed. His heart wanted to make it stay. He was flying from the rush of emotion he felt for her.

A phonograph was playing that song. Again.

Now Emily was standing by a darkened window, wearing something sheer that blew in the soft breeze. He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. The air smelled sweet, familiar. Her skin was warm.

He turned her around and kissed her. His heart beat. Once. Twice.

“I love you,” she whispered at the end of the kiss. He smiled at her smile.

“Why, I believe the little lady does.”

“More than I should, if I knew what was good for me.”

“I’m good for you.”

Nearby, a piano continued to play the song. He kissed her passionately while silent tears slid down his cheeks. He was crying…why the hell was he crying? His hands pressed hard against her skin, craving her warmth. She was crying now too. They kissed madly, fighting to hold onto each other, while his desperate heart felt like it might burst from his chest. Longing and sorrow crushed down on him as he clenched his hands around her shoulders and struggled to keep her in his arms.

“Stay! Please, stay!” she begged in a hopeless prayer.

“I love you so,” he said, searing the words into her soul. “I. Love. You. Nora.”

“Nicholas!”

The piano playing clattered to a crashing halt. Andrew’s body whipped back as though he had been slammed by a fist, the pain was so intense.

Their eyes snapped open. Emily stood shaking, wearing a look of raw shock on her face. They were back in the lobby, while his hands crushed her arms, gasping for air with tears glistening on their faces.

Without pausing for another breath, Andrew clutched her hand in his and ran to the adjoining room, to the piano. The pianist had vanished. A lone martini glass sat on the bench, and sheet music was scattered across the floor. Andrew reached to gather it up.

“Nick! Christ. Nick.” The pain was still rife within him. Andrew glanced up at Emily; he knew she felt the same thing, her face looked so haunted.

For the first time since his death, Nick had touched his beloved Nora—touched her through Andrew and Emily. Part of Andrew ached to kiss Nora again, as if Nick’s spirit was still within him, still fighting to reach her.

“Nick, God I’m sorry.”

It was then that Andrew saw it. There amongst the music was a map. A map of a town. Belden. A water ring left from the martini glass circled a small corner like a bull’s eye.

He remembered. He remembered the old steamer trunk hidden in the passageway of their house in San Francisco and cutting his hand against its small metal tag that he thought had read Belden Firm. But it wasn’t Belden Firm. It was Belden Farm.

The circle outlined a small property named Belden Farm. A farm near an orchard that sat next to a small cemetery.

“Nick, we’ve found you.”

27

T
HE
D
RIZZLE
H
AD
I
NCREASED
to a fierce spatter, and the fog that hung outside the windows of the minivan was broken only by the sight of the trees that twisted like arthritic hands in the wind as they sped by. Inside they were a silent lot, bundled in sweaters and jeans, the scent of coffee warming them. Emily clutched her to-go cup to her chest as the caffeine pumped rapidly through her veins.

Andrew drove, needing to be in control of every facet of their day. He would glance at her occasionally in the rearview mirror, undoubtedly to make sure she hadn’t disappeared in a puff of smoke or fallen out the door. She welcomed his glimpses; their breakfast had been punctuated by a series of strained silences. The aggravated expression on his face had made her eat little and speak even less.

“There is no reason why we have to leave here and go to that inn, no reason at all,” she remembered him saying to her over his half-eaten scrambled eggs. “We know where Nick is now—I have no doubt he’s there. Surely you don’t either.”

“I have to go. I need to know,” she had told him, trying to make him look her in the eye.

“Sweet girl, how can we even be sure?”

“But Nick and Nora, we’ve seen them—we’ve felt them. Don’t you want to know?”

They had avoided discussing what had transpired in the hotel lobby. And now, it was as if speaking of it would summon all the loss again. The only saving grace was that they both knew they were not crazy—unless they were falling into the same madness together. They were indisputably linked to Nick Chamberlain and Nora Thomas. But how?

“Know what? This ‘truth’? This warning every dead thing we meet rails at us about? Do you even hear what you’re saying?”

“But it’s the same thing over and over. About time running out. It has to be about us. And last night…We can’t walk away from whatever this truth is. At least I can’t—”

“Stop.”

She could tell his willingness to discuss this had hit the end of its endurance. The past twenty-four hours had been the most harrowing of her life, and she could only imagine what it had done to him. She knew she had cajoled and dragged him to this point. This was her ghost story, and because of love or infinite patience, he had trudged along with her, risking his safety and his sanity. Last night had cost him, how much, she couldn’t say, but he wore the exhaustion upon his face in the guise of dark circles beneath his eyes.

But how could she make him understand that she had to confront this Lady in Red? In a perverse way, she felt it was like falling down a flight of stairs after missing the first step. She knew it would hurt, but she had to hit the bottom; she couldn’t reach out and try to break her fall. And even more than that, she didn’t want anyone—ghost or otherwise—holding a sword over their heads. Vandin was dead, but she needed to vanquish this monster, get the truth from her, and be gone. Yet how much more could she push him before he snapped? This was far from what he had originally bargained for.

Simon turned on the radio, returning her to the cold vinyl seat of the minivan. Margot sat next to her. Christian and Zoey huddled in the last row of seats, and by the sounds of it, they were trying in vain to get warm.

“What do you figure this Lady in Red will be like after all?” Simon asked, drumming his fingers to the current song and peering out the passenger side window.