Autumn Thorns: A Whisper Hollow Novel Book 1 Read online

  I’d been exhausted. After setting up the litter boxes in the utility room and locking the cats in there for the night, I called Peggin to let her know I was back in town. After that, I dropped on the sofa to think about what to do next. The next thing I knew, it was morning.

  Stumbling to the bathroom, I showered, then settled in at the vanity. I grimaced. I looked as tired as I felt. Circles underscored my eyes, but they would clear up with enough water and a good night’s sleep. My eyes were dark today—they varied from almost golden to a deep brown depending on my mood. Right now, they were mostly bloodshot.

  I brushed my hair and braided the long, brunette strands to keep them out of my face while they dried. At thirty-three, I had yet to see a gray hair, for which I was grateful. As I shifted, looking for my bra and panties, I caught the reflection of the mark on my back.

  A reminder of what I was.

  The birthmark looked like a tattoo. In the center of my back, it was right above my butt like a natural-born tramp stamp. It was the shape of a crow standing on a crescent moon, and it was jet black. The mark of a spirit shaman.

  I slid on my panties and fastened my bra. At a solid size eight and a 38F cup, I was happy enough with my body. I liked my curves—and I had plenty of them. I jammed my feet into my jeans, pulled on a snug V-neck sweater and patted my stomach. I needed to find a gym. I loved working out, favoring weight-lifting and the stationary bike. Unlike so many women, I ate what I liked, preferring meat and vegetables and the occasional pasta dish. I loved my junk food, too, but tried to limit it to a few times a week. But I was a caffeine freak, and I made no apologies for my addiction.

  Finally, I was ready to face the day.

  You mean, face a new way of life, don’t you?

  Fine. Face a new life. Happy now?

  Yeah, I guess so.

  Snorting—I usually won most of the arguments I held with myself—I wandered into the kitchen. Next order of the day: secure caffeine. Life always looked better after a pot of coffee.

  Morning light filtered through the kitchen window, silver from the overcast sky.

  The kitchen was spacious, with an eat-in nook—a large window by the table overlooked the backyard. I ran my hands along the smooth countertops. My grandparents had renovated during the time I’d been gone. The laminate had been replaced by quartz; the white cabinets had been switched out for dark. All the appliances were stainless steel, and tile on the floor had replaced the checkerboard linoleum. But the walls were still the same warm gold color they had always been, and the kitchen still felt cozy.

  On the counter stood a shiny espresso machine. I spotted a grinder and a container of beans. Grandma had loved her caffeine and I’d inherited my addiction from her. Grandpa Duvall had preferred tea—strong and bitter, like him.

  I peeked in the cupboards. Tidy shelves were filled with packaged foods. The refrigerator, however, was spotless and empty, with just the bottle of creamer I’d bought when I pulled into town. When I’d called Peggin to tell her I was coming home, she had promised to clean it out for me. One less task I’d have to deal with.

  I pulled a couple of shots of espresso and added creamer. As I carried my mug to the table, the phone on the kitchen wall rang, startling me out of my thoughts.

  Who the hell was that? Peggin was out of town till Monday night, and she was the only person who knew I had come home, besides my lawyer. Hesitating, almost hoping it was a telemarketer, I picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Kerris? You’re really back! Peggin called me. You got my letter, I trust? I’m sorry about your grandparents, my dear.”

  Ellia. No matter how many years it had been, I could never forget the lilting sound of her voice. When I was little, I’d clutch my grandmother’s hand as we followed Ellia into the graveyard. She would sing, leading the way, her violin in hand. I had been mesmerized by her songs.

  I propped the receiver on my shoulder, shrugging to hold it up to my ear as I peeked in the various drawers. “I was going to call you before I left Seattle, but figured it would be best to talk in person. Grandma Lila came to me in a dream; she told me things are happening in town. What’s going on?”

  “There have been stirrings in the forest for the past few years. The Lady has been overly active, and the spirits are on edge. Penelope’s having a hard time keeping them reined in.”

  I frowned. Penelope was in charge of holding the Veil closed. That she was having problems spelled trouble. And when the Lady of the Lake was hungry, nobody was safe.

  “What changed? Has Veronica been at it again?”

  Veronica played both sides. Both friend and foe, depending on her mood, most of the time she ignored the living. But when she thought up some agenda, she’d turn the town on its ears. I was thirteen when Veronica decided to throw a grand ball for the dead. The results had been hair-raising.

  Ellia paused. “No, I don’t think so. I have my suspicions, but I don’t want to discuss them over the phone. Over the past few months, encounters with Haunts and the Unliving have increased. Since your grandmother’s death, the dead have been raising hell. I’ve tried to play the shadows to sleep, but my songs won’t work without a spirit shaman.”

  I licked my lips. I’d have to take charge faster than I thought. On the night of the new moon, the lament singers and spirit shamans would go to the graveyards to calm the dead who had not yet passed beyond the Veil. And when the dead went walking, they’d corral them and send them back to the grave.

  The Veil existed between the worlds, like a massive transit station for the dead. A nebulous place of mist and fire and ice, the Veil housed spirits who hadn’t detached themselves from the world of the living. They weren’t ready to cross the threshold and move Beyond.

  Around the world, the line between realms was usually well-defined, and it was easy for the Gatekeepers to guard the dead and keep them reined in, but in Whisper Hollow, things were different. The Veil was nebulous here, and ghosts walked easier. Now, with Grandma Lila dead, the door had been thrown open.

  Grandma Lila had been a strong woman, though Grandfather fought her every step of the way. Oddly enough, Grandma Lila hadn’t been paired with a shapeshifter. I wondered if that would be my fate as well, but there was no one I could ask now that she was gone.

  I shook off my thoughts. “When can we meet?”

  “Tonight, at my house? Six p.m. You remember where I live, don’t you?”

  “Fogwhistle Way. I don’t remember the number, but I remember your house.”

  “That’s right—337 Fogwhistle Way. It’s good to have you back, Kerris. I’m sorry about your grandmother. We needed her. And now, we need you.” With that, Ellia hung up.

  I glanced out the kitchen window as a flock of crows rose into the sky from the maple in the backyard. They circled the house once, then headed south. A storm was coming in off the Strait of Juan de Fuca. My gut said that it would barrel through the forest and hit us by afternoon.

  Deciding I needed more caffeine, I pulled another couple of shots, then checked on the cats, setting down fresh food and water for them. They were freaked, of course, but they were safe.

  “I’ll let you out when I get back from town. Until then, you just stay in there.” I wanted to go through the house first to make certain there was nothing that could hurt them, or allow them to escape.

  Reaching for my jacket and purse, I paused, my hand on the doorknob. A shadow rolled past. It reached out to examine me. Cold and clammy, it tickled over my skin before vanishing. Whirling, I glanced around the kitchen. But the room was empty.

  “I’m home, Grandma,” I whispered. “I just hope you’ll be around when I need you.”

  A goose walked over my grave. Whatever was going on, I knew I was going to need all the help I could get—from both sides of the grave

  Chapter Two

  I pulled into Ellia’s driveway, staring at her house. I wasn’t sure just what I had expected, but it wasn’t this. I remembered h
er house as cold and looming, covered in moss, behind an overgrown tangle of weeds. But it was pristine and tidy, even though it was built of stone, from another era. Whisper Hollow had been founded in the mid-1800s, barely a settlement of ramshackle houses in the woods.

  The yard was familiar, though, the gardens neat and tidy with a hint of wildness. A row of mums lined the pavers that ran to the front door. The lot, like my own, was thick with trees looming up and over the yard. Ellia lived on Fogwhistle Way, not far from my own house, and close enough to the cemetery that she could walk there if need be.

  The rain had stopped, and the clouds had scattered, letting the stars shine through. During late October, the night came early, especially in the outlying areas.

  I let out a slow breath. Seeing Ellia would make everything real. Once I walked through that door, my grandmother was truly dead and I was committed to take her place.

  Gather courage, I told myself. I slung my purse over my shoulder and slipped on my gloves as I headed up the stone steps to the front door. The last thing I wanted to do was to touch Ellia’s hands. That was one rabbit hole I didn’t dare fall down.

  I rang the bell and waited. A moment later, there she stood. A little older, a little grayer, but still every inch Ellia. She ushered me in, offering neither her hand nor a hug.

  She pointed to my hands. “Gloves. You remembered.”

  I grinned. “How could I forget? Are things the same? Do you still…”

  “Oh yes. These old hands of mine can still drag you down to hell.” She held up her hands. She was wearing long cream-colored opera gloves that disappeared beneath her sleeves. “If I could wear gloves and play the violin, I would, but unfortunately, I’m not quite dexterous enough.”

  As I entered the hallway, a sharp bark echoed from behind her, and a dog peered around her legs, gorgeous and white as snow, looking a lot like a wolf.

  “Don’t mind Nicholas. He knows friend from foe.”

  The dog sized me up. He pranced forward, leaning down toward the ground with his head against his front feet, and then did a little butt-wiggle and barked. After an abrupt lick of my hand, he turned and padded away.

  “His name is Nicholas?”

  “Yes, and you guess correctly if you are thinking he looks like a wolf. He’s a mix. Arctic wolf and Siberian husky. Apparently, he’s decided you’re nothing to worry about.” She led me toward the living room.

  Ellia was five-eleven, and her hair flowed down her lower back. Over the past fifteen years since I had left, the strands had shifted color, from spun platinum to silver, but Ellia’s face remained unlined. Her eyes were still blue and crackling with flashes of white heat. She was a lean woman, but not gaunt, and tonight she wore caramel-colored slacks with a green plaid blazer. She had always struck me as elegant, and her voice was rich and throaty.

  “Come now, Oriel and Ivy are waiting.”

  Oriel, I vaguely remembered. But Ivy? I wasn’t familiar with anyone named Ivy. As we entered the living room, two women waited on the sofa. One was round and stout, with a cheery smile and golden hair wrapped up into a braid around her head. Oriel. She was my mother’s age. That is, she would be if my mother had stuck around. If I remembered right, Oriel had owned a boardinghouse. She was dressed in a green jersey dress, with a brown leather belt that wrapped around her ample belly.

  The other woman looked closer to my own age. She looked in her late thirties or early forties, with shoulder-length black hair streaked with white like a skunk. It was cut in a fashionable bob. Her eyes were a deep brown, and for some reason, she reminded me of someone, though I couldn’t figure out who. She was wearing a denim pantsuit.

  Ellia motioned me to a chair by the sofa. A tray of cookies and a teapot of hot cocoa rested on the coffee table.

  I sniffed appreciatively. “Cookies and cocoa? I’m in.” I turned to the woman I didn’t recognize. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you. I’m—”

  “Kerris Fellwater. I know who you are. I’ve watched you since you were a baby.”

  At my startled look, she smiled. “I’m not a stalker, I promise. There’s a reason I’ve kept watch. We’re kinfolk, though you don’t know it.”

  I stared at the woman, not sure what to say. Finally, I settled for, “How could you have known me when I was born? You can’t be that much older than me.” Then the second part of her statement hit me. “Kinfolk? We’re related?”

  She leaned forward, holding out her hand. “I’m Ivy Primrose. I’ve wanted to meet you since you were born, but your grandmother was always the voice of reason. She insisted it wasn’t the right time yet. I actually live down the street from you.”

  Either she had the best plastic surgeon around, or damned good genes. I shook her hand, then reached for a cookie and mug of hot cocoa. A million questions were running through my head, but over the years I’d found that I learned more by keeping my mouth shut.

  “Tell us why you returned,” Ellia said.

  I stared at the cookie. “I wasn’t going to come back. I swore I’d never set foot in this town again. But you know how well that works.” Settling back in the chair, I put my feet on the ottoman. “Well, I got your letter, of course. But before that, the Crow Man sent me three omens. A flock of crows swarmed me. Then, the week before Grandma Lila died, she came to me three nights running in a dream. And lastly, I saw the Girl in the Window. Well, it turned out to be a mannequin, but the Bean Nighe was superimposed over her. I knew better than to ignore the summons.”

  Oriel shook her head. “So many try to leave, yet most fail. Eventually, Whisper Hollow calls them home.” She cocked her head. “I tried to leave once. I got to Portland before being called back.” She glanced at Ellia. “I guess we should acknowledge the elephant in the room. First, know that Ellia and I tried to get Duvall to lighten up. We didn’t want you running away. But the old bastard wouldn’t listen, except at the end.”

  Something in her voice caught me short. “What’s going on?”

  Oriel cleared her throat. “The day your grandma died, she called. She wanted Ivy, Ellia, and me to meet with her. She said she had something important we needed to know, and that Duvall would be with her. That he had something to tell us before—” She paused.

  “Go on.”

  “Your grandfather was dying. About three years ago, he developed idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. There’s no cure. Doc Wallace gave him two years—three at the most. About a year back, something changed. I think he was afraid of what waited for him on the other side of the Veil. He did his best to turn things around.”

  My stomach lurched. Five months ago, I’d received a letter from him, but I had burned it without reading it. I wondered if I had burned up some valuable information along with my anger.

  “Crap.” They looked at me, but I shook my head. “So Lila and Duvall were supposed to meet with you the night they died? And he wanted to tell you something?”

  She nodded. “Your grandmother stressed that we needed to talk to him. All three of us. She was crying. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me that he had just shattered her world, but she couldn’t talk about it over the phone. Two hours later, the Lady took them.”

  I stared at my cup. “I wish I’d come home in time to see my grandmother before she died. But I was too stubborn.” I paused, then glanced over at Ellia. “Did you play for her? For my grandmother?”

  Ellia reached out and almost touched my arm, then paused and ducked her head, pulling her fingers back. “Yes, I did. You’ll have to lead the rites over her grave, of course. But I think she heard me, and so far, she rests easy. I doubt she’ll be walking any time soon.”

  Relieved, I let out a long sigh. The thought of Grandma Lila up and prowling the city felt like heresy. “But there’s still no sign of my grandfather’s body?”

  Ellia slowly shook her head. “We haven’t been able to find him. Their car went over the edge at the Lady’s Finger marker, near Juniper Creek. That seems to be one of the prime places lat
ely for the Lady to drag them in.”

  I frowned. The fact that she had kept his body could turn out to be a serious problem, but there was nothing we could do about it right now. “Do you have any idea what Duvall wanted to tell you?”

  Oriel shook her head. Ellia followed suit, but more slowly.

  Ivy, however, toyed with her cookies. “I’m not sure, but I think it might relate to your father, Kerris. And maybe your mother.”

  My father had abandoned my mother when he found out she was pregnant. I hadn’t given him a thought in years. I had no idea who he was, other than his first name and a picture my grandmother had given me.

  I started to ask if she knew where he was, but then stopped. I had no interest in meeting Avery. But I could tell there was still something she wasn’t telling me.

  “You don’t think my grandfather will walk, do you?” I turned to Ellia.

  She finished her cocoa and poured another cup, her gloved fingers gently cradling the teapot. “I hope not. That would bode ill. The last thing we need is Duvall joining the ranks of the Unliving.”

  I sipped my own cocoa, trying to ignore thoughts of my grandfather, somewhere under the dark surface of the lake, dancing with the Lady.

  “Do you feel ready to tackle your post?” Ivy asked.

  I nodded. “It’s true that I don’t have the full training I should, but I think I’ve learned enough on my own to tackle the job. I do need to find my grandmother’s tools. Do you know where they might be?”

  Ellia shook her head. “Your grandmother kept them hidden. Through most of his life, Duvall fought her calling. He hated the spirit shamans. Her tools are probably hidden away in the house.”

  “Then, first on my list is to find them. She would have passed them down to me if I had been here to train with her.” I worried my lip. “You said the dead have been walking more lately, even before Lila died?”