Page 15

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.

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.

* * *