Madeline Smith didn’t believe in ghosts. Not until the
night Jon Barnett walked into her life, anyway. Maddie
drew her legs up to her chest and held them close. Maybe
walked was the wrong word to use—his method of movement
seemed more like floating.
Outside her bedroom, the branches of an old elm scraped
back and forth across the tin roofing. The wind howled
through the night, an eerie cry that matched her mood of
anticipation and fear. Snow scurried past the windows,
silvery drops that glittered briefly in the light.
It felt oddly fitting to be sitting on her bed, waiting
for the arrival of a ghost while an early winter storm
raged outside.
Only he insisted he wasn’t a ghost at all.
She tugged the blankets over her knees and wondered if she
should stoke the fire with a little more wood. Maybe the
heat would keep him away. Or maybe he’d gotten tired of
his game and simply forgotten about her. Though she
believed the desperation in his eyes was real enough, she
just didn’t believe he was real.
Perhaps he was just a figment of her imagination—a last,
desperate escape from the loneliness of her life.
The clock on the mantle began to chime quietly. She turned
to look at the time. One-thirty. Maybe he had forgotten
about her...
"Madeline."
She closed her eyes, uncertain whether fear or the
unexpected pleasure of hearing the low velvet tones of his
voice one more time caused the sudden leap of her heart.
"Madeline," he repeated. This time a hint of urgency
touched the warmth of his voice.
He stood in the shadows to the left of her window. Despite
the storm that raged outside, he wore only a short-sleeved
black shirt and dark jeans—the same clothes he’d worn when
he had first appeared last night.
Tonight there was something different about him, though.
Tonight he looked afraid.
But he wasn’t real, damn it! How could a ghost feel fear?
"Madeline, you must help me."
She closed her heart to the desperate plea in his voice.
What he was asking her to do was impossible.
"I can’t." She avoided his gaze and fiddled with the
fraying edge of the blanket. "I don’t know you—I don’t
even believe you exist. How can you expect me to leave
everything I have here on the whim of a ghost?"
"You must!" The sudden sharpness of his voice made her
look up. "All I’m asking is for you to travel across the
state, not to another country. Why are you so afraid to
move from your retreat?"
Maddie stared at him. He seemed to understand altogether
too much about her. No one else had seen her fear—not even
her sister, who was as close to her as Maddie ever allowed
anyone to get these days.
"There’s nothing wrong with being cautious," she said
after a moment.
He studied her, amusement flickering briefly in the
diamond-bright depths of his blue eyes. "I never said
there was. But life has to be lived. You cannot hide
forever."
She ignored the sliver of alarm in her heart, ignored the
whispers that demanded she ask how he knew so much about
her, and raised an eyebrow. "And what does a ghost know
about such things?"
He sighed, running a hand through his overly long hair. In
the light of the fire, slivers of gold seemed to flow
through his fingers. "I’m no ghost, Madeline. But I will
be, if you don’t help me soon."
Alarm danced through her heart. "What do you mean?"
He walked across to the fire and held out his hands, as if
to capture the warmth of the flames. Hair dusted his arms,
golden strands that gleamed in the firelight. His fingers
were long and smooth and tanned. Lord, he seemed real—and
yet, if she looked closely enough, she could see the glow
of the fire through his body.
"I mean that I’m stuck down this damn well, and I can’t
get out. I will die, Madeline, unless you help me."
Maddie closed her eyes and tried to stifle the rising
spiral of fear. Not for her safety, because she sensed
this was one ghost who would cause her no harm. It was
just fear of...what? She didn’t know, but there was
something about this apparition that made her very wary.
Perhaps she should play along with him. Surely he’d
eventually tire of his game and leave her alone. Or
perhaps she was just going mad—as most of her so-called
friends had insisted she would.
Yet those same friends had never understood what she was,
or what she was capable of doing. Nor had they ever tried
to help her.
"Why can’t someone else rescue you? You must have friends—
why don’t you go haunt them?"
"Believe me, I would if I could."
His tone was dry and left no doubt he would rather be
anywhere else than with her. Bad news when even a damn
ghost doesn’t want to be with you. "So why aren’t you?"
He frowned. "I don’t know. Some force keeps driving me
towards you. I have no choice in the matter, Madeline.
You’re all I have."
And you refuse to help me. The unspoken rebuke was in his
eyes when he glanced at her. Maddie bit her lip and looked
away, watching the snow continue its dance past her
window. Maybe she was going mad. She was beginning to feel
sorry for a ghost.
"Why would you be able to reach a complete stranger and
not anyone of real use to you?"
"I don’t know."
But the look he gave her was keen, as if he did know but
didn’t believe she’d understand.
"If you want my help, you at least owe it to me to be
honest."
"Fair enough." He turned his back to the fire, but kept
his hands behind him, as if still trying to warm
them. "Whatever this force is, it brings with it a sense
of danger. And it’s connected with you somehow."
He seemed to say an awful lot without actually saying
anything, Maddie noted. Maybe her ghost had been a
politician in a former life.
"That made everything so much clearer," she said dryly.
He shot her a look that was half amusement, half
frustration. "Someone close to you is in danger, and
somehow, they’re drawing me to you."
Besides her sister, the only other person who qualified as
being close was Jayne’s son, Evan. Neither of them had the
sort of power Jon was talking about. No, she thought
grimly, there was only one misfit left in their small
family unit.
"So how did you end up in the well?"
"Someone shot me when I was out exploring." He
shrugged. "I must have fallen into it."
Maddie raised an eyebrow. From what she could see of him,
there was remarkably little evidence of a bullet
wound. "Then you are dead."
He sighed and closed his eyes. "I was hit in the arm. The
fall could have killed me, but I was...lucky."
The arm closest to her was a suntanned brown, well-
muscled and remarkably free of wounds. His hands were
still firmly clasped together, which surely wouldn’t be
possible if the other arm had a hole blown in it. Maybe it
was her ghost who was mad, not she.
"Why don’t you just shout for help?"
"As I explained before, I can’t take the risk. Someone is
out to get me. If they think I’m still alive, they’ll just
find me and finish the job."
A chill ran through her. "It could have been an accident."
"No."
She closed her eyes at the soft certainty in his
voice. "If I come to help you, my life could be in danger."
"How would they know you’re there to help me? You’d just
be another tourist passing by."
The sudden weariness in his voice made her look at him.
His form had faded slightly, merging with the night.
Something was wrong, something more than the fact he’d
been shot. And she sensed he wouldn’t tell her what. "Who
do you mean by they?"
"I’m not exactly sure. But someone in this town knew why I
was here, and they moved pretty swiftly to get rid of me."
"Then tell me what town you’re in, and why you’re there."
If he was going to continue haunting her, she should at
least try to understand a little more about him.
He stared at her, then shook his head. "How many times do
I have to repeat myself before you believe in me?"
His voice held an edge of desperation that made her wince.
Yet last night she’d been too busy trying to convince
herself he was nothing more than a vivid dream to really
listen to anything he said. "You mentioned some town—
Sherbrook, wasn’t it?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if battling to remain
calm. "Sherbrook is the name of the inn. The place is
Taurin Bay."
An odd sense of foreboding ran through her. Evan had
attended a school camp in Taurin Bay not so long ago.
Jayne had gone along as cook and chief pot-washer. "That
force you said was driving you to me—was it male or
female?"
"Male." He paused, eyes narrowing. "Why?"
Evan—something told her it was Evan. Maddie licked her
lips and wondered if she should call her sister—or was she
just worrying over nothing again?
"Maddie, what’s wrong?"
She stared at him blankly for a moment. "My sister has a
thirteen year old son called Evan. Both of them were in
Taurin Bay last month."
"Damn!" Jon ran a hand through his hair, then abruptly
walked forward, stopping only when his knees touched the
side of her bed.
He was close, so close. She could see the rise and fall of
his chest, felt the whisper of his breath wash across her
skin. Could smell him, a faint scent of cologne mixed with
hints of earth and sweat. But he wasn’t real, damn it!
"In the last eight months, sixteen teenagers have been
taken from their homes and haven’t been seen alive again.
In each case, no locks or windows were disturbed. And each
time, the teenager was taken on the next full moon after
their families returned from Taurin Bay."
Her heart leapt. She raised a hand to her throat and tried
to remain calm. "Evan is safe at home. This is ridiculous."
"Someone is drawing me here, Madeline. Someone who knows
he’s in danger. You’re the connection between us. Tonight
is a full moon. Go call your sister."
She scrambled off the bed and ran to the bedroom door.
Then she hesitated, looking back at Jon. He hadn’t moved,
but his body had faded, losing its shape to the darkness.
Only his blue eyes were still bright.
"Go call her," he said. "Then come to me. Save me."
Maddie turned away from his plea, though she knew he
wouldn’t be there when she returned. She ran down the hall
to the phone in the kitchen, turning on lights as she
went. Somehow, the darkness seemed too intense to face
alone.
Fingers trembling, she picked up the phone and dialed
Jayne’s number. It seemed to ring forever. Maddie bit her
lip, hoping nothing had happened, hoping that Evan was in
bed and safe.
"Hello?" a croaky, half-asleep voice said eventually.
"Jayne, it’s me," she said without preamble. "Is Evan
there? Is he all right?"
There was a slight pause, and Maddie could hear the rustle
of blankets as her sister shifted around in her bed. "Of
course he is. Why?"
Because I’m a fool, because a ghost told me he may be in
danger. "Humor your little sister and just go check, will
you?"
Jayne sighed. "Maddie, have you been drinking again?"
Maddie closed her eyes. Whenever Jayne thought she had a
problem, she always asked the same question—even though it
had been six years and ten days since Maddie had last had
a drink. Not since the fire that had taken her husband’s
life, she thought with a shiver. The experts had never
found an explanation for that fire, though they had
theories aplenty. Maddie knew the truth, but she wasn’t
about to tell anyone—not even her sister.
She cleared her throat. "No. I had a dream, and I want to
reassure myself he’s all right."
"For God’s sake, it’s after two." Annoyance ran through
Jayne’s voice, but at least she was still listening. At
least she hadn’t yet slammed the phone down.
"I’m well aware of the time. It will only take a minute to
check on Evan. Please."
"I guess I damn well better," her sister muttered. "Or
you’ll be calling all night again."
Maddie heard Steve, Jayne’s husband, murmur something
about weird sisters, then the squeak of springs as Jayne
got out of bed. Maddie grimaced, hoping she was just being
weird. Hoping Jon wasn’t right. She stared out the kitchen
window as she waited, watching the snow flurries dance
across her yard. Then she heard the sound of returning
footsteps, and felt her stomach knot. Please let Evan be
safe.
"Evan’s sound asleep in bed, Maddie." Jayne’s voice was a
mix of exasperation and annoyance. "And by the sound of
it, so should you be."
This time Jayne did hang up on her, but Maddie didn’t
mind. Jon had been wrong. Evan was okay. She replaced the
receiver then thrust a shaking hand through her hair as
she sagged back against the wall in relief. Maybe Jayne
was right. Maybe all she needed was a good night’s sleep—
something that had eluded her ever since her world had
disappeared into flames.
She closed her eyes, fighting the memories, fighting the
sudden need to wash the pain into oblivion with a drink.
That chapter of her life was over. She would not return,
even through memories. And if Jon did come back, she’d
tell him to go find someone else to tell his weird story
to. She wasn’t interested—not if the cost was to make her
sister think she was stranger than ever.
***
His only chance of survival was a woman afraid of life.
Jon shook his head at the irony of it and leaned wearily
against the cold stone wall of the well. He’d seen the
fear in the amber flame of her eyes, in the tremble in her
hands as she ran her fingers through her chestnut-colored
hair. She was afraid to move from the safety of her home.
And he would die if she didn’t.
He smiled grimly and stared up at the pale stars twinkling
in the dark bracket of sky far above him.
How he wished he could fly, simply wing his way up out of
the well to freedom. But he couldn’t even climb with his
arm like this. He glanced down, noting his flesh had
swollen around the handkerchief he’d tied across his
forearm.
Someone had shot him, but not with a gun, as Madeline had
presumed. Someone in Taurin Bay knew what he was. They’d
used arrows made of white ash, a weapon deadly to those
with magic in their souls.
He’d broken off most of the shaft, but a section was still
embedded in his flesh, and probably the only reason he
hadn’t yet bled to death.
Oddly enough, he felt no pain. Not now, anyway. Maybe it
was the cold. Maybe it was the numbness beginning to
infuse his body. Or maybe he was as thick-skinned as many
of his friends believed.
He grimaced and closed his eyes. He’d thought about dying
many times in his life, but he never thought it would come
like this—lying helpless and alone in the cold, cold night.
And yet, in some ways, it was oddly fitting. He’d spent
most of his adult life alone, so why not die the same way?
He wouldn’t have cared much, either, if he’d had the
chance to see his family one more time and explain why
he’d avoided them so much over the last ten years.
An owl hooted softly in the distance. He listened
carefully, then heard the soft snap of wings, the small
cry of a field mouse. If the owls were out looking for a
meal, it meant there was no one about to disturb their
hunting. And therefore, no one about hunting him. Trapped
down this damn well, he’d be easy pickings. A day had
passed since he’d been shot. By all rights, he should be
safe, but he’d learned over the years never to relax his
guard.
Had learned the hard way that should be safe never meant
it was.
He toed the water lapping the edges of the small ledge.
The water had been his salvation in more ways than one—it
had broken his fall and, no doubt, saved his life. And it
was drinkable, which meant he wasn’t in any danger of
dehydration. But it might yet kill him, too. His abilities
gave him some protection against the cold, but he knew he
was starting to push his limits. His plunge into the water
had soaked every bit of his clothing, and now he was so
cold it hurt to move.
If Madeline did find the courage to come to his rescue,
she might discover nothing more than a five-foot-ten
icicle.
Madeline—what was he going to do about her? How could he
convince her she was sane and he really needed her help?
What had happened in her life that made her so afraid?
A wave of dizziness hit him. There was nothing he could do
except ride out the feeling. He probably had enough
strength left to contact her one more time. If he couldn’t
convince her to help him, he’d just have to hope that
someone in the Circle realized he was in trouble and came
to his rescue.
Because if someone didn’t, more kids would die.
***
The snow had turned to rain, which fell in a soaking mist.
Rivers of water were beginning to run past the house,
scouring tiny trenches along the freshly graded driveway.
The tops of the cedars, claret ashes and silver birches
that crowded the fence line were lost to the mist, and
though dawn should have come and gone, night still seemed
to hold court.
Maddie raised the coffee mug she held between both hands
and took a sip. The wind was bitter, but the wide old
verandah protected her from the worst of the storm. and
her threadbare coat kept her warm enough for the moment.
She couldn’t face going indoors just yet. The old house
was too big, too full of ghosts...
Except for one.
She sighed and leaned back against a veranda post. She
couldn’t shake Jon from her thoughts. Couldn’t shake the
desperation she’d glimpsed in his eyes.
What if he wasn’t a ghost, but alive and in dire need of
her help?
She sipped her coffee and stared out across the snow-flung
wilderness of her yard. In a last ditch effort to salvage
her life, she’d bought this house and its untamed three
acres six years ago. It had become her haven, the one
place she felt truly safe. She had no real wish to be
anywhere else. The flowers she raised in the barn she’d
converted to a greenhouse made small luxuries possible,
and she had enough money invested to see her through the
hard times. Even Jayne had given up her efforts to get
Maddie back into what she called ‘mainstream’ life.
Maddie chewed on her lip. The question she had to face was
simple. Could she simply stand by and let Jon die?
If she believed he was real, then the answer was no. That
was the crux of the matter. Part of her was afraid to
believe, part of her afraid not to. She took another sip
of coffee and shivered as the wind ran icy fingers ran
across the back of her neck.
Then she stiffened. Something told her she was no longer
alone. Slowly, she turned.
Jon stood several feet away, his face as pale as the snow
behind him, blue eyes still bright despite the shadows
beneath them. He looked like death, and the thought
chilled her soul.
"What can I do to make you believe me?" he asked softly.
There was a hoarseness to his voice that had not been
evident a few hours before, an edge of weariness and pain
that tore at her need to stay safe.
"Maybe it’s not a case of me believing you. Maybe it’s
just a case of knowing I can’t help you."
He ran a hand through his hair and looked away, appearing
to study the silvery drops dripping steadily from a hole
in the gutter. "Then you have killed me as surely as those
who shot me," he whispered after a moment.
"No!" She closed her eyes. How could she ever survive the
weight of another death, whether or not it was her
fault? "Isn’t there someone I could contact, maybe a
friend in a better position to help?"
"My companions live in Washington, and my time is running
out." He looked at her. "You’re my only chance, Madeline.
Please."
Something in his eyes made her want to reach out and touch
him. She clenched her fingers around her coffee cup and
turned away, knowing she had to react with her mind—not
with her emotions, and definitely not with her heart. They
had only led her to tragedy in the past.
"Why won’t they suspect me?"
"You are…ordinary."
Ordinary. She almost laughed at the bitter irony of it.
How often had she heard that in the past? No one suspected
the truth, not even her sister.
"Madeline, I don’t mean—"
"It doesn’t matter," she said, turning to face him. "I
can’t change what I am. Nor can I deny I’m afraid. But I
just can’t run off wildly without some proof."
He sighed. "I’m in no position to prove anything to
anyone."
Mist drifted around him, darkening his hair where it
touched. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel
the heat of his body, to hold him close and caress away
the lines of pain from his face. Maybe I am insane. I want
to touch this ghost in ways I never touched my husband.
Shaking her head, she stepped away from him.
Something flickered in his blue eyes, and a slight grimace
twisted his generous mouth. It was almost as if he’d
sensed the reason for her fear. But that’s ridiculous—he’s
a ghost, not a mind reader. The sharp ring of the
telephone interrupted the heavy silence. Maddie glanced at
her watch and frowned. It was barely seven—who would be
ringing her at this hour? She headed inside to answer it,
then hesitated, meeting Jon’s steady gaze.
"We won’t meet again," he murmured. He reached out, as if
to touch her cheek then let his hand fall. "For that, I’m
sorry. Stay safe, Madeline."
"No..." Maddie watched him fade until there was nothing
left but the warmth of his voice in her thoughts.
She closed her eyes and fought the rise of tears. Damn it,
why should she cry for a ghost, when she hadn’t cried for
her husband? She bit her lip and watched the mist swirl
around the spot where he’d stood. Maybe because Jon had
shown her more warmth in the few hours she’d known him
than Brian had ever shown in the six years they were
married.
The insistent ringing broke through her thoughts. She took
a deep breath then ran down the length of the verandah to
the back door, fleeing her thoughts as much as running for
the phone.
Slamming the back door open, she snatched the receiver
from the hook and struggled to get her boots off. "Hello?"
"Maddie?"
She froze. It was Jayne...Oh lord, let Evan be safe. Yet
the note in her sister’s voice told her something was
terribly wrong. "What is it?"
"It’s Evan," Jayne sobbed. "He’s disappeared, Maddie. Just
gone… without a trace."