The Awakening - Amanda Stevens MIRA

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fingers curled around the back of Temple’s chair. I couldn’t help but note that her nails were clipped short and perfectly manicured. I didn’t see a ring on her finger and hated myself for looking.

      “We’ve never met, but I know you by reputation. I’m Claire Bellefontaine.” She extended her hand and I could do nothing but offer mine in return. Her grip was appropriately firm and she didn’t linger awkwardly as if to prove a point, yet I felt an intense relief the moment she released me.

      I dropped my hand to my lap and threaded my fingers together. “Amelia Gray.”

      She smiled. “Yes, I know who you are. As I said, your reputation precedes you.”

      Surely she hadn’t come over to my table to make a scene, so why was she here?

      “I’m on the board that administers the Woodbine Cemetery Trust,” she said. “I wanted to tell you in person how happy we are that you’ll be overseeing the restoration.”

      She couldn’t have caught me more by surprise, but I managed a courteous reply.

      “Other firms were recommended, but your work speaks for itself,” she went on. “And of course, you have an ardent admirer in Rupert Shaw. He’s an acquaintance of yours, I believe.”

      “We’re friends, yes, but I had no idea he was involved in the Woodbine project.” Yet more alarm bells sounded. Why hadn’t Dr. Shaw told me earlier about his involvement? Why had he pretended to know so little about the cemetery? I supposed it was possible that he could serve on the board and still be uninformed about the day-to-day details, but why not at least mention his recommendation?

      Claire’s expression remained guileless, but something hard lurked beneath that cool surface. “Perhaps he didn’t want you to think that he had influenced the outcome. But I assure you that despite his wholehearted endorsement, the board would never have awarded you the contract if we hadn’t been unanimously impressed by your résumé and portfolio.”

      “Thank you.”

      “That’s all I wanted to say. I won’t keep you any longer.” She produced a card from her bag and placed it on the table. “I know you already have a contact on the board, but if you ever have a question or problem that can’t be resolved to your satisfaction, please feel free to call me. This project means a great deal to me. You see, I have family in Woodbine.”

      “I understand.” She had family in Woodbine? In one of the unnamed graves?

      “Good night, Miss Gray.”

      “Good night.”

      She walked away, trailing the faintest scent of sandalwood and privilege. The other diners watched her. Men and women alike. Her beauty and charisma were palpable. What a magnetic couple she and Devlin must make.

      I picked up her card. The stock was thick and creamy. Expensive and understated. Claire Bellefontaine. Attorney at Law.

      The restaurant had grown cold again. I thought perhaps my suspicions regarding Devlin’s fiancée had chilled me. It wasn’t every day I found myself in such close quarters with a possible member of the Congé, someone whose mission it was to stamp out unnaturals like me.

      But the frost was otherworldly. I turned to the garden, startled to find the ghost child hovering directly outside the window, so close I could have touched her cold face if not for the glass between us. I could see her features clearly now, could sense her powerful emotions. Her pale hands were clenched at her sides and as I sat there riveted by her nearness, her mouth dropped open and she emitted a piercing howl. The inhuman sound was so ear-splittingly shrill that I thought the window might shatter.

      I resisted the urge to cover my ears, but the sound sliced like a blade through my nerve endings. The pain became so intense I felt physically ill. I glanced around at the nearest diners. How could they not hear that scream? How could they remain impervious to such bone-chilling rage?

      She remained right outside the window, but she wasn’t looking in at me, I realized. Her anger was directed elsewhere. When I followed her icy gaze to the front of the restaurant, I saw that she was staring at Claire Bellefontaine.

      And Claire Bellefontaine stared back at me.

       Eight

      I said good-night to Temple and left the restaurant alone. She didn’t seem to mind. She headed off to the bar for another drink and I suspected she’d already made plans with Rance Duvall. I didn’t like the idea, but there was nothing I could do about it. Temple had a mind of her own and even if I could have offered a cogent argument for staying away from Duvall, she wouldn’t have listened to me. I comforted myself with the reminder that she’d always been a savvy judge of character and could take care of herself. Right now I had other issues to worry about.

      My head swirled with everything the ghost child had revealed to me in the garden. The sound of her scream still echoed in my ears. As stunned as I’d been by that dreadful howl, an even greater shock came with the realization that the ghost’s focus had been trained on Claire Bellefontaine. What was their connection?

      Claire’s attention had been directed at me, but something in her frozen expression made me wonder if she’d seen or heard the apparition for herself. Or had at least sensed a supernatural presence. Dr. Shaw had once told me that he believed many of the Congé were sensitive to the other world, thus making them adept at ferreting out the unnatural. Had she read something on my face or in my eyes that aroused her suspicions? Or—an even darker thought—had Devlin told her about me? Had he confided his own suspicions regarding my gift?

      Whatever the case, the encounter had left me trembling and dazed. Her involvement with Woodbine Cemetery couldn’t be a coincidence and I had to wonder why Dr. Shaw, knowing what he knew of my gift, knowing what he knew of the Congé, hadn’t at least warned me about her. Instead, according to Claire, he’d recommended me for the job and until I had a chance to speak with him again, I could only speculate as to his motive. Surely it would have been best for everyone if I’d stayed far away from Devlin’s fiancée.

      I turned on Queen Street, walking all the way over to Rutledge Avenue. It was still early and the streets buzzed with traffic. I passed any number of pedestrians on my way home, mostly tourists and a few students from nearby UMSC. Despite my uneasiness over the evening’s events, I wasn’t frightened. I had my phone and pepper spray handy. Even so, I kept a watchful eye on my surroundings as my mind continued to spin.

      Not surprisingly, my thoughts eventually turned back to Devlin, as they almost always did. Why couldn’t I move on? Why couldn’t I accept once and for all that he was gone from my life and was never coming back? I didn’t want to think of myself as a woman who pined. I’d been alone for most of my life. I knew how to endure, even to flourish, on my own so why couldn’t I forget him?

      Maybe Temple was right. I’d created a dangerous fairy tale around him, one that kept me clinging to the past. He was my one and only serious love affair, so instead of facing the reality of our breakup, I’d allowed myself a bittersweet hope that his departure had somehow been a noble gesture. I’d convinced myself that because of his reluctant involvement with the Congé, he’d distanced himself in order to protect me. Why else would he have found a way to warn me of the danger I’d faced in Seven Gates Cemetery? I told myself that no matter his association with that deadly faction, no matter his engagement to Claire Bellefontaine, he still cared for me.

      My thoughts continued to churn as I turned right on Rutledge Avenue. The palm trees lining Colonial Lake cast long shadows across the moonlit surface. The water looked eerie and mysterious, and as I hurried along the street, the long row of Charleston-style houses seemed to crowd in on me. At the intersection of Rutledge and Beaufain, I paused to glance in the direction of the lovely old Queen Anne where Devlin had once lived with his dead wife and daughter. I couldn’t see the house clearly from my vantage, but I had no trouble conjuring the turrets and arches and the shimmer of ghosts at the front window.

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