Haunting Violet
Page 59

The sound of carriage wheels and horses was faint, seeming more distant than they actually were. Drops of water clung to the wool of my dress and my cloak, the hem dragging in the grass. We were in a soft cocoon. It might have been romantic.
If it wasn’t for all the dead bodies.
And the faint scratch of a footstep.
I froze. “Did you hear that?”
Colin tensed as well, listening. After a moment he shook his head. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Probably my imagination,” I said. My brow throbbed. Shapes seemed to coalesce, flitting through the fog. No one was particularly distinct, an eye there, a hand, the shape of a waist in a misty corset. The spirits were making themselves known, but the mist made it hard to see them clearly. That made it worse somehow. “It’s crowded in here,” I said tightly.
“Will you be all right?” Colin shot me a look of concern.
I nodded grimly. “Yes, let’s just find Rowena. The sooner we can do that, the sooner we can get out of here.”
Mausoleums sat like ornate boxes and stone angels wept all around us. The stones were hard to read in the thickening fog. It would have been much easier with a lantern, but we could hardly stay hidden that way. I had to trace some of the letters with my fingertips. The names were unfamiliar. We pressed on, following the avenue to the famed Circle of Lebanon, in the center of which stood a massive cedar tree several hundred years old. In the moist, warm darkness, I could smell the green tingle of it hanging in the fog. The stone circle was pockmarked with doors and yet more names etched into the stone.
“Here’s a Wentworth,” Colin called quietly. I hurried over to him. It wasn’t Rowena but we were at least among her family. She couldn’t be far. We checked the other names, squinting in the dark. I was starting to feel decidedly light-headed. I swayed lightly, grabbing the wall for support. There were too many spirits vying for attention, hovering on the edge of my vision. The pressure on my head was making me feel ill. The mouth of the doorway opened beside me.
I was going to have to go in. I hovered in the doorway, a breath of cold damp air swirling around me. Colin came up behind me.
“I should have brought a candle,” I said nervously.
“I’ve matchsticks,” he answered quietly, striking one against the stone. The flame was small and feeble but infinitely better than no light at all. And in the little house of death, no one would see it burning. I took a step forward, and another. Colin was a comforting presence at my side, the light flickering madly over his face. It was cool, the ground littered with old leaves. I was glad for the warmth of my cloak.
Rowena Wentworth.
There was her name, engraved in fancy scrollwork, and the dates 1857–1871.
The flame ate at the thin matchstick and it guttered out. Colin swore under his breath and lit another match.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“It’s all right,” I replied, even though my heart had just performed a full pirouette in my chest. I took a handful of salt from my pocket and sprinkled it at our feet.
“Rowena Wentworth!”
She didn’t appear.
The matchstick went out again. The darkness felt thick and heavy around us, like a cloak I didn’t know how to shrug off. I could hear Colin fumbling for another matchstick. They scattered to the ground.
“Damnation,” he muttered.
“Ow,” I yelped suddenly. Colin jumped, jostling me.
“What? What?”
“Did you just pull my hair?”
“No, why would I?”
“Well, someone did!” My palms were damp. I wiped them on my skirt. The air went cold.
“Stay close to me.” We were shoulder to shoulder, turning to peer at our surroundings even though we couldn’t see. “I can’t find the damn matchsticks.”
“Maybe we should just leave,” I suggested. “We could find a lantern and come back.”
“Good idea.”
The gate to the mausoleum slammed shut, the clang reverberating through my bones. I yelped, so startled I hit my elbow on the stone wall. Colin cursed and felt for my hand. The air went from cold to frigid until the tip of my nose went numb.
“What the hell was that?” Colin demanded.
I tried to swallow, my throat dry. “A spirit?”
“Can you see him?”
“No, but it’s so cold. That often happens.” My teeth chattered together. “Though this is extreme.” I inched closer to him. “The door’s not far. Let’s make a run for it.”
A hand shoved my shoulder, sending me sprawling. The cold seared through my clothes. I fell hard, bruising my knee. Colin tried to catch me but only managed to trip and fall to the ground with me. The cold wind pressed us uncomfortably against the stones. It was hard to move.
“Stop it!” I yelled to the ghost, scrabbling for the salt I had sprinkled earlier. I flung it into the air. The gate rattled on its hinges.
“Got one,” Colin whispered, striking a matchstick. Ordinarily, the warm glow would have been a comfort.
If it hadn’t revealed the open shrieking mouth of a man’s ghostly face an inch from my own.
I tried to scream so fast I choked. I scrabbled backward, kicking out even though I knew it was useless. Colin lifted his fists even though that was equally useless and he couldn’t see who he was fighting anyway. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest, it hurt.
Then the spirit eased back just as abruptly as it had attacked. “Oh, a pretty girl.”