The Prophet (16 page)

Dr. Shaw sat down heavily on a nearby chair and buried his face in his hands.

I didn’t know what to do. I backed away from the door as quietly as I could. The book I’d come back for had fallen to the floor beside the chair I’d vacated a little while ago. As I bent to retrieve it, I noticed a small iron bolt on the floor beneath Dr. Shaw’s desk. I started to reach for it when a hand fell on my shoulder.

Chapter Eighteen

I
turned to find Layla standing behind me, and I wondered how long she’d been there and whether she, too, had overheard the argument between Dr. Shaw and Gerrity.

“May I help you?” she asked coolly.

“I just came back for a book Dr. Shaw loaned me.” I held it up, but she barely glanced at the cover. “Would you mind telling him that I was here?”

“Perhaps you should tell him yourself,” she said and nodded toward the garden.

Dr. Shaw stood silhouetted in the doorway, staring into the office as if he’d seen a ghost. His face was pale, his eyes glazed and riveted on something just beyond my shoulder. It was all I could do not to look back.

“Sylvia…” he muttered and put out his hand.

I did glance back then, but there was no ghost. Not even the chill of an invisible presence. Whatever he’d seen must have been inside his own mind.

“Dr. Shaw, are you okay?”

“You didn’t see her?”

“See who?” I asked anxiously.

His gaze moved to his assistant, and I could have sworn I saw a flash of fear. Then his knees buckled, and both of us dashed across the room to catch him. “It was her…I swear it was her… .”

“No one else is here,” Layla said. “You’re imagining things again. You’ve been working much too hard. You really must listen to me when I tell you it’s time for a break.”

Her stern voice seemed to raise his ire. “Don’t treat me like a child. It was
her
, I tell you.”

We helped him to his chair. “Just relax,” Layla soothed. “I’ll go make you some tea.”

“I think we should call a doctor,” I said.

“No, no doctor.” He laid a weak hand on my arm. “It’s good of you to be concerned, but I’m just feeling a little under the weather. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“At least let me call Ethan,” I said.

“No, please…” His grip tightened on my arm. “I don’t want to worry him.”

“But he’d want to know if you’re not feeling well.”

“It’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure,” Layla said firmly.

“Yes, quite right,” Dr. Shaw murmured. “I’ll have that tea now, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” Her gaze met mine. “May I show you out, Miss Gray?”

I glanced down at Dr. Shaw. He was still clinging to my arm. “Are you sure I can’t be of some help?”

I could feel the tremble of his hand, but his eyes were clear now as he turned and lowered his voice. “Just remember what I said earlier. Don’t repeat what we spoke of in this office. Tell no one what you heard here today.”

* * *

The blue Buick was in front of me as I turned on Rutledge.

I certainly had no intention of following Tom Gerrity. Earlier, I’d come to the conclusion that I’d had enough of all this snooping and sleuthing and jumping to conclusions, but then I’d overheard yet another conversation, and here I was back in the thick of things.

It didn’t take a genius to deduce that Gerrity was blackmailing Dr. Shaw, but why? And had he really implied that Dr. Shaw could be involved in murder? Or had I misinterpreted what might have been nothing more than a snide comment?

Evidently their association went back a long way. I racked my exhausted brain trying to recall everything that Devlin and Temple Lee had told me about Rupert Shaw before I knew him. He used to be a professor at Emerson University, but he’d been dismissed when concerns for his stability and unfounded rumors began to circulate. Rumors about recruiting his students to participate in midnight séances and his overall preoccupation with death. Some of the students had talked, and the powers-that-be had let him go. That’s when he’d opened the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies.

I’d always found Dr. Shaw to be of sound mind if a bit distracted at times. But today he’d seemed genuinely confused by something—or someone—he thought he’d seen in his office. I was pretty sure he’d only imagined it, though. I would have known if there’d been a ghost, but hallucinations were an entirely different matter.

The Buick made a turn onto Canon, and, rather than continuing toward home, I followed Gerrity to the city’s east side. Dipping down King Street to Mary, we cut back up America, which had once been considered the most dangerous street in Charleston. Gentrification had curtailed some of the crime, at least by day, but come nightfall, a seamier element came calling.

It was not yet dusk, so the streets were still teeming. Old men in lawn chairs gossiped in front of the corner grocery, while mothers kept watchful eyes on their children from shady front porches. The air was filled with the usual traffic noises—gunning motors, blaring music and the occasional screech of brakes. Despite the din, there was a homey camaraderie about the neighborhood that belied a recent rash of midnight shootings.

I made sure my doors were locked as I pulled into a parking place a few spaces back from Gerrity. He climbed out of his car and crossed the street to a sagging, three-story Victorian. The house had once been glorious, but the blue paint was faded and peeling, and much of the spindle work and gingerbread trim had long since rotted away. Two young men in baggy jeans and Panthers jerseys reclining on the porch steps tried to hassle him. He brushed off their taunts with barely a glance, and I heard their guffaws even through my closed windows as he disappeared inside the house.

He’d been gone for maybe ten minutes when I decided this wasn’t such a great idea. I couldn’t wait around here forever. I’d start to attract attention. The least I could do was circle the block a time or two.

I started the engine and was just about to pull onto the street when I glanced up at the Victorian’s third-story balcony. A man stared down at me. Even though he leaned against the railing, I could tell that he was very tall, with skin the color of rich mahogany. He had on slacks and a loose white shirt that billowed in the breeze, and I saw a necklace dangling from his throat. He was looking right at me. I had no doubt about that. Even from this distance I could feel the power of his gaze and—I could have sworn—the strength of his will. A shiver chased up my spine as our gazes held for the longest moment. He was smiling. I had no doubt about that, either.

I felt certain I was staring into the eyes of Darius Goodwine.

How I could be so positive about the man’s identity, I didn’t know. Maybe it was his height, the power of that gaze. Maybe it was because Ethan had said he’d seen Darius in this part of town at a house where human bones had been uncovered.

Maybe it was because I could feel him inside my head, creeping around in my memories.

I was almost relieved when something smashed into my passenger window, breaking the spell of that probing gaze. I whirled to find one of the young men from the porch leering at me. The other one popped up on the driver’s side, and I heard him say something obscene through the glass. I put the car in gear and shot forward, making them both jump back from the tires. I didn’t glance in the mirror as I drove away, but I knew they were laughing at me.

So was Darius Goodwine.

Chapter Nineteen

I
dropped by my aunt’s house on the way home to check on my mother. She was napping, so I promised my aunt I’d come back in a day or two for a visit. Now that I was back in Charleston, I tried to have dinner with them at least twice a week, and sometimes we’d all go shopping or to a movie if Mama felt up to it.

Occasionally, Papa would come by while I was there, but as always, he kept pretty much to himself, puttering around the Trinity house while Mama was gone and keeping himself busy at the cemetery. He was retired from his caretaker position, but he still lent a hand now and then, and he was forever working on the Rosehill angels.

Mama was nearing the end of her chemo treatments, and she seemed to be getting some of her old spark back—despite everything that had happened in Asher Falls. Papa and I had kept most of the details from her, but like Devlin, she’d only had to glimpse my face to know that I’d been through an ordeal.

I didn’t want to think about my time in the mountains, though. I didn’t want to dwell on a legacy that would haunt me forever. Things were complicated enough right here in Charleston. I’d unwittingly stumbled upon what appeared to be a blackmail scheme, and I’d overheard a conversation between Devlin and Ethan that connected them both to Fremont’s murder. Devlin had disappeared the night his wife and child had died— perhaps to acquire gray dust from Darius Goodwine—and Ethan had given a deceptive alibi to the police. And Ethan may or may not have been in love with Devlin’s wife. All these suspicious goings-on whirled inside my brain, but none pointed conclusively to a motive, let alone to the murderer. I still considered Darius Goodwine a suspect, but I was not at all anxious to confront him. Whether he had real supernatural power or merely the power of persuasion, I had felt something truly terrifying in his presence.

My head ached from too much thinking, too much tea and that cloying perfume that I could still smell on my jacket. As soon as I got home, I tossed it into the washing machine, and then Angus and I went for a short walk. After that, I took Dr. Shaw’s book out to the terrace to read while I still had light. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see Robert Fremont or Shani appear out of the shadows, but all was quiet in the garden.

I sat there for the longest time caught up in the pages of that book. I’d heard about rootwork all my life. It was a practice prevalent in the Sea Islands and the Georgia-Carolina coast, but even as far inland as Trinity, there’d been a woman who kept various powders sprinkled around her doors and claimed she could charm away warts with a special incantation. Some of the local kids swore they’d seen her kill a chicken and bury it in her front yard, but I personally had never witnessed her do anything more sinister than hang some bundled peppers from the rafters of her porch. Although once Papa and I had found a strange altar near a grave in Rosehill Cemetery with candles and pictures of saints and tiny pieces of paper with scribbled notes to the deceased.

All of that seemed fairly tame compared to the practices Dr. Shaw had told me about. Ritualistic autopsies. The ingestion of hallucinogenic substances. Entering the spirit world to converse with ancestors. Attacking enemies in the dream realm.

I thought about Darius Goodwine gazing down at me from that balcony. If, in fact, that very tall man had been Darius. He was one of only a handful of outsiders who had access to gray dust, a substance so powerful that it could stop the heart and allow one to enter the spirit world without the crutch of hallucinations. A powder so sacred that it was used sparingly even by shamans and witch doctors.

I still couldn’t imagine why anyone would willingly pass through the veil, but then I had no great yearning to tap into the power of the spirit world, and I certainly had no desire to bring back the dead. Enough of them were already here.

“Amelia?”

Speaking of ghosts…

A shadow stood at my garden gate. A mirage, I told myself. An illusion called up by memories and loneliness and the dreamy smell of the angel trumpets.

And then Angus growled.

“You have a dog,” Devlin said.

I got up from my chair, aware suddenly that we were on the brink of twilight. The shadows had deepened in the garden, and I could see the telltale glimmer behind Devlin where his ghosts would soon come through.

My breath quickened, and I felt a little light-headed, as if I’d been walking for miles in thin air. How many times had I dreamed of seeing him at my garden gate? How many nights had I lain awake, thinking about what I would say to him? Now that he was here I found myself awkwardly speechless, my heart beating entirely too fast inside my chest.

A thousand thoughts raced through my mind, none that I dared share with him. How could I when even the smallest chink in my armor could bring down every last one of my defenses?

When he moved to open the gate, Angus growled again.

“Is it safe to come in?” he asked.

No, it wasn’t safe. Not for me, not for him. His presence in my life was a danger to us both. Mariama had made that abundantly clear. She would do whatever she could to keep us apart. I had no idea how much power she wielded from the other side, but the last thing I wanted was to provoke her.

Finding my voice, I tried to say calmly, “You’ll have to forgive Angus. He’s very protective of me.”

“I can see that,” Devlin drawled, his voice sending shivers up and down my spine. I could feel his gaze on me, dark and probing, and a jolt of electricity thrummed along my nerve endings, lifting the hair at my nape.

“Should I stay out here, then?” he asked.

“No, just come in slowly. Give him time to get used to you.”

Devlin did as I instructed, and I heard the gate click behind him. He stood quietly inside while Angus sized him up. After a moment, Devlin knelt and put out his hand. Angus ambled over for a closer inspection. He nuzzled and sniffed, and then stood very still and allowed Devlin to pet him.

“Do you think I pass muster?”

“It would seem so.” I still couldn’t believe he was here, but I didn’t know why I was so surprised. I’d gone to see him last night. Why shouldn’t he drop by my house without warning? Why wouldn’t he want an explanation of why I’d run out on him yet again?

If I were smart, I’d send him away before his ghosts had a chance to manifest. Mariama would not be happy to see me, and she’d already proven that she could hurt me. It was madness to tempt her.

But I said nothing, merely stood there taking him in. He must have come straight from headquarters, I thought. He had on his usual work attire of black sports coat, black pants and a gray shirt open at the neck. All beautifully tailored and trim-fitting. I sighed in spite of myself.