Page 91 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse

She hesitated at the door that led to the attic bedrooms. It was open, the hallway dark, the rooms dark as well. “Pete?” she whispered.

No answer.

This was ridiculous. She was chasing a ghost. Literally.

Another clang from above jerked Shea’s attention back to the dark, unlit lantern. She took a few more hesitant steps beforefreezing, her hand gripping the railing, white-knuckled and tense.

Humming.

The melodic sound of a woman’s soft hum drifted from the lighthouse, wrapping itself around the stairwell and embracing Shea in a hypnotic hold.

“...soul my soul...” it sang, taunting and chilling Shea.

The wind outside picked up, the lighthouse moaning against the unexpected stress of the lake’s breath on its frame.

Shea knew then. She knew it was not over.

There was one more person she must face to find the answers that haunted her. The answers that had woven themselves into Shea’s soul and bound her to this place. The answers that mocked her belief of what love was and her loyalty to herself and to Pete. The answers that convinced Shea that the past would always be very much alive because the past echoed through the lives of its offspring and continued on. Curses that didn’t die when a grave was backfilled. Wrongs that weren’t concluded when the water drowned the body and sank it to its depths.

Shea had to face Annabel’s ghost.

She took another step upward into the lighthouse.

This ghost would be faced in the dark.

36

REBECCA

Of my darling...

Annabel Lee

ANNABEL’S LIGHTHOUSE

SPRING, 1874

“WHERE IS IT?”Mercer’s hand connected with Rebecca’s cheek, and she tasted blood as her lip was cut by her teeth.

She knew. She remembered now. She could tell him exactly where she’d hidden the damning papers and the map. But to tell would be to ensure the success of Hilliard, and he would only continue to take advantage of those less fortunate.

Rebecca had witnessed it her entire life. She had seen Hilliard trample others for selfish reasons. She’d carried the weight of his fabricated love for her as his daughter in the public eye, andthen his hateful disdain for her as the girl he believed was not his own when they were home alone and in private.

She tilted her chin, summoning courage from God and from the images of Abel and Edgar and Niina in her mind. Summoning courage from the fluttering of the babe in her womb.

Bear hauled Rebecca up from the chair, spouting a vile name for her. Her arms were yanked back so hard that she cried out in pain. She could not balance on her own with her feet bound, so Bear held her while Mercer went nose to nose with her. She could sense the seething power that emanated from his eyes. The man was consumed by the desire for it, and it had been bestowed on him by Hilliard. Mercer would take full advantage.

His hand shot up to grab her chin, his fingers biting into her skin. “I will make you tell me where you hid the papers, and your suffering will mean nothing to me.”

Spit dotted her face as Mercer dug his fingers into her cheeks.

Rebecca whimpered.

He chuckled low in his throat. “You are nothing to your father. He will say you were lost in the wilderness, that the wolves must have eaten you. You will disappear, and that pretend husband of yours can weep for a day and then move on with his life. You save no one by staying silent—so save yourself!” Mercer whipped Rebecca’s head to the side as he shoved her face away.

If she were brave, she would have raised her throbbing face to him and glared into his eyes. As it was, Rebecca was terrified.

Remember Abel.