Love's Eternal Embrace (7 page)

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Excerpt:

The Tempest Gate Hotel wasn’t a five star
establishment, but a quaint Bed and Breakfast. Best of all, it
stood within walking distance to the most haunted cemetery in
Salem, New Hampshire.

Clarity Shaw signed the register and handed
over her credit card to the receptionist, Hester Higgins. The woman
had dark hair streaked with gray and stood eye level with Clarity,
making her about five-foot four. Slender built and spindly, she
looked like she would fly away with the next wind, but her voice
was strong and sure when she spoke. “You look familiar.” Hester’s
gaze swept over her. “Have you stayed with us before?”

“No, first time,” Clarity assured her. She
glanced at the oak furnishings in the lobby sitting area, which
consisted of two high-back chairs by the window. Their plush
cushions were a dark hunter’s green with gold thread used to
embroider the Celtic design on the headrest. A long, wood table
stood against the wall with a coffee pot situated at one end of it
with all the necessities to turn a cup of java into a coffee
lover’s delight. The fireplace stood as the focal point of the
room. The mantle was carved with leaves and nuts, an intricate
addition, giving the added flair to make the room homey.

“Hmm.” Hester’s brows furrowed, seemingly not
satisfied with her answer of never visiting the fine establishment.
“You remind me of someone—minus the eyebrow piercing of
course.”

“Of course.” Californians didn’t blink an
eye, but in rural surroundings, piercings other than in the earlobe
were probably an oddity.

Hester waved her hand. “I didn’t mean it as a
slight. Piercings don’t bother me one way or the other. It’s none
of my business what you young people do to your bodies. Though,
some of it looks mighty painful to me.” She continued to stare as
she thought out loud. “It’s the eyes. Yes, your eyes are an unusual
shade of blue, so light for dark hair. Is your hair color natural
or do you dye it?”

“It’s natural.”
At least this month,
she thought.

Hester nodded as if she approved. The
piercings she didn’t care about, but dyeing her hair she’d take
offence. She should have seen her when she had blue hair. That
would have raised her brows clear to the hairline.

“Oh, well.” Hester’s slim shoulder lifted in
a shrug. “It’ll come to me. I’ll remember whom you remind me of. If
you’re interested, we’re not far from the American Stonehenge.” She
met her gaze. “It’s a maze of man-made chambers, walls, and
ceremonial meeting places. It’s kind of like England’s Stonehenge.
You know with it being an astronomical calendar that can determine
specific solar and lunar events.”

“Sounds intriguing. If I have time, I’ll
check it out.”

“No time to sightsee, huh? You here on
business then?” She asked as she ran the credit card and waited for
authorization.

“A little of both. I’m writing a piece about
the Tempest Gate Cemetery.”

Hester’s gaze riveted to hers with a look of
unease. “Are you a reporter?”

She nodded. “I work for
Unbelievable
Finds
, a paranormal magazine.”

“Mmm-hmm. You’re looking for ghosts
then.”

Yeah, that would be nice, but not
necessary to write my piece.
“Actually, I’m interested in the
legend about the cemetery. I called a few weeks back and spoke
with,” she withdrew a piece of paper from her jean pocket, “a Mr.
Donner.” She looked at Hester expectantly.

Hester’s dark brown eyes widened as one
eyebrow arched in surprise. “Mr. Donner, spoke to you—directly?”
She seemed ill at ease with the idea. Her gaze scanned the room as
if she expected someone, or
something,
to jump out at
her.

Clarity volunteered to cover the Tempest Gate
Cemetery story since somewhere down the family tree, she was
related to one of the families involved in the tragedy that started
the urban legend. How much more fitting could it be to write the
piece for the magazine? “Mr. Donner is the one who told me about
the hotel,” she explained. “Is there a problem?”

“Uh, no. It’s just…no.”

A beep indicated her credit card had been
approved for the amount entered and a slip of paper printed out
from the machine. Hester handed her the receipt to sign before
placing the key card to her room on the counter.

“Do you have any stories about the cemetery?”
Clarity prompted. Stories she picked up on the Internet stated a
fog-like mist appeared in a blink of an eye. It was so thick that a
person couldn’t find their way out of the cemetery until dawn.
Ghosts, strange unearthly whispers, and statues that came alive
were some of the other accounts from witnesses. There was even the
legendary devil’s chair. People were dared to sit in the chair on
the evening of Halloween. Stories ranged from the outrageous to the
mundane. One tale stated a hand emerged from the grave and dragged
the person down to the underworld, while other stories stated the
person couldn’t recall what happened. They would wake up beside the
devil’s chair in the morning, damp from the morning dew and with no
knowledge of what happened. Her guess: they had too much to drink
and woke from their drunken stupor to find they never left the
cemetery.

A devil’s chair was nothing more than a
marble or sandstone carved chair, probably placed for the grieving
family to be able sit comfortably at the gravesite. The chairs
weren’t common and provided a topic for conversations. Small-town
communities tended to have legends attached to the chairs, adding
to the mystery of why the effigies had been carved. Tempest Gate
Cemetery’s legend proved the most curious since it was a focal
point of an old legend dating back centuries. It regarded spurned
lovers and a duel to the death.

“I know plenty of stories.” Hester’s voice
wavered from high pitched to a low whisper, making it painfully
obvious that she did, but was uncomfortable talking about them.
“The ghosts need to be put to rest, but—”

Clarity waited for her to continue. “But
what?” she coaxed.

“The curse,” she whispered. “It’s binding and
it consumes. It’s like it’s needy and wants to add souls to its
coffer.”

It was Clarity’s turn to lift a brow at the
idea of something evil lurking in the graveyard ready to devour
souls, but she refrained from commenting on it. Superstitions had a
way of making people uneasy and adding a creepy story to enhance
their fears and your urban legend was born. “Would you mind telling
me about the curse?” All she knew was the conflicting accounts from
the Internet and the ones her grandmother told her. It would be
nice to know what the locals had to say.

Again Hester’s eyes darted to the front door
of the lobby, then to the back office that stood off to the left of
them. She chewed on her lower lip before making the decision to
tell her. With a sigh of resolve, she leaned forward, resting her
elbows on the countertop. She lowered her voice to a low whisper so
no one could overhear what she had to say, which seemed ridiculous
since they were the only two present, but Clarity thought it wise
not to point that fact out if she wanted to hear the story. “The
curse involves two men who were in love with the same woman.”

“Never a good combo.”

Hester’s gaze swept over her features before
meeting her eyes directly. “No, it is not. Michael Davenport and
Samael Fenton were in love with a young woman by the name of Mary
Peabody.”

This she had read herself on the Internet.
She found it curious that the name Samael wasn’t spelled in the
traditional manner with -
uel
at the end but with
–
ael
, the same spelling of the archangel in post-Talmudic
lore. The angel was known as an accuser, seducer and destroyer and
was regarded as both good and evil. The other man in Mary’s life
was Michael, a name that so happens to be an archangel’s name. This
angel was known as a warrior and protector. She had to wonder if
the names were changed to enhance the story.
Archangels Duke It
Out At The Stroke of Midnight
. The tagline did have a good ring
to it. “Are you sure the names of her suitors are correct?”

“Yes, of course. It’s all documented. Michael
Davenport’s home once stood where this hotel is now. Technically,
if Michael Davenport were still alive, he’d own this place. He had
no surviving relatives and the property is in the care of a trustee
or something like that. I’m not up on all the legal jargon.”

She wasn’t either, but she would definitely
look into it. “Please go on with the story. I didn’t mean to
interrupt.”

“No worries. Hmm…where was I?” Her brows drew
together in concentration. “Ah yes. Mary didn’t intentionally lead
the men on, but she found herself in a pickle all the same. She,
being a kind woman, didn’t want to hurt either suitor and decided
not to choose either man, hoping to keep both men’s friendship. You
can imagine how that would fly.”

“I can imagine. These men didn’t seek Mary
out for friendship. They wanted a wife.”

Her head bobbed up and down in agreement.
“Samael kept pushing her to make a choice. Michael, on the other
hand, didn’t like seeing her upset. He wanted Mary for his own, but
he loved her enough that he respected her decision and didn’t push
the issue.”

“Michael sounds like a good guy.”

“So the stories say, but the relationship
between the three became strained. Samael couldn’t accept Mary’s
friendship with Michael and called the man out, intending to duel
with him to the death.”

Clarity leaned on the counter, too,
thoroughly engrossed in the story. “Was that legal?”

Hester shook her head. “No, but out here,
away from the authorities, who would stop them? Samael set up a
meeting inside the Tempest Gate Cemetery on the evening of
Halloween. It was his macabre sense of humor to think once he
killed Michael, he could roll him into the grave.”