The Prophet

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“I’m sure it was my imagination.”

His gaze searched the stairs and the hallway behind me. “I left a window open upstairs. The wind may have knocked something over.”

“That was probably it,” I said shakily. “Did you find anything outside?”

“Not a trace. Whoever you saw is long gone.”

“I heard a car start up and drive away. It might have been him.”

“Can you describe him?”

“I only saw him briefly when the moon came out. He was black. Very tall and thin, although—”

Devlin’s hands tightened on my arms. Something burned in his eyes. “How tall?”

“It was hard to tell. The shadows distorted him…” I trailed off, alarmed. “Why? Do you know who he was?”

“No.”

He was lying, I thought. I wanted to ask him about Darius Goodwine, but I couldn’t without giving my eavesdropping away.

“I heard the nightingale again,” I told him. “It wasn’t a mockingbird. I’m sure of it.”

“There are no nightingales in Charleston,” he insisted.

“Then why do I keep hearing one? Who was that man, John? Why won’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t see him. How would I know?”

“He blew something toward the house. It was like a shimmering blue powder. Don’t you find that odd?”

He said nothing to that, but his hands fell away. He was still standing very close to me, gazing into my eyes. I had the strongest urge to lift my hand to his face, trace that scar with my thumb, assure myself that he was indeed real and this night was really happening. It wasn’t another dream. We were here together. But Mariama was there at his side, stroking his arm, smiling at me over his shoulder. Taunting me because she possessed what I never could.

I glanced away.

“Why did you come here tonight?” Devlin asked. “Don’t tell me you were just driving by.”

“I came to see you.”

He turned to glance out the door. “How did you get here? I didn’t see your car outside.”

“I parked down the street.”

“Because you saw someone watching the house?”

“Because I didn’t want you to see me,” I blurted. “I wasn’t sure I’d have the nerve to knock on your door.”

“It takes nerve to knock on my door?”

I sighed. “Yes, and you know why.”

It was all I could do to keep from reaching out to him, so magnetic was his presence. I let my gaze drift over him again. He’d buttoned his shirt while he was outside. The cut, as always, was perfection. He had an eye for clothes and the money to indulge his refined tastes. But there was an edge to the way he dressed, a hint of the rebellious nature that had driven him away from his elite upbringing and into the arms of Mariama Goodwine.

“So, why did you want to see me?” he asked carefully.

He was still staring out through the leaded glass panel in the front door. I focused my gaze on his profile and shivered. “I got your messages. I didn’t have a chance to ask you about them last evening.”

Slowly, he turned back to me. “What messages?”

“The ones you sent while I was away. The text came on my way back from Asher Falls.”

“Asher Falls?”

“It’s a small town in the Blue Ridge foothills near Woodberry. I had a restoration there, but then I had to leave suddenly, and I was on the ferry when I received your text.”

Something flitted across his face. “I never texted you.”

“But…the message came from your phone. I’m certain of it.”

“I didn’t send it,” he insisted.

“Then who did?”

“I have no idea. Did you save it?”

“I had to replace my phone recently, and I lost everything. But it was sent from your number. I’m sure of it. And before that, I received an email from you. I suppose you didn’t send that, either?”

“No.”

“Well this is very strange.” And more than a little unsettling. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not making this up.”

He smiled thinly. “I never thought you were.”

I felt like bursting into tears. I’d been so certain the messages had come from him. And now to find out that he hadn’t tried to contact me… .

It was foolish to feel so devastated, I told myself. And yet I did.

“Who could have sent them?”

“I don’t know,” Devlin said. “But I intend to find out.”

As I watched him, heart in my throat—and in my eyes—Mariama floated between us. I tried not to track her with my gaze.

How could he not feel the cold? How could he not flinch from her touch?

Go away, I thought.

I could hear her taunting laughter in my head. You go away.

Was I mad? I wondered. Had my years of living with ghosts finally driven me over the edge? Ever since Asher Falls, not only could I see specters, but I could hear them.

“What’s wrong?” Devlin asked.

“I was just wondering why someone would go to the trouble of making me think the messages were from you. They must have somehow gained access to your phone, your email…” I trailed off as Fremont’s cryptic words came back to me yet again.

“That’s not likely,” Devlin said.