I certainly wasn’t dumb enough to start taking orders from a ghost, even a melt-your-bones-sexy ghost. Everyone knows the power of saying words out loud, especially a name. Beetlejuice. Rumpelstiltskin. Even in an exorcism, the priest demands to know the spirit’s name because it has tremendous power—but for whom? If I said it, would I have control? Or would I lose it?
Five of the crows followed me to the back door as I retreated into the house. I paused on the doorstep, turned around, and found myself nodding at these small soldiers. They turned in unison and hopped away, and it hit me like a proverbial ton of bricks.
It wasn’t a legend. The crows were guarding us. I’d always assumed their protection was mostly because we all shared the same space for so long, recognizing each other as the generations of both birds and humans expanded through time. But what were they protecting us from?
They were obviously agitated over the presence of Jonah. This time, he hadn’t come to the edge of the patio. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe that’s why he’d begged me to say his name, because he needed some sort of invitation.
I fed Esmeralda, washed the lunch plate, and saw through the window the Counting Crows slate was still out on the table. He’d been able to write on it, possibly our only way to communicate. I definitely didn’t want to get drawn into his sexual energy again until I figured out what was going on, so I retrieved it.
The crows were gone except for old George, who stood on the peak of the upended flagstones watching me closely. A slanting ray of sunshine lit up his white shoulder, and the trees were perfectly still.
“I won’t say it,” I informed him as I tucked the slate under my arm. “I won’t say his name, I promise.”
When I closed the door, he was still watching me.
I waited to call until 4:00, when I knew Dad would be awake but before Jeopardy came on.
“Hey, Cady-girl.” He sounded awake and clear, and I closed my eyes with relief. I wasn’t sure how to start this bizarre conversation. Jumping right in with the magnetic sex appeal of dead-for-200-years Jonah was probably not the best approach, so I decided to tell it just the way everything had unfolded.
“Dad, there are some things going on around here,” I began. “Have you ever heard any odd sounds, like people talking or laughing?”
“Honey, you know that old house makes all kinds of noises.”
“Well, these are new. I thought I heard someone say good morning. And then there was laughing, and I couldn’t tell where the sound came from. I figured it was just the wind, or maybe the crows chattering. Then today, when I cleaned the chalkboard at home—the one you said you didn’t paint—the marks came back, and another one appeared. One after another, Dad. Now there are four.”
Silence. Then, hard breathing.
“Dad, are you there?” He was so agitated, how could I possibly tell him about the words, the name on the board?
Deep sigh. “Yeah, I’m here. You’re sure about the marks? . . . should have told you.” His voice faded as if he’d taken the phone away from his face.
“Told me what? Because—”
“Have you seen anyone?” His voice wavered.
“A man. On the patio.”
“On the patio? Are you sure?” The sharp tone cut through me. The only other time I’d ever heard fear in my father’s voice was when he called me from the hospital that Halloween night. What could possibly scare him like this?
“N-no, not actually on it. He was just past the wall, and in the trees.”
“Thank God.” The relief in his voice was palpable. “We thought he was gone, but I guess he found a way. Has he said anything to you?”
“No. Who is he? What’s going on?”
Dad’s voice tightened. “It’s him. The one the brothers killed. His name is Jonah.”
My heart jumped into my throat, threatening to strangle my effort to stay calm. “So, he’s been haunting us? For how long—and why don’t I know about this?”
“Like I said, we thought he was gone. And this isn’t something you tell a little girl. According to your Grandma, he threatened to return in seven generations to claim what’s rightfully his.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“His bride.”
“His bride? Even if they didn’t elope, she’s been dead as long as he has!”
“Not Chastity. She was taken from him, and the story was he would return to take one of ours.” He paused to let that sink in. “He’s been around the whole time, getting stronger with every generation. You’re the seventh.”
A chill gripped the back of my neck as I remembered the séance.
M I N E M I N E M I N E 7 C R O W 7 7 7
How long had he been watching me? Since that night—or even longer?
Dad paused, and I wondered if he was hesitating to tell me something else or if he couldn’t remember.
“Do you remember when you were little, your friend Jazzie that no one could see?”
“I remember what you and Mom said.” In fact, I didn’t remember her at all. Family stories are like that—everyone tells you about something you did as a toddler, and over the years, the story embeds in your brain so deeply you think it’s an actual memory.
“You said she gave you the buttons. You said they were Jazzie’s buttons, remember?”
That memory was clear: falling in the creek, my kindergarten fingers pulling the tiny discs of silver out of the mud, rinsing them off in the cold water and bringing them to my parents. But I didn’t remember any friend named Jazzie, real or imaginary.
“Dad, lots of kids have imaginary friends. What does this have to do with Jo—err, him.” Now I really didn’t want to say his name.
“There were some disturbances in the house when you were a baby. Windows opening, things moving around. Your mom made jokes that it was the ghost, but when you started talking about Jazzie and brought those buttons home, they stopped completely.” He paused as if he wasn’t sure he should go on, then sighed deeply. “It’s possible your friend might not have been imaginary.”
Dad sounded completely lucid, but what he was saying made no sense at all.
“What do you mean? There was a person named Jazzie? I would remember a person.”
“When your mom was restoring the first painting, you pointed at it and said that was Jazzie, the girl who gave you the buttons.”
“Chastity?”
“It sounds crazy, but I think she protected you. Maybe she guarded all of the children over the years. That day you fell in the creek, you could have drowned!”
“Dad,” I said, closing my eyes.
“I know, honey. I told myself for years it was all nonsense. But maybe I was wrong.” His voice dropped, uncertain. “They’re valuable antiques, those buttons. But they may be a lot more. Protection.”
“All right, Dad. You know, this is really weird hearing you talk about ghosts and family prophecy. I thought you didn’t believe in any of that.”
“The truth has nothing to do with what you believe,” he said. “That’s the first history lesson. Oh—he was supposed to be handsome.”
“He’s very attractive, yes.” Just thinking about the possibility of his touch made my cheeks warm.
“Oh, lord. I was afraid of that. Be careful.” I could hear the strains of the Jeopardy theme in the background. “Bring some more of those muffins tomorrow?”
Dad’s immaculate office smelled faintly of pipe tobacco and furniture polish. Books on genealogy and the history of Pennsylvania, including two he’d written, filled every inch of shelf space. The only items on the antique oak desk were a small lamp and an old-fashioned typewriter.
I twirled the lock on the combination safe, and the door swung open silently. Behind the folders of property documents and birth certificates, my fingers closed around a small leather case. Inside were my mother’s strand of pearls, her engagement ring, and the bag with the silver buttons. I slid them onto a sturdy piece of waxed thread, tied a knot, and slipped it onto my wrist. The soft jingle made me feel aware more than protected.
A big furry head bumped the back of my leg, followed by a familiar grumbling purr.
“Hello, my sweet. Ready for dinner?”
“Mrrrrp,” she confirmed, winding around my legs as we strolled into the kitchen. I reached over the sink to close the window against the breeze and caught sight of the chalkboard.
A chill skittered its way up my spine and raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
“I know you’re here,” I announced. “What do you want?”
A faint scraping sound came from the board, and my stomach tied itself into a knot as the words emerged on the slate: SET ME FREE SAY MY NAME.
“Why should I?” My voice was almost a whisper. I clutched the dish towel to keep my hands from trembling.
Supposedly, pets get freaked out when there are spirits around, but Esmeralda couldn’t have cared less. She eyed the words as they were scratched out on the chalkboard, but then plopped herself on the floor, directly below the board, lazily flipping her tail. The cat’s complete disinterest in his presence helped calm my nerves as another word appeared.
JUSTICE
Not sure what kind of “justice” Jonah thought he’d be getting—or giving—if he was freed, I decided to go for the simplest question I could think of:
“Justice for what?”
MURDER
U R MY 7
SET ME FREE
“If I set you free, will you move on to the next world?” The air shifted, and the energy around me seemed to swell.
UP TO U
ONLY U
That answered my biggest question. If it was up to me, I would have control of the situation. And if Dad was right, Chastity would protect me. Maybe the buttons would help send Jonah to the afterlife to be with her, and everyone would truly rest in peace.
Outside, a harvest moon hung above the trees like a golden opal, making the flagstones glow. Esmeralda followed and perched on the low wall, languidly swishing her tail. A rustling noise came from the roof, like the shuffling of a giant deck of feathers, followed by a few scrabbly murmurs alerting the extended family to our presence.
And then he was there, on the other side of the wall. Not solid as he’d been in the daytime or shadow as he’d been in the woods, but silver-gold and translucent, as if he were made of the moonlight itself. His warmth wrapped around me like the softest blanket as I took a trembling breath and said, “Jonah.”
Pandemonium exploded on the roof, and thirty crows burst out of the nests, screaming at each other, at me, and at the shimmering figure of Jonah. His eyes were closed as his body filled with energy and life, transforming a hologram into sculpted muscle and bone. When the transformation was complete, he took a deep, shuddering breath and opened his eyes.
His gaze swept across the back of the house as the entire family of crows lighted on the edge of the roof in a line, lifting their wings and murmuring their ominous displeasure. Esmeralda was glued to her spot, staring at him and purring madly.
“At last,” he said, and his eyes met mine. My pounding heart skidded to a stop. His face lit with pleasure, he crossed the patio and stood in front of me. His long hair was loose, brushing the top of his shoulders, and he wore the same full-sleeved shirt from the other day. He opened his arms and wrapped them around me. Warmth radiated from him, and I knew then I’d done the right thing.
“I’ve been waiting for you for two centuries, my love,” he whispered and pressed his lips to mine. He smelled of leather and peppermint. A flaming arrow of desire shot through me, igniting every nerve from my lips to my knees. He pulled me tight against him, and the shock of his hard body against me, his thigh pressed between mine, sent waves of dizzying pleasure to every part of my body. I clung to him, catching my breath, wondering what might be in store if this is what happened with only a kiss—
“Oh!” Jolted back to reality, I stepped back. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘my love’? Chastity is your love. That’s the whole point of this, remember? So you can finally be together?”
“Cady, I haven’t seen her in 200 years. That’s a very long time,” he said wistfully, his hands firmly on my hips. “And I’ve loved you since the moment you were born, knowing you were the one who could give me my freedom. I just want to show my gratitude. You’re a fiery, passionate woman. I like bringing you . . . pleasure.” He smiled and pulled me close again, and I felt the hard outline of his passion.
“I think maybe we’d better send you on your way.” As orgasmic as his presence was, I shouldn’t be kissing my ancestor’s fiancé. Or doing anything else.
“So soon?” he protested. “Might I not enjoy having a body again for a few moments? It’s not fully flesh-and-blood, and I can sustain it only for a short while, but it’s been so long.”
He took a deep breath, stretching his arms above his head. “The smell of autumn is intoxicating. I would like to taste food and drink, feel the warmth of a fire again.” He clasped both of my hands in his, eyes pleading.
“Please, Cady.” His touch stirred the embers deep inside me.
“Okay.” A cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll would take only a few minutes, I told myself. Maybe I could get some more details about his murder. The truth might finally be told.
Jonah smiled ecstatically and brought my hands to his lips. “Thank you, my generous lady. You can’t imagine how much—”
He broke off, staring at the bracelet of buttons. “Where did you get those?”
“They were a gift.”
He eyed them uneasily. “A strange gift.” He dropped my hand wearing the bracelet and squeezed the other, his brash smile returning as quickly as it had gone. “Shall we?”
So, the buttons did mean something. Maybe Jonah recognized them as Chastity’s and remembered how much they’d been in love. I decided to keep the bracelet on until he was gone, to remind me. His looks, flirty charm, and commanding masculinity made him hard to resist, and I would need every bit of strength to send him to the other side.
We walked hand in hand to the back door. His hand felt solid—yet, somehow, not. If I squeezed hard enough, he might collapse, like foam rubber.
Five crows swooped down and stood in front of the open threshold, blocking our way. One of them raised its wings in warning—the white-shouldered patriarch, George.
“This fellow is a vigilant guardian,” Jonah observed. “Move, sir.” He stepped close to the large, imposing bird, who glared at the intruder and didn’t budge.
“They’ve been acting strangely all day,” I said. “I think Esmeralda’s been worrying them.”
On cue, the big calico trotted ahead of us, and the crows scattered and lifted back to their nests, cawing mournfully as we crossed the threshold into the house.