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“I hate to bother you so soon after my last call, but I think we have an even bigger issue. Someone just moved into the old Johnson place a few days ago. A woman named Mandy Theos called me an hour ago, frantic because she thinks someone’s inside the house with her. I sent Frank out there, and he looked around but didn’t find anybody. I don’t know if she knows about the history of the place, but she just called again and said that now she’s hearing strange noises coming from the attic.”

“Well, of course she is. Ezra Johnson’s still hanging out there and he and his family have become so entrenched in the land that the best course of action is to raze the house and plant a few trees and call it as good as it gets.” I groaned. Ten to one, Jack Walters, one of the greediest real estate agents in town, had sold the property to the Theos family. Nobody else in town would even touch the Johnson house, not with its history. “You want me to go over there and talk to her?”

“I was thinking it might be best. The last thing we want is for the ghosts there to possess her and send her on a murder spree.” Sophia sounded as tired as I felt. “I thought the news might be best, coming from you.”

“Maybe I can convince Oriel, Ivy, and Ellia to go with me. We can do a welcome-wagon thing and find out what we can about Mandy and her family and whether she knew what she was getting into.” I stifled a yawn. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow. I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. Ellia and I just drove August Hamilton back to his grave, by the way. So he shouldn’t be bothering the playground again.”

August Hamilton had been fourteen when the Lady took him into her watery depths. Ellia and my grandmother had escorted him to the Veil, but apparently he had managed to cross back over. Penelope had been as irritated as I was when I dragged his ass back to her. For some reason, the dead were rising faster than we could keep up with them, and spirits who should have been on their merry way to a new life had come wandering back to town.

“Thank gods for small favors,” Sophia said. “Call me after you talk to Mandy. I’d like to know who sold her that house. There’s no law against it, but…”

“But whoever did it needs a good talking to,” I finished for her.

“Just what I was thinking.”

I glanced at the clock. It was eight thirty, on a Monday night. Too late to pay a visit to Mandy Theos. I said good-bye to Sophia and put in quick calls to Ivy—my grandmother; Oriel—the Heart of Whisper Hollow; and Ellia, who groaned when I came on the line. She was tired too. Garnering their promises to meet me at Mandy’s at ten the next morning with welcome-wagon gifts in hand, I finally turned off my phone and trudged into the living room.

Bryan was out of town for a meeting, so I had the house to myself. Dropping onto the sofa, I turned on the TV and curled up to watch The Great British Bake-Off with all three of my Maine Coons curled up on my legs. Before I realized what was happening, I fell asleep, dead to the world.

***

My name is Kerris Fellwater, and I’m the spirit shaman of Whisper Hollow. I was born into a great family lineage. I’m the fiftieth generation of spirit shamans from my family. We’ve passed down the title for centuries, from within the mists of time. I know very little about my family line, but I’m looking for answers, and I’m trying to learn.

My grandma Lila was the spirit shaman of Whisper Hollow before me. The post skipped a generation because my mother was murdered. If she had lived, she would have taken the post over from my grandmother. So I came to it early, and I’m learning the hard way. I ran away when I was eighteen, trying to escape my destiny, trying to escape Whisper Hollow and its ever-present ghosts. But destiny won out, and I returned home when Grandma Lila died, giving in to the path that had been set before me.

Together with Ellia, my lament singer, who sings the dead to sleep, and Bryan, my wolf-shifter guardian and fiancé, we keep the spirits in check, escorting them to Penelope the Gatekeeper.

My life surrounds death, and it’s everywhere I look, everywhere I turn. The spirits are more real to me than some people. I live in a world of mist and shadow, of dark nights by the graveside. I walk under the moon, whispering to the Crow Man. I am a Daughter of the Morrígan, and this is my journey. Until the day I die, I will bear her mark on my back.

I’ve accepted my fate, finally, but now comes the job of settling into the work, of finding my way through this labyrinth of the dead, all the while avoiding the enemies of the Morrígan who would like to see every spirit shaman wiped off the face of the earth. The latter task? Not quite so easy.

***

“Love? Love…wake up.”

The words trickled into my brain and I blinked, squinting against the overhead light that I had forgotten to turn off. I groaned, pushing myself up so I was sitting against the back of the sofa. Bryan had edged himself onto the seat beside me. He looked beat.

“You look like I feel,” I said, yawning as I struggled to sit up. I glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall, next to the entertainment hutch. It was two a.m. I had been asleep for a little over six hours. I had climbed into my nightgown and settled down to watch a movie. That was the last thing I remembered. “Oh, man, I must have crashed hard.”

Bryan wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in. I closed my eyes as he kissed me, floating in the warmth of his lips against mine. “I missed you,” he whispered, running his hand through my hair. “I missed you so much. I hate being away from you.”

“I missed you too,” I said, leaning against his shoulder. “I don’t like it when you’re gone. The house feels too empty.” I floated for a moment in the shelter of his embrace, wanting to stay like this forever.

“If you don’t act now, you’ll miss out on this stupendous buy!” The TV was still on, and some infomercial was trying to sell me the most marvelous face cream in the world.

With a groan, I looked around for the remote. It was on the floor next to the sofa, so I leaned across Bryan’s lap, wincing at the crick in my back as I managed to get hold of it. I turned off the TV, tossing the remote on the side table.

“Perfect position, huh?” I asked, grinning. My face was two inches from his crotch.

“If I weren’t so jet-lagged, I’d call your bluff,” Bryan said, rolling me back up and kissing my nose. “Damn, I missed you.”

I giggled, curling back into the niche of his arm. “That’s a lot of miles to cover in so short of a time.”

“You’re not kidding.” He had been visiting Ireland for a couple of days to take care of business matters with one of his international antique businesses. “Two international flights in four days is too many. Are you all right? Was everything okay while I was gone?” He was anxious and I knew he felt guilty for leaving.

As my guardian, he was supposed to be at my beck and call any time, day or night, should I need him. But there had been some sort of crisis that he couldn’t delegate and so I had told him to go, take care of matters, and not worry.

“Ellia and I have been run ragged the past few days, but luckily, we were able to handle matters. Don’t worry—I’m fine. Just tired. But how did it go? How was your trip?” I leaned in to kiss him again. “Did you take care of whatever was wrong?”

“Not exactly. The meeting was tense. I’ve decided to close the business. Apparently, the manager has been running it into the ground and the effort to save it would be more time and money than I want to invest. I’ll write it off as a loss. I fired his sorry ass, though, with pleasure.” Bryan let out a little growl.

Bryan Tierney was a wolf shifter. His icy-blue eyes were ringed with black, and his shaggy wheat-colored hair hung down to his shoulders. He had a five-o’clock shadow, and was starting the bare beginnings of a mustache. He was wearing a pair of tight jeans, with a button-down green shirt and a pair of punkish motorcycle boots that had five thick straps that buckled across the lacing. They had thick rubber soles for traction. He had draped his leather jacket over the rocking chair, and his suitcase was sitting on the living room floor next to it.

“I’m sorry, that sucks.” I tried to stifle a yawn, but it was no use. “I love you, I’m glad you’re back, and I’m still so tired I want to drop. Come to bed?”

He kissed me again, and I could feel him stirring. “I need a shower.”

“I don’t care.” As tired as I was, I was hungrier for him. I straddled him, stripping off my nightgown. He pressed his lips to my throat and I moaned, dropping my head back. Every time Bryan touched me, it was a reaffirmation of life. Every time he kissed me, it reminded me that I might walk hand-in-hand with death, but I was also alive and the moonlight would turn to sun, and the morning would follow the darkness.

“Let’s go, woman.” He gathered me up in his arms as though I was as light as a feather as I wrapped my legs around him, and he carried me into the bedroom, laying me down on the bed. His eyes grew even more icy as he stripped off his shirt, exposing the rippling muscles that crossed his chest.

I opened my arms to him and pulled him down, riding on the warmth of his body, swimming in the depths of his love. He was my guardian, and he would protect me in the depths of any darkness that came. He was my wolf, and I was his mate. As he loved me, fully and wholly, kissing every inch of my body, I drifted in and out of the magic we wove together—the magic of the Morrígan.

***

“Go to sleep,” he whispered when we were finished. He drew the covers up over my shoulders. “I’ll stay up the rest of the night and tomorrow, and then hit the sheets early tomorrow night.”

Grateful that he was home, I snuggled down and closed my eyes. Agent H—my Maine Coon brown tabby with massively tufted ears—curled up by my feet. Daphne had stayed out in the living room with Bryan, and Gabby was asleep on one of the heating vents. Agent H’s steady purr—audible all the way from the bottom of the bed—lulled me back to sleep and once again, I closed my eyes and crashed.

***

Morning broke through my sleep on the wafting scent of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. I sat up, my mouth watering.

Bryan was a good cook, though I was no slouch in the kitchen either, and he loved making breakfast for me. My appetite warred with my need for a shower, but finally the grime won out. I quickly lathered up and rinsed off, my long black hair pulled back in a high ponytail so I wouldn’t get it wet. As I dried off and slipped into a bra—underwire to corral my 38F girls—and panties, I remembered what he had said about his business.

Bryan didn’t need to work, but he liked doing so. He was a business mogul of some sort, and he loved every minute of it. But the closure of any small business was sad, and I felt bad for him. I quickly applied my makeup, winging the eyeliner out in cat’s eyes, and then decided on a pair of pale blue jeans and a cobalt blue turtleneck. It was cold outside, and I needed to pay a visit to Mandy Theos later this morning.

I zipped up a pair of leather ankle boots, fastened a silver belt around my waist, and brushed out my hair, glancing back in the mirror for one last reassuring glance. I was working out regularly, and the toning was beginning to show. I was a solid size eight, and fine with it, but I wanted to be a strong and fit size eight as well.

“Good morning!” I called ahead as I entered the kitchen.

Bryan was by the stove, pouring more batter into a pan. A stack of pancakes sat on the counter, along with a plate of bacon, and a skillet of scrambled eggs sat on the back burner. The smell of freshly pulled espresso filled the air, making my morning complete.

He held out one arm and I slid into it, kissing him. “Thank you for last night. I needed you.”

“I always need you,” he said. “You’re my mate, Kerris. My partner. And come this autumn, you’ll be my wife.”

He handed me a plate and I held it out while he scooped scrambled eggs onto it, and I stabbed three pancakes and set them next to the eggs, then added six slices of bacon. As I carried my plate over to the table, I saw that he had made me a triple-shot mocha, and I slid into my chair, content.

“You’re the best. But aren’t you tired?”

“Yeah, but if I sleep now, I won’t sleep tonight,” he said from the stove. Finishing up the last pancake, he stacked his plate high with food and sat down opposite me. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a log. Man, I was exhausted last night. But you helped me relax so that my dreams were easy.” I told him about chasing the ghosts around the playground. “August is now back across the Veil, but Penelope said she’s not sure if he’ll stay there. She’s not even sure how the spirits are getting free to return. Oh, in further news, I get to play welcome wagon today. Somebody moved into the old Johnson house this week and they’re already having problems.”

Bryan paused, his fork mid-air. “Who the hell would move into that place?”

“Obviously someone new to Whisper Hollow. Someone who hasn’t figured out yet that the place is haunted by a psychopathic ghost.” I rolled my eyes. “Oriel, Ivy, Ellia, and I are going over to welcome her to Whisper Hollow, and to warn her about the place. The woman has already called Sophia twice about suspicious noises inside the house. Sophia sent Frank over but, of course, he found nothing out of the ordinary.”

Bryan buttered his pancakes. “I know it’s haunted, but is it bad? Can they manage to live with the spirits?”

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t bet on it. The Johnson place is dangerous. It’s so bad that it’s seen a string of over fifty renters since 1962. Ezra Johnson went nuts and slaughtered his family. Nobody’s lasted there more than a few months, and a few of the renters have been hurt. The two or three families who actually bought the house didn’t last more than a week or two before putting it back on the market. The real estate agency who owns it—or who did, it might have changed hands—used to warn people, but you always get the crazies who think living in a haunted house might be fun. And it’s all fun and games until Casper turns into the Headless Horseman.”

While we ate our breakfast, he told me about his troubled business and how the manager had bungled things so badly there was no hope for anything except to cut his losses and run. “I tell you, the guy I hired for the job put on a good show and his resume checked out, but he just wasn’t able to hold it together.”

I was about to ask how much he had lost when my phone rang. I groaned, glancing at the caller ID. Sophia again. “Hello?”

“Hey, Kerris. I know you’re going over to see Mandy Theos today, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. Tiger Reine? Went into the lake about half an hour ago.” Her voice was hushed.

I stared at the table for a moment. I barely knew who Tiger was, other than the fact that he was in his twenties and he liked to ride around town on a Harley.

“Did he drive off the road?” I asked.

“Looks like it. Skid marks show he tried to stop, but he broke right through the guard rail and went over, bike and all.” She let out a long sigh. “He didn’t make it out.”

“Crap, everything seems to be happening this week. All right, I’ll tell Ellia. Let me know if a body surfaces in the next few days. If not, I’ll talk to Penelope and we’ll perform the rites to drag him out of the Lady’s clutches.” With that, I signed off. I glanced over at Bryan, who was watching me closely.

“The Lady take another one?”

I nodded. “Yeah, Tiger Reine. He was barely twenty-four, I think. That seems so young.” But the Lady didn’t care. The Lady took who she would and nothing mattered to her—age, gender, class. Young and old, rich or poor, she lured them in. I leaned back, rubbing my head. “Most likely, Ellia and I will have to drag his spirit out of the water and deliver it to Penelope in a few days. I swear, if one more thing happens this week, I’m going to scream.”

I pushed my chair out from the table. “All right. I need to gather a few things together that say welcome to the neighborhood and meet the Matriarchs over at the Johnson house.” I glanced at the backyard. The rain was pouring in the bleak morning. The snow had melted, but reports were predicting another round in the next day or so. Most of our snow came during January and February in Western Washington. For once, I realized that I was craving sunlight.

It would be a nice change, that was for sure.

***

The town of Whisper Hollow rests out on the Olympic Peninsula, on the edge of Lake Crescent near the Strait of Juan de Fuca. The peninsula is home to all sorts of odd creatures and spirits, and we’re easily the most haunted spot in Washington State. Living on the edge of the ocean, we get the winds that come in off the Straits. They howl through the night and rock the forest and topple long-rooted timbers. Out here, we try to be self-sufficient, because too often, we’re on our own. While we aren’t that far from Seattle as the crow flies, it takes several hours and a ferry or two to get there. We might as well be isolated in our own world when bad things happen.

While there are other small towns around here, Port Angeles and Port Townsend namely, really, we’re all sitting on the edge of the wild.

The Olympic National Forest is an old-growth temperate rain forest, one of the only temperate rain forests in the lower forty-eight. Deep in the heart of the woodland, the forest is saturated with rain—the Olympic Peninsula gets over four hundred inches of rain a year. Sasquatch lives in the depths of all that moss and mildew, as well as the Grey Man, and the spirits of miners and loggers from ages past. There are tribal lands nearby, and the Native Americans weren’t all that friendly and peaceful around these parts, not surprising since a stream of settlers invaded and took over their lands. Homesteaders lived here, and they died here.

Whisper Hollow has its own agenda. Built over a convergence of ley lines, the town is home to a wayward set of spirits, not all of which are human, and not all of which are actually dead. From elementary school on, we’re all taught the rules, and we remember and follow them. To ignore them is to invite trouble—more trouble than it’s wise to incur. I remember reciting them aloud in first grade:

1. If you hear someone call your name from the forest, don’t answer.
2. Never interrupt Ellia when she’s playing to the dead.
3. If you see the Girl in the Window, set your affairs in order.
4. Try not to end up in the hospital.
5. If the Crow Man summons you, follow him.
6. Remember: Sometimes the foul are actually fair.
7. And most important: Don’t drive down by the lake at night.

Follow the rules and you stand a good chance of surviving. Don’t follow them, and no one can vouch for your safety.

But Whisper Hollow holds its own charm and magic, too, and if the town wants you to stay, it will welcome you in and never let you go. Even if you do manage to escape, chances are good it will summon you back, like it did with me. Despite the danger, despite the hauntings, I love Whisper Hollow. And now that I’m here, I’ll never leave again.

***

I slid on my jacket and picked up the basket I had managed to put together. I had added mini-muffins, a bottle of wine, a bottle of sparkling apple cider, oranges and apples and some bananas, an unopened box of chocolate, and a sheet of paper on which I had written the names and numbers of a reliable plumber, handyman, Dr. Corbin’s phone number, and several other services that newcomers might need.

“I’m leaving,” I called over my shoulder. Bryan was still in the kitchen, washing up from breakfast. I suspected he was too tired to do much else.

“Are you coming right back?” he asked, drying his hands on a dish towel as he peeked out into the living room.

I shook my head. “I have some errands to run, so I won’t be home for a while. You should take a nap while I’m gone.”

“I might at that,” he said, yawning widely. “As long as you’re out, we could use something for dinner, unless you want takeout. There’s not much in the fridge.”

I picked up the basket, draped it over my arm, and headed out. As I got into my CRV, I realized how very different my life was from a year ago. And I had to admit, as spooky and dangerous as it could be, I was grateful for everything that I’d gone through.

As I inscribed the runes, Ellia played in the background. Her violin keened through the night, her song doing battle with the storm. Her music strengthened my magic as we bound the dead man to the deep dark of the graveyard. Penelope, my terrifying and beautiful Gatekeeper, was waiting in her tomb to take his spirit with her into the Veil.

To the side, Bryan stood watch. My lover, my protector, and my guardian, he kept anyone out who shouldn’t be here. Fiercely protective, he crossed his arms as he surveyed the graveyard. A wolf shifter, he was always alert and always watching.

Behind me, the sound of the tomb opening told me Penelope was ready.

I stood and pointed my dagger at the headstone. Twin serpents coiled around the hilt in silver, and a crow was engraved on the pommel. The sigils on the blade began to glow as I whispered the Chant of Summoning.

From the depths of your grave, I summon thee.
From the dark night of your death, I call thee.
From the icy grips of the Lady, I wrest thee.
Hudson Jacks, I command thee, stand forth in my presence.

I wondered if I’d ever get used to the weight of the dead pressing on my shoulders. I could feel them watching me from through the Veil.

A moment later, a rush of energy blossomed out as Hudson appeared. He was translucent, and coiled vines were draped around his neck. The Lady had dragged him below her icy surface, and he started to wander once his body washed up on the shore. The Lady’s spirits often turned into Haunts—dangerous ghosts who needed to be put to rest before they became trouble.

I held out my hand to him. I had only been doing this for a little over six weeks, but I was learning fast. He gazed at my fingers, then at me, cocking his head to the side.

“You cannot refuse me. I’m Kerris Fellwater, the spirit shaman of Whisper Hollow. I’m a daughter of the Morrígan and you’re bound to obey me. Let me lead you to the Veil, where the Gatekeeper awaits.” The words themselves were a charm, strengthened by the strains of Ellia’s song and the power of the Morrígan.

Hudson paused. If he bolted, we’d have our work cut out for us. But a glimmer of relief appeared in his eyes and he held out his hand, placing it in my own. His fingers stung my palm, the energy crackling and snapping against my skin.

I held fast, ignoring the discomfort, and led him toward the tomb where the double doors were open. Ellia fell in behind, still playing as her cloak fluttered in the wind, and Bryan followed, guarding our backs.

As the wind keened, merging with Ellia’s music, we approached the base of the knoll housing Penelope’s tomb. Her crypt straddled the line dividing the modern graveyard from the Pest House Cemetery, where more dangerous shadows lurked. Built of cinder block buried deep into the mounded knoll, the crypt was weathered from time and weather.

A plaque affixed to the side of the door read: Here Lieth the Mortal Remains of Penelope Volkov, Guardian of the Veil, Gatekeeper of the Graveyard. Enter and Despair.

I entered the crypt, shielding my eyes from the crystal chalice that stood on the dais. Inside, a crimson liquid churned, glowing brightly. My own blood was in there, along with the blood of other spirit shamans, lament singers, and guardians who had held their posts during Whisper Hollow’s history. It was rumored that every Gatekeeper’s chalice contained the Morrígan’s blood, as well. The blood of the goddess kept the glass intact and the liquid within swirling in perpetual motion. I dipped one knee in front of the chalice, acknowledging the Gatekeeper.

Penelope stood to one side, in all her gruesome beauty. Dark veins of black blood trailed out from the raccoon mask that shrouded her eyes. She looked fragile as an aging portrait. She had swept her hair into a chignon, blond tendrils coiling down to her shoulders.

Penelope towered over me, six feet tall and gaunt in a black dress that fell to her ankles. The dress shimmered with sequins, the sheer material revealing the bones that thrust against her alabaster skin. And then, there were the nails. Jutting out from her body, as though she were a voodoo doll turned inside out, were the tips of long nails, surrounded by glistening splotches of dried blood. She looked as though some demented carpenter had crawled inside her and went crazy with a nail gun.

She glanced at Hudson’s spirit, a hungry look filling her eyes. “He reeks of lake water and her scent. We will cleanse him and remove her binding.”

“The Lady took him only a few days ago. She gave up his body fairly quickly, though I’m not sure why.” Usually the Lady kept them longer, tying them to her while she fed on their spirits before she loosed them back into Whisper Hollow.

“Perhaps he didn’t taste good.” Penelope laughed, making me shiver.

I had gotten used to her appearance by now, but she still scared the hell out of me. I let go of Hudson’s hand, and he glanced at me, a fearful light in his eyes.

“Go on, it will be all right.” I gave him a gentle nod.

Penelope held out her own palm and he reached out, touching the nails jutting from her wrists. He glanced up at her and she smiled and took hold of his fingers.

“Welcome to the Veil, Hudson Jacks. Take my hand, love, and join my dark kingdom.”

It was the same greeting each time, and each time, the spirit would smile dreamily and follow her into the Veil. I waited for a moment, then turned to walk back to where Ellia and Bryan waited for me. The doors shut with a thud, and that was the end of Hudson Jacks.

We returned to his grave, Ellia still playing. I had one last spell to weave before we were done for the night.

I pressed my hand against the charcoal rune stream, and sprinkled Rest Easy powder on his grave. Then, circling the grave, deosil—clockwise—with my dagger pointing out, I invoked the charm that would keep Hudson by Penelope’s side until he was ready to move on from the Veil to…wherever it was that spirits wandered after they left this world.

Do not rise. Do not wake. Do not the Veil, now forsake.
Do not whisper. Do not walk. Do not dance and do not talk.
To the Veil, remain, within the Gatekeeper’s domain.

 As I finished, there was a hush, and then the sound of crows echoed through the graveyard. The charm had taken. The Crow Man was watching.

I turned to Ellia. She switched to a tune that made me weep no matter what mood I was in. It was customary for the spirit shaman to weep for the dead, to mourn them even as she drove them to the Veil. It was an honor and duty to remember them.

I knelt, my tears falling on Hudson’s grave, as I filled a little jar with graveyard dirt and labeled it. Then we were done. I wiped my eyes and stowed the jar in my bag along with my dagger and other tools. Ellia slowly lowered her violin.

Bryan silently crossed to my side and held out his arms. I leaned into his embrace. Each spirit had a story. Each spirit left a legacy behind. I was the last to bid them farewell as they crossed between the worlds. Sometimes, I would be the only one to remember them.

I rested my head on Bryan’s shoulder. He was familiar; he smelled of safety and love and passion. Like Ellia and me, he was a child of the Morrígan. As he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, I glanced over his shoulder. The moon had broken through the clouds. She was shimmering against the grass, and as I watched, a flock of crows flew past, winging their way toward us and over our heads.

“The Crow Man is walking,” I whispered. “Something’s going to happen.”

As I spoke, the clouds rolled in again, and a hail of rain broke over our heads. As we raced for my car, I glanced back at Penelope’s tomb. The crows had landed on the tree over her mausoleum. Yes, something was up, and I had no doubt the Crow Man would make sure I was right in its path.

Our work done, we convened at Lindsey’s Diner, the hot spot for late-night snacks.

Peggin, my best friend, and her new beau—Dr. Divine—were meeting us there. I still wasn’t sure what to think of Deev, as he had asked us to call him, or D-D—Peggin’s nickname for him. An artist, he had been drawn to Whisper Hollow like a moth to a flame. The town was like that. If Whisper Hollow wanted you, you’d find your way here to stay. If the town didn’t like you, it would spit you out. If you resisted going, it would feed you to the Lady or one of the other spirits lurking in the shadows.

As we pulled into the parking lot, I eased into the spot next to Peggin’s car. As I turned off the ignition and stiffly stepped out of the driver’s seat, I glanced down at my jeans. I was covered with dried mud, but I didn’t care. I wanted food, and I wanted to see Peggin, who had been swamped at work the past week.

Bryan wrapped his arm around my waist as we headed into the diner. “You’re sure you’re up for this? We could go home and I could make you something to eat there.”

I leaned into his arm. His touch brought me alive, no matter how tired I was.

He was five-eleven. His ice-blue eyes were ringed with black and they shifted color depending on his moods. His hair grazed the top of his shoulders, tousled strands the color of wheat. Bryan Tierney looked to be in his thirties, but he was actually over 140 years old—he was my protector, a wolf-shifter guardian, a son of the Morrígan.

“No, I want to see Peggin. It’s been over a week since we last got together.”

He laughed. “You two are inseparable. I love that you have such a loyal best friend.”

“She’s your friend, too. You know that anybody who has my back is good as gold in her book.” I glanced over my shoulder.

Ellia was checking her text messages. Over seventy, she looked timeless, and was as fit as anybody I knew. Tall with silver hair that flowed down her back, she was wearing a pair of linen trousers, a blouse, and the flowing floor-length green cape that she always wore when we went out to tend to the dead.

As I pushed through the door, the smell of burgers and fries made my mouth water. The restaurant was open till two a.m., and outfitted in a retro-fifties style.

Before I could look for Peggin, Debra-Su, the night-shift waitress, pointed me toward the back corner booth. She handed us menus as we headed back.

“I’ll be there in a moment. They haven’t ordered yet.” She winked.

“Thanks, Deb.” I threaded my way through the tables toward the booth.

Peggin heard my voice and waved us over. She had been my best friend since childhood, and was the only friend I had kept in touch with on my fifteen-year sabbatical from Whisper Hollow. At five-seven, she was a few inches taller than me, and stacked in all the right places with a plump hourglass figure. Her copper-colored hair was natural, and she was one of those wisecracking brainy type of women. She was about as athletic as my cats, wore cat’s-eye glasses, dressed like a fifties pinup girl, and carried a gun with which she was a deadeye shot.

“Get your ass over here, chica.” She hugged me, then Bryan. Ellia, she didn’t touch. Nobody touched Ellia—it was too dangerous.

As we approached the booth, Dr. Divine gave us a two-fingered salute, looking for all the world like a steampunk aficionado on steroids. About five-nine, he wore platform sneakers that sent him past six feet. His top hat was made of purple velvet, encircled by a black leather hatband, and had a brass clockwork design on the front. Thin black braids dangled down past his ass—there must have been fifty of them.

Deev’s skin was pale as moonlight, and he always wore clockwork goggles. Over his blue jeans and a denim shirt, he wore an ankle-length patchwork duster of denim, velvet, leather, and a kaleidoscope of prints. He was never without his antique flintlock pistol—a blunderbuss—strapped to his thigh. A few weeks earlier, I had asked him if it still worked. He answered by pulling it out and promptly shooting a can of cola off of a picnic table.

But there was nothing affected about him. When we first met, I wasn’t sure whether he was just odd or scary-crazy. Turned out, he was a little bit of both. But he was as sane as anybody who lived in Whisper Hollow.

“Hey, Deev.” I slid into the booth. Bryan followed, and Ellia swung a chair around from one of the tables to sit at the end. “How goes it?”

Deev cocked his head to the side. “Jokney got out today. I still haven’t found him.”

Bryan snickered. Jokney was a sculpture of a doglike creature that Deev had built from chrome scraps, black leather, and some sort of fur that he’d cut off a second-hand fur coat.

“Have you tried the dog pound?” Ellia asked, her eyes twinkling.

At times, Dr. Divine’s artwork took on a life of its own and went wandering around town till he rounded it up. It usually didn’t present a problem, except when the sculpture was some nightmarish vision he’d had. Those, he usually kept locked away against the chance that they, too, might decide to wake up and go out for a little walk.

“Not yet, but I will tomorrow, if he hasn’t come home.” He leaned back, wrapping an arm around Peggin’s shoulders.

She beamed at him. At first she was skeptical when Bryan offered to fix them up, but after the first date, they had become an item. Together they made a startling duo. His crazy met her twisted in a wonderful, weird way.

I opened the menu. Everything looked so good. I was starving, as I always was after a night in the graveyard.

“You’ve been chasing down spirits?” Peggin closed her menu.

“Yeah, we had to rein in Hudson Jacks. You know what happens to the ones taken by the Lady if we don’t seal them in their graves. They become Haunts, or in some cases, the Unliving, and right now, we don’t need any more of either.”

There were six paths of the dead.

The Resting Ones were those who had died, but not yet passed through the Veil. They quietly waited for Penelope to come for them and caused no trouble. The Mournful were more memory than anything else, reliving their deaths time and again as though on a movie screen. They could be disturbing, but were harmless. The Wandering Ones wandered far from their graves, but they, too, ignored humans. These three rarely presented a problem, although I did my best to release them. And then, Guides actively tried to help humankind.

But the dangerous spirits were another matter. Haunts were active troublemakers and liked to cause havoc. They were the poltergeists and the spirits who could shove people down the stairs. And then there were the Unliving.

The Unliving returned on a corporeal level, and could cause serious harm. They were smart and cunning and highly dangerous, especially when they went rogue. Veronica, the local Queen of the Unliving, ruled over the local Unliving. At some point, I was going to have to visit her. All spirit shamans were expected to make some sort of connection with the royalty of the dead.

“Honestly, your night sounds more fun than mine.” Peggin made a face. “I have to move in less than thirty days.”

I frowned. “What? Why? I thought you loved your place.”

She shrugged. “I do, but the landlord called me last night. She wants to move back into the house. I have until the end of the month to find a new place to live.”

“Aren’t you on a lease?”

“No,” she said. “Once the initial lease was up, the arrangement fell into a month-to-month agreement and I just forgot about it. My landlord is seventy-two, and up until this week, she seemed to be happy living with her daughter. But apparently the two had a major row and boom…no warning. Just a big bomb dropping.” She made a whistling sound, then, “Poooooophhh…”

“What are you going to do?” I knew how hard it was to find real estate in Whisper Hollow, and Peggin didn’t have enough money saved up to buy a house.

She cleared her throat. “I think I’ve found a place. I stumbled on a house today that I think would be perfect. I haven’t been inside, but I’m going to check it out tomorrow. It’s a fixer-upper, but I’m not afraid of a little work.”

Debra-Su returned. “Ready to order, folks?”

I handed her my menu. “Double cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake. Also—coffee. Lots of it.”

Peggin laughed. “Coffee for me, too, and I’ll have the grilled cheese with bacon. Potato chips and cherry pie on the side.”

“How you two can consume so much caffeine and still sleep at night confounds me,” Bryan said. “I’ll have chicken strips, fries, and no coffee. A Sprite, please.”

Dr. Divine asked for loaded potato skins and a plate of calamari, and Ellia ordered a bowl of chowder and extra rolls.

After the waitress left, I turned back to Peggin. “So, where is this house? I hope you have room for a garden. I know how much you love hydrangeas.”

She gave me a long look. “Promise you won’t argue when I tell you?”

I paused. Peggin wouldn’t say something like that unless she knew I was going to object. “All right, let’s hear it. Where is it?”

Peggin glanced at Dr. Divine but he shook his head and held up his hands. She turned back to me. “On Fogwhistle Way, across from the pub. It’s one of those abandoned houses near the pier in the Foggy Downs subdivision.”

Fucking hell. “You have to be kidding. Are you insane? You can’t move there.” I leaned on the table, feeling frantic.

“I have to agree with Kerris,” Ellia said. “That’s prime territory for the Lady. What on earth prompted you to think of moving there? The subdivision’s almost abandoned. Nobody’s moved in there for decades.”

She was right. The Foggy Downs subdivision was all but abandoned. Too many people there had met with accidents, been lured in by the Lady, or had otherwise fallen into general misfortune. There were ten houses in the neighborhood, all from the turn of the twentieth century, and they were right next to Fogwhistle Pier.

Peggin stared at us. “Are you done scolding me? You know as well as I do that there aren’t many houses for rent around here, and I refuse to live in an apartment. All the houses for sale in safer neighborhoods are far too expensive. This house is rent-to-own, and if I fixed it up, I think it would be pretty.”

I wanted to reach across the table and knock some sense into her, but Peggin could be pretty bullheaded when she thought she was being ganged up on, and if we continued to argue with her, it would only make her more determined.

I decided to try another tact. “Will you at least let me come with you when you look at it?”

She hesitated, then relaxed. “All right. I’ve got an appointment with the real estate agent tomorrow. As I said, the house has a rent-to-own option and it’s in my price range. I’m done with people yanking my life out from under me. I want to own, not rent. And I have to go somewhere.”

Bryan turned to Deev. “What do you think about this plan? Have you seen the house?”

“I have.” Deev regarded him from behind the clockwork goggles. “Peggin’s an adult. She can make up her own mind.” But he didn’t sound happy. He glanced at Peggin. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. The Lady’s been hungry lately.”

Peggin laughed. “I’m aware of that. I promise you, I won’t hang out at the lake. I’m not the sunbathing type, which is probably why I live here and haven’t moved away to sunny California.” She sobered. “To be honest, I don’t know what it is about this house, but I feel like it needs me. And I need a place to call my own.”

Deev took her hand. “You—you can always move in with me till you find a safer home.”

Surprised, I glanced at him. That was quite an offer for him to make, considering how short of a time they had been together. But then again, if I were in his shoes, if it was Bryan moving into a house next to a monster’s lair, I’d let him live with me, too. And Bryan and I had only been together about five or six weeks.

But Peggin shook her head. “Thanks, but I need my space. I’ve always had to make my own way in this world. I know you’re trying to help, but I…” She paused, looking over at me for support. “You understand.”

I let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I do.”

Peggin’s childhood had mostly consisted of ridicule for her choice in clothes, for her weight, for her lack of interest in getting married. Her older sister, Lisha, had become a family icon. The “normal” one, Lisha was blond, trophy-wife thin, had a bachelor’s degree in art history, and then had married into a family filled with lawyers and doctors.

Peggin, on the other hand, was a size 12 and had no interest in joining the society set. Her parents told her she could either study law or business in college. Anything else and she’d have to pay for it herself. She had turned them down and found herself a job, saving enough to take an online medical transcription course.

A year after Peggin graduated from high school, Lisha got pregnant, and her parents moved to Seattle so they could see the baby more often. Peggin had stayed behind.

After she earned her certification, she went to work for the hospital. Now, she worked for Corbin Wallace, one of Whisper Hollow’s best doctors. She had managed everything on her own. Peggin was used to taking care of herself and if she was wary of anybody offering help, it was because help had always come with strings attached.

Deev seemed to sense her resistance because he gave her a little squeeze and backed off. “Well, if you need a place, you have one. Just remember that, in case you don’t like the house and can’t find something suitable by the end of the month.”

I decided to change the subject.

“Agent H caught a mouse today and decided to drop it on my bed for when I woke up.” Agent H was one of my Maine Coons. I had three. The other two were girls—Gabrielle, better known as Gabby, and Daphne, named after Daphne du Maurier, one of my favorite authors. They were huge, basically Tribbles on legs.

Peggin snorted. “Sounds like Frith. He likes to bring me garter snakes that get in the house. Folly’s too lazy.”

“I love your ferrets.” Dr. Divine grinned. He didn’t smile often, but when he did, it was a trickster grin, heady and sensual.

Bryan let out a laugh. “Have you ever let your ferrets visit Kerris’s cats?” He slid an arm around me as the conversation eased into a comfortable chat and we wound down from the day.

***

I was standing in the field near the lake. I recognized that I was dreaming—or rather, that I was out on the astral, in my sleep. The field was open with no shrubs or trees except for the knee-length grass that whistled in the wind. As I stood there, my arms stretched wide to the moon, a faint cawing echoed through the air.

A flock of crows came winging in and landed around me. Their blue-black feathers shimmered under the moonlight as they formed a circle around me.

And then, I heard it. A slow processional filled the night, accompanied by violins and panpipes and the ever-present bodhrans beating a steady rhythm.

The Crow Man is coming.

The ground quaked as the giant approached, clouds of blue fire in his wake. His indigo cloak flared around him, the stars reflecting in its folds. A fur shawl encircled his shoulders, and atop his head rested a headdress—a giant crow’s head with glowing red eyes and a piercing beak. His hair fell to his shoulders, long and black, and his eyes were slits of white fire. In one hand, he carried a silver wand with a glowing crystal on top.

I slowly sank to the ground, overwhelmed by his presence. Each time we met, his power seemed to have grown stronger. Perhaps I was more attuned to the Morrígan—his mistress. Or maybe, he was just opening himself to me. Whatever the case, I wanted to curl at his feet and bask in his beauty.

He did not speak, but held out his hands. As I looked into his palms, a mist began to spiral up. It bade me to follow, and I did, flying through the night with the Crow Man by my side. He winked at me, but his smile vanished as we landed by the shores of the lake. The Crow Man pointed to the waves and I gazed out over the dark surface of the water.

The winds rose as I glanced at the water.

There she was. Rising from below the surface, a figure cloaked in pale white. She reminded me of a skeleton, clad in a layer of waxen skin. Her hair draped around her shoulders, long strands of seaweed and vines, and her skin was the color of gray mud. She looked at us through her hollow eye sockets and held out her arms.

“Come to me. I promise you peace of mind. Find joy in my embrace, and all that you’ve ever longed for will be yours.” Her voice was smooth as fine brandy, and my first instinct was to answer her call.

But the Crow Man clasped my shoulder. “Listen to her song, so you will recognize it when you hear it again. The words may not be there, but the call is always the same.”

At that moment, a scream echoed through the clearing.

Peggin!

I whirled to see the Lady standing on the water, laughing as she held Peggin in her arms. The water churned as the Lady began to slowly sink below the surface, dragging Peggin with her. I screamed, wrenching myself out of the Crow Man’s grasp. Overhead, the crows went winging by, screeching so loud their cries shattered the night. And then, the Lady and Peggin vanished from sight.

To my right, waves frothed across Lake Crescent as the wind whipped against the darkened surface. The rain shower turned into a downpour and I eased off the accelerator, lowering my speed to thirty-five miles per hour, and then to thirty. The drops pelted so hard against the asphalt that all I could see was a blur of silver on black. These winding back roads were dangerous. All it took was one skid toward the guardrail, one wrong turn of the wheel, and the Lady would claim another victim, dragging them down into her depths.

It had been fifteen years since I had made this drive. Fifteen years, a ferry ride, and about 120 miles. I grabbed the ferry in Seattle over to Kingston and then wound through Highway 104 up the interior of the peninsula, till I hit Highway 101, which took me through Port Townsend and past Port Angeles. Now, three hours after I had left Seattle, I was nearing the western end of Lake Crescent. The junction that would take me onto Cairn Street was coming up. From there, a twenty-minute drive around the other side of the lake would lead me through the forest, back to Whisper Hollow.

As I neared the exit, I eased off the road, onto the shoulder, and turned off the ignition. This was it. My last chance to drive past the town and loop around the Olympic Peninsula. My last chance to turn my back on all of the signs. But my life in Seattle had never really been my own, and this past month, the Crow Man had sent me three signs, calling me home. When my grandmother died last week, her death sealed the deal. It was my duty to take over her post.

I opened the door, making sure I was far enough off the road to avoid being hit, and stepped into the rain. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I stared at the lake through the trees. The wind whipped up currents on the water, the surface dark and dangerous. The rising fog sent me into a coughing fit as a flock of crows spiraled out of a tall fir. They circled over me, cawing, then headed toward Whisper Hollow.

Crows.

Crows were messengers, and so was the Crow Man. He had reached out to me over the past few weeks, sending me three omens. The first sign had been the arrival of his flock. Crows began to follow me everywhere, and I could feel him walking behind them.

The second sign had been a recurring nightmare, for three nights running. Each night, I found myself walking along a shrouded path through the Whisper Hollow cemetery, as the Blood Moon rose overhead. As I came to the center of the graveyard, I saw Grandma Lila, standing next to a headstone. Dripping wet and smelling of lake water, she embraced me, kissing me on both cheeks. Then she lit into me.

“You’ve turned your back on your gift—on your heritage. Face it, girl, it’s time to accept what you are. Whisper Hollow is waiting. It’s time you come home. You’re needed. You were born a spirit shaman, and you’ll die one—there’s no walking away from this. Something big is coming, and the town needs your help. Don’t let me down. Don’t let Whisper Hollow down.”

Each of those three nights, I woke up crying, afraid to call her in case there was no answer.

The third sign came last week. Signs always go in threes. Always have. Third time’s the charm, true. But bad things happen in threes as well.

I was walking home from work, deep in thought, when I glanced at the store next to me. There, staring from the storefront window, was the Girl in the Window. A cold sweat broke over me, but when I looked again, she was gone.

It couldn’t have been her, could it? The Girl in the Window belonged to Whisper Hollow and she was never seen outside the borders of the town. Squinting, I craned my neck, moving close to the pane. Blink…it was only a mannequin. But mannequin or not, my gut told me that I had been visited by the sloe-eyed Bean Nidhe.

One of the rules of Whisper Hollow echoed in my head. If you see the Girl in the Window, set your affairs in order.

That was all the proof I needed. I went home and began to sort through my things. The next day, a letter from Ellia arrived, informing me that my grandparents had plunged off the road, into the lake. The Lady had claimed them.

She was a hungry bitch, the lady of the lake was, and neither age nor status mattered to her. She marked whom she chose.

The car hadn’t surfaced, and neither had my grandfather’s body. But Grandma Lila had been found on the shore, her hands placed gently over her chest. Even the Lady knew better than to get the Morrígan’s nose out of joint by disrespecting her emissaries. And now, a week later, I was on my way home to take Lila’s place before the dead began to rise.

I sucked in a deep breath, took one last look at the lake, and returned to the car.

“What do you think, guys?” A glance into the backseat showed Agent H, Gabby, and Daphne all glaring at me from their carriers. They weren’t at all happy, but the ride would be over soon.

“Purp.” Gabby was the first to speak. She stared at me with golden eyes, her fur a glorious black, plush and thick. The tufts on her ears gave her an odd, feathered look. She was Maine Coon, through and through. She let out another squeak and shifted in her carrier.

Not to be outdone, Agent H—a huge brown tabby and also a Maine Coon—let out a loud yowl. He was always vocal, and he was not amused. Daphne, a tortoiseshell, just snorted and gave me a look that said, Really, can we just get this over with? Littermates, they were three years old. I had taken them in from a shelter after they were rescued from an animal hoarder. They had been three tiny balls of fluff when I brought them home. Now they were huge, and—along with Peggin—they were my closest friends.

Frowning, I squinted at them. “You’re sure about this? You might not like living in Whisper Hollow, you know. It’s a strange town, and the people there are all…like me.”

I stopped. There was the crux of it. The people in Whisper Hollow were my people. And even though I had run away, both they, and the town, were waiting for me.

Gabby pawed her face, cleaning her ears, and let out another squeak.

“Okay. Final answer. Head home, it is.” With a deep breath, I pulled back onto the road, turning right as I eased onto Cairn Street. We were on our way back to Whisper Hollow, where the ghosts of the past were waiting to weave me into their world as seamlessly as the forest claimed the land, and the lake claimed her conquests.

***

I’m Kerris Fellwater and I’m a spirit shaman by birth, which means I connect with the dead. I can talk to them, see them, and drive them back to their graves when they get out of hand. The gift is my birthright, from the day I was born until the day I die. My training’s incomplete, but instinct takes me a long way. And I’ve always been a rule breaker, so doing things my way seems the natural order of things.

Like my grandmother, and her mother before her, I’m a daughter of the Morrígan. Our matriarchal line stretches back into the mists. I can feel and see energy, and I can manipulate it—to a degree. Some people might call me a witch, but the truth is, my actual magic is minor, except when it comes to the world of spirits and the dead. There, my power blossoms out.

When I turned eighteen, after a major blowout with my grandfather, I ditched everything, took my high school diploma and two hundred dollars I had saved, and headed for Seattle. I found a room for rent in the basement of a house and a job at Zigfree’s Café Latte. As the years passed, I moved into a high-rise, and I worked my way up from barista to managing the store, but it was just a way to pay the rent.

At night, I tackled my second gig—one that made little money but kept me sane. A few months after I arrived in Seattle, the headaches started. If spirit shamans don’t use their powers, the energy builds up and will implode. At best, ignoring the power can drive you mad. At worst, it can kill you from an energy overload.

So I found a gig with an online e-zine investigating haunted houses and paranormal activity. The ghost hunting kept the headaches at bay. I spent all my spare time tromping through haunted buildings, looking for the ghosts who were troublemakers.

When I found them, I’d drop a hint to the owner. About fifty percent asked me to deal with the spirits. Kicking astral butt kept me from falling over the edge of the cliff into la-la land. I did my best to create rites and rituals from what training Lila had given me before I left home. For the most part they worked. I’d had a few missteps, some of them embarrassing and a few downright dangerous, but overall, I managed.

In my personal life, I kept to myself. I had a few cursory friends, but no one I could trust. I kept in touch with Peggin, but she was the only one from Whisper Hollow who knew where I was, other than my grandmother and Ellia.

Mostly, I read a lot in my spare time. I’m a speed reader and I have a photographic memory when it comes to what I read in books. Turns out, I had a lot of time to pursue my hobby.

You see, once people find out that I talk to spirits, it goes one of two ways: Either they’re afraid of me, or they glom onto me hoping for a glimpse of the future, especially lottery numbers. My talents don’t make for easy dates, either. When guys find out that I can chat up their dead sisters or friends and get the lowdown on what they’re really like, the date usually ends. At first, their fears bothered me. After all, the boys in Whisper Hollow had accepted me for who I was, quirks and all. But after a while, I decided to just stop dating.

But now…now I’m headed home, where everybody in Whisper Hollow is eccentric. Everybody’s just a little mad. And if I’m honest, I’m actually looking forward to it. Especially since my grandfather’s dead and can never bother me again. At least, that’s my hope. Because in Whisper Hollow, the dead don’t always stay where you plant them.

***

I yawned. As I struggled to sit up, I wondered where I was, but then I remembered. Home. I was home. For the first time in a long while, I had slept soundly. When I’d pulled into town it had been past seven. After stopping to grab a burger and fries and a few things at the local convenience store, I reached the house around quarter past eight.

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