She could hear the low reverberation of falling water and even catch individual pings as larger drops hit the window, but the ghost was either inaudible or too soft to hear through the storm.
Keira moved back and clutched the blanket a little tighter around herself. “I can’t hear you. I’m sorry.”
The woman’s face contorted. She was still speaking, forming the same phrase over and over with bloodstained lips. Her movements were slow and indistinct, but repeated so many times, Keira thought she could guess the phrase. Help me.
Uneasy, anxious nausea rose. She half wanted to call the pastor to come back—wasn’t it his job to make sure souls reached the next life? But even with her botched memory, she knew it wasn’t normal to see ghosts.
She licked her lips and leaned close to the window. “Do you need something?”
The spirit’s long hair drifted around her head as she nodded. It was as though gravity couldn’t properly touch her. She was speaking again, but the words came too quickly for Keira to have any hope of lip-reading them. The ghost motioned toward either the town or the parsonage—it was impossible to tell—then clasped her hands below her chin in supplication. She had begun to cry; tears ran down her cheeks, blending with the spilled blood, dripping into her mouth and off her chin. Her lips moved incessantly, the words inaudible but clearly desperate.
All Keira could do was shake her head. “I can’t understand you.”
The woman’s features twisted in distress as she clutched at her head. Lightning cracked, flooding the scene with blinding light. Keira squinted, and when her vision cleared, she felt uneasy prickles rise through her. The space beyond the window was empty.
Thunder rumbled through the cottage, rattling its windows and making Keira hunch her shoulders. She peered through the mist, searching for her dead companion, but all that remained of the woman was a fading handprint on the outside of the glass.
Chapter Four
Keira rolled over and groaned. She’d come to rest on her cut shoulder, and pain flared through the limb. She sat and pushed her hair away from her face. The couch, a double-seater, had been a disastrous choice for a bed. To be fair, though, she hadn’t intended to fall asleep in it; the plan had been to spend the night awake and alert. But she’d been more tired than she’d thought and couldn’t remember anything past the mantelpiece clock’s gentle midnight chime.
Okay. Stock-taking time. How much do I remember?
She recalled the ghost, barely visible, pressing close to the window and silently begging for help. Adage’s smile as he gave her stew. The men slinking from the woods as they searched for her. Waking up in the clearing. Nothing beyond.
“Did you delete your memory files or something?” she asked her brain. “Because this is starting to become really inconvenient.”
The persistent amnesia was frustrating, but the early morning sunshine spilling through the windows almost made up for it. Keira, cheered by the sight, inhaled deeply and pulled the blanket around her body as she crossed to the window.
The outside world had transformed from a misty, indistinct maze into a surreal but beautiful landscape. A short stone fence ran along the perimeter of the cottage’s neglected garden. Beyond its gateless opening was the cemetery. Greenery filled in gaps between mismatched grave markers: spindly shrubs, leafless trees, and clumps of weeds were dotted among the stones, providing relief from what might have otherwise been a stark scene. The graveyard stretched farther than Keira had first thought; more pillars peeked out from among the forest edge to her left.
Large puddles collected in dips or holes, and the shadowed side of the gravestones still looked wet. Mist clung to the scene, reluctant to be dispersed by the sun, and drifted in thin patches. Keira scanned the area for the specter she’d seen the night before—or any other unnatural figure—but the only person in sight was solid and human.
A man walked along a pathway leading into the cemetery. Adage, Keira thought, then caught herself. No—that’s not Adage, not unless he discovered the world’s fastest-acting diet last night.
She shrank back from the window so the room’s shadows would hide her. The man was too far away to see his face clearly, but he was tall, clad in a thick coat, and carried something that looked like a briefcase as he moved with quick, purposeful steps.
Is it one of the men? She hadn’t seen their faces the night before. Don’t jump to conclusions. This is a public cemetery. He might be coming to pay his respects to one of the graves.
Even so…
Keira crossed to the clothes she’d hung out to dry and began dressing with feverish urgency. She couldn’t discount the idea that the man was there for her, and she did not want to go on the run in just underwear.
The clothes had an unpleasant stiff texture and were still damp about the seams, but she tugged them on, ignoring the way her shoulder stung when she flexed it. She hopped back to the window as she tied the second boot’s laces.
The man was definitely coming to her cottage. He’d passed the last of the gravestones and was stepping over the puddles surrounding the cottage’s fence.
Keira lowered herself out of sight, her heart thundering. The stranger had been fast, and there was zero chance of slipping through the door unseen. Can I break a back window? Hide in the bathroom? Is it too late to lock the front door?
Four sharp knocks echoed through the room. Keira hunched her shoulders further, silent.
“Hello?” The voice didn’t sound aggressive at least, and Keira felt none of the visceral repulsion she’d experienced when hiding in Adage’s wardrobe the night before. “Keira? Adage asked me to drop by. I’m…well, I’m technically not a doctor, but I spent the last few years in med school, and he wanted me to check in on you.”
Keira began breathing freely again. “Coming!”
Her clothes were askew, so she straightened them, but there was nothing to do for the creases. She ran her fingers through her hair in a hopeless attempt to fix it as she crossed to let her visitor in.
The man had been looking over the graveyard but turned to face her as she opened the door. He was tall, and thick, dark-chocolate hair was casually pushed back from his forehead, but strands still fell down to brush near his green eyes. He smiled, and the expression warmed his whole face.
“Mason Corr,” he said, extending his hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Remarkably okay, I think?” Instead of taking the offered hand, Keira stepped back, inviting him inside. “I just woke up, so I’m still taking stock, to be honest.”
He had to dip his head slightly to get under the doorframe, but the smile didn’t falter. “Sorry about that. I would have come at a more reasonable time, except Adage said you had a head injury and that’s not really something you want to ignore.”
“That’s fair. There’s, uh, seats and stuff if you want one.” Keira grimaced, but Mason either didn’t notice her awkwardness or tactfully ignored it.
He stopped in front of the wooden chair, put his briefcase on the ground, and patted the couch as an invitation for her to sit. “Adage also said you had some memory loss last night. How’s that doing this morning?”
“Still…lossy.” She shrugged as she sat. “I remember waking up in the forest. Nothing before.”