The Awakening. Amanda Stevens

dark thoughts.

      “Do you remember the last time we came here together?” I asked with a shiver. “You invited Ethan Shaw to join us. He’s been on my mind today.”

      Temple grimaced. “Such a charming, elegant man, or so he seemed. Who would have ever guessed he had that kind of darkness inside him? I knew him for years. We worked together on a number of excavations and I never had an inkling.”

      “No one did. That’s what made him so dangerous. And tragic.”

      She gave me a strange look. “John Devlin was here that night, too, remember? You’d only just met, but I could tell you were already falling for him. And I knew he would be trouble. I warned you about getting involved with someone like him.”

      “Someone out of my league.”

      “Someone with his past,” she corrected. She searched my face in the candlelight. “Given how things turned out, do you ever wish you’d taken my advice?”

      “That’s a complicated question.” And one I’d pondered often on sleepless nights when the house seemed too quiet and my bed too empty.

      “Well?” Temple prompted as she regarded me across the table.

      I drew a long breath and released it. “No, I’m not sorry. Not at all. Despite everything, I wouldn’t trade a moment of my time with Devlin.”

      “Spoken like a hopeless romantic.”

      “Is that a bad thing?”

      “It can be.” She picked up her wineglass but didn’t drink. Instead she stared into the dregs as if trying to divine an acceptable explanation. “You’ve created a fairy tale around that man. A romantic fantasy with which no ordinary mortal can compete. That’s why you can’t move on. This fascination you have for him has never been good for you, Amelia. I hope you can see that now.”

      Her words stung more than they should have, perhaps because they hit a little too close to home. “I did try to move on, and look where it got me.”

      She winced. “The police detective, you mean. The one down in Beaufort County. Yes, that was unfortunate.”

      Unfortunate? The man had tried to kill me. “Devlin’s engaged now. I’ve accepted that.”

      “Have you?” A smile flitted. “You sound convincing, but I’ve known you for a long time and you’ve always been adept at putting on a good face.” She paused as if contemplating whether or not to push on, but Temple had never been one to hold back. “Have you seen him since you’ve been back in Charleston?”

      “Only in passing.” I continued to pick absently at my food as I pictured him on that third-story balcony. Memories stirred yet again but I batted them away.

      “He hasn’t tried to contact you?”

      “No.” At least not in the way she meant.

      “Doesn’t his silence tell you something? You just came through a harrowing ordeal. You were nearly murdered by a madman and he can’t be bothered to call and see if you’re all right? Does he even know what happened to you?”

      I shrugged off the question, murmuring something purposefully vague, but I knew Devlin was fully cognizant of the dangers I’d encountered during my last restoration. He had even whispered in my ear to warn me. I couldn’t explain the how or the why of it to Temple because she would ridicule the concept of an astral traveler—someone who could separate the spiritual self from the corporal body.

      My belief about Devlin’s astral wanderings stemmed from something Dr. Shaw had told me during my Seven Gates ordeal: I knew a young man once, a traveler who claimed to have looked into a hellish abyss. He was so shaken by the sight that he tried for years to convince himself what he experienced was nothing more than a nightmare. I don’t think he ever traveled again—at least not consciously. He had a fear of being trapped in such a place.

      It was possible Devlin wasn’t even aware of his ability, but it would explain so much about his younger days at the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies and his subsequent rejection of all things paranormal. It would explain so much about him.

      I rubbed a hand up and down my chilled arm. “This conversation has taken a bad turn.”

      “Yes, we’ve grown morose,” Temple agreed. “Let’s talk about something else, something pleasant. Tell me about this new project of yours. You said the cemetery is local, correct?”

      I nodded and started to relax as our wineglasses were replenished and we drifted into more comfortable conversation territory. “It’s located at the end of a narrow street off Algonquin Road, practically in the shadow of Magnolia Cemetery. But Woodbine is much smaller, only a few acres. And unlike the other cemeteries in the area, it’s been badly neglected for decades. The fence is so overgrown with honeysuckle vines, you’d never know a cemetery lies behind it if not for the taller monuments.”

      “But didn’t you mention something about a caretaker?” Temple asked as she shot another glance toward the entrance.

      “That’s what I was told, but now that I’ve met him, I think that job description was greatly exaggerated. By his own admission, he doesn’t touch the graves. He’s more of a watchman. According to him, he’s there to chase away the riffraff.”

      “Which may not be a bad thing if the cemetery is as isolated as you say,” she pointed out.

      “True. But I don’t know that Prosper Lamb’s presence makes me feel a good deal safer.”

      “Prosper Lamb. What an interesting name.”

      “He’s an interesting man and he does seem to know quite a lot about the cemetery. He told me that Woodbine was once used by the well-to-do to bury their secrets. Their mistresses and bastards, people they kept on the fringes of their lives.”

      “Well, that’s a rather sleazy concept, isn’t it?” Temple’s eyes gleamed and I could tell that I’d hooked her in a way that I hadn’t been able to engage Dr. Shaw. She was itching to know more, but we both fell silent as the waiter approached and the table was cleared. We ordered after-dinner drinks—a cordial for her and a cup of tea for me. Once we were alone again, she leaned in. “Go on. I want to hear more about these buried secrets. You know how I relish the salacious.”

      “At least you admit it.” I cast a quick glance around, more out of habit than any real fear of being overheard. “Mr. Lamb said that’s the reason Woodbine has so many unnamed graves. The wealthy benefactors bought the finest monuments to commemorate the passing of their loved ones, but they wouldn’t allow their names to be inscribed in the stones. Whether any of it is true or not...who knows?” I looked up with a smile as a cup of tea was placed before me.

      “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Temple said, cradling her glass. “Image and reputation were once everything to the blue bloods in this city. People would do anything, including commit murder, to protect their status. To be honest, I’m not sure times have changed that much.”

      Dr. Shaw had said much the same thing, but I didn’t want to get into the Congé can of worms with Temple. I had no idea how to go about explaining the organization to a nonbeliever.

      “I’m inclined to agree, especially since I can’t seem to locate some of the records. If I were the suspicious type, I might think someone had purposely removed them.” I sipped the tea absently as my thoughts drifted back to the cemetery. “I ran across one of the unnamed graves the other day, that of a little girl who died at the age of two. I haven’t been able to find out who she was.”

      “Hers are the missing records?”

      I nodded. “I may be jumping to conclusions. It’s possible her birth and death were recorded in another county. But, Temple...” I paused on an inexplicable shiver. “Something about her burial won’t let me go. I know it sounds strange, but finding her grave has had a powerful effect on me.”

      “In