Reborn
Author: Aiden James
Date: 2013-07-25 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Paranormal; Paranormal Romance
Description: "The Serendipitous Curse of Solomon Brandt is seriously cool, and another winner for Aiden James! This time he teams up with the talented Lisa Collicutt--and what a fantastic team it is!" ~J.R. Rain, Bestselling author of Moon River and Silent Echo Since the Civil War, the name Solomon Brandt, has been reviled, a painful reminder to all descendants of the slaves the wicked plantation owner cruelly tortured. When a man bearing this cursed name stumbles into the heart of Savannah and its storied history, he can't help but attract the attention of the locals in the know. A seemingly kindhearted a
Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press

A Division of Whampa, LLC
P.O. Box 2160
Reston, VA 20195
Tel/Fax: 800-998-2509
http://curiosityquills.com

© 2013 Aiden James & Lisa Collicutt
http://aidenjamesfiction.com
http://darkedgedromance.blogspot.ca

Cover by Eugene Teplitsky

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information about Subsidiary Rights, Bulk Purchases, Live Events, or any other questions - please contact Curiosity Quills Press at info@curiosityquills.com, or visit http://curiosityquills.com

ISBN 978-1-62007-290-5 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-62007-291-2 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-62007-292-9 (hardcover)

"The Serendipitous Curse: Reborn is seriously cool, and another winner for Aiden James! This time he teams up with the talented Lisa Collicutt--and what a fantastic team it is!" ~J.R. Rain, Bestselling author of Moon River and Silent Echo

1. Start Reading

2. A Taste of: The Serendipitous Curse: Reviled (next book in the series)

3. A Taste of: The Judas Reflections: Curse of Stigmata

4. A Taste of: The Gathering Darkness
5. About the Author: Aiden James
6. About the Author: Lisa Collicutt
7. More Books from Curiosity Quills Press
8. Full Table of Contents

“To the love of my life, Fiona. Without her passion for the rich history of the Deep South, and in particular, Savannah, Georgia, this magical story might never have come to fruition. She is forever my muse and inspiration.”

~Aiden James

“For Justin, my son, and the most important person in my life.”

~Lisa Collicutt

n explosion shook the ground—maybe the world. Senses returned, and with them… pain.

A blinding light carried me to the unknown. Commotion circled me, confused me. Searing pain swept through and over my body. Between matted straggles of dark hair, I watched a thick cloud of gray dust settle on the strange scene in front of me. When I tried to move, I felt heavy… battered… ripped apart.

People yelled.

“What the fuck?” said a man wearing a yellow hat, while brushing debris off his chest and arms.

“Who is this asshole?” said another, picking himself off the ground, holding the same type of hat, his body also covered in dirt.

With their looks of disgust pinned on me, I realized immediately I was the asshole they spoke of. With all the strength I could muster, I unlatched my fingers from the mane of a white horse I lay upon and straightened up.

Excalibur.

I didn’t know how I knew the horse’s name—I just did. But who was I? Where was I? And why did I feel bashed and beaten?

A cool breeze sailed over my skin, alerting me to my nakedness. The light pressure of the wind caused me to grimace and moan. I tore my gaze from the seemingly confused and angry group of men and looked upon myself. Through the filth covering hard muscle, bright crimson gashes were visible. With a movement that caused me more grief, I brushed dirt-crusted lines of blood off one arm and blinked dust from my eyes.

Excalibur lifted his head and neighed. Particles of dirt slid down his coat. His action caused sharp pains to shoot into my groin, pressed against the horse’s warm back.

One of the men broke from the agitated group and shifted closer. He stopped a few feet from me, gave the horse a look of unease, then looked up. A layer of dirt covered his deeply tanned body and filled in the squint lines around his eyes. “Hey, are you drunk?”

Was I drunk? After brief consideration, I decided I was not drunk, although I wished I were and that this scene was all a bad dream.

The guy spit to the left of him. “You got a name?”

The horse gave a soft nicker and turned, facing me in another direction. Instinctively, I flattened my hand on its neck to calm it. In front of me, near the edge of the debris-littered road, a white ornate sign, framed in gold, hung from two posts. Welcome Home to Solomon Brandt Estates, written in black script, stuck out at me from inside the frame.

“The idiot doesn’t know his own name,” belted another voice from the crowd.

“I-I’m… Solomon Brandt.” The weak rasp of my voice sounded unfamiliar. My seared throat begged for liquid.

Laughter rang throughout the circle of bystanders that formed around Excalibur and me.

“Yeah, sure you are. And I’m Abraham fucking Lincoln,” said someone else.

More laughter.

Their jesting didn’t divert my focus, however. My gaze was plastered to the name on the sign. My name. I was certain of it.

“Hey, Frank, did you call the cops?”

“Yeah, they’re on their way.

The guy called Frank removed his white hat, similar to the yellow ones, and raked a hand through his flaxen hair. “You’re gonna pay for the damage to that sewer line, asshole.”

After managing to work a wad of spit, flavored with dirt and blood, down my parched throat, I turned toward him and answered in a stronger voice. “What is a sewer line?”

The grin Frank sported was a sign of trouble—I knew that much.

The muscles in my chest twitched under the lacerations, adding to the sting. Excalibur pawed at the flat, strange-looking ground. Even though I sat upon a horse, I could tell I was a good six inches taller than the guy glaring up at me, and broader. Although the muscles in his arms bulged from whatever he had been doing, I somehow knew I could snuff out his life with one blow, in my best form. But I wasn’t in good form, and I had to find out why.

A squeal like nothing I’d ever heard before pierced my eardrums. My mount crouched on its hind legs. With a white-knuckled grip on the horse’s mane, and my knees pressed hard against its sides, I clung to the beast beneath me, as his front hooves lifted and his upper body reared.

The screeching grew louder, and my heartbeat drummed against my chest wall, as I fought to hang on to Excalibur—my lifeline.

The crowd parted, and through the break burst a shiny, white, motorized vehicle, with swirling red and blue lights on top.

With a jolt to my entire body, the horse landed on all fours.

A man and a woman, wearing some sort of identical uniform, exited the vehicle and swaggered toward me. My gaze drifted over the strange-looking couple, until it landed on a handgun in a holster fastened to the woman’s belt.

Powerless as I was, my urge to flee the lynch mob suddenly grew stronger. With amused expressions, the uniformed couple stopped a few feet from my mount, closing the gap in the circle. As the man opened his mouth to speak, I leaned forward and spoke low into Excalibur’s ear.

“Run.”

Without hesitation, Excalibur reared once more before lunging at two men, who sprang to the side, creating a tight opening in the circle. The horse dashed between the frantic-looking people, then veered right and jumped a white picket fence.

The force of the wind stung my skin as Excalibur carried me up an oak-lined driveway toward an enormous white house with a row of huge columns across the front. For a fleeting moment, I felt as if he was taking me home. Familiarity picked away at my brain as we hurtled up the drive closer to the mansion. As familiar as the structure and sweeping grounds seemed, the place also looked foreign, leaving me more confused than ever.

When we rounded the side, leaving the cool shade of the oaks behind, an expanse of well-trimmed lawn, with paths laid out in rose bushes, lay before me. The sun beat down on my exposed skin as Excalibur galloped through the floral labyrinth, as if he knew exactly where he traveled to.

Shouts from the mob carried across the breeze, then diminished altogether as we neared the woods edging the back field. But Excalibur didn’t slow until we were well hidden amongst the moss-covered trees in the dense forest. I loosened my grip on the mane and straightened, flexing my cramped fingers.

The inside of my thighs chafed against the horse’s hide, and I was sure, by the bouncing I received on our escape, my most sensitive areas would be blue and blistered. But despite the agony, I remained on my mount, for I knew nothing else.

A canopy of twisted branches shaded us from the sun as Excalibur wove his way through the old forest. Before long, a chill settled over me, awakening wounds, transforming misery to new heights. But the unbearable thirst soon overpowered all other conditions that assailed my body, heightening my sense of survival. There had to be a water hole, a puddle, somewhere in this damp, mossy shelter.

With little strength left, I hunched over the horse, closed my eyes and focused on the sounds surrounding me. Overhead, the canopy of leaves rustled softly, and then stilled altogether. Small birds chirped somewhere in the distance, and sticks snapped beneath the weight of the stallion. These things, along with my raspy breathing, and a low snort now and then from Excalibur, kept me company.

The sweet scents of honeysuckle and magnolia carried through the forest and settled under my nose. Although their perfume blended together in the air, I could distinctly pick each apart, as if embedded in a memory. A warm lull blanketed me, tranquilizing my body and spirit.

Maybe the end was at hand—my last few breaths.

As I flitted in and out of consciousness, hoping death would soon take me, darkness crept in, ripping away the blanket of comfort, and seeping into each of my wounds like salt. Moaning hurt my throat. The dark shadow stretched over the forest, bringing with it raw coldness; its musty, earthy scent swallowed all that was good. My goose bumped skin came alive, and I knew death had eluded me once again.

And that made me angry.

Despite my parched throat and the agony I knew yelling would cause, I lifted my head in the air, pulling the veins in my neck, and forced out a noise that sounded like something between a roar and a growl. Feeling more satisfied than I had imagined, I repositioned my grip on the mane and dug my heels into the horse’s sides.

Excalibur picked up speed, weaving through the trees that I could barely make out traveling at this speed. But the darkness traveled with us. If I didn’t know better, I would think dusk had fallen upon us—in a hurry. But by the position of the sun in the sky before we entered the woods, it could not be much past midday.

As we rode through the darkening forest, my wounds sizzled and bled as if sharp tree limbs raked over my skin, reopening them. Trails of blood ran down my body, dripping on the white beast I sat on.

Just when I thought I would go insane, we broke into a rocky clearing and back under the afternoon sun, leaving the mysterious shadow, and all its foreboding, behind. The bleeding stopped, along with the latest batch of pain. I tilted my face toward the bright globe in the sky, set my shoulders back, puffed out my chest, and took a deep breath, feeling the welcomed warmth wrap around my body.

When I checked over my shoulder, the forest behind me seemed as tranquil as when we had entered it. But although the darkness had disappeared, I felt the evil lurking nearby, waiting for its chance to swallow me.

I swept my gaze over the new terrain. Nothing about the clearing looked familiar. But something had to stick out. I had to belong somewhere. I couldn’t have just appeared on a horse in the middle of a street I had never seen before, half dead, and with no memory of my identity, no memories of anything before an hour ago.

My gaze fell to the back of the horse’s head, the spot between his tall pointed ears.

“Who am I?” I said, patting one side of his regal neck. “You know, don’t you, boy?”

Excalibur replied with a soft nicker.

“I’m Solomon,” I answered back with a nod. “Solomon Brandt.”

alfway across the clearing, a pulsing wail—the same dreadful sound that came from the white vehicle—shattered the silence. Before I could nudge him, Excalibur picked up speed and headed for the hills looming ahead. As I bounced on the horse’s back, gritting my teeth, as if that helped the pain any, I searched the area, but other than various sized boulders and shrubbery, nothing stuck out. However, I still had the feeling of being chased.

They searched for me, whoever they were.

The piercing sound screaming danger chased us as the pebbled ground beneath turned lush and green and we began to ascend. Excalibur soon found a path that took us into the hills where low-lying trees provided airy shelter from the sun, as well as refuge from our pursuers, wherever they were. The loudness of the siren lessened.

From the summit of the first hill, I could make out, in the far distance, the tops of buildings—strange-looking structures with shiny silver domes, equal in height with the surrounding trees. Maybe I lived there. The mansion we rode past on our escape from the lynch mob flashed in my head. The place had felt like home for a moment, yet foreign, all at the same time.

As we rode on, the landscape turned into a wooded area, less dense than the last forest. The siren had either stopped, or we had enough distance between us; I couldn’t hear the heart-pounding noise anymore. Weariness settled upon me again, and my head began to droop, when Excalibur’s ears perked up. I heard the noise at the same time he did—frogs. Hope filled me, temporarily dousing the agony. Where there were croaking amphibians, there would be water. Excalibur twisted his way through a web of alders, leading me closer to the glorious sound. A few minutes later, we came to a stream, lined with rocks and mossy banks. Excalibur stopped for the first time since fleeing the mob and pawed at the ground.

I hadn’t really thought about dismounting until now. Excalibur neighed softly, as if feeding me a line of encouragement, or maybe he, too, wanted a drink of the life-sustaining liquid.

“Okay. Have some patience,” I said.

Using my hands, I lifted my right leg over the horse’s back until I sat side saddle, and then slid down his side. But when my feet hit the ground, I collapsed to my knees with a groan. But pain didn’t matter in that moment. I crawled over moss until I reached—gold.

Excalibur and I drank together. I filled my grimy hands and brought the cool offering to my parched lips. The refreshing water, rushing down my throat, revitalized me as I sucked the liquid back as fast as I could scoop it up. Then, despite the cold, I positioned myself so that I sat on the edge of the stream, and hung my feet in the water.

As I lay back on the moss, I heard something that shot a jolt of fear through me. I sprang back into a sitting position.

The sound came from a woman… She was singing. I held perfectly still, as did Excalibur. Then the voice ended abruptly, followed by bushes rustling. I jumped to my feet, expecting my knees to give out, but they didn’t. Frantic, I flicked my gaze to the horse. Panic set in as I wondered how I would get on his back. I was a tall human, but he was a tall stallion. He lowered his head until our eyes became level with each other’s. The lustrous honey flecks stood out against the browns of his irises, as he stared at me. Then he did something I didn’t expect. He nudged me in the shoulder, and again, until I made a half-turn.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

Whether he ignored me, or this was his answer, I didn’t know, but he snorted and nudged me again, this time between the shoulder blades. I took a step in the direction he pushed me in and glanced back.

I nodded toward some bushes, and what appeared to be a path worn between them.

“This way? Do you want me to go this way?” I walked as I spoke.

Excalibur followed close behind.

I was deep into the path and about to take another step when I heard something that sounded scarily familiar—a click.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the barrel of a rifle, pointed at the side of my head. Suddenly, I didn’t want to die. I stared straight ahead, sucked in my chest, and held back the next breath. Excalibur must have stopped breathing, too, he was so quiet behind me, or maybe he had taken off, after he led me to my doom.

“One more step and I’ll blow your brains all over your white-ass body.”

The fact that this was a threatening woman’s voice surprised me. Keen senses I didn’t know I had until then kicked in. In a flash, I grabbed the gun’s barrel and yanked it from her grasp. The gun felt light, although I didn’t know what I compared it to.

Now in control, I turned the weapon on her, but quickly lowered my defenses when I saw a petite, middle-aged woman crouched before me, her brown hands held out in front of her shocked expression.

“Tell me your name.” I issued the command in a deep, strong voice, surprising myself.

When she didn’t answer, I said, “Why do you stare?”

“Wh-why do I stare?” Her hands flew to her hips, rattling the many gold wires she wore around her wrists. She straightened, glaring at me, as if she just decided she wasn’t afraid. “Huh, maybe because there’s a naked, psycho, body builder on my land. And he’s holding the gun on me that I should be holding on him. Maybe that’s why I stare.”

Her brazen tone threw me off guard, and I lowered the gun, wincing as the tension left my shoulder.

She flashed me a look of disgust.

“Why are you on my land?” she asked, turning the situation back in her favor.

As she spoke, her wide-eyed gaze traveled down my body, reminding me once again of my nakedness. But I didn’t move. This was her land, not mine. I was the trespasser, not her.

“I search for my home,” I said.

Her eyes narrowed. “You were searching, huh? What’s your name?”

After a brief hesitation, I answered, “Solomon.” I scanned the bush on either side of her. “What is this place?”

“The woods?”

“No. The area?”

She narrowed her gaze on me further and answered slowly, “Savannah… Georgia.

Savannah. Georgia. Something about the place sounded comforting.

I considered giving her back the gun as a gesture of trust—I needed someone on my side—I needed food, clothing. But I had to find out more, and if I simply gave her the gun, she might turn it on me again. I couldn’t risk it.

“Woman, is there a—”

“Woman?”

She looked like she might jump me. The intensity of her glare pushed me back a step, making me trip over a tree root. I stumbled and fell, opening a gash on the outside of my leg. Excalibur back-stepped out of the way. It was then this feisty woman seemed to notice the horse.

“Who are you?” she asked him in a surprised tone.

I wasn’t sure if she expected him to answer or not.

“This is Excalibur,” I said pushing myself to my feet. Warm blood trickled down my leg. “And I already told you, I am Solomon.”

Glaring sideways at the horse, she took a few steps backward. “Y-yes. You did.” Her gaze fell to the fresh blood on my leg. “Praise the Lord. You need a doctor.” She glanced at Excalibur again, then back to me. “Do you have a pack… with some clothes in it? Some I.D., maybe?”

I held my hand out toward Excalibur. “I have only the horse, and I don’t know for certain that he is mine.”

“And you really don’t know where you came from?”

“I seem to have forgotten, and I shall appreciate any help in the matter of finding out.”

“Really, hmm,” she said low, as if she spoke to herself. She took a moment to consider something, while drumming the fingers of one hand on her hip. After a deep breath, she said, “Okay, come with me. I’ll get you some clothes, and drive you to a hospital, but that’s as far as my goodwill goes, you got that?”

“Thank you…”

“Melba,” she said.

“Melba,” I repeated.

She untied a pink scarf that had been wound three times around her neck and held it out to me.

I looked at the garment, confused.

A blush of red peeked through the brown skin on her cheeks, and she closed her eyes and looked away. “Take it and cover yourself up.”

It was only after the scarf was in my hand that she peered at me from between two fingers.

I looked at the silky offering draped over my fingers, then back at her.

She did an eye-roll thing, snatched the scarf back, then wound it around my waist, tying the loose ends at my hip, all the while her head tilted upward.

When she finished covering me, she turned toward the path and said, “This way.”

My companion and I followed.

Although Melba was tiny, she walked with confidence, her back straight, and her stride strong. She wore her trousers and shirt loose, covering any curves she might have had, and her black silky curls bounced on her shoulders. Her appearance seemed strange to me, but how would I know what was or wasn’t strange, since I did not know otherwise. Yet, although she acted tough, she seemed refined, educated—out of place for… for a woman of color.

She never once looked back to see if I still followed, or if I was about to hit her over the head with something—I still held the gun.

A few minutes later, a familiar and welcome scent wafted past me in a teasing manner as we left the trees behind and walked into a yard. The perfume of peach and magnolia blossoms, swaying on a light breeze, greeted me, welcomed me, and somehow, foretold of spring. I could almost taste their sweet nectar on my tongue. A vision of hot peach pie, cooling on a sill, tugged at my memories. An image of a tiny, older woman of mixed race, similar to Melba, and wearing a flour-dusted apron, appeared in a haze in front of me. I tried with all my might to look past her, to see her surroundings, but like a snap, a sharp noise dissolved the haze, and the vision ended.

The siren blared again, growing louder by the second.

“They’re back,” I whispered, stopping in my tracks, halfway across the yard.

Melba turned, suspicion evident on her features. With her honey brown-eyed glare and matching skin tone, I realized she was indeed a mixture of races, not black or white, but somewhere in between, just like the woman in my vision.

The siren grew louder.

“You mean…” Her gaze widened. “Are you in trouble with the law?”

“No. Maybe… I don’t know.” I gave an honest answer.

Anxiety rushed through me. I was in trouble with the law. I had to be. Were those strangely-uniformed people the law?

After shaking her head and saying, “Why me?” while looking at the sky, she grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward one of the two small buildings that sat this side of a white bungalow.

Just as the blaring vehicle pulled into the driveway out front, Melba opened the wide door of what appeared to be a shed and shoved me inside. “You and,” she gave the horse a look of unease, “your friend can hide here. I’ll get rid of the cops.”

She shut the door on us. Through a crack in a board, I watched as Melba picked up a basket filled with peach blossoms, fussed with her hair, then headed at a fast pace toward the people she called “cops.”

With the distance between us and the breeze hissing through the gaps in the boarded walls, I couldn’t make out what they spoke of. But the cops got back inside their vehicle and left.

Melba came back in a flash.

“They were looking for a drunk, naked man in his mid-twenties, riding a horse.” She raised her thin eyebrows in question.

So I wasn’t very old, about half the age Melba looked. “What did you tell them?”

“I gave them a laugh, and then said I would be on the look-out.”

She wasn’t laughing now.

“I-I’m not drunk.”

“I can see that. But you are naked.” Her gaze fell to the bulging scarf I wore. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were the product of some college prank. But somehow, frat boy doesn’t fit your mannerisms. Are you sure you didn’t jump off the cover of a romance novel?” She gave an airy laugh, and then waved her hand in the air. “Forget I said that.”

“Forgotten.”

Melba spoke strangely. But she seemed trustworthy. She hid me from my pursuers. I had to believe she would help me… remember.

“I suspect you’re hungry?”

I gave her a nod. “Food would be appreciated, ma’am.”

With a laugh, Melba said, “Ma’am?” Then she looked at the ceiling and said, “Lord, what have you got in store for me?”

She stepped outside into the sunlight. “I’ll be back later. I have some things to take care of first.”

Excalibur ventured outside with Melba. He stopped to dine on the uncut clover growing alongside the shed.

“And you,” Melba held a pointed finger to him. “Don’t you touch a blossom on those trees! And stay hidden!”

Excalibur nickered in answer, and then resumed munching clover.

“That’s a fine looking Arabian.”

“Arabian?” I had no clue as to what she meant.

“Your horse. He’s an Arabian, isn’t he?” When I didn’t answer, she continued. “When I was young, there was a farm twenty miles from here that bred Arabian stallions. I always liked their regal look, compared to the old mare we had.”

I took her word for it, since she seemed to know more about everything than I did.

Inside the shed, I found something that looked like a large, green canvas, folded into a square. I opened the stiff object and spread it out on the dirt floor, then looked around for a pillow-type object. A large, shiny bag with the words potting soil printed on the side looked like a fair choice. When I had everything in place, I looked down on the make-shift bed, wondering where I’d slept the previous night. Then I glanced over my torn, damaged body and hauled in a deep breath… at least the searing pain in my throat had lessened. I didn’t want to take advantage of my hostess’s hospitality, but I needed rest.

With a groan, I eased onto my back, my head falling into the dent in the bag my fist created, and waited for Melba to return.

eariness from the day’s events took its toll, and my eyelids grew heavy. As I stared at a shovel and a rake spanned across two rafters, and the cobwebs dangling from them, I caught movement from the corner of my eye. A large spider scurried upside-down across the ceiling, stopping at a substantial web in one corner. I watched the arachnid make its way toward a captured fly until my eyes blurred and fell into slits.

The musty scent of earth hovered around me, creating bits of memories to play at the fringes of my mind. The smell of the ground eased into the smell of sweat and blood. Swollen, red lines appeared, crisscrossed, on dark skin. Thick, rusty-scented liquid spilled from bodies like sap from a wounded tree. A feeling of power filled me…

My eyes flew open. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Daylight had turned to dusk sometime during my nightmare. I tried playing the gruesome scene back in my head, but the day’s events quickly took over all other thoughts. My first memory was of sitting on Excalibur in the middle of a broken street, chunks of earth and rock everywhere, everything coated in layers of dust and dirt. Water spewed from the ground to my right—something I hadn’t really focused on before; no wonder, with the angry mob’s verbal attack. Had I caused the destruction? Had the destruction caused the damage to my body?

As I lay there willing myself to remember, my eyes grew heavy again. Staying awake became an effort. I tied focusing on the spider but could barely see the creature in the darkened corner. A throbbing pain, or a sting from a wound, kept me on the alert, enough to keep me from falling asleep again. Outside, swaying tree branches brushed against the side of the shed, keeping a steady beat, giving me something to focus on.

My thoughts wandered to Excalibur. He hadn’t come in when Melba left, and she’d closed the door behind her. A sudden craving to see the stallion bloomed inside me. Wincing, I sat up. My body had grown stiff in the hour or so I lay there. A shadow passed over the glow of sunset that came through the little window, casting me for a moment, in total darkness. I waited for Excalibur to pop his big white head inside. But when he didn’t, a bone-chilling prickle crept under my skin.

The shadow transformed into a dark mist, accumulating at the window, thickening on the sill. Like a nightmarish waterfall, it cascaded down the wall, pooling into a black froth on the ground of the shed. Dusk peeped in above it, enough to see the contrast of the gray sky against the invasion of darkness. My wounds stung, and with the pain came the stark realization that I wasn’t dreaming. An evil presence seeped from the entity and traveled through the shed, creeping across the dirt floor toward me, backing me against a wall.

“Excalibur,” I whispered, but he didn’t answer.

The gloom came nearer. I pushed against the studs in the wall, but I had nowhere to go. The darkness swallowed my feet first, and then my legs, as the creepiness traveled up my body faster than I could move away.

I tried grabbing it, swatting at it as if it was a nest of ants crawling up my legs, but it continued advancing. Standing now, I reached overhead, until my hand came in contact with the shovel. I pulled it down, and with a tight grip on the handle, I swung the makeshift weapon out in an arc in front of me, as if I could swat the emptiness away. When the shadow reached my neck, icy fingers closed around my throat, tightening, twisting my skin in opposite directions until the breath ceased expelling from my lungs. When I thought the veins in my face would burst, a rectangular beam of dusk shot across the floor. A woman screamed. The shadow retreated faster than I’d ever seen anything move.

I drew in a long raspy breath, as my widened gaze met Melba’s—equally as wide. One hand gripped something that hung around her neck. In the other, she carried a load.

“Spirits help me,” she said while tracing invisible signs in the air with her fingers.

After a couple deep breaths, I realized I still held the shovel above my head. I lowered the tool, searching the room as I did. The shadow had retreated the way it came in, the moment Melba opened the door to the shed. Had she seen it?

Exhaustion took its toll. The shovel fell from my trembling hands, and I fell to my knees with such force, a roar of pain escaped me.

Melba fell to the floor beside me. She laid her hand on my shoulder, then immediately retracted it, as if something had bitten her. She fell backward, landing on her behind. With my head fallen forward and sharp pains shooting down my back, I turned my head to the side, enough to see her through my hair.

Her brown skin had paled. The load she’d been carrying scattered on the floor around her. She even seemed to have stopped breathing. Then she sucked in a gust of air and closed her mouth.

“Did you see it?” I asked with a rasp, my shoulders heaving.

Melba snapped out of her contortion of fear.

“A strange, naked man trying to kill me? Yes, I saw it.” Her chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing.

I shook my head. “No. I… you saw it, didn’t you?”

She cradled the hand that touched me in her other, rubbing it gingerly. Then she narrowed her hazel eyes on me. “Only evil has the energy to pass from one soul into another. You’re crossed with it.”

“Evil? What kind of evil?”

“A dark aura surrounds you, Solomon” Her expression softened. “Yet, I feel it has not taken your soul. But something sinister wants it… wants your soul.”

What could want my soul? Whatever Melba spoke of, maybe it had already taken my soul, and my memories with it, and now I was an empty shell of what I once was.

Melba came out of her shock and picked an object off the ground. She flipped a switch at the base of what looked like a lantern, and light beamed from the upper half, casting a warm glow in the small space. After hanging the lantern from a nail on a beam, she picked up a square container, took off the top, and handed it to me.

I examined the contents: cooked chicken, sliced between bread, a piece of frosted cake, and a pear. Then she sat a jug filled with water in front of me, and handed me a tubular container filled with what she called herbed tea.

“Drink the tea first. It’ll sooth your throat and whatever else ails you.” Melba saw me struggle to remove the top. “Turn it.

A burst of hot steam shot up my nose, and with it, a pungent odor spiked with undertones of citrus and mint; all in all, not bad. By the second sip, the rawness in my throat lifted.

While I savored the strange concoction, Melba pulled a small bottle from her trouser pocket. With it, she proceeded to spray a fine mist into the air until the inside of the shed felt almost humid. I couldn’t make out what she mumbled as she sprayed; something about cleansing, and evil spirits.

While she did her thing, I lifted a slice of bread, noticing a white, creamy substance slathered on the inside of the slices.

“Mayo,” Melba said looking down at me in mid-spray, as if I should know. “You’ve had mayonnaise before, right?”

“It’s highly probable,” I decided, and took a bite and then another. The food tasted wonderful, like the first meal I’d ever eaten.

As the last sip of luke-warm tea pushed the last bite of bread and chicken down my throat, Melba pulled a bucket from a corner and sat on it. She toyed back and forth with a strange wooden carving that hung from her neck on a gold chain, and a tiny, red pouch that hung beside it.

“Thank you for the food. I shall pay you once I find my… my—”

“Identity?”

“I guess so.”

“Hmm, the sane thing to do would be to take you to a hospital, where they can have the police check for missing persons, or file a report, or whatever they do.” She leaned forward, letting go of the objects around her neck. “But I fear you need a different kind of protecting, Solomon.”

When she said the name, pertaining to me, adrenaline rushed through me, shooting a thrill along my veins, charging my insides, making me feel stronger. In that moment, I knew without a doubt I was Solomon. Brandt, on the other hand, I had trouble connecting with.

“Brandt.” As I said the name out loud, a shudder tore through me.

“Brandt?” Melba repeated. “Solomon Brandt?” Her eyes narrowed. “That can’t be your name.”

“It is my name.” As I defended the name as my own, I detected a note of authority in my voice that hadn’t been there before.

“Is that so?” Melba said dubiously. “Hmm, you do look sort of like…”

“Like who?”

“No one. I have the strangest feeling about you… Solomon Brandt. You were sent to me for a purpose.” Her gaze fell to the floor, to the left of her, and she spoke almost to herself. “And for some strange reason, I don’t think it would be wise to send you away.”

She bent forward and rummaged through a sack, pulling out a small wooden dish. She took off the wooden cover and stuck her fingers in what looked like dirty grease. Then she proceeded to cover each scratch and gash over my entire body with what she called healing tincture.

“This will warm your skin and deep heal those wounds. The spicy scent also has a calming effect.”

When she had my wounds dressed, she picked up the bundle she’d dropped earlier.

“Here, put these on.” She held up strange-looking undergarments, a plaid shirt, and trousers, then laid them by my feet. “I’ll bring you water for bathing in the morning; the tincture must have time to do its work.”

When Melba turned on the bucket to face the other way, I got the hint and picked up the clothes. The undergarments stretched over my bruised skin, but the trousers and shirt barely fit over my brawn.

“I don’t think they fit,” I said as I tried futilely to stretch the shirt fabric so both ends met. The buttons were at least eight inches from the holes.

Melba spun in a half-circle on the bucket. “Hmm, I’ll have to find something suitable for you to wear.” She looked longingly at the shirt covering my shoulders. “These were my husband’s clothes.”

“Were?”

“He passed nearly fifteen years ago, at just thirty-six.” Moisture pooled at the corners of her eyes as she spoke. “He was cutting down a tree with his chainsaw when a gust of wind came up out of nowhere and pushed the tree in the wrong direction… he died instantly.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yes, well, that was a long time ago, but feels like just yesterday.” A melancholy smile appeared on her face. She lifted the other items she brought with her. “I guess these boots won’t be of any use to you, either. They’re only a size nine. I don’t suppose you know what size shoe you take?”

I looked at her with her eyebrows raised, then to my grime-covered feet and shrugged.

“Well, you’re at least six-foot-something.” She sat a boot beside my foot. “Maybe an eleven… twelve. I’ll see what I can pick up at the used clothing store tomorrow.”

I wiped pear juice from my chin and took another bite of the succulent fruit.

“Let’s hope the cops don’t come by again tomorrow. You’re all over the news, you know. Naked pervert riding a white horse.” Melba shook her head. “They came back about an hour after they left. Brought hounds with them this time. I was sure they’d sniff you out. The dogs ran the whole yard and came back to the police car.”

Must have been while I slept, I thought to myself.

“That horse of yours must have taken off—if he even is yours.”

Excalibur.

I sat the pear core in the container and stood, bending my knees, trying to stretch the tight material against my thighs. I stepped out into the balmy night air and opened my mouth to call the stallion. As soon as I uttered the first syllable, Excalibur rounded the corner, neighing, sounding almost joyful.

“There you are,” I said, feelings of fondness for the horse taking hold of me.

Excalibur nudged my cheek with his nose in a loyal gesture.

Melba stood in the doorway. “There’s a bucket of water outside for your friend, and all the fresh grass he can eat. You two seem to know each other quite well.”

“It seems we do,” I answered while staring into the horse’s docile eye.

Excalibur entered the shed, walked to my makeshift bed and stood on one side.

“I guess he wants to go to bed,” Melba said, then laughed.

I smiled for the first time that I could remember.

“I’ll be back in the morning. Don’t let anyone see you.”

I gave her a nod. “Thank you… for everything.”

Melba closed the door behind her, leaving me and Excalibur alone. For some reason, having the horse near lessened the fear of what had happened earlier, to the extent that I began to think I had dreamed of the black fog.

Picking up the blanket Melba left, I re-situated myself on the earthy bed. The lantern above still shone. When I turned onto my side, I noticed the container that had held the tea sitting on the floor mere inches away, casting a wavy reflection of my face in the steel.

Blue eyes, set under black lashes and thick, dark eyebrows stared back at me. I picked up the contained, turning it, looking for a clearer picture. But the steel was dull and curved, making my face look distorted. Still, there I was, Solomon Brandt; dark, shoulder-length hair and blue eyes; muscular and once strong, and I knew how to use a gun.

I sat the container down and turned to look at Excalibur, who lay beside me now, staring intently at me. “Did you bring me here on purpose, boy? Is this where I’m supposed to be? Or did the scent of peach blossoms and clover lure you here?”

One corner of my mouth lifted while my eyes grew heavy. Words Melba spoke earlier rang in my head: crossed and evil.

olomon… Solomon! Excalibur!”

Excalibur lifted his head from a patch of wild grass growing along the riverbank and looked in the direction Melba’s voice came from. I cut my bath short, jumped out of the cool water, and skinned on the too tight clothes Melba had given me the previous night.

“Solomon?” she called, her voice sounding closer this time.

“Over here,” I answered. “At the river.”

A minute later, Melba burst through the bushes carrying a crinkly, bulging sack. When her gaze met mine, her hand flew to her chest, and she muttered something into the air.

“I thought…” She stopped, took a deep breath, and positioned a hand on her hip. “You can’t just traipse around in broad daylight, child.”

Although I was hardly a child, this wasn’t the time for that debate. For some reason, Melba felt the need to mother me, and I was at least grateful for the care she willingly offered. So I let her scold me.

“Someone might see you,” she looked at Excalibur, “and that horse.”

With his nose buried in a patch of wild grass, Excalibur nickered softly.

“You can’t wander around the property so soon.”

“So soon after what?”

“Well, after yesterday, of course. I just came back from the city. The main road is closed off. Yesterday, someone appeared on a horse, naked, smashed the street and the sewer line, and then rode off. Fits your description to a tee.” She cocked her head, pursed her lips, and continued scolding. “So it might not be a bad idea for you to lay low for a few days, until someone robs the local liquor store or something, to take people’s minds off yesterday’s incident.”

She threw the sack at my feet. “Hopefully these will fit. There’s more in the car. Now get dressed and come back to the shed. I’ll make you breakfast.”

Sleep and Melba’s tea healed my body on the inside, strengthening muscles and spirit. The cool river water lifted some of the dirt and sting from the cuts. All in all, I felt exhilarated and also motivated, but I was starving.

“Don’t dawdle,” Melba called from halfway down the path.

I pulled out a pair of heavy cotton trousers, blue like the too-small ones I wore, from inside the bag. I also found a white undershirt decorated with a large orange M and a bear’s head on the front, and the words Mercer University printed below; the garment fit loosely. The one other item was a gray jacket with a hood and no buttons, but two strips of silver running up the front, which I didn’t know how to fasten; although the device looked similar, but different, to the shorter fastener on the trousers Melba showed me how to use the previous night. When I was fully dressed in the baggy clothes, I felt sloppy, unkempt almost.

Melba was nowhere in sight when I returned, but something different about the shed stuck out at me. A heavy line of red dust crossed the entrance. It hadn’t been there when I left for the river. I stepped over it, careful not to disturb whatever Melba had set up in my absence.

Inside, I found three sacks filled with clothing and a pair of odd-looking shoes: blue with bright orange stripes and laces. The shoes fit perfectly over a pair of socks I found in another sack.

When Melba arrived with breakfast, she nodded her approval at the attire she picked out for me. “Now you look like a college boy, and not some ghost of a romance novel model.” She held a finger to her chin. “A quarterback maybe. Yes, Solomon, the Quarterback. Although, your accent is heavy, even for these parts.”

My accent? I thought she was the one with the accent.

Melba watched me toy with the metal fastener on the jacket. “Here, let me show you how to do that.” With both sides in her hands she said, “It’s a zipper, the same as on your jeans… only the ends are different.”

Melba fastened the zipper up to my neck, then backed it down again. “Now you try.”

As I worked the zipper, grinning with triumph, worry lines etched Melba’s forehead.

“Maybe you have amnesia,” she said, using a serious tone.

“I don’t think so,” I answered, although I didn’t know why.

Her brows knitted together. “No. You’re right. Your ailment goes much deeper than just memory loss.”

The fried ham and eggs and toast quelled the hunger, and the orange juice and medicinal tea, which Melba called the hot spicy mixture this time, quenched the thirst. As I toyed with the zipper, pulling it up and down, Melba stared at me, looking amused.

“You need a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, too, and maybe a comb for that mane of yours.”

The next couple of nights, I spent dreamless in the shed. Melba had given me a pillow to go with the blanket, and a toothbrush, toothpaste, and comb. She also insisted on trimming my “mane,” as she called it. Although I knew little about myself, I liked the feel of the long hair and allowed her to cut only the tips off, but in the end, she took off a lot more. Daytime, I spent in the yard, cleaning up fallen sticks and debris, weeding gardens, and moving a pile of boulders to the back end. Melba showed me how to start a lawnmower and mow the lawn, and to use a device called a Whipper Snipper. Surprisingly, I liked mowing the lawn. Excalibur wasn’t too happy about the noise, though, and retreated into the woods while the machines ran. The cops hadn’t returned, and Melba said the sewer line had been fixed, the road had been patched up, and the workmen moved out.

On the eve of my fifth day at Melba’s, I was painting the outside of the shed creamy white, when she did something that surprised me. She invited me inside her house for supper. She said she cooked a roast dinner and wouldn’t mind the company.

I looked at my paint-speckled arms and hands. “I’ll go to the river and clean up.”

“No. There’s no need for that. There’s plenty of water inside. Besides, it’s time you started using modern conveniences.”

After putting the paintbrush to soak in a can of water, I followed Melba to the house. Outside her back door, on the ground, I saw a line of red powder like outside the shed door. This one looked dingy, as if it had been there a while. Melba didn’t step on it, so neither did I—in fact, I was very careful in the past few days not to disturb the line she’d put down by the shed.

Mouthwatering aromas greeted me inside the doorway, filling my senses with comfort and warmth. Melba led me down a narrow hallway to a small room she called a washroom.

“You can wash up in here,” she said and stepped aside.

The tiny room held shiny golden furniture, but what caught my attention was the mirror… more specific, my reflection. My hair was a shaggy mess, curled up at the ends, barely touching my shoulders. Melba had said the cut suited me, and that I’d fit right in with others my age—although I hadn’t seen anyone else since I’d arrived out of nowhere that day on the broken street.

“What about a shave?” When I didn’t answer, she came in and rummaged through the only drawer, in a cabinet below the washbasin. “You can use this.”

She held a pink object up to me with three blades sticking out of the end.

I took the strange-looking device and stared at it.

“It hasn’t been used,” she said reassuringly. Then she chuckled. “Of course, why would I think you knew how to use a razor?”

After Melba showed me how to use the razor, the taps, and the golden seat she called a toilet, she left me to my privacy. But I heard her mumble as she walked through the doorway, “It’s like he was just born.”

The paint scrubbed off my arms and hands easily with soap and a cloth. And after I finished shaving, my chin was as smooth as a peach-blossom petal, and also not nearly as tanned as the rest of my face. I ran a hand through my hair, deciding the look wasn’t so bad, since I couldn’t remember seeing myself any other way.

Furniture crowded the little bungalow. Framed portraits covered the walls. I made my way toward the succulent odors wafting through the place and found Melba in front of a stove.

“Come in and have a seat,” she said, sounding more cheerful than she had earlier.

I sat at a round wooden table set for two and gazed at the room. The window was covered in decorative objects, like colored glass shapes, wooden carvings, and small bundles of herbs.

Melba pulled a knife out of a large washtub set into a counter and cleaned it under the tap.

“The house isn’t usually this messy,” she said with a wave of her hand, while facing the stove. “But I haven’t been myself today. You see, today would have been my twenty-fifth anniversary.”

After a short quiet spell, she turned with a smile on her face, as if forcibly planted there for me, and a platter of food in her hands, setting it to one side of the table.

The roast beef had been carved and placed in the center of the platter. A medley of vegetables surrounded the meat: carrots, turnips, green beans, and whole onions. A bowl of gravy and a plate of butter were already on the table.

Melba took a seat and dished up my supper, serving me a generous helping. She held out a basket of biscuits; I took two.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” she said as she drizzled gravy over her own meal. “It’s time you met more people, went out in the car, maybe. You might see someone who knows you and maybe trigger a memory.” She stuffed her mouth with potato, dripping gravy down her chin, and looked at me. “Do you have your driver’s license?”

I stared back, wondering what she meant.

“Right,” she said and took another bite. “Well, whether you do or don’t, you obviously don’t remember. I think you should get behind the wheel and have a lesson. Maybe driving will trigger something.”

“In your car?”

“Yes. That Toyota is so old you can’t hurt it.” She took a sip of tea. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. I have a small apartment in the basement, and I haven’t found a tenant in a while. It’s just sitting there, collecting dust.”

I didn’t know what she was getting at, but I stopped shoving food into my mouth and listened more intently.

“I wonder if you would like to stay there for a while, until we figure out who you are? It’s time you had a shower, anyway. You can’t bathe in the river forever.” She looked at me with raised brows and a spark in her eyes that I interpreted to be a glimmer of hope.

My options were slim, and it was obvious that Melba wanted the company. “Yes, thank you. I should like that very much. And Excalibur?” I knew the horse couldn’t stay in the house and wondered if she had plans for him, too.

“He can stay in the shed at night and graze the yard during the day. He seems to do his own thing, anyway.”

I smiled at her generosity.

“You know, you’re a handsome young man, with refined mannerisms. Someone must miss you. I hope you don’t have a girlfriend out there somewhere pining away for her long-lost Solomon.” She laughed, and then grew serious. She leaned both elbows on the table, her brows furrowed. “Forgive me for not offering you the apartment sooner, but a woman living alone has to be careful who she takes in. I had to be sure you weren’t some crackpot psychopath, I mean, even the media referred to you as a pervert.”

She toyed with a ring holding a black stone, one of many jewels adorning her fingers.

Her voice lowered. “I can feel things, Solomon. Feel when something isn’t right, and know when it is. For my ancestors, the deep art was a way of life. I just dabble, but the magic is in my blood nonetheless. I know you have a purpose here. There are no accidents, Solomon. Everything happens for a reason. And that reason will eventually present itself.”

I had no idea what Melba spoke of, only that this was the most serious conversation we’d had yet. According to her, I had a purpose, even if I didn’t know what that purpose was, and Melba would help me figure it out.

“Just like the long line of women in my family, I can see into the hearts of men… and I knew from the day we first met that yours is a good one.” She dropped the conversation there and continued eating.

While we ate the sweet potato pie she’d made for dessert and sipped tea, Melba schooled me about Savannah and the surrounding counties, until she was certain she had the state of Georgia covered.

She even showed me images on her computer, hoping to strike a memory in me. And some things did feel familiar, like the old plantations with their tree-lined drives we explored through the Internet. But my mind kept reverting back to the property Excalibur first took me through, the big white house, and the sign out front bearing my name.

I decided to ask about it. “Melba, do you know of Solomon Brandt Estates?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. The old mansion is a museum, and I work there, cleaning, three days a week.” Her gaze narrowed on me. “What do you know about the estate?”

“Only that we share the same name, the estate and I.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Can you take me there?”

She considered my question, then said, “I just might be able to do that.”

After dessert and my lesson in geography, we watched Melba’s favorite TV show. Her blurted answers to the puzzles on the screen filled the tiny room with warmth and happiness.

The sun had set a while ago, so I knew it was late when Melba took me downstairs to the apartment. She showed me how to run the taps, turn on the TV, and use the remote. Then I followed her into the washroom, which doubled as a laundry room.

She walked to an enclosure in one corner of the room, reached inside, and turned on a small waterfall. “This is a shower,” she explained, then her look turned stern. “No more baths in the river. Someone might see you and think you’re… weird.”

“You want me to bath in that tight space?”

“Yes. And it’s not so tight inside, see?”

I peeked behind the curtain she held open, into the water room, encased in square, blue tiles. The space was larger than I originally thought.

“Everything you need is in here,” she said opening a floor-to-ceiling cabinet. There were towels and washcloths in every color, a few bars of wrapped soap, and shampoo left behind by the last tenants. “This is cleaner for the toilet, sink, and shower. And this is toilet paper.”

She turned toward the door. “Well, I think that’s everything you need to know for one night. Enjoy your shower; this one has a rainwater faucet.”

“I think I shall find the river more to my liking.”

Melba looked at me intently, her gaze searching mine. A smile formed on her face. “You just reminded me of my grandfather, old Rasmus Smith. He lived in a shanty a ways up the river, and when he grew too old to be by himself, my mother brought him here, well, not to this house, but to the old farmhouse I grew up in, that stood across the road from here.

“I haven’t thought of him in ages. He, too, would rather have bathed in the river than learn modern ways.” Her smile seemed perpetual as she walked out of the room. “Well, I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”

“Thank you, Melba. I shall attempt a shower tomorrow… maybe.”

As we returned to the living room, the front door to the apartment squeaked open.

ear of the unexpected startled me. I spun toward the door to see who or what the disturbance was. Melba, clutching her chest, turned also. But when I saw a young girl backing into the living room, dragging large bags with her, a new awareness sprouted inside me. Excitement and curiosity bloomed, replacing the fear. Her legs, long and tan, were bare almost to her hips, where short pants and a sleeveless T-shirt molded to her curvy upper half. Her purple shoes loaned her an extra four to five inches of height.

She turned with a start at the same time as Melba burst out, “Desiree! What on Earth are you doing here this time of night?”

Long, thick, persimmon curls cascaded over one shoulder and halfway down her back, ending at the arch. The redness enhanced the stunning grassy green of her eyes, and the soft rose of her cheeks against the warmth of her light brown skin.

A set of keys hit the floor in front of her, breaking the silence.

Melba’s hands flew to her hips and her gaze narrowed on the girl. “And why are you sneaking into my apartment?”

But the beauty she called Desiree stood motionless, casting a look of shock at Melba, as if she wasn’t expecting the woman. Then her doe-eyed gaze flicked to me.

“Child, you had better answer me!” Melba continued her interrogation.

The girl put on a white-toothed smile that held me entranced. So many emotions embraced me in that moment; my heart didn’t know how to beat. Then she turned her attention back to Melba, her hands still clutching her bags.

“Auntie Mel, I-I kinda need a place to crash for a couple nights.” She chewed on her bottom lip, moistening it, looking nervous—and desirable all at the same time.

Melba took a few steps toward her, half blocking my view of this beautiful creature she called Desiree.

“And what about school? It’s long past spring break, so don’t lay that one on me.”

Desiree, being taller than Melba, flashed a glance my way over the woman’s shoulder, and then she raised her thin eyebrows at Melba. She cocked her head, as if waiting for her own answers to unspoken questions.

“Oh, ah, this is… my cousin from South Carolina,” Melba said to the girl, surprising me.

“A white boy?” A playful grin stretched Desiree’s plump lips across her flawless face.

“Desi, that’s not nice.”

Melba tossed me an apologetic look over her shoulder, but I read more into her expression than apologies—like a sudden concern that hadn’t been there before the half-naked girl arrived. I understood then that Melba didn’t want this girl to be any part of the mystery surrounding me. So I played along and stepped to her rescue.

Taking a stride forward, I extended my left hand to the girl, my arm strong and my back straight. “I’m Solomon.”

Amusement sparkled in her eyes as she lifted her arm and placed her delicate hand in my rough palm. “You don’t say… cousin.”

Somehow, I knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be to kiss the back of her hand, but for some reason, I thought better of it. Not with Melba glaring on in horror. Instead, I took a moment to savor the soft warmth of her skin on mine. In the few short seconds we connected, I noticed how my tanned hand was darker than the soft brown of hers, and how her fingernails were painted the color of lilacs—a distraction, as a memory of the flower’s scent swept through my mind.

When Melba cleared her throat, I snapped to my senses and opened my hand, allowing Desiree to retrieve hers. With our connection broken, we both turned toward a concerned Melba.

“Solomon, this is Desiree, my niece, who’s supposed to be at her apartment right now, not sneaking into my house in the middle of the night, dressed like… like a street girl.”

Desiree’s blush lips flew open into a gasp. I wondered what a street girl was.

“So,” Desiree said to Melba while looking at me, “if he’s your cousin, he must be mine, too, since you and Mom were sisters.”

“Yes. He’s our cousin… Connie’s son.”

“Oh? I’ve never heard you or Mom mention a cousin named Connie.”

I had the feeling she wasn’t buying into Melba’s lie.

“So, Solomon, how long will you be staying in Savannah?”

I looked at Melba for help.

Clearly, she didn’t know what to say, so I answered, “I have no set plans.”

“Really? A drifter.”

“What he means is, he is out of work and came to help me with the yard and the gardens.”

“Oh, how nice.”

As if Melba sensed the sudden awkwardness she said, “Solomon was just going to bed, so why don’t we give him some privacy and go upstairs. I’ll make you up a room, then you can tell me why you’re really here.”

When Desiree grabbed her bags and turned toward the door, something kicked inside me. I stepped toward her and took the handles from her. “Allow me to carry those for you.”

“Why thank you, Solomon… cousin.” She seemed to mock me, but in a sweet manner.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Desiree.” My voice suddenly grew deeper, more refined.

“So formal,” I heard her whisper to Melba as they walked ahead of me up the outside steps to Melba’s. She glanced over her shoulder, tossing me a flirtatious smile. “He’s so tall, and straight, and did you see those muscles?”

“Hush, child. He has ears as well as muscles.”

The way Desiree spoke of me instilled desires in me I didn’t remember feeling before. I grinned to myself at the compliment I wasn’t meant to hear.

Once I had Desiree’s bags deposited at the top of the stairs, Melba turned and said goodnight to me. I got the hint and climbed back down to my new apartment. Last I checked, Excalibur was inside the shed on my old bed. I wondered if he would miss me.

Weariness of the day settled upon me, so I went into the washroom to brush my teeth. Melba said brushing morning and night was a good habit to get into, especially since I had a good set of chompers, according to her. And I liked the coolness that lingered in my mouth from the toothpaste.

Comfort embraced my healing body as I lay naked on top of the covers on my new bed. Above me, the ceiling fan whirled, invisibly pulling in cooler air and blowing it across my skin, making the balmy night tolerable.

Almost immediately, Desiree’s image soared into my brain, replacing the fan, fuelling a new blaze in the pit of my stomach. Her lush green eyes, framed in swooping black lashes, stared down at me. She blinked in slow motion, unveiling pink, shimmery lids, a smile stretching slowly across her face. She reached out a slender hand to me, and as the tips of my fingers grazed hers, a white hand curled around her throat. Fear crawled over my skin, dousing the flame. I grabbed for her, but the large hand hauled her away from my grasp, and out of my sight.

My image replaced hers, or someone who looked a lot like me. There were differences. I stood in front of an ornately framed hall mirror, proud, my hard chest puffed out under a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a feeling of immense power coursing through me. Strength swelled veins, running the length of muscles in my arms. A thick moustache curled down the corners of my sinister grin. Dark blue eyes, identical to mine, exuding diabolic hatred, stared back at me.

The scene changed. Like a spirit, I floated upward, into the high ceiling, hovering like a cloud over the likeness of me. From above, I watched with unease as the massive, more powerful me picked up a bullwhip from a mahogany hall table and burst past a screened door.

My spirit followed outside, hovering in the air, invisible.

In front of a familiar, grand plantation house, an assembly of dark-skinned people gathered. They wore scraps for clothing, and most walked with bare feet. Agony and despair lined their faces, clawing at the heart of my spirit. Another smaller group of people burst through the assemblage. One tall white man, dressed in middle-class wear, dragged a slave boy across the lawn, throwing him at my likeness’ feet. I wanted no part of the scene I knew was about to unfold, but I had no control. So, I watched in horror as the flesh and blood me cracked the whip in the air. The slaves staggered backward.

The tall man held his head high and spoke. “Sir, the boy hid in the shade while the others picked cotton.”

A small, older woman stepped out of the crowd. “Please, he’s been sick with the fever. He came to the fields. He helped all he could.” She bowed, hiding her tear-streaked face.

I willed myself to move, to grab the boy and escape with him, to end this nightmare, but I had no body, no eyes to close. So in my spirit form, I watched in terror as Solomon, the plantation owner, the slave owner, erupted into a fury of rage. He threw the whip to the ground and grabbed the trembling boy by the throat, lifting him to his eye level. A wail tore through the grouping of slaves. The evil Solomon squeezed the boy’s neck until his bulging eyes turned lifeless, and his kicking ceased.

Veins bulged over muscle down the murderer’s neck as rage tore through his lips. He raised his other fist in the air. The slaves scattered and fled.

But for me, the nightmare had just begun.

The man, still holding the boy’s lifeless body, twisted his neck and looked up.

Fear clutched at my very soul, as the evil, blue-eyed master of this plantation held me prisoner with his glare. A deep, wicked laugh erupted from his throat.

“Don’t stress over the boy, Solomon.” He tossed the body to the ground. “Instilling the fear of their master—of you—in the wretches is the only way to ensure productivity.”

“But…” I tried to speak, but my non-existent mouth was dry. Bile welled in my throat. I went through the motions of swallowing, feeling my tongue moisten with the sour liquid.

“I’m not you.” My voice was just a whisper. “I’m not you,” I said, louder this time.

But somehow, in my wrenching gut, I knew this vile creature was indeed me, or had once been me. And in that sickening moment, I knew a lot more than I had known before. Yet, I knew nothing.

Another wicked laugh erupted from the evil image of myself.

“You understand now, don’t you, Solomon?” he said. “You feel the power coursing through our veins, and you crave more, thrive on it.”

“No!” My voice came out loud and strong this time. “I am not you!”

The nightmarish scene faded, the evil laugh lingering, then fading with it. A bang sounded inside my head, and I woke.

Except for the low whoosh of the ceiling fan, silence reigned. With widened eyes and a rapid rise and fall to my chest, I stared at the light in the center of the fan, too afraid to move, trying to calm my accelerated heartbeat. With hands powerless against the evil me, I gripped the bed coverings on either side of me. That monstrous beast of a man couldn’t have been me. But I had felt the power, and also the despair of the people.

Moisture pooled at the corners of my eyes for the murdered boy. My heart ached for him… for his people.

“It was a dream,” I whispered to myself. “Just a dream.”

I unclenched a trembling hand and ran my fingers through hair soaked with sweat, hair shorter than the evil Solomon’s in the dream, but those eyes—they were undeniably mine. My mind wandered to the plantation, to the yard. Six Corinthian columns supported the vast portico. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped the mansion, and the emerald green lawn, split in front by the long oak-lined drive—these were all achingly familiar to me. Not like a dream, but real. I’d been there long ago—I was sure of it.

My head ached with the implanted image of the work-worn faces of the tortured innocent from the dream. When I felt calmer, I peeled my back off the soaked bedding and got up. Dawn was still hours away, but as tired as I was, I didn’t want to go back to sleep, for fear of another nightmare.

Cool tap water felt good on my face. I splashed it again, and watched the liquid drip off into the sink. His face was more chiseled, rougher than mine, he was taller, his body broader, but those eyes…

lifted my head from my hands and got up from the kitchen table, stretching the kink out of my neck. Songbirds serenaded this piece of the world from a feeder outside the window, as they did every morning. I leaned over the counter, peering through the square panes of glass, my thoughts shifting from the nightmarish visions that kept me company throughout the night and cheated me out of sleep, to look for Excalibur. Dawn draped the yard in its warm glow, promising a fresh start, quelling darkness and everything that dwelled there. As if he felt me searching, the stallion lifted his head from munching breakfast near the willow, pointed his nose toward the bungalow, then resumed grazing.

The fresh scent of a spring garden, blooming in a soft earthen bed, right below the window, floated inside with the birds’ chorus. The splendor of the moment filled me with hope. Maybe today I would find myself.

I got an early start tilling the vegetable garden on the south side of the property. This was Melba’s root garden. Among the sweet potatoes, carrots, and turnips she said she would plant, she also named an abundance of herbs. The corner I worked at now, she had called her healing garden.

As I churned the dirt, the day brightened, and the image of Desiree filled my head, becoming stronger and stronger as the morning wore on. The earth I dripped sweat upon became her satiny skin; every pebble I turned up was a lilac fingernail, and the grass surrounding me was her striking eyes. I picked up the small rocks and placed them in a pile at one corner, while worms went into a can, half-filled with dirt, for fishing later.

The sun was already hot, so I shed the shirt, but kept on the T-shirt, whose sleeves the previous owner had ripped off. When my stomach growled in hungry protest, I remembered the loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter Melba had left on the counter for me and headed for the house. As I neared, I heard two females arguing, one voice fighting to overpower the other. I couldn’t make out what the women said, but I did hear my name mentioned by both parties.

I stopped in front of the line of red dust that crossed the back door to the apartment. The arguing ended abruptly. Suddenly feeling unwelcome, I decided to put a hold on the bread and peanut butter and go fishing instead—something Melba showed me how to do the previous day. I picked up the rod from its hanging spot inside the shed, grabbed the can of worms, and went to Excalibur. I didn’t know why I felt the need to explain my actions to the horse, I just did. And as I knew he would, Excalibur followed me into the woods.

When I reached the spot at the river where I first met Melba, I found an old path in the dense bush and followed it upstream, to the place she showed me yesterday. After about a mile’s trot through a forgotten part of the forest, I came to a small inlet. The trees here were taller and grew closer together, sheltering darkness, gloom, and most likely, secrets. Melba’s grandfather, Rasmus Smith, had lived somewhere nearby. And unlike yesterday, when Melba had been with me, today I felt unseen eyes watching me, and they weren’t Excalibur’s. But nothing looked unusual as I searched past the tree trunks into the shade. I tried shaking the paranoia and busied myself with the task at hand.

According to Melba, this was the widest part of the river for miles, and no one came here because the area was secluded. So the waters brimmed with catfish. Yesterday, Melba had shown me how to worm a hook, and cast the line, but the task had felt natural to me, as if I’d known how without her teaching.

In no time at all, I caught two generously sized catfish from my perch on a rocky ledge. Proud of my catch, I held the two fish, gutted, and speared through with a sharpened stick, out to Excalibur, who exclaimed with a loud snort and curled-up lips.

“Don’t like fish, boy?”

He appeared to shake his head to one side and make a half-turn in the direction of Melba’s.

“Fine, then you don’t have to eat them,” I said with a grin.

As I turned toward the path back, a chill breeze fell over me, and a shudder tore across my shoulders. When I turned to look into the forest behind me, the darkness seemed to thicken, but stayed amongst the trees. I kept to the river and hurried back, and by the time I reached the familiar water hole, the eerie feeling had diminished.

Sunshine streamed into the pool and encompassed the surrounding woods.

I was in need of a bath, and the sparkling water looked inviting. Excalibur had even stepped into the flow a few yards downriver. Modern conveniences could wait. I shed the clothing and walked into the waist-deep pool with the pebbly bottom. Using a chunk of moss, I scrubbed off the morning’s toil, then ducked under and floated in the center, suddenly feeling weary from lack of sleep. But being tired was my only ailment. My body had completely healed, thanks to Melba’s tincture and special tea, and I felt strong in strength and will, and surer than ever of my name. Which reminded me of a conversation Melba and I had held the previous day; she worked at Solomon Brandt Estates, and promised to take me there. I would remind her later.

As I lay half in and half out of the water, peering at the treetop canopy through slitted lids, bushes rustled and sticks snapped. Startled, I lost balance and went under, resurfacing with a splash.

Rivers of water ran from the ends of my hair down over my upper body, a cough suppressed in my throat.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Desiree stood at the end of the path, one hand covering her mouth, her bright-eyed stare glued to my chest.

Heat rushed through my body, surfacing in my cheeks. Instinct made me look down. I stood in a shallow part of the pool, the water just grazing my hips. I had to get to the shore, grab the clothes, but I was naked and speechless.

Desiree lowered her hand from her mouth and hooked a finger on the end of a curl, twisting it, looking shy and seductive all at the same time. She crossed one bare leg in front of the other. A grin spread across her face and into her eyes. “Do you always… do this?”

“Bathe?” Her question confused me. Bathing seemed like a natural thing to do.

“You’re bathing? In the river?”

“Where do you bathe?”

“In the tub, shower.” The curl she played with fell in place with the others as she let go and shook a playful finger at me. “Oh I get it, you’re a naturalist.”

When I didn’t answer, she said, “A nature nut? Nudist? No?”

“I’m a man who was in need of a bath. That is all.”

One thin eyebrow rose. “Okay. If you say so. I used to swim here myself when I was little.”

The pool was hardly big enough for me to swim in, but for Desiree as a little girl, there would have been plenty of room.

She took a few steps closer, stooped, then picked up the light gray T-shirt from the lump of my discarded clothing.

“I suppose you’d like to get out,” she said balling the T-shirt in her hands. Then she threw it in my direction.

I caught it as the hem hit the water. As I stood there feeling awkward, Desiree turned, giving me a little privacy. While she plucked tiny leaves off a bush in front of her, I hurriedly got into my clothing, all except the T-shirt, which I used to dry myself.

While she faced the opposite direction, I took the opportunity to look at her. The short pants she wore, similar to the ones she had on last night, hugged tightly to her behind, but her luscious hair held most of my attention. In the dappled light, it looked as if someone had sprinkled jewels over the deep apricot ringlets spilling down her back.

She glanced over her shoulder, catching me ogling. My cheeks warmed again.

“I’m sorry I disturbed you. I was just, ah, looking for you, actually.”

I rubbed the T-shirt over my hair in an effort to dry it. “For me?”

She turned to face me.

“Yes. Well, Auntie Mel told me the truth about how she found you.” She didn’t seem too upset over the news. “I guess we’re not cousins after all.” Her grin widened. “I already knew, anyway.” A light laugh passed through her glossed lips. “I can usually tell when my aunt is lying.”

Not knowing how much Melba had told her, I let her continue.

“So, you really don’t know who you are or where you came from?”

Apparently, Melba had told her everything. “I’m Solomon Brandt, of that I am certain. But I know not from where I came.”

She mumbled something; I only caught, “somewhere in history.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, I said I’m a history major at Savannah State. Maybe I can help you remember. Your name, for instance; it carries a lot of anger and bad mojo around these parts.” She glanced into the trees on either side of me, then spoke lower. “Are you a descendant of the first Solomon Brandt?”

“Descendant?” I was more confused now than ever.

“Yeah, like half of my ancestry is Scottish and the other half is African American. This,” She picked up a handful of red hair, “is compliments of the Scots.” She let it fall back to her chest. “I’ve traced my Scottish line all the way back to Robert the Bruce… you know, the guy from Braveheart?” She waited for my reply with a smile on her face.

I shook my head, not understanding anything she spoke of.

“Hmm.” She pursed one corner of her lips and grabbed her hips, reminding me of her aunt. “Well, anyway, have you been to a doctor to see if you hit your head?”

“No.”

I pulled the damp T-shirt over my head and stretched it down my chest. Something Desiree said reminded me of the feeling I had of being watched back at the fishing spot, and the darkness that followed me across the estate before I arrived here. “What did you mean by bad mojo?”

With a look of reluctance, she answered. “Like karma or bad vibes. Let’s just say, the name Solomon Brandt doesn’t sit too well with the locals.”

“Why? And who are the locals?”

“Solomon was a vile disgrace of a human being. He hurt a lot of innocent people, including some of my African-American ancestors. The locals, most of them, are descendants of the slaves, the people he hurt.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, well, that’s history, right?”

Was this man she spoke so bitterly of the man from my nightmare? Was that heartless human being my ancestor? As I digressed into the disturbing thought, a distant voice tugged me back.

“Desi…”

Desiree spun toward the sound.

“Oh, no! It’s Auntie Mel. I told her I was going to pick bergamot.” She took a quick glance around, and when she seemed to find what she needed, she squatted and pulled a wild plant, root and all, from the ground. “This will have to do,” she said, holding up the green leafy stem.

“Desiree…” Melba called again.

“Coming,” Desiree sang out.

Desiree led the way down the path toward Melba’s. We were halfway to the house when she caught the toe of her strappy shoe on a tree root and stumbled forward. Before she hit the bush in front of her, I caught her arm and hauled her up. As she steadied herself, her back fell against my chest; her head of curls brushed my face. She grabbed my leg for support, digging her fingernails into the jeans, although I barely felt the delicate pressure. Maybe because of the intoxicatingly sweet scent of her hair under my nose. I expanded my lungs, moving against her back, hauling in the floral scent, losing myself in the moment.

When the light pressure left my leg, and her hair lifted away from my face, filling the small space between us with fresh air, a medley of emotions spilled over me. Inside my chest, my heart swelled, emitting warmth that spread to the rest of my body, igniting parts I’d forgotten existed—awakening desires I may never have felt before. The moment robbed me of speech, of all other thoughts but the beautiful creature in front of me, against me. Then she took a step away, setting me free of the hold she unknowingly had on me. I held a hand near her, in case she took another stumble. When she turned to face me, I dropped it to my side, but the tips of my fingers burned to touch her warm skin again. She stood so closely, I could see a dark outline of my image in her pupils, the light green rings surrounding me, like the grass surrounding the garden.

“Are you all right?” I asked in a more mellow tone than I was used to hearing from me, watching, waiting for her lips to move, to hear her next words.

Her gaze softened. The pink in her cheeks deepened.

“Yeah,” she said. She brushed a fuzzy bunch of hair away from her face. “Thanks.”

Excalibur didn’t seem impressed as he nudged me in the shoulder, issuing a low neigh, as if to say, “Move along.”

Glancing at the stallion looming behind my back, Desiree grinned and said, “Okay, okay,” then turned toward Melba’s.

“I’m really not that clumsy,” she said while walking back. “I should know better than to wear wedges into the woods.

Melba stood by a flower garden, a rake in one hand, the other latched to her hip, when we broke out of the woods and into the yard. The lines on her forehead were deeper than usual. Her face held no smile. She flicked her concerned gaze from me to her niece and held it there.

Desiree held up the spindly plant and smiled sweetly. “I was hoping you could make me some of that orange bergamot bath oil.”

“With that one sorry-ass plant?” Melba eyed her niece dubiously.

Then she turned her suspicion on me, and I got the feeling she wasn’t too happy about Desiree and me being in the woods together—alone.

“Solomon, you’re wet.” She gave me a pointed look. “Did you fall into the river?”

“No. I…” I swallowed a nervous lump, feeling as if I’d done something wrong, which was an odd feeling, as if I were a child. “I was in need of a bath, and the river was there, and…”

Melba grabbed the pendants hanging around her neck and lifted her face to the sky, mumbling something inaudible. Then she gave a deep sigh and held her hand out. “I see you brought lunch.”

“Yes.” I handed her the stick with the fish.

“Come Desiree, I need you to help me in the kitchen.”

Desiree gave me an apologetic look, then hurried after her aunt, leaving me in the rear.

“Lunch will be ready in half an hour,” Melba called back to me as we neared the house.

With the awkward moment over, I headed to the apartment to brush my teeth and fix my hair. Excalibur headed to the willow—the place he spent most of his time. For some reason, I felt the need to look less grungy, so I shaved the dark shadow off my face and changed. In the bottom of one bag, I found a wrinkled, blue and gray striped shirt and put it on with the jeans I wore. With my fingers, I brushed the nearly dry hair back off my face.

His face was more chiseled, less gaunt, his neck thicker, and his hands bigger, more powerful. I was beginning to think we didn’t look alike after all—the evil slave owner, and me.

The odor of fried fish and heavy spice greeted me inside Melba’s back door, but that wasn’t the only greeting I received. The sound of argumentative voices drifted back to me as I stepped inside.

“You know it isn’t the season for bergamot,” Melba said. “The flowers haven’t bloomed yet.”

“I didn’t know he was…”

Desiree’s soft drawl ended abruptly as I stepped into the kitchen doorway. Both women stared, and I got the feeling I wasn’t welcome by at least one of them.

“Forgive me, shall I come back?” I stood there, feeling awkward.

“No.”

That one word rushed out of Desiree’s lips, while Melba still opened hers. Instead of whatever she was going to say, Melba set her lips in a thin line and turned toward the stove.

Desiree, looking slightly frantic, scooted closer to me.

“I was just coming to get you for lunch.” Her smile cut through the tension, brightening the atmosphere, somewhat.

Hesitantly, I made my way toward the table. Without looking at me, Melba pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit in it. Desiree sat to my left, Melba to my right.

The table was laden with a fresh batch of buttermilk biscuits, last night’s leftover vegetables fried together, a plate piled with fried fish pieces, and a pot of steaming tea. After Desiree dished up a serving of food, covering one corner of her plate, Melba filled my plate, then took a small helping for herself.

Desiree broke the silence. “Auntie Mel told me how you came here and what you remember.” Her voice was soft as she spoke with a mouthful of biscuit. “I’m going to see what I can find out when I go back to campus.”

“About what?”

“About you, of course. Your name, for starters. It shouldn’t be hard to dig up some history on Solomon Brandt.” She bowed her head and smeared sweet potato over her plate, covering up the little blue bouquet in the center. “The slave diaries at Savannah State should be a good starting point.”

Melba stopped chewing. Worry creased her forehead. She placed a thin hand on my wrist and gave me a distressed look. “Are you sure you want to delve into the unknown, Solomon? Some truths are best left in the past.”

“Sure he does,” Desiree cut in. “He needs to know who he really is. He needs an identity.”

The looks the two women shared across the table could have sliced through the tension in the air.

I put down my fork and turned toward Melba. “Don’t you want me to find out where I belong?”

Her word was golden to me, and I would probably obey whatever she said, since in a way, she saved me from… out there.

“Yes, Solomon, I do want you to find yourself.” With a light pat on my wrist, she lifted her hand off me and continued eating.

Lunch filled the void, but a gnawing ache had manifested itself in the pit of my stomach during our conversation. I got the feeling Melba knew more than she let on.

esiree left shortly after lunch. The two hours after her departure seemed empty, like something was missing. Working in the garden that afternoon was a blur of images of the green-eyed, persimmon-haired beauty who I’d known so briefly.

Time became painful as day turned into night. After dark, Desiree’s image began to fade, and the vile Solomon, the plantation owner’s image, appeared in her place. Visions of the previous night’s dream chased sleep away, until the middle of the night, when my eyelids finally fell shut.

Glorious rays of sunshine, beaming across the bed, brought in the next morning. No horrid dreams ate my sleep away, no dreams at all. Peace and comfort surrounded me and entered my body with every breath. According to the sun shining on the far wall, I was certain it was mid-morning. I took a deep breath, reluctant to come out from under the bed coverings, and then got up.

Today, I would try showering.

After adjusting the taps to get the water temperature and the flow just right, I stepped inside the enclosure and let the spray do its work. A blue and white striped bar of soap sat in a niche in the tiled wall. I picked up the slippery rectangle and rubbed it over my body, then lathered a drop of shampoo into my hair. The new scents tickled my nose and made me sneeze, but I felt super clean and ready for the day ahead. Melba even commented over breakfast on how good I smelled, and how lustrous my hair looked.

Despite all the yard work, plus Melba’s company, the next two days seemed like weeks as they passed by slowly. Suddenly, there was more to life than mowing lawns and eating Melba’s delicious meals—there was Desiree. But it seemed as if she’d never come back. With time, the brightness that surrounded me darkened, bringing back disturbing images.

Then Wednesday morning came—the day Melba promised to take me to work with her. As she cleaned up after breakfast, I busied myself with telling Excalibur where I was going. He gave an unceremonious snort, with his muzzle buried deep into the grass. He might not have cared, but it would be only the second time I’d left him since we arrived—the first being the previous day when Melba gave me a driving lesson out her nearly deserted road and back.

Nothing about driving the Toyota seemed familiar to me. But I did get the hang of it on the way back. And by the time I returned to the driveway, I felt more relaxed behind the wheel.

Melba drove today. When she turned off her road and onto another one, I suddenly felt vulnerable, like in the hours before I arrived at Melba’s, more than a week ago. In that moment, I realized how protected I’d been the past week. Other cars zoomed past us. My heart took an extra beat each time. Between Melba and the Internet, I had learned enough to know the world was a big, scary place. I wanted to turn back, but stayed silent.

The radio wailed out words to a tune from instruments. Melba called this R & B music. Her lips moved to some of the words, and her head bobbed at the same time. The noise made me nervous.

About ten minutes later, we arrived on the street where my first memory was born. Where the giant hole in the road had once been, a darker patch of road now lay in its place. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I imagined the mob, their glaring gazes, and their nasty comments. As the car slowed, the memory became more vivid. At first, there was nothing but darkness and pressure. My lungs felt squished as my ribs dug painfully into the organs. Then, a noise louder than anything I’d ever heard boomed inside my head, and in the same instant, an intense light blinded me. I clung to Excalibur, squeezing him, as we burst out of the ground. Flesh ripped from my body. Dirt stung my eyes… we burst out of the ground. I had caused the damage. I gasped in a choking breath, as the now serene street came into view.

“Are you all right?” Melba asked.

I held back the next breath and stared in awe and horror at the sign with my name on it. In a low voice, I said, “I came out of the earth,” fully realizing how ridiculous that sounded.

“You what?” The sharpness of her tone broke the hold the sign had on me.

We drove past the oak-lined drive leading to Solomon Brandt Estates, where Excalibur and I had escaped. Wooden structures, decorated with yellow caution tape, sealed off the front entrance to the property.

Excalibur hadn’t had any wounds. The only blood he wore was what had dripped onto him from me.

“I remember,” I said.

Although she sat side on, I could see her eyes widen.

“What do you remember?”

“I burst through the ground. Right there.” I turned and looked at the new patch of pavement, now behind us.

“Like literally out of the ground? Like you were inside the earth and burst out?”

“Yes. Me and Excalibur.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

Melba’s voice had taken on a skeptic’s tone. She humored me.

Down the road, on the far end of the south side of the estate yard, she pulled into a graveled driveway with a small parking space at the end. She turned off the car and sat there. Scaffolding covered one end of the building. Below the metal poles, white paint chips lay scattered across the lawn.

“All those windows need a good cleaning to get ready for the grand opening. That’s why I brought you with me today, to help with the windows.”

Looked like an easy job, although there were many windows.

But instead of getting out of the car, Melba sat there, looking at the place.

“Aren’t we getting out?” I asked.

“We wait for Wally, the groundskeeper.” She looked at me above her sunglasses. “I never go inside that place alone.”

“Why, what’s inside?” For some reason, looking at the enormous house made me edgy.

“Bad mojo.”

Although I didn’t know what that meant, it didn’t sound good. A couple minutes after we arrived, another car pulled in behind us.

“He’s here,” Melba said. She turned in my direction before getting out. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look pale.”

I decided then, the flashback I’d had seemed too crazy to have really happened. Maybe the new memory had been a dream before I had woken up in front of the construction workers.

“Yes. I’m fine. Driving here gave me unpleasant flashbacks. And that noise you call music has given me a pain in my head.” I rubbed my temples, and turned my attention back to the estate house, and to Wally, who gave me a strange look, and then tipped his hat to Melba before heading toward the back yard.

“Isn’t he coming in?”

“Eventually, but as long as I know he’s around, I don’t feel so… alone. So,” she said changing the subject, “you don’t like my music.” She laughed. “I wonder what kind of music you do like.”

“I should think, none.”

She eyed me with one corner of her mouth pursed. “You probably listened to country before your amnesia.”

Melba’s laughter lightened the sudden dark mood I found myself in. But I barely heard it, because when the soles of my sneakers hit the gravel, a noticeable chill shot through my feet, into my veins, then rushed through my body. A heavy weight settled upon me like a giant boulder. The nightmare I’d had on my first night in the apartment flashed through my mind, filling my heart with the misery of the innocent. Pain throbbed at my temples, but I didn’t say anything to Melba. As I neared the mansion, the foreboding worsened to the point where I felt like someone else walked for me, breathed in my breath, saw from my eyes.

“Here we are,” Melba said turning the key in the door handle. Her voice sounded like she spoke from somewhere else in the yard.

She moved aside, motioning for me to go in ahead of her. The scent of fresh paint assaulted me when I first stepped inside. I stood in a large kitchen from another time period, everything as it once was. The small table had even been set for a slave’s dinner. As I gazed, wide-eyed, over the room, an image of the slaves came into view. Outside the windows, they toiled in the yard. And inside this room, the dark-skinned woman from my nightmare busied herself setting pies on a sill to cool. When she finished, she turned—her apron covered in floured handprints—and stared directly at me with saddened eyes.

A light touch to my arm startled me. The image of the slave woman disappeared, along with the people outside.

Melba stood in her place, a puzzled look on her face. “What?”

“Um.” I couldn’t tell her what I saw. Maybe I didn’t even see it. “Nothing, I—”

“You expected a more posh kitchen?”

I didn’t know what she meant, but nodded.

“This is where some of the slave women worked—the luckier ones, not that any were lucky, mind you. But the women who worked here were guaranteed at least one meal a day, and were sometimes able to sneak leftovers and peelings for stewing home to their families.”

Melba slicked two fingers across the wooden countertop, then looked at them, seemingly satisfied. Anxiety, more than anything, filled me now. If helping Melba clean windows would get me out of this place sooner, then I was eager to get to the task.

As if I knew where to go, I exited the kitchen first and found myself in a wide hallway. Instead of taking a left toward the grand staircase, I turned right toward the front door.

“It’s this way.” Melba’s voice sounded far away again.

I didn’t ignore her on purpose. Something pulled me in another direction. When I came to a hall table, I stopped, faced it, and gripped the edges of the highly polished mahogany. Although I tried keeping my focus on the table, I knew what hung before me on the wall. The mirror beckoned, and I couldn’t resist the urge to look into the glass. As hard as I tried not to, a force beyond my control made me lift my gaze until it settled on the image in front of me. I felt some relief when I saw only myself staring back. But as I looked, my image wavered, and a similar one came into view. Hair grew in straggles onto shoulders that appeared beefier than mine. The nose belonging to the image grew sharper, and the lips turned into a hateful snarl. I tried to move, unlatch my grip from the table, but fright paralyzed me.

The evil Solomon stared back at me.

Behind the wave of fear that fell over me, starting at the top of my head like a tight-fitting shirt, his essence poured downward, pushing against my skin. The vile entity covered my face, smothering me, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. When I did take my next breath, it was he who breathed for me. Down over my skin, the invisible tightness crawled.

Against my will, my left hand lifted from the table and reached toward the wall beside the mirror. My gaze followed. Inches from the bullwhip that hung there, my hand shook in the air as I fought the urge to grab it, but I wasn’t in control of my body anymore. Anguished cries from outside suddenly filled the hallway. The bastard controlled my body, but left my mind free and fully aware of the actions I was about to take.

To my right, I felt Melba’s presence. She mumbled something in another language. Haitian, a language I suddenly knew well. Other voices joined hers. She reached a hand in between me and the image of the evil Solomon. She bent closer and blew into her palm, coating the mirror with dust.

The face in the mirror contorted into a mask of rage. Blue eyes turned black. In a frantic race to conquer, Melba traced an X into the dust. The chanting stopped abruptly, ending with a scorned warning. The evil image disappeared.

My hand ceased its advance for the bullwhip, but the nerves in my palm reached out, urging me. The whip’s handle beckoned to me still. I longed to feel the power the weapon wielded.

“Solomon.”

Like waking from a nightmare, I was myself again. Without resistance, I lowered my arm and turned my head to the left. The beauty of Desiree standing in the wide, opened front doorway, haloed by sunlight, surrounded by greenery from the yard and the sounds of birds chirping, pushed the darkness away. My heart swelled. Despite the horror of a few moments ago, I matched her grin. As the two of us stood there staring at each other, Melba quickly shoved something into a front pocket of her jeans, messed her fingers through the mark on the mirror, disguising the X, and burst past me.

“Desiree, what are you doing here?”

Desiree’s smile dwindled somewhat as she looked at her aunt. “When I didn’t find you at the house, I thought you might be working today.”

“You seem to be skipping a lot of school lately?”

“Auntie Mel, I’m an adult. It’s okay if I miss a day,”

“You’re barely twenty-one years old. That hardly constitutes you as an adult.”

Desiree rolled her eyes and looked past her aunt to me. Blush stained her cheeks and the bridge of her thin nose. “Anyway, I was hoping I’d find you here, Solomon.”

Melba, her face paled, issued me a warning look over her shoulder, as if telling me to keep quiet about what had just happened. She’d seen, and she, with the aid of invisible others, had crossed the evil entity as it tried to seize my body. I didn’t know how I knew, I just did.

Melba seemed reluctant to let her niece into the house, but Desiree pushed past her and stopped in front of me. Determination sparkled in her eyes as she gazed up. She carried a bag in one hand, and a paper cup in the other; the odor of coffee rose in the steam from an opening in the lid.

“I found out some stuff I thought you might be interested in hearing,” she said.

To see her face and hear her voice again stirred up feelings. A door opened up somewhere deep inside of me to a place I didn’t know existed. It was a bright place, somewhere darkness couldn’t reach. Then I sensed Melba’s glare on us.

“What did you find out?” I asked gently.

“Can we go and sit down somewhere?”

I glanced past Desiree to Melba.

“The kitchen.” Melba stomped down the hall, leaving us to follow.

Desiree gave me a shrug and said low, “What’s her problem?”

“Rodents,” Melba yelled back before I had a chance to think up an answer.

I would rather have gone outside, back to Melba’s, anywhere far from this eerie mansion, but instead, I followed the two women into the kitchen.

There was no sign of the woman from my vision, or her pies. We sat at the small table in a bright area, surrounded by windows. Carefully, Melba pushed the old dishes to one side.

Desiree leaned over the table in my direction; her lime green-shirt hung open, exposing two half-mounds of smooth flesh and a strip of white lace rounding each one. Staying focused on her delicate features became difficult, but I managed to lower my gaze to the large notepad she pulled out of her bag. She placed it on the table, half facing me, and pointed with a lilac fingernail to the first line of writing.

“These are some of the accounts of the slave Harold Davis at eighty-seven years of age, after he’d been free for thirty-seven years. Harold was sold to Joseph Brandt as a young boy for the Brandt Plantation. Right here.”

As she spoke, she shared her gaze equally with me and the notepad. I watched her lips move with each word; when she looked up at me, I met her gaze.

“Harold goes on to say how Joseph, Solomon’s father, beat Solomon and Joseph’s wife almost as much as he whipped his slaves. From what I read, Joseph was a cruel master, but Solomon became even crueler.”

The name Joseph stuck in my brain like a dull ache.

“Harold says, ‘Joseph died while Solomon was only fourteen.’ The cause of death isn’t official, but the rumor was that he owed a debt and debtors came to collect. His mother, Ruby, died of tuberculosis a couple years later. Solomon inherited this plantation when he was just sixteen years old.” Her gaze fell to the coffee cup at one side of the table. “I suppose back in those days, sixteen wasn’t so young.

“Solomon had one sibling, a younger sister, Beth, who he sent to live at a neighboring plantation. Although Solomon was young, he was bitter and hated the world. By the time he reached twenty, he was known as the most ruthless plantation owner in the South. The Brandt slaves were given no materials for building, so they lived in shacks made from fallen trees and sticks, built under the moonlight, because they were forced to work during daylight hours. Their dwellings had no windows, no furniture, or cook stoves. Meals consisted of what they caught in streams and hunted in the forest. They had no time to grow their own gardens, because they worked the plantation from dawn until after dark. Their only vegetables were the ones not fit to cook for their master. From time to time, the slaves would run, but most would get caught… those, Solomon tortured, branded, raped.” Desiree shuddered. “The list of unspeakable deeds goes on.

“Even the white folk feared him. They say, ‘The devil took his soul and he became a monster.’ By the time Solomon was in his mid-twenties, none of the locals would do business with him. Eventually, he drank and gambled away his inheritance, all but this land and what was on it.”

The image of everything she’d said played in my head, as if I was there. “What happened to him?”

“He was last seen in 1862 riding a white horse in Atlanta; supposedly he got struck down by bandits. He was twenty-eight.”

Desiree’s tale felt too familiar. I didn’t want to hear any more.

“But there’s no real account of his death. According to vital statistics, the family plot holds his empty grave.” A line formed in the space between her eyebrows. “Do you think you’re related to him?”

Something inside me screamed yes, but I didn’t want to admit to the truth out loud. I glanced at Melba out of the corner of my eye. She hadn’t said a word during the account of Desiree’s findings. Her wide-eyed gaze focused on the bare table in front of her, as she quietly fingered the pendants that sat at the deep hollow below her neck.

“Auntie Mel?”

Still holding the pendants, Melba glanced up. “It’s possible, I guess.”

Desiree leaned closer to the center of the table. “If he is, maybe he has a claim to this place.”

“I don’t want it.” And I didn’t. Chills crawled up my back, as I felt the invisible slave woman’s eyes on me. I would rather live in the wild than spend any more time on these cursed grounds.

“If you were a descendant of the first Solomon Brandt, you would have known so by now. In all the twenty-six, twenty-seven years of your life, someone would have told you. I would have known.”

“How would you have known?” Desiree asked.

“I work here, child. History would be different.”

Desiree flopped against the chair’s backrest, looking a little disappointed, and even more suspicious. “So you don’t think he’s who he says he is?”

Melba stood so abruptly, the side of her hand hit a mug, which rattled against a plate. With both hands, she grabbed the two, and then pulled them apart, a look of relief masking her concern. Then, giving us a stern look she said, “The windows won’t clean themselves. Is the history lesson over, Des?”

The perplexed look Desiree gave her aunt made me wonder why Melba wanted this meeting to end sooner rather than later.

“There’s one more thing,” Desiree said in measured words, while reaching inside her bag.

When she pulled out her hand, she held another piece of paper and sat it in the center of the table.

Melba’s hands flew to her pendants.

I stared in horror as the picture of a painting of a man who looked nearly identical to me stared back.

Both women looked from the picture to me.

“Seems pretty undeniable to me,” Desiree said with a pointed look at me. “You’re related.”

“Nonsense,” Melba said tapping the picture with the tips of her fingers. “Look at the hair. Not even close.”

Desiree cocked her head and pursed her lips.

“Only the length is different.” She looked down at the picture. “But the eyes.” She lifted the paper and pointed to it. “The eyes are identical.”

Scarily identical.

“Can we have a look around?” she asked her aunt.

“No. I have to get to work.” Melba walked toward the kitchen door, and then looked back. “Solomon.”

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” I gave Desiree an apologetic look and reluctantly turned away from her.

But the soft touch of her hand on my wrist stopped me in my tracks. I glanced down my arm at her hand, then to her face, and the desperate look it held. The luster in her eyes brightened. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but didn’t.

Her desperation worked its way inside me, and I wanted to stay in this moment as much as I felt she did, but Melba called again, her voice a distance away now.

Desiree lifted her hand from my outstretched arm. She scooped up the papers and shoved them inside her bag, then looked at me, smiling.

“Well, I hope you find yourself, soon.”

“Thanks for,” I looked at the empty spot in the center of the table where moments ago my likeness had been, “everything.”

“Hey, I can wait for you and we can talk more about the infamous Solomon Brandt,” she said, as if it was a headline, “if you like.”

“Somehow, I don’t think your aunt would approve.”

“It’s not like she’s your master and you’re her slave, right?”

She giggled, and I got the feeling that giggle might just have been the first that kitchen had ever seen.

“Well, no, but she’s done so much for me, and…” And Melba was security. I trusted her, but I wanted more than anything to spend time with Desiree. “She needs my help.”

A loud crunch of gravel, coming from outside, made both of us turn to the window.

“Shit,” Desiree said with a look of surprise on her face. “It’s a tour bus.” She flicked her gaze to me. “Someone must have gotten the schedule mixed up.”

ossibly more people than I’d ever seen exited the bus, filling up the parking space. The sounds of their conversations reached the kitchen. Looking as desperate as I felt, Desiree grabbed my hand and pulled me into the hall.

“Who are those people?” I asked as my heart pounded faster than usual.

Were they coming for me?

“Oh, they’re a tour group, but I’m sure they aren’t supposed to be here today, or else Auntie Mel got her dates wrong.”

We were nearly at the end of the second hallway, far from the grand staircase, when Desiree made a turn to the right and pulled me into an open doorway, which led to a large room, decorated in dark paneling and gold velvet drapes.

Once inside, I released the tight grip I had on her hand and closed the heavy, six-paneled door behind us.

The next moment was a blur. Working fast, I reached behind a small statue of a man on a horse, which sat on a table beside the door, opened a small wooden box I found there, and picked out a brass key. With my right hand, I already had the brass key plate slid aside on the door. I slipped the key into the hole and turned it until I heard the click I was waiting for.

When I turned, Desiree’s wide-eyed gaze met mine.

“What?” I said.

Her green eyes looked as if they were about to fall from their sockets, as her hands gripped the straps of her bag, turning her knuckles white.

I stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you even know what you just did?” Her voice was low, almost a whisper. Her stunned gaze fell to my hand.

As if just waking from a dream, I looked at the key, still held between my fingers, with the feeling I’d lost something, a recent memory.

Desiree dropped her bag onto a tapestry-covered sofa and came closer. She took the brass object from my grip and held it up between us.

“You just dug this key out of its hiding place and unlocked that…” she hesitated, as if considering her next words, “somewhat complicated lock, like a pro.” Then, exhibiting a dubious look, she said, “Have you been here with Auntie Mel before?”

“No. Today is the first time.”

“Somehow, I don’t think this is your first time here. Maybe before your memory loss?”

I shrugged, searching myself for an inkling of memory to put truth to her speculations. But the only thing that came to mind was closing the door behind us, and then holding the key, door already locked.

Desiree’s eyebrows knitted together. “Hmm.”

She handed me the key, and I slipped it into a front pocket of my jeans.

“Well, looks like we’re stuck here for a bit. This is one room the tour guide won’t be able to show.” Her fresh smile lit up the dull space.

She walked to the front wall of windows, which showcased the columns on the receiving balcony and the long driveway beyond, and started closing drapes.

I got the hint and helped.

“Can’t have tourists peeping inside,” she said in a lighter tone.

Once the curtains were closed, the room was dark enough; I could just make out the outlines of things, including the long curls framing Desiree’s upper half.

She took out her cell phone and held it outward, shining the display light around the room, stopping when the glow fell on a table beside the sofa, and the oil lamp that sat on top of it.

“I don’t suppose you have a lighter, or matches, do you?” she asked, shining the light on my face.

I looked into the rectangular device she held, squinting. “No.”

The drawer in the table that held the lamp beckoned to me. In my head, I saw a small box with the words Parlor Matches written on it. Desiree opened the drawer and pulled out the exact box I envisioned. The unpleasant vibe—as Melba would call it—was nothing compared to the downright dread I felt after Desiree lit the lamp and turned up the flame, creating a familiar glow in the center of the room, while an eerie gloom fell around its edges.

“I better call my aunt. She’s probably having a heart attack about now, wondering where we’d run off to.”

A moment later, a loud voice came on the other end of her phone. “Auntie Mel, I know. Didn’t you know there was a tour today?”

After a moment, Desiree put her hand over the phone and turned her attention to me. “She didn’t know. Says it wasn’t on the schedule.” Then she turned her attention back to her phone and the frantic voice inside. “We’re in Solomon’s Den.”

Her description of the room sent a chill up my back. As if realizing what she’d said, she looked up from the phone and gave me an apologetic look.

“Okay,” she shook her head to the phone. “Well, we’re stuck here for now. Right. Okay, we’ll meet you later.”

“She says the tour should take about an hour, and not to let anyone see… us.”

I got the feeling she meant—me; specifically, my resemblance to the infamous Solomon Brandt.

After glancing around the room, my gaze came back to Desiree. The glow of the oil lamp haloed her hair, making some strands appear golden, like her skin. She was the most beautiful thing in my memories, and just looking at her quelled any anxiety welling inside me.

“It’s kinda creepy in here in the dark,” she said, her voice suddenly low.

“There must be a light switch somewhere,” I said.

“No, we’d better not. It’ll be too bright. They might see it in the hall.”

No sooner did Desiree speak than a noise coming from behind her, by the far wall, made her jump. She scooted beside me, close enough that I felt her arm brush against mine. I wasn’t sure if instinct or desire made me wrap an arm around her, nestling her into my side. She snuggled her frightened self against me, her hands clasped in front of her mouth, against my chest.

“What was that?” she whispered.

I didn’t know what the scraping noise was, but I knew I had to reassure her everything was okay. “Something probably loosened when we closed the drapes, and decided to fall at this time.”

Her short laugh moved her warm body against mine. The small bit of comfort I gave heightened my desire for her. Protecting this girl felt beyond right.

She unlatched one of her hands from its grip on the other and grabbed a fistful of the front of my T-shirt. “Solomon?”

Hearing my name whispered from between her lips made the next breath catch in my throat.

“This room is freaking me out. There’s quite a history locked up here, you know? Yesterday at the library, while I was researching for you, I read stuff that gave me nightmares last night.”

When she shuddered, I loosened the fingers of my left hand from the fist they were in and flattened them out on her arm, tightening my hold on her.

“Don’t worry, Desiree, I won’t let anything happen to you. It’s just a room.”

But as I reassured her, I wasn’t assured myself. Feelings of déjà vu toyed with my sanity, and I suppressed my own shudder.

“Just a room.” I barely recognized my own voice, softer, lower, but the urge to protect Desiree was too strong to ignore, whether from a trinket that had fallen off a table somewhere across the room, or ghosts from the past. She needed me, and I would not desert her in her moment of need.

Voices, carried down the hall, grew closer. The doorknob jiggled, once, twice, then silence. As I held my breath, I felt Desiree hold hers. She lowered her hand from its grip on my T-shirt, but stayed next to me, a silent gesture of contentment.

Strands of silken hair covered my hand on her arm. I lifted my fingers; the curls fell around them. A compulsion beyond my control made me turn my head to the left, until my chin grazed her forehead, but barely. Except for my chest rising and falling from breathing, I held perfectly still, wondering how long we would stay like that. Who would make the next move? And what would that move be?

Then Desiree spoke. “Your heartbeat just slowed.”

She’s listening to my heart.

“It was pumping pretty fast before, but it’s calm now,” she said.

She lifted her head and looked up. I couldn’t resist the urge to touch her cheek, then her chin. It seemed the natural thing to do. She turned farther, facing me, until she was in my arms completely, and I didn’t know what to do next.

“Are you all right now?” I asked, smoothing her hair over her back.

“Yeah. As long as you don’t leave my side.” Her gaze roamed the room. “I never liked this place.”

“Have you been here before?”

“Lots of times, but not in this room. Auntie Mel would never let me wander off alone. So much crazy talk about ghosts and evil spirits.” Desiree shuddered. “She always kept me by her side. Sometimes, when I was younger, she would let me play outside as long as I was near Wally.”

The loose grip I had on her tightened. “Will my side do, in this case?”

A smile lifted her cheeks. She nodded, scanning both my eyes, then my nose, mouth, then back to my eyes.

“You know, you really don’t look like him at all. You’re a complete gentleman, and your eyes are way kinder.” She ran a hand over the muscles in my arm; they twitched beneath her touch. “And you’re not menacing at all.”

None of the differences she mentioned meant anything. They weren’t actual features—those were nearly identical. The things Desiree mentioned were things she saw, or wanted to see. I did look like Solomon Brandt, the plantation owner, ruthless slave driver. And although I longed to feel like someone else, anyone else, I had felt him inside me, on two accounts now. Was he my past? My future?

The movement of Desiree’s arms circling my waist brought me back to the moment at hand. The intensity of her gaze and the feel of her body against mine drove my urge. I slid a hand under her hair, over the thin fabric of the shirt she wore, and worked my way upward. When I reached her hairline, I closed my fingers around the back of her neck, squeezing gently, possibly pushing her closer.

Like two magnets, our faces inched toward each other. Did she want to be kissed as much as I wanted to kiss her? I was seconds away from finding out when another unexpected noise spoiled the moment. This time, the noise sounded distinctly like a chair leg scraping across a wooden floor, followed by a woman’s cry.

A muffled gasp expelled from Desiree, before she buried her face in my chest. This girl I barely knew, yet felt such passion for, already had my heart racing; now it beat on overload. The new disturbance shocked my emotions, and I struggled to put them in check. Changing focus to the far wall where the noise had come from, I patted Desiree on the back in a soothing manner, and then took a step back, holding her at arm’s length.

She lifted her head, her eyes wide.

“Can you turn on your cell phone? I need the light.”

“Wh-what for?” Her words were quick and fear-filled.

“I want to see what the noise was. Stop it from bothering us again.”

As if I knew exactly what to do, I reached for the switch on the oil lamp’s handle and turned up the flame, swelling our circle of light, almost reaching the edges of the room.

Desiree turned on her phone, gripped my hand tightly, and let me lead the way. We walked toward the gaping black hole of a stone fireplace. My gaze followed the light as Desiree passed the beam over the stones. A china bowl sat at one corner of the dark wood mantel.

“Over here,” I said.

She shone the light on the bowl filled with chandelier crystals. Then she screamed and dropped the phone, startling me. She jumped around behind me, gripping the sides of my T-shirt, pulling the neckline across my throat.

“There it is. Over there.”

She pointed to the far end of the mantel. A mouse jumped off the wood and onto the heavy draperies that hung at a window beside the fireplace. I picked up the phone and added light to the mouse as it scurried down the drape, disappearing along the floor molding.

“It’s just a mouse,” I said, grinning. “It probably ran through the bowl with the crystals in it, causing the tinkling noise.”

I passed her the phone and turned around to face her. Frantically, she searched the floor around us. That was my cue. I slipped my arms around her, pulling her close.

“It’s gone, ran over there somewhere.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

She let out a big sigh and gave me a flustered grin. “I’m not usually such a damsel, you know.”

The discovery didn’t explain the scraping noise, but I didn’t bring it up. As long as Desiree felt safe.

Gazing into the glossy green pools of her eyes, my emotions found the path they were on before, until Desiree lifted her gaze above my head, and the desire in her eyes change to distress.

When I turned and saw the cause of her concern, the over-heated blood in my veins cooled considerably. A portrait of the man I was growing to hate hung, perhaps too proudly, over the fireplace. Desiree lowered the light and turned to me. But I took the phone from her hand, stepped closer, and examined the portrait more closely. The picture Desiree brought with her had been taken from this image.

Solomon’s chiseled features must have been touched up over the years, to look as life-like as they did. His slicked-back hair, hanging past his shoulders, gleamed black, contrasting against the black suit jacket and bow tie he wore, with a white shirt. There was more color in his blue eyes than anything else in the painting; even my own eyes weren’t as deeply shaded.

“Creepy,” Desiree said. “Those soulless eyes kinda follow you wherever you go.”

She was right. Whichever way I moved, he stared back at me.

Her phone rang, distracting us. She had a quick conversation, then hung up. “Auntie Mel says the tourists are upstairs, and we can sneak out now. She’ll meet us in the parking lot.”

As much as I wanted to bolt from this room, I was disappointed that our time together was over.

“Let’s put the room back in order,” I said.

As I started to walk toward the windows, Desiree stopped me with a hand on my wrist.

“Um, despite the creepiness, I’m glad we got locked in here together.” A smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

To say I was glad to be in here for any reason would be a lie. But I smiled and said, “Maybe sometime we can continue this in more pleasant surroundings.” The river came to mind.

“We should definitely do something together sometime,” she said. “I’d love to get to know the man behind the mystery.”

In a rush, we put the room back as it was, all but the scent of oil smoke hanging in the air. I unlocked the door, then put the key back in its place, wondering if Melba even knew it was there. Then we raced through the mansion and out into the parking lot where Melba stood by her car, waiting for us. After casting a suspicious glare over each of us, she said, “Des, have a safe drive back to school. Let’s go, Solomon.”

“So I’m not invited for supper?” Desiree said in a teasing tone. When Melba didn’t answer, she said, “Thanks, but maybe another time.”

A warm breeze blew strands of red curls across her face; she tossed them behind her shoulder and smiled cordially at me, but I detected something in her eyes that wasn’t there when she’d first arrived. Something she hid from her aunt. “I have evening classes tonight. I’ll come by soon.”

“Thanks for coming by with the information.” Trying to look and sound unsmitten wasn’t easy. My heart reached out to her as she got into her little black car and drove off to some other part of the world.

“Can we go now?”

When I heard Melba’s sarcastic tone, I turned away from Desiree’s dust cloud and got into the car. In a way, I was glad the tour bus had come and kept us from the window-cleaning task.

The drive back was a quiet one. Melba didn’t even turn on the radio. In fact, she seemed to be in deep concentration, but not on the road in front of her. I even thought, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her lips move once or twice.

houghts of Desiree floated in my head the rest of the day, so much so that I couldn’t concentrate on other things. The world around me seemed brighter, colors clearer. In fact, everything seemed clearer, except my past. That was more of a mystery than ever.

Melba seemed distracted, too. She didn’t have much to say during supper, and complained that she was tired immediately after. I’d even caught her mumbling to herself again, or maybe she was conversing with the spirit world, or maybe she was just crazy. She had refused to talk to me about what had happened at the estate before Desiree arrived.

After supper, I abandoned the yard work and took Excalibur for a walk to the river. I told him everything that had happened that day—the accounts of Harold the slave, and the closeness of me and Desiree in Solomon’s den. I couldn’t tell if he cared or not, but he seemed to listen, pricking his ears toward me now and then.

When I got into bed that night, the girl I’d almost kissed seemed permanently etched into my mind. Our lips had been so close to touching. I wondered what it felt like to kiss, and to be kissed. I wondered how she tasted; I could only imagine every bit as sweet as she looked. I longed for that moment again, to feel her against me; the rise and fall of her chest against mine as she breathed, her warm breath on the front of my neck when she laughed, or squealed from fright. But the moment was lost. Desire to be near her again burned deep inside me, in places I didn’t know existed, until today.

My eyes grew heavy as my body warmed on the inside. Then Desiree’s image faded into green, the same shade as her eyes. The heat intensified, sparking its way through my bones, veins, and organs. The green area behind my eyelids turned to persimmon, like her hair, and then red. The fever inside me burned though to my skin, becoming uncomfortable. Flames erupted behind my eyelids, blazing, and through the flames burst the evil Solomon Brandt.

His hair was long, slicked back with natural grease, his features sharp. But it was his eyes that choked the breath out of me. Hot flames of hell burned in their sockets. More flames danced wildly on his hulking shoulders. In a smooth motion, his image came toward me. The fire in his eyes burned out, replaced with depthless black holes, then eyeballs with pupils rimmed in electric blue, then normal—my eyes. I felt my head pressing into the pillow, then a room came into view around the demon Solomon, the same room in the Brandt plantation house that I’d been locked in with Desiree—Solomon’s den. Only now, the den was in bad need of repair. The same furniture I’d seen when I was there earlier now looked even older and darkened with stains. The draperies hung from the windows in tatters, as if sharp, giant claws had raked them to pieces. Over the blazing fireplace, the same portrait of the slave owner hung. I sniffed the air, and for a moment the heavy scent of burning oil brought me back to earlier that day, but not for long.

“Welcome home, Solomon,” the demon said.

The pure evilness of his tone prickled the hair on the back of my neck. The rest of his hulking body materialized. He turned his back to me and walked to the center of the room, stopping at a gilded throne that I hadn’t noticed earlier. He sat down, his back straight, like a king looking over his land. In his hand, he held a bullwhip.

As well as evil, a great power exuded from him. I felt it seep under my skin and mix with my blood. I tried not to let the power take me over, for I knew if it did, I would be the one sitting in that chair holding the whip. He and I would be one and the same.

Thinking of Desiree, I fought the pull and was able to lower my gaze from his.

“Take it.” The evil Solomon stretched out his arm, thrusting the whip at me. “Whip that slave bitch out of your heart. She doesn’t belong there.”

A sharp pain cut through my chest at the thought. Desiree—she was in my heart, and I would keep her safe there.

“No!” Rage welled inside me, hardening the muscles in my neck and arms, curling my fingers into fists at my sides. “Who are you and what do you want?”

As I spoke, my tongue tasted the vile fear that consumed me.

An evil laugh echoed throughout the room. Amusement heightened his frightening features. “I am a man scorned—sent to live in this purgatory hell by my own slaves. They struck me down with their sickness. Poisoned me with their mumbo-jumbo. Violated my mind and body with their curses. Rendered me helpless against their black magic.”

As my evil twin ranted, a vision formed between us. My spirit hovered amongst treetops, deep inside a forest. In the gloom of dusk, a gathering of slaves came into view. They circled a man who looked like me. Their voices grew strong and steady as they chanted in a different language. Scented smoke from four fires, one blazing at each corner of a small clearing, wafted through the air, burning my invisible lungs. Directly below me, in the middle of the clearing, the evil Solomon lay on a bed of mud; his wrists and ankles bound by rope to four trees. Handfuls of dirt were thrown on his naked body at intervals; and with every assault, a curse was cast.

The chant ended, and the crowd receded to the fringes of the surrounding forest, creating a circular human wall, all except three women dressed in black tattered clothing, the cloth slightly darker than their skin. Each one wore a thin strand of spun cotton rope around her neck with a red pouch tied to it—a ward against evil.

One woman lifted Solomon’s head from the ground and shoved the rim of a wooden vessel between his lips. Cloudy liquid poured into his mouth and down his throat, forcing him to swallow, choking him with every gulp. I tasted every drop of the pungent, spicy mixture burning its way down our throat. Nausea tore through me, but vomiting wasn’t an option in my spirit form.

Another woman stepped forward and dripped hot wax from a black candle onto his skin, creating crude symbols I didn’t know the meanings of. In seconds, the wax marks burned through his skin—burning me as I watched the horror take place.

As the dying man squirmed on the ground in agony, screaming out his torment, the third woman uncurled a bullwhip and began the torture upon him that he had inflicted upon so many others. Although I felt lash after lash as the leather cut through his skin, I felt no pity for him and wanted the torture to continue.

Soon after the whipping began, the potion administered by the first woman worked its magic, clouding my vision and my thoughts, as I suspected it did to my evil twin. My heart slowed, and my blood cooled. The infliction became an annoyance in the background somewhere as I died.

The scene below me filled with smoke as I floated upward, rising above the treetops. A river cut through the forest to the north. A mile beyond the wide part of the river, a small settlement of decrepit dwellings made up the slave quarters. Recognition dawned on me as I realized this was the place I’d fished from—the place I’d felt unseen eyes watching me—the place the wicked Solomon Brandt had lost his life. Down the river, farther south, through the pathless forest was Melba’s future home. Down farther still, through more woods, across cotton fields, then another small wooded area, and a manicured lawn, sat the plantation house in all its eighteen-hundreds’ glory. I could see it all laid out before me as I drifted farther into the sky.

Then a sharp voice boomed in front of me, startling me out of the vision, or dream within a dream—whatever it was.

I was back in the den.

“Those witches, Hoodoo Priestesses they call themselves, took our life.” As his massive hands clenched the gilded arms of the chair, his upper body lifted off the backrest. “And I want it back.”

I didn’t know what to say, how to react. I flicked my gaze toward the door to my left, remembering the key and the lock.

“You can’t leave, Solomon, until I allow you to do so.” He spoke as if he knew my mind.

But I knew he was right. There was no way to overpower this demon with strength.

With slow steps, I backed against the door.

“I’ve been watching you, Solomon.”

His sardonic grin sent chills up my spine.

“You and that mixed breed stood in this very room today.” He stood, and his voice broke into a yell. “My private room!”

When he spoke of Desiree in that manner, anger welled inside me, replacing the fear. “Don’t talk about Desiree like that.”

A guttural laugh escaped his lips. “Why, Solomon, if I didn’t know better, I would think you were smitten with the help.” His grin vanished, and behind his pupils, fire raged. “I won’t allow you to have her.”

“You can’t stop it,” I said, faking bravery. “You’re stuck in my nightmares. I’m the one who lives and breathes.”

“Not for long. I’ll find a way to end this purgatory and rejoin the living. Your days of existence are numbered, Solomon.”

Without taking my gaze from his, I reached behind me and fumbled until I found the key to the door.

“You can’t escape from me, Solomon.”

As he spoke, I fit the key into the lock. With my other hand, I already had the wooden knob turned and waiting. The door opened behind me. The last thing I saw as I was sucked out of the room was the evil Solomon’s face. Fire blazed on his skin and flames erupted from between his lips as he broke into an angry roar.

“I’m coming for you…”

When I woke, sunlight streamed in through the bedroom window, and I felt as if I’d spent the whole night with my evil twin. As tired as I was, I had to get out of that bed—out of that room. The cool shower delivered me into a semi-awake state.

With this most recent nightmare, I learned my life was in danger. Solomon Brandt, the infamous plantation owner, slain by his own slaves, wanted my life, wanted to live through me. But I still didn’t know anything about my past—or did I? Was I dismissing clues? Denying truths?

Melba’s distance from me that day was so noticeable, I could feel the tension in the air around us, like a thick fog. So I was surprised when she called out into the yard for me to join her for lunch. She set a plate of two ham and cheese sandwiches in front of me, with a tall glass of iced tea, and nothing for herself. Watching her fidget with her rings and pendants made me nervous.

“Please eat,” she said, after I sat there for a few minutes staring at her.

Gardening hadn’t been my focus that morning, so I hadn’t worked very hard, but hunger still gnawed at my stomach. When I had half a sandwich gone, Melba looked up at me.

“Desiree is the only kin I have in this part of the country. When her poor mother passed, I took her in like my own daughter. Her deadbeat father never came around or even called to offer his condolences. The last thing he ever sent to her was an empty Christmas card when she was sixteen. So you see; I’m very protective of her.”

I stopped chewing.

“And if anything happens to her…”

Her gaze lowered to the rooster-shaped salt and pepper shakers in the center of the table that she made fists around. When she looked back at me, there was something in her eyes I hadn’t seen there before—fear.

“I’d never forgive myself. Do you understand?”

I gulped down the dry bite left in my mouth. “I would never hurt Desiree.”

“No. I know you wouldn’t—not intentionally. But he would, through you.”

Her fear passed into me, and I felt she was right.

“Do you understand?”

I nodded, suddenly unable to taste the mustard that lingered in my mouth. But this conversation brought up questions, and I needed answers.

“Several times, I saw you talking to someone. Who was it? Who were you talking to in the hallway of the mansion the other day, in that other language—Haitian?”

She gave me a curious look. “You recognized it?”

“I guess.”

“I’ve been gifted with the ability to converse with my ancestors. They were once Solomon’s slaves—”

“The three Hoodoo Priestesses who killed him?”

Her eyebrows pulled together, creating a crease between them. “You seem to have all the answers.”

“I watched him die in a dream last night, is all.”

She nodded. “This is something I don’t speak of out loud, and I will never speak of it again, so listen closely. Yes, with the help of his other slaves, the Priestesses took his vile life from him, then they buried him face down under the mud, up the river. A most dishonorable death. The spirits of the slaves and their ancestors have watched over that site ever since.”

I remembered the eerie feeling I’d had while fishing—the spirits had been there, watching me. I shuddered.

“Did you dream anything else?”

My mind raced through the nightmare, skipping Solomon’s threats to Desiree. “I think Solomon wants to be reborn—through me.”

The fear-filled look she gave me wasn’t comforting. “Well, now we know why you are here.”

“It still doesn’t explain who I am, and where I come from,” I said, desperate for her to tell me.

She didn’t seem to hear me. Her eyes closed and her head flew back. She mumbled something I couldn’t understand.

“Melba?”

Nothing.

When her body started trembling, I grabbed her hands and held them, across the table, between us.

“Melba!” I shouted.

Her head snapped up, and her eyelids flew open to a blank stare.

My heart pounded in my eardrums.

“What is it?” I squeezed her hands, trying to bring her back from wherever the spirits had taken her.

When she spoke, a different voice came from her mouth. In fact, there were several women speaking at once. “We want you to leave. Forget Melba and Desiree. If you don’t leave on your own, we will force you out. Heed our warning, Solomon. We will not issue it again.”

“Wait!” I said when it looked as if Melba was coming back to herself.

“The Priestesses don’t want you here.” Melba’s voice and eyes had returned to normal. “And if they have a problem with you, then so do I.” With a look of regret fallen on her face, she pulled her hands out of the loosened grip I had on them. “You must leave. I’ll make the arraignments.”

elba knew more than she let on, I was certain of it. But there was no reasoning with her. So I stayed outside with Excalibur until bedtime. That night I spent dreamless, but also sleepless. And the next few days were hell, of a different kind. I worked at the gardens and the yard. Melba cooked my meals, but didn’t eat with me. Desiree hadn’t come back. And why would she? I had nothing to offer her, not even a given name. She was pretty—no, beautiful, and smart. Smart enough to know when to stay away. Life became meaningless.

On the third day since the nightmare and the Priestesses’ warning, a nagging feeling I’d been having won over. With Excalibur in tow, I headed upstream. Not until I passed my bathing spot did I feel the pull become so prominent. I couldn’t turn back if I wanted to. Something invisible lured me through the dense bush, in the direction of the fishing spot, the place I’d felt unseen eyes watching me. Maybe it was the Priestesses, or maybe it was the ghost of Rasmus Smith watching over his property, or maybe the evil spirit of Solomon himself; whichever, I was hell-bound to the fishing hole and beyond.

When we reached our destination, Excalibur refused to go farther. With his head hung low, bobbing, he snorted and pawed at the mossy ground, clearly agitated. Behind him, a gray mist lay on the river, adding to the eerie feeling surrounding the area. I turned from him and looked into the dark woods beyond. Something Melba said during one of our mealtime conversations a while back surfaced in my mind. “Animals have psychic abilities. They can sense danger where we can’t.” A sixth sense, she’d called it. I took a step away from the river, toward the wide tree trunks, and then looked back at the horse.

“You stay here. I won’t go far.”

He stilled his swishing tail, one big eye fixed on me.

As I stepped out of the morning light at the riverside and into the dank gloom of the thick forest, my nerves came alive, prickling against my skin, warning me to turn back.

The T-shirt I wore was of little defense against the chill that fell over me under the canopy of thick tree branches, blocking out all but a shaft of light here and there. After I was about ten minutes inside the network of thick tree trunks, I noticed an uncomfortable calmness around me. The sounds of the flowing river and the chirping birds had stopped. My heavy footfalls shuffling against the forest floor debris were the only thing I heard now. The odor of the composting leaves lifted as my feet churned them, making me wonder if anyone else had ever taken this invisible path. Now that I was deeper in, I felt as if I wasn’t alone. Somewhere, someone, or something, followed me, waited for me. I glanced over my shoulder, regretting leaving the yard work. Behind me looked the same as in front. The forest had swallowed me completely.

I walked onward, until up ahead, a spot slightly brighter than the rest of the forest came into view. My breath grew louder as I rushed to it, hoping that I’d gotten turned around and now headed back to the riverside. But the tree branches here supported heavy gobs of moss. The only other place I’d seen this was at the plantation, and according to the view in my nightmare, this place was far from the plantation house, and very close to where the slave quarters had been.

I parted the moss in places, and ducked under in others, until I came to the source of the light. Sunbeams filtered through the branches, creating a wide circular curtain around the darkest part of the forest, as if on purpose and not by nature.

Cautiously, I stepped through the veil of light, stopping cold at the fringes of the dark area, when I saw a line of red dust along the ground inside the circle; in this instance, a barrier to keep evil in. Melba’s teachings, over her delicious meals, had taught me what the crushed brick was used for. This line was bright and fresh. It must have been topped off recently, but by who? And why? .Although the treetops barely covered the area here, darkness prevailed over what I knew were the remains of the true Solomon Brandt.

Followed by a quick wave of nausea, the vision of his torturous death came into view, but this time, unlike in the nightmare, I had a front row seat as part of the crowd. I felt the fire blaze behind me, burning my back. I had to keep moving, along with the other slaves, chanting, throwing handfuls of mud on the naked body writhing on the ground in front of me. When I reached Solomon’s left side, his head fell toward me. His squinted eyes burst open. The blue turned to flames. He reached a clawed hand out to me, hooking a fingernail on the bottom of my jeans. I stumbled, and fell onto the red powder.

Like a fast awakening, the scene changed again. Just me now, I pushed myself up off the ground. Everything looked as it did when I’d first entered the circle, all except for one thing.

The red line was broken.

My heart pounded against my ribs as I shuffled to fix the gaps my fallen body had made, but when a dark shadow crept from the center of the clearing toward me, I abandoned the task and ran. I didn’t know what direction I took, but I yelled for Excalibur as I made my way through the forest, slamming against tree trunks, stumbling over massive roots that lay along the ground in places. I only looked back once, to see the shadow still following, swallowing everything in its path.

Just when I thought I would never see the light of day again, the white stallion burst from behind a tree. He came straight toward me, but galloped past me. Despite the shadow not far behind, I stopped in my tracks, confused and nervous, wondering why the horse kept going. Then he circled the next tree and doubled back. I caught on to his actions. When he reached me, I ran beside him, grabbed his mane, and hauled myself up. It was the first time I’d ridden him since the day he’d brought me to Melba’s, but it felt like just yesterday. I lay low across his back and neck to avoid the tree branches, and let the stallion carry me away.

A few minutes later, we burst into the light and a newer part of the forest, where the trees where spindly and fallen sticks and branches littered the ground. Was this a shortcut back to the river? Excalibur dropped into a fast trot, and I straightened, in some instances becoming taller than the stunted trees. Soon after, a settlement of shabby dwellings came into view.

We broke out of the woods and into a backyard. Behind us, the shadow ceased its pursuit, and then retreated.

Excalibur wove his way through the area, littered with broken-down cars, stacks of tires, and car parts. Crossed sticks, woven together with colored threads, hung from everything: clotheslines, tree branches, corners of buildings. Some had small skull shapes fastened to their centers; tiny bones hung from others. Melba had something like this hanging in an apple tree in her yard. When I’d asked her about it, she’d said it was a ward against evil, but wouldn’t elaborate further.

Two young men with skin as dark as the people in my nightmare lifted their heads from under the hood of a car and flashed me silent glares of foreboding. I watched with unease as their gazes followed me until I was too far past to see them anymore.

The horse led me between two rundown dwellings and into the front yard of one. A woman burst out of the front door. Tight black curls stuck out beneath a multicolored scarf she wore around her head. Grabbing something tied around her neck, she looked at me with horror-filled eyes. I’d never felt more out of place and unwanted in my life.

Excalibur ignored the people gathering in the yards, holding back their children from whatever they played with before our intrusion, and walked slowly toward the dirt road ahead. A bad vibe hung in the air around this settlement, or maybe I was the bad vibe. There were seven houses in all, and above each front door hung a bundle of herbs.

We were almost out of the settlement when a gray-haired man came up behind us holding a shotgun.

“Keep going, boy, and don’t come back to these here parts, or you mightn’t be so lucky next time.”

Determination gleamed in his black eyes.

Sweat trickled down my face and into my eyes, stinging them. I blinked the perspiration out, but was careful not to make another move. I had no doubt this man would pull the trigger. Once we passed the last house, I risked a glance back. The man with the gun hadn’t moved an inch. Taking a chance, I dug my heels into Excalibur’s sides. He broke into a fast gallop, churning up road dirt behind him. The strange scene behind me vanished in the dust cloud.

A half hour later, we reached broken pavement, and a level of sanity, once I had Melba’s house in my sight. The feeling of someone reaching out, ready to grab my back, had diminished.

Excalibur walked almost lazily to the backyard, where I slid off into the grass. Instinct told me I was safe, for the moment. Melba came bursting out of the back door.

“Solomon!”

The frantic tone of her voice brought Desiree to mind. “Is Desiree all right?”

My question caught her in a moment of confusion. “Yes, she’s fine.”

“Have you heard from her?”

“Y—no. Not since the last time you asked. No. That’s not why I’m upset.”

“What’s wrong?”

Her look was stern. “You should never have gone to the guardians.”

“Guardians? And I didn’t go there to visit. I was chased there.”

“Mae just called…”

“Who’s Mae?”

“My second cousin once removed on my father’s side. She said the devil himself, sitting arrogantly on top of a white horse, rode through her property, and now she will be cursed forever.”

“What? It was just me, and I didn’t go there on purpose… I told you I was chased.”

“By who?”

By the devil you spoke of. I decided to be frank with Melba, since she seemed to know more than she let on, anyway, but clouded the truth with a small lie. “I went fishing, and—”

The pointed look she gave me told me she wasn’t fooled.

“Solomon, you can’t pull the wool over my eyes. I see clearly, remember? Now why did you go to the river?”

Behind her, I saw Excalibur munching grass, as if it was just an ordinary day. I took a deep breath and spilled everything that had happened since leaving her backyard that morning.

“What do they guard?” I asked after a moment’s pause.

“You already know the answer to that. And now I think you’ve disturbed the grave. For more than one hundred and fifty years, my people diligently watched over it, undisturbed. You went and stirred up some bad mojo around here. They will never let you stay now.” She looked up from the ground. “You have to leave, and the sooner you go, the better for both of us. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth before, Solomon.” Her voce lowered as if she didn’t want me to hear the rest. “I was hoping you really were a college kid with amnesia.”

“Who exactly am I?”

The way she looked at me, the apologetic, yet fearful look displayed on her face, sent a chill through me.

“You look exactly like him.”

Then she changed the subject quickly. “A friend of mine runs a pay-weekly motel, and will spot you a month’s rent until you get on your feet. Her cousin’s son got you a job working as a laborer with him. He also has a friend who is making you a fake ID. You’ll have a new name. What you do with it and what you choose for your background will be up to you.”

So Melba had everything taken care of. She would send me away into the unknown, the big scary world I’d learned about on the Internet. How would I ever find Desiree out there? I began to wonder if taking my chances with evil wasn’t a better future for me; at least it seemed familiar.

he next few days and nights I spent looking over my shoulder, sleeping with my back to the wall, and staying far away from the woods. Melba sprinkled concoctions in front of the tree line to ward off evil, always whispering to an invisible someone. I watched Excalibur for signs of nervousness. He didn’t show any. That was a small comfort.

On the eve of moving day, after mowing the lawn a final time, I spent the rest of the evening with Excalibur, wondering what tomorrow would bring for the two of us, not finding much joy in the possibilities. Because of the haunted woods, the river was off limits, so I sat with my back to an overturned wheelbarrow, picking at a sliver of wood on its handle. I gazed at the well-trimmed yard and the garden, ready to plant; at least they gave me some sense of achievement. Excalibur stood a short distance away, closer to the shed. As the daylight faded, he grew anxious, holding his head higher than usual, with his ears pricked to the sky. His increased agitation made me nervous. I didn’t want to leave him alone that night, but when the sky darkened, I had second thoughts about spending the night in the shed. When I stood, an unusual chill blew across my skin, rolling grass clippings over the lawn. My next breath threatened to smother me as the feeling of something about to jump out of the woods and grab me from behind loomed. Fear spiked as I searched the tree line, the direction the wind had reared up from. The chill air hovered, breaking my arms out in goose bumps.

A mysterious pall befell the yard.

Excalibur reacted first. His front hooves lifted off the ground, as he let loose a flurry of horse lingo. With his nostrils flared, he backed toward the shed. I watched the woods… waiting.

No sound came with the dark mist as it broke out of the forest’s edge and crept across the lawn. Fear froze my two feet to the ground beneath me. Excalibur neighed again, and again, as if warning me to move. The horse was already inside the shed when I ran past and into the apartment. With my heart pounding so loudly I could hear it, I bolted the door shut, as if that would keep out the evil, and peered through the door’s small window.

Many things went through my mind. The guardians hadn’t fixed the brick I’d disturbed. Had they left the seal broken on purpose? The wicked plantation owner found a way past Melba’s wards.

As the loathsome darkness advanced upon the shed, a trio of wispy, undefined forms appeared in the air and blocked the entrance, capturing Excalibur inside. Like a drizzle of oil on soapy water, the shadow retreated from the three ghostly forms, taking a turn, instead, toward the house. A vision of the line of red brick outside the door sprang into my head. Always careful not to disturb it, I knew it was intact. Feeling helpless, I slid down the door and waited for the terror to end—or strike. Were Melba and Excalibur okay? I wanted to check on her, but every time I looked out the window, the gloom covering the grass was present, waiting at the edge of the brick… for me.

Morning found me exhausted. I’d sat on the hall floor all night, barely dozing, listening to the fierce winds howling between the door and the frame, feeling the door shake against my back, and hearing the windows rattling against their frames. But the evil didn’t enter. When I rose stiffly from the floor and looked out the window and into the dawn, I found Excalibur munching breakfast near the willow. Something had saved him, and for that I was grateful.

Moving day filled me with anxiety. Melba didn’t seem to have any idea of the happenings around her house throughout the night. She mentioned the wind, and that was all, so I kept the living nightmare to myself. No need worrying her further. I was sure that once I was gone, the danger to her would leave, also.

Melba fussed more than usual, helping me pack, and straightening the apartment. Always near, as if she would miss me as much as I would miss her. All the clothing she’d given me was in a semi-contained pile on a bedroom chair. She folded each piece and packed them into a duffle bag, making sure I had a generous supply of toiletries. She’d even gone back to the used clothing store early that morning and brought me two pairs of work jeans, a few more shirts and T-shirts, and a pair of like-new work boots.

Once Melba had me packed, she headed upstairs and prepared breakfast for us. The melancholy I’d felt in my apartment worsened when I walked into her kitchen. She’d been like a mother to me, and a friend. I was sure if I could remember my past, it wouldn’t have been half this good. Breakfast felt like a last meal, like I would never see Melba again. Although I didn’t have an appetite, I ate because she cooked for me.

There was something we hadn’t talked about yet. Something maybe she avoided, and it worried me more than leaving did. I stabbed the fork through some fried potatoes and messed them in egg yolk, then set the utensil on the edge of the plate and looked up.

“What about Excalibur? Is there a place for him where I’m going?” I had a sinking feeling I already knew the answer.

For the first time that morning, Melba smiled. “Excalibur won’t be able to go with you, Solomon, but he can certainly stay here.”

I nodded, feeling satisfied.

“He likes it here. I don’t really know where else he belongs.” He would be safe here without me.

“He belongs to you. And once things settle down, you may come and visit him, if you like.”

Her offer lightened the turmoil raging in my head. She’d invited me back, which gave me some level of comfort, and Excalibur would be well taken care of. I stuffed the fork into my mouth and chewed the savory food.

Immediately after breakfast, I went out to see Excalibur. A sadness I was sure I’d never felt before consumed me now. I told myself he wouldn’t miss me like I would miss him, and when that thought sank in, I accepted the parting. I told him he would be safe, that whatever protected him last night would keep an eye on him. Then I left him at his favorite place—near the willow. He munched at the freshly mowed grass I left behind for him, and only lifted his head for a moment after I got into the car.

The drive to the city took about twenty minutes. Melba chattered the whole way, explaining things like how to use the city bus service, and a pay phone. She even gave me a piece of paper she tore off an envelope from the glove compartment and a pen and recited her phone number for me to write down, if I needed anything.

On our way to the city, we passed the road to Solomon Brandt Estates. Thoughts of Desiree’s soft body against mine, the scent of her curly red hair, and the color of her green eyes all seemed distant to me now. She hadn’t come back. And if she’d called, Melba had kept the conversation to herself. Even when I had asked about her, Melba had given me short answers, then changed the subject altogether. Desiree had moved on.

“What are you thinking about, Solomon? You’re so quiet.”

Your niece.

“There’s so much traffic here.” And buildings and people walking. For the first time, I was nervous about the city.

On the other side of a gas station, Melba pulled off the main road and took a couple more turns before pulling into a parking lot and stopping in front of an elongated building. A big sign in the middle of a small patch of grass flashed the words Rainbow Motel and Vacant. Below, a wooden sign hanging from two chains said Nightly, Weekly, Monthly Room Rates and Air Conditioning. To tie into the rainbow theme, every door had been painted a different color until all five colors were used up, and then they repeated.

In the office, behind the front desk, a woman about Melba’s age stepped out front. The two women hugged briefly before turning their attention on me.

“Glyda, this is Solomon, Solomon, Glyda.”

The fluorescents overhead splashed light on the gray roots of her mousy hair as she tipped her head and smiled. Thin lines were visible across her cheeks and around her eyes, adding to the friendly air about her.

“Welcome, Solomon. Melba tells me you’re not familiar with the city.” She picked up something off the counter and handed it to me. “I put this info package together for you.”

I flipped through the pamphlets as she spoke, in a lighter drawl than Melba’s.

“There’s a map of the city, a pamphlet to most restaurants and attractions, and a bus route and schedule.”

On the last piece of paper were handwritten phone numbers. Glyda’s was at the top of the list, followed by Melba’s, Gary’s Taxi, and a few others.

“Give me a call if you need anything brought to your room, or if you’re stuck somewhere in the city,” she said.

“Thank you.” Maybe city life wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Saying goodbye to Melba wasn’t easy as I looked into her moist eyes, a mixture of brown and green. Letting go of the hug was harder still. I stood in front of the orange door, with the number eleven on it, and watched the Toyota round the corner, disappearing into the city. For the first time in possibly my life, I was completely alone.

Closing the door behind me, I glanced at the fistful of bills Melba shoved in my hand on her way out the door. Three hundred and fifty dollars; she told me to pay it back whenever I could afford it. Her kindness toward me all these weeks left a warm feeling embedded deep inside me—a gift far greater than any material possession.

I lifted my gaze from the generous gift and checked out my new home. Different shades or orange squares dominated all the other colors in the quilt that covered the bed. Now I knew what the rainbow meant in Rainbow Motel. There was even a picture of a rainbow on the wall over the headboard, as I suspected there was in every room, or something similar.

The TV worked, so I found a comedy show and left it on for comfort, and then explored the washroom. Although the place was smaller than Melba’s, it had almost all the same stuff. I filled one of the two glasses that sat beside the sink with water and gulped down the rusty-tasting liquid. The midday sunshine streamed through the back window on the other side of the room, so I closed the curtains and lay back on the bed, wondering about Excalibur. Did he know I wouldn’t be there to say good night to him, or to sneak him a tangerine when Melba wasn’t looking? The sweet fruit was his favorite snack.

Smiling at the vision, I rolled to my side. My hand brushed against the pamphlets, scattered across the bed, that Glyda had given me. I picked up the bus schedule and opened the leaflet to view the full map of the city of Savannah. An arrow drawn in red pointed to the words Rainbow Motel. My eyes grew heavy as I followed the route through the city, past parks and hospitals, all the way down to Savannah State University. According to the color-coding, I wasn’t in the historical district, or near the riverfront where the new job was. I also wasn’t near the university, but it looked like the bus would take me straight to it.

How would Desiree react to seeing me in her world? Maybe she would be angry. According to the hints Melba had thrown me, she’d moved on. But something nagged at me to find her, anyway.

Through the front window, I watched a small bird hop across the blooming azalea bushes peeking above the ledge. Just beyond, the drone of traffic was ever-present. But despite being in the middle of the city, a place both frightening and fascinating, a peaceful feeling fell over me, and I dozed.

The next thing I heard was a tapping sound. The tapping grew louder and more prominent as I fully awakened. Someone knocked on my door. Yawning, and feeling groggy, I rolled off the bed and answered the door.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t mean to wake you,” said a man who looked slightly younger than I was, with short blond hair and the beginnings of a moustache.

I covered my mouth to conceal the next yawn and blinked, trying to get my eyes open fully. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m Justin.”

When he didn’t say anything else, I searched through my recent memories. The name didn’t stick out. “Am I supposed to know you?”

The guy searched over my shoulders, then stepped past me. Once inside, he turned to face me. I closed the door, but left my hand on the knob.

He shoved his hand in a jacket pocket and pulled out some papers, then held them out to me. “I have your new ID.”

I accepted his offer warily.

He seemed to catch on to my suspicion. “Oh, you were expecting Dave? He’s my brother. He had these made for you. I’m just delivering for him.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“There’s been a change in the work order.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“There was an accident at the industrial site down on the waterfront, so you’ll be working with me at a place I’m painting, just outside the city. Hey, it’s better than construction.” He grinned, adding to his laugh lines.

“Painting sounds good.” At least I’d learned that skill at Melba’s.

He opened up a folded piece of paper. “I just need you to sign this with your new name.”

I have a new name? I lifted the flap on the envelope and pulled out a card. Georgia Driver’s License was printed across the top, above my picture. The same picture Melba had taken of me about a week ago. So, I was to be called Shane Black. DOB April 10, 1985.

“Everything okay?” Justin asked after a few moments of silence passed, while I took in my new identification.

I looked up from the card.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. I have something for you.” From a zippered pouch on the duffle bag, I pulled out an envelope with the payment inside and handed it to Justin. “You’ll take this to Dave, won’t you?”

“Sure thing.”

Justin walked to the door, but turned back. “I’ll stop by in the morning and catch the bus to work with you. My apartment is just around the block.”

Once Justin left, I went to the washroom to clean up. Melba approved of the beard I started to grow, said it made me look like myself, and not someone from the past. I had to agree. With the dark scruff covering the lower half of my face, I looked nothing like my evil twin… except for the eyes.

After brushing my teeth and straightening out the bedhead look, I put on a clean T-shirt, with my jean jacket over it, and headed across the parking lot to the motel diner.

Tall poles topped with lights stood vigil over the darkness, lighting up the streets in an eternal dusk. The presence of people was everywhere. Was this army enough protection against the evil I left behind? Did I leave it behind, or did it follow me into the city?

barking dog, someone shouting in the neighborhood, and increasing traffic woke me early. I lay in bed in the gray light of early morning, imagining myself back at Melba’s, where the only morning noises were the sounds of birds chirping and, sometimes, the wind.

A dusty glow bloomed over the room, and the outside noise grew louder. I got up and took a shower in water that smelled like the rusty bolt I’d changed on the wheelbarrow. Once dressed, I set to work making my first lunch from the supply of groceries Melba brought with her—two peanut butter sandwiches, four homemade cookies, two apples, and a bottle of water.

Justin met me at the bus stop outside the motel, with a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. He gave me a quick once-over, then a nod of approval at my attire. In fact, we’d dressed almost the same, in jeans, shirt over T-shirt, and work boots.

“How’s Shane Black this morning?” He winked.

It took me a moment to clue in to the fact that I had a new identification.

“Oh, great. Thanks,” I said lifting the coffee to my lips. Although the hot liquid was too sweet for my taste, my throat accepted the beverage I’d grown accustomed to.

The public transit system fascinated me in some ways. Like the magnitude of space inside a bus, compared to Melba’s Toyota, and all the seats, nearly filled with an assortment of people when we got on. Sitting next to the window, I had a clear view of the buildings and parks, as the bus stopped frequently to pick up people and drop off others.

At one stop, two young women got on, both dressed in tight jeans and thin cotton tops, one pink, one white. They each carried a large bag on their small shoulders. My first thought was, I wondered if they knew Desiree. They dressed like her and looked to be about her age.

During the drive, I watched them interact, wishing they’d sat closer. When they stood to get off, the blonde dropped her bag in the aisle, spilling some of its contents. Without hesitating, I jumped up and began picking up her items—the ones that scattered away from her and slid under the seats. When I gathered up everything I saw, I handed her a shiny purple tube, a pen, and a set of keys.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling, exposing a tiny sparkling jewel on one tooth.

She threw a handful of coins in the bag and some papers, then grabbed the pole. The keys I handed her dangled from her hand. On a white circle, I saw the words Savannah State University and a picture of a tiger. A smidgeon of hope burst inside my chest. My gaze flicked to hers, but she turned and rushed toward the front where her friend waited for her by the open door. In seconds, she was gone.

“Do you always come to the rescue of damsels in distress?” Justin teased when I got back to my seat.

“You don’t?” I asked.

“Hey, don’t get me wrong”—he held up his hands in front of him—”it’s a great way to pick up chicks.”

I didn’t understand his lingo. “I was just helping.”

His grin widened, “Okay. If you say so.” He ended the conversation with a wink.

By the time I took my last sip of coffee, we reached the city limits and our stop. On my way toward the front exit, I saw a small card on the floor of the aisle and picked it up. The front had a shoe print on it, and under that were the words, The Fox Den. On the back, the word shifts had been handwritten in blue ink. A list of dates and times followed underneath. Beside today’s date was the time, 7:00 p.m. I kept it and got off.

Justin saw me studying the item as we walked across the street. “Oh, hey,” he said, grinning. “She gave you an invitation.”

“No. It fell out of her bag with the other stuff, and she missed it. I picked it up on my way off the bus.”

“Maybe this is a sign. We should check the place out after work. Whadya say?”

“A sign of what?”

“You know… you and blondie.”

“I’m not interested.”

His excitement morphed into disappointment. “But you’ll go tonight, right?”

When I didn’t answer right away, he said. “You gotta eat, and Glyda’s ain’t the best cookin’ in town, if you know what I mean.”

“Maybe.”

In a parking lot across the street, a blue truck waited. Justin crawled into the middle of the front seat and introduced the driver to me as his brother, Dave. The bulk of muscle inside the cab made for a tight fit.

The brothers shared the same blond hair and ice-blue eyes, but Dave looked significantly older than Justin and I did. We drove outside the city limits on a less-busy road that looked familiar. Ten minutes later, a scene came into view that sent chills up my spine.

The truck slowed in front of a hulking mansion, surrounded by giant oaks bearded with moss. The Solomon Brandt Estates sign stuck out at me like a flashing billboard I’d seen in the city.

We pulled into the graveled drive on the north side of the building where Melba had parked. Somehow, the gravel seemed out of place with its Greek revival background—two eras mashed together, crudely. I wanted to ask why we were here, but I had a good idea, once my gaze fell on the scaffolding, that I would be painting the plantation house.

“Here we are,” Dave said pulling the key from the ignition and grabbing his coffee cup off the dash.

Reluctance to get out fastened my fingers to the door handle. I was remembering what had happened the last time my feet hit the gravel. But there was no painful welcome this time, only the memory of it.

“You all right, Shane?” Justin asked as I stood in his way, staring at the kitchen window, afraid the apparition of the slave woman would appear.

I nodded, then stepped aside.

This side of the building had been scraped down since I’d been there last. Dave climbed to the top of the metal framework to paint the fascia board, while Justin slapped white paint on the wood siding. I had window trim and shutter duty. I began at the front corner, removing the long black shutters and placing them on a tarp laid out on the grass. Somewhere in a nearby bush, bees hummed a hypnotic tune as I worked under the shade of a giant column that held up the corner of the receiving balcony. Black speckles accumulated on the backs of my hands as I brushed paint on the shutters, all taller than I was.

The morning wore on uneventfully, except for the work, and by lunchtime, I had the top row of shutters off and one side of each painted glossy black. All morning, I avoided the urge to answer nature’s call. I knew it wouldn’t be appropriate to do so on the grounds, and I didn’t want to set foot inside the house. But I couldn’t hold it any longer, so while Dave and Justin sat back on the grass with their lunch, I walked to the edge of the woods.

When I was just inside the tree line, Justin yelled out, “Hey, don’t piss on Solomon’s grave. The bastard might curse you.”

The two men laughed at the joke, while my heart raced at the possibility. They had no idea how literally I took that statement. Within earshot of the men, I decided I was far enough into the woods to do my business.

As I was about to turn and go back, a slight breeze moved the treetops aside, filtering rays of sunlight through the forest. In the distance, bits of an iron fence appeared between massive tree trunks. Although I wanted to turn back, something compelled me to keep going.

Deep, dark history hung in the air like an oppressive fog, squeezing me from all angles, pulling me forward, until I stood in front of a forgotten cemetery. Creeping vines, still brown from winter, covered the rusted ironwork like long, thin, possessive fingers. A broken gate laid out an invitation I didn’t want, but took. Three gravestones, shaded by a tangle of oak branches laden with a covering of bright green moss, stood in a row, like silent guardians. The first, taller than the other two, was a stone monument set on a granite base, sunk into the ground farther than it was meant to be. I read the name with disdain: Joseph Seymore Brandt. For reasons unknown to me, thoughts of hatred welled inside me, and my breath came in heavy spurts. Why did I hate this man so?

But when my gaze fell to the side, upon the next monument, slightly smaller than the first, I unclenched my fists and allowed a small bit of sadness to push away the loathing. Ruby Eleanor Brandt. I peeled away chunks of moss, exposing a rose carved into the stone above her name. This grave was tilted toward the next—the one I was most reluctant to look at.

But eventually something overpowered my will, and I found myself standing in front of the grave of the second master of this plantation, Solomon Charles Brandt carved into the stone. Although I knew the grave was empty, being here still didn’t sit well with me. A sudden gust of wind turned up a swirl of dead leaves around my feet, carrying with it scents of wisteria from somewhere else on the estate. The familiar odor sparked a vision in my mind.

The scene was of a young boy on his tenth birthday. A man he feared, yet respected, loomed over him. He presented the boy with a white colt. Behind him, the receiving balcony and spiraling lawn bustled with the elite from neighboring plantations. The boy’s joy welled inside me for the gift given to him, as well as his fear of his father as he looked into the man’s cruel eyes and thanked him formally. The colt nudged his muzzle into the boy’s neck in a gesture of acceptance. I felt the boy’s moment of happiness as if it was my own, then the headstone came back into view as a hand grabbed my shoulder. A chill shot through me, leaving a spasm of pain in its wake.

As I spun around, Justin stepped back with his hands in front of him. “Sorry, dude. I didn’t mean to spook you.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t,” I lied, giving a quick laugh.

His eyebrows came together. “Whatcha doin’ here, anyway?” He shuddered visibly. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“Oh, I… I saw the broken gate, and then…” I looked at the graves, then back to Justin.

“Well, you can spend the rest of your lunch in this bone yard if you want, but I’m gettin’ outa here before one of these creeps decides to join us, if you know what I mean.” He gave a nervous laugh, then walked on ahead, waiting a few paces away.

I looked down at the broken gate, part of another half that stood upright on the other side of the opening. I stooped and wrapped my fingers around an outside edge and pulled, straining the veins in my neck all the way down my arms, until finally the iron loosened from the ground, bringing up earth and surface roots on one corner. Its hinges expelled an eerie groan as I pushed the gate into place. The two halves, pointed on the tops, fit perfectly together. I lifted the iron latch attached to one half and pushed it into a bracket on the other, closing the opening for the first time in maybe a long time.

“Jesus, where’d you get that muscle anyway, steroids?” Justin said as we put our backs to the cemetery.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know, pills.”

“I don’t take pills.”

“What line of work were you in before you came here?”

I wished I had a true answer for him. “Construction. Lifting rocks, mostly.” At least there was some truth to the tale I told.

Lunch filled the void that the apple I ate earlier didn’t.

I had one more window to work on—the one I’d been avoiding. After taking down the last two shutters from the kitchen window, I worked away from the others, on my tarp, near the balcony. I wasn’t long into my work when the afternoon grew unbearably hot—even in the shade. The breeze that had blown all morning had come to a sudden halt. At the same time, an unusual hush fell over the yard with such profound abruptness, it took my breath.

I put the paintbrush down and wiped sweat-soaked hair from my forehead. My heart beat a foreboding tune against my chest wall as I stood barely breathing, listening, waiting. Then it came; a muffled scream tore through the house, reaching me outside, freezing the breath in my lungs. Pulling myself together, I peeked around the side of the house. Dave and Justin worked away as if they heard nothing.

Another cry tore through the mansion and into the yard. With measured steps, I made my way up the balcony stairs to the front door, ripping the caution tape and stepping carefully over the broken deck boards. Beads of sweat trickled down my back, absorbed by my T-shirt. The front door squeaked when I opened it, making me cringe.

The air inside was thick with hostility… sweetened with the scent of a freshly baked peach pie. When I came to the hall mirror, I caught sight of the empty hook the whip had hung from last time I was there. My reflection hardly looked like me, with the week’s growth of beard and moustache. Shane, the new me, stared back.

Sounds of a woman whimpering came from the kitchen. Determined to help her, whoever she was, I bolted down the hallway and into the room. A man with his back to me cracked a whip over a woman’s slumped body. By the color of her dark skin and the tattered clothing she wore and her bare feet, I assumed she was the ghost of a slave of the estate. The older woman I’d seen there before, the woman I feared seeing today, looked on in sorrow. Near the hem of her tattered skirt, a pie lay splattered on the floor.

I rushed to the raging man and grabbed for his wrist, catching it as he pulled back to swing. Our right arms collided in a struggle for dominance over the other; the muscles in his bulged identically to mine. A vein on the back of his hand, curving over bone, matched mine exactly. But where black paint speckled mine, blood speckled his.

Although I couldn’t see the attacker’s face, I knew it was he—the darkness that first followed me through the forest behind the estate, and crept along the shed floor on my first night at Melba’s. He was the presence of all evil that assaulted me while I was awake, and in my dreams at night. And I wanted to kill him now with my bare hands, to inflict as much pain and humiliation upon his soulless body as he had done to his slaves, as the priestesses had done to him in his final hours. I wanted to make him suffer more.

Every muscle in my body strained as I fought to bring him down. Eventually, I worked an arm behind his back and administered a tight squeeze to his wrist, forcing him to drop the whip. I used my foot to hook his, hoping to trip him, but limb for limb, his strength matched mine.

As a roar bellowed from him, and he made a move to turn, the kitchen door flew open. The three people from the past vanished in front of me, causing me to fall into the cupboard.

“Whoa, you all right?” Dave asked, rushing to my side too late.

I had a feeling all he saw was me tripping and catching myself.

A grin lightened the worried look on his face. “First day with your new feet?” He laughed at his attempt of a joke.

I followed along, faking a quick laugh.

He stood where the toppled pie had been—probably the reason for the whipping—and glanced around.

“Man, this place has some history, what?”

He lifted a water bottle to the tap and filled it.

“Can’t beat the water here, though. Someone kept the well in good shape all these years.”

“Yeah, that’s what I needed, a drink,” I said, coming up with a quick excuse for being inside.

Dave guzzled a mouthful of water, and then left through the kitchen door.

I wanted to follow him, but I had to see something. Careful not to look into the hallway mirror, I glanced quickly at the wall beside it. The whip, looped three times, hung in its place on the hook. I hurried through the front door, shutting it behind me.

Outside, the chirping birds had returned, and a refreshing breeze mauled the blades of grass. To anyone else, the day might have been gorgeous. I just wanted it to end.

As I painted the last shutter, I imagined the path Excalibur had taken me on, across the plantation, to the river, in our escape from the angry mob. Then my attention stuck on the mob, in particular, me bursting out of the ground. That memory made no sense.

The last thing I wanted to do that evening was leave my room at the motel. The temperature may have been a hundred degrees inside, with broken air conditioning, but my body and mind were both exhausted. I lay back on the pillow, with wet hair from the second shower that day, and waited for Justin’s knock.

As I stared up at a watermark on the ceiling, running over the day’s events in my head, he arrived, and he wasn’t alone. He’d brought a guy named Sean with him. The three of us took a bus downtown. Music played from Sean’s phone. People threw us annoyed glances. At one point, the bus driver asked him to turn the noise down, which only caused him to play it louder. Needless to say, I was relieved when that part of the journey ended.

Crowds of people littered the streets in this part of the city. Some, who Justin called hookers, sold their bodies. On both sides, signs flashed the names of clubs. Justin stopped in front of one place with a lit neon sign shaped like a fox above the open doors. Below the fox, in red lights, flashed The Fox Den.

Inside, the music was ten times louder than out on the street. My temples throbbed as we made our way through the crowd of dancers and into another room, a slightly less noisy area, filled with tables. The food odors made my mouth water, reminding me of how hungry I was.

Sean found us a table and sat, picking up three large plastic cards decorated with pictures of food and handing them to us. As I searched the list on mine, I also scanned the other tables to see what people ate.

I was concentrating on the menu when a soft-spoken girl came to take our order. I recognized the voice and lifted my head. Her face lit up when our gazes met. She pointed the end of her pen at me.

“I saw you on the bus this morning.” The lighting caught the jewel on her tooth when she smiled. “My name’s Nadine.”

“I’m… Shane.” I took something out of my shirt pocket and handed it to her. “You left this behind.”

“Oh, my shifts. Thanks.”

It was impossible to ignore Justin and Sean gawking at her, while she focused all her attention on me.

“I noticed you had a Savannah State University keychain,” I said, anxious to get the information I longed for.

“Oh, yeah.” She shifted from one high-heeled-foot to the other. “I’m taking some courses there.” She threw her gaze across the room. “This place is just a job to pay the student loan, you know?”

I smiled at her, knowingly. “I was wondering; do you know someone named Desiree McClinton?”

Her grin widened. “Yeah, I know Desi. We take a class together.” She cocked her head to one side, looking slightly confused. “Why?”

“She’s a friend of mine, and I’m looking for her.”

“Oh.” The small word oozed of disappointment. “She works at a coffee shop on College Street, right down past the university.” Giving me a tight-lipped smile, she lowered her gaze to the notepad she held, then turned her attention to the others.

During our short conversation, I grew to feel sorry for Nadine. She looked too young to be dressed the way she was. A pair of skimpy, faded, denim shorts covered little, exposing the round bottoms of her behind, while her nipples pushed against the thin fabric of the tight T-shirt she wore, ripped off under her breasts, exposing her entire stomach. My gaze fell to the dangling jewel pierced through her bellybutton, to the snap on her shorts, which lay open. Justin and Sean looked on like starving animals and she was their prey. I wanted to cover her up, protect her from men like them. It was then I noticed all the girls taking orders and working behind the bar dressed in the same alluring fashion. Was that how Desiree dressed at her job? I wondered.

Nadine asked if we were ready to order. I let the others order first, then copied. She threw me a smile before leaving.

“Earth to Shane.” A huge grin followed Justin’s comment. “Dude, you got a serious eye grope going on.”

“What? No—” Eye grope? What exactly did that mean? “The girl should put some clothing on.”

Justin and Sean laughed through their smirks. I guessed they thought I was joking.

“Or take some off,” Sean said, still laughing.

The meal wasn’t like anything I’d ever eaten. Mouth-watering flavors exploded on my tongue with every bite of the double burger, wrapped in cheese, crisp bacon, and dripping with fragrant onions. The fries, which I smothered in ketchup because the others did, tasted similar to Melba’s fried potatoes, making me long to be sitting at her kitchen table and not in the middle of this mayhem.

Nadine came back to our table just as we finished eating. “Can I get you boys anything else?”

“What else are you offering?” Sean asked out of the corner of his mouth. The two men gave her curious but sly glares.

“That’ll be everything,” I said relieving her of her service, before any more lewd remarks were thrown her way by my over-heated companions.

Sean cocked his head and watched Nadine walk away.

Justin sat back in his chair patting his newly bulging stomach. “You ready for the Red Room, Shane?”

Whatever that was, I wanted no part of it. I had other plans. “No, thank you. I think I’ll get going.” I gave them the first excuse I thought of. “First day on the new job, you know?”

“That sucks, man,” Sean said.

I stood, casting a shadow over the table. “Maybe next time. Nice meeting you, Sean. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Justin.”

“Okay, dude,” Justin yelled above the music as I walked away. “But you’re gonna miss the strip…”

The rest of his words were lost in the loud music as I rushed through the crowd and back out on the street.

Neon signs and streetlights lit up this part of Savannah like a lightning storm at night. After declining an offer from a hooker, and a good deal on drugs, I found someone who pointed me in the direction of the bus stop that would take me to Savannah State.

I was at the mercy of this electrical-driven garden, as I set out alone in search of its finest flower… Desiree.

he mood inside the bus was serene compared to the club. The ringing in my head lifted. I sat in front, on the middle of the seat, dominating both halves. From a jacket pocket, I pulled out the street map of Savannah, and starting at the red arrow pointing to the motel, I followed—as best as I could from memory—the bus route that took me to the club, circling the place with a pen, to the street I was on now.

When we turned onto College Street, the swirling frenzy of anxiety in my stomach erupted. I didn’t know how Desiree would receive me—whether she would be happy to see me, or angry with me for locating her. What if she was with the boyfriend Melba had told me about? The closer I came to finding Desiree, the more I thought maybe I shouldn’t.

When I saw the Southern Bean Coffee Shop sign, I released my grip on the edge of the seat and stood before the driver had a chance to alert me, as I had asked him to do.

People, holding paper cups and divided into different sized groups, chatted and laughed in the parking lot. As I walked past them, toward the building, my eager steps turned to measured ones, as the groups of mostly African-American men and woman glared at me. Ignoring a few snide remarks, I continued toward the door. Being the odd man out, I didn’t want any trouble.

Five large men leaned against a bicycle corral next to the door. I gave them a respectful nod as I walked past.

“You lost, Captain America?” one man said—the bulkiest one of the group.

I had no idea what that meant, unless it had something to do with the small American flag logo embroidered onto the left sleeve of my T-shirt. I thought it best to ignore the comment.

Once inside, rich aromatic scents filled my nostrils with every breath. Caffeine euphoria floated throughout the crammed room. Most people talked in groups, while loners buried their faces into their laptops and other devices. Being taller than most, I searched above the crowd for that vibrant head of red velvet. I didn’t see it.

So as not to look any more out of place than I assumed I did, I stepped to the back of one of the two lines, and inched my way toward the counter, without a clue as to what to do when I got there. As the line progressed, I concentrated on what the people in front of me ordered, and how they paid. Before I was ready, my turn was up. I pulled two one-dollar bills from my pocket. Behind the counter, a young guy waited on the line next to me. The girl waiting on my line suddenly rushed off toward the back with fresh coffee dripping down the front her white top, leaving me stranded. One of the bills I held fell to the floor. I stooped to get it, and when I straightened, my heart lurched at the surprise awaiting me.

Desiree stood before me, only the counter between us, looking formal in black pants and a tucked-in white shirt slightly wrinkled. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, with a few loose straggles framing her face. Her stunned expression fixed on me.

In that moment, we owned the room.

“Solomon,” she said, her eyes big and glowing under the ceiling lighting. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you.”

“For me? Why?”

“Because… I missed you.” The only truth I knew spilled out, along with my newly swollen heart.

As if suddenly coming out of her trance, Desiree flicked a concerned gaze to the right, then to the left of me, which brought me back to reality and to the room filled with people.

“Hey bud, take it up in the back seat of a car. I want my latte this year.” the guy behind me said. A small wave of laughter followed.

The pink in Desiree’s cheeks deepened. “You have to order something,” she said, barely moving her lips.

“Right, um…”

“Coffee, double, single, right?” she said when I hesitated.

“What?”

“Two cream, one sugar. I think that’s how Auntie Mel made it for you.”

As she talked, she worked in motions faster than the guy waiting on the other line. And by the time the first girl came back with a clean shirt on, I had the coffee Desiree had fixed for me in my hand.

She turned her attention to the girl. I stepped aside to let the not-so-patiently-waiting people behind me have their turn.

“You okay?” she asked her.

“Yeah, thanks for covering for me.”

After a brief conversation, Desiree turned back to me and said, “Meet me over there.”

She pointed her dimpled chin toward a less busy corner of the room.

By the time I watched two cars squeal out of the parking lot together, causing a small traffic jam, I sensed her behind me. I turned to face the room and Desiree standing beautifully before me, almost as close as she’d been that day in Solomon’s den. But with the amount of space afforded, everyone stood close together.

Her smile gripped my heart.

“So, where did you come from? Auntie Mel told me you went back to South Carolina. Back to your girlfriend.”

“She did?” Of course she did. She didn’t want her niece messed up with someone like me. “I don’t have a girlfriend. I just left Melba’s house yesterday. I’m staying here in Savannah.”

“Wow.” Her raised eyebrows fell into a frown. “She lied to me. I called the next day after…”

Her gaze lifted from the center of my chest to mine, with a new touch of pink glowing on her cheeks.

The memory of our bodies together in Solomon’s den seemed to come from inside my heart, and not my head. I felt my own heat rise to my face.

“It doesn’t matter. She was just trying to protect you—”

“From you?” She looked appalled.

No, from the evil demon who is terrorizing me. “Don’t be angry with Melba. She helped me a lot in the past couple of weeks. I know how much you mean to her. She only has your best interest at heart.”

The closeness of the corner wasn’t enough. I longed to reach out and touch the smooth skin on her face, pull her to me and feel her breath on the crook of my neck, like I shamefully did so many times in my daydreams. But I had to let her make the first move. She had to want to be with me as much as I wanted to be with her. Then everything would be right.

Her expression softened. “So, you missed me?” Her bottom lip disappeared under the top one.

More than I can say. I nodded. “Yes, I missed that enormous smile of yours.”

A grin lifted her cheeks, and her gaze lowered to the floor, then back up again.

“Like that.” Oh, how I missed it.

Someone in the crowd bumped into Desiree. When she lifted an arm to catch her balance, her hand hit my coffee cup, spilling a dribble on the floor.

“Why don’t we continue this conversation somewhere else?” she suggested, looking at the splash.

“Sure.”

I sat the full cup of coffee on a ledge and followed her outside. The strings on the little black apron she wore tied at the back wiggled from side to side as she walked. I was reminded of Nadine, back at the Fox Den, and how she dressed for her job. I didn’t think I could stand to see Desiree wearing skimpy garments like that in public.

She glanced over her shoulder at me. “My car is over there.”

The hostile brood of five I’d seen on the way in still stood together, shooting me hateful glares. Once we were past them, the biggest of the bunch broke away from the group.

“Hey, Desi? Where you going with Captain America?”

“Shit,” she said low. “That guy’s a jerk. Just keep walking.”

“What about that date you been promising me, girl?”

While Desiree sped up, I slowed and turned. The obnoxious guy stopped in front of me. His four buddies hovered nearby. And behind them, the crowd seemed interested in what brewed between us.

With her hand on the car door handle, Desiree yelled out, “I never promised you anything, Tyrell.”

Tyrell’s bulk in width made up for his lack of height. His T-shirt looked too small, skinned on over his muscles. To anyone else, he might have looked impressive, but to me, he was a bug I wanted to step on.

“This ain’t your part of town, boy,” he said goading me, trying to get past. But I stopped his every advance toward Desiree. “And that bitch over there, she’s one of ours, not yours. You feel me?”

Tyrell’s blatant disrespect for Desiree was apparent in his tone, and his eyes exuded the kind of hatred I’d seen in only one other person, or whatever the evil Solomon was. As this guy stared into my face, an invisible band formed around my head, tightening. The balmy air became oppressive. My hands trembled with the need to hurt this man. I clenched them at my sides to keep them still.

“He’s not worth it,” said a soft voice in my ear. “Come on.”

Desiree laid a coaxing hand on my arm, but its soothing warmth wasn’t enough to pull me away.

“It’s evident the lady wants nothing to do with you,” I said, sounding too formal for this group.

Tyrell’s fingers curl into fists.

“So I suggest you walk away while you’re still able.”

A roar of laughter and shouts rang out in Tyrell’s favour.

But my opponent didn’t laugh. Instead, he puffed out his chest, his head sinking into his thick neck. “You’re making this easier all the time, punk.”

In the same instant, he reached past me and grabbed Desiree by the arm, yanking her forward, before I had a chance to stop him. When she collided with him, he wrapped a thick arm around her and squeezed her to him. Her puny struggles were useless against his rage.

He’d just made this easier for me. I lunged at him. His tight T-shirt wasn’t easy to grab on to, but when I did get a hold, he released Desiree and pushed her toward his buddies, who grabbed her and held her.

Sudden hostility toward this man raged through my body until every muscle, vein, and tissue ached to be used. The crowd’s noise became a heavy drone as my ears plugged from the sudden rush of adrenaline. My clear vision changed. Now I looked through two windows and not my own eyes. My body was in front of me, on top of me. I lurked inside a suit of myself. So I didn’t see when Tyrell lifted his fist to smack me in the side of the head.

But I felt the blow, something like slamming into a boulder might feel.

Individual voices around me became one annoying, ringing sound. Someone jabbed my left arm, making me stumble in the opposite direction, which resulted in someone pushing me from my right. I stumbled backward into a tree.

“Fear makes you weak,” said a deep, loathsome voice in my head. “You’re a man. Act like one.”

A memory came into view. An older man stood before me on a green lawn, his black hair sporadically speckled with gray. Squint lines formed around his eyes as he glared at me. He was the only human I ever feared.

He held out an arm to me; something dangled in his hand. “Take the whip, boy. It’s time you learned how to rule this manor.”

I lifted a shaking hand toward the seasoned strip of leather. At the same time, the street crowd came back into focus. My hand curled around something beside me. I tugged at it.

Tyrell rushed at me, the palms of his hands colliding with my chest, but his shove barely budged me. Another round of jeers rang out. Another fist smashed into the side of my face, temporarily stunning me. A metallic, salty taste mingled with saliva on one side of my tongue. Again and again, I tugged at the thing my hand gripped until I unknowingly succeeded in stripping the tree of a long, thin branch.

“Whatchu gonna do wit that, redneck, roast a marshmallow?” someone else called out.

Each laugh, each hateful remark built my anger, until I was a tower of rage about to topple and demolish them all.

As Tyrell’s fist came up again, I saw something shiny tucked against the inside of his arm, glinting off the streetlight. I brought my arm forward, and with the makeshift whip, struck him hard across one side of his ribs, but not before the weapon he had concealed cut me. I lashed out again, ignoring the sharp sting on my forearm and the fresh blood dripping down the back of my hand. Again and again, I cracked the stick across his arms, shoulders, and back. Each time I struck him, a power beyond anything I’d ever known fuelled me onward. Tyrell ceased fighting back and instead took a protective stance, crouching away from the assault.

From somewhere in the crowd, a woman yelled at me to stop. When I had Tyrell reduced to a lump on the ground, I threw the stick on the pavement beside him and hauled him back up with my fists. His blood-soaked T-shirt, ripped to shreds, hung off him in tatters. In his eyes, fear had replaced the cocky rage he’d once exuded. When he stood on his own two feet, I released my hold on him. He didn’t fight back. My shoulders heaved as I fought to control my breathing, while glaring at the crowd and the fear on their faces. No one jeered now.

Sirens blared in the distance.

Tyrell’s friends grabbed him, got him into a car, then sped away. The small blade he cut me with lay at my feet. Desiree stood off to one side, alone, looking completely frightened.

The crowd broke up. Desiree grabbed my wrist and tugged. I lifted my feet and ran with her. She was in her car with the engine running when I jumped in. We were a couple blocks away from the coffee shop when she finally spoke.

“I-I didn’t think you would fight back at first, and then when you did… I didn’t think you would stop.”

I’d already forgotten what went through my mind in those moments of rage, but I had whipped the spunk out of that boy, and I had felt energized at the time—not so much now. I remembered a power like no other covering me, filling me, consuming me like a swiftly growing disease. It had controlled my every move. Then there was that bullying voice behind it all, cajoling me onward. It wasn’t the evil Solomon’s voice; I was sure of that, but familiar, nonetheless.

“Solomon?”

Her voice rang softly through my ears in the compact car. Although I was overcome with distress from the recent fight, the closeness of Desiree dulled the ache of the battle scars.

“Are you okay?”

I took a deep breath and unstuck my bloody fingers from each other.

“I’m fine. What about you? They touched you against your will. After that…”

“Yeah.” Her bottom lip disappeared under her top one, again.

“Did they hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine,” she said.

She glanced at my arm, then quickly back to the road.

“Your arm is bleeding.” Her speed accelerated. “I’ll get you cleaned up when we get to my apartment.”

The blue sofa in Desiree’s modest apartment fit only two people. She sat sideways, one foot tucked underneath her, facing me as I stared out the large window at what looked like blue and red lights flashing in the distance. She worked gently to clean and dress the knife wound on my arm. After rinsing the blood out of the cloth, she brought it to the minor cut above my eyebrow. When she lifted hair off my forehead and pressed it back out of the way, I closed my eyes and concentrated on the warmth her hand brought to that spot on my head.

“Stay away from the coffee shop,” she said, her face inches from my ear. “Tyrell’s got friends, and I don’t think you do, at least, not around here.”

When I rolled my head to face her, she backed up her command with a pointed look.

Silence.

Then she slid her hand to my cheek, and my heart pitched forward.

“I should never have gone there tonight,” I said wincing as Desiree poked lightly at the lump on the side of my head.

“Sorry,” she said, wincing also.

“You never did tell me where you’re staying.”

I thought for a moment before confessing anything. I didn’t know how much she knew about Melba’s Hoodoo world that I was caught up in.

She cocked her head slightly, waiting for an answer.

“Right. I’m staying at the Rainbow Motel.”

Her mood seemed to lighten. “I know it.”

She changed focus to the cut, dabbed one more time, and then stuck a bandage over it.

“Melba thought it best I move out… so the neighbors didn’t talk.”

One corner of her mouth lifted along with both thin eyebrows. “Auntie Mel doesn’t have any neighbors, except for that bunch way up the road, so I’m not buying that.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “Did you want to leave?”

“Desiree, there’s more going on than you should know about. The spirits—”

A smile grew across her face. “Spirits? Auntie Mel’s spirits? She didn’t spook you with all that mumbo jumbo talk, did she? She’s conversed with ghosts for as long as I can remember. Of course, she believes someone is really listening.”

“You don’t?”

She shrugged. “All right, I admit I’m sort of on the fence. I never used to believe, but then I had this dream not so long ago; three Hoodoo priestesses from the past gave me a warning, said they were my ancestors, and that darkness drew near, and I was in danger, or something like that.” She paused a moment, as if deep into her thoughts. “That was right before I met you, actually.”

A chill ran through me. “Believe them. There are things going on that I don’t understand. My past, for instance. This isn’t a bad case of amnesia I have.”

“Then what is it?”

I let out a frustrated breath.

She grabbed my hand and slipped hers in my palm. The backs of my newly cleaned fingers rested against her knee. I curled them loosely around her, burying her delicate hand inside my powerful one—the one that had held the whipping stick.

“What, Solomon? You can tell me.”

“I don’t really know myself. I saw the spirits. Three of them. They protected Excalibur from… from my evil twin.” I held back the next breath and looked on with bated anticipation.

“What? I don’t understand.”

As she stared into my eyes, waiting for an explanation, the table lamp behind me flickered, illuminating her pupils and the green rings surrounding them. Mirrored in the glossy, black centers of her eyes, I could have sworn I saw three wisps of smoke. But when I turned to look behind me, I saw just the lamp, steadily aglow again. Maybe the dangling fringe of clear beads around the rim of the shade was what I saw. When I bumped the lamp base with my elbow, light cast off the beads into a frenzy of striations on the yellow wall behind it. I accepted the excuse to save my sanity.

“Solomon?”

I turned, fixed my gaze on Desiree’s, and prepared to tell her the truth.

“Solomon Brandt, the notorious slave owner of the eighteen-hundreds. He’s been haunting me in my dreams and when I’m awake. His spirit chased me through the woods, and came after me at your aunt’s, but the three priestesses held him back—I think.”

She curled her fingers tighter around mine, reminding me that her hand was still in my grip.

“Are you telling me you actually saw the Priestesses? And the other Solomon Brandt?”

“Solomon, several times.”

“Those must have been bad dreams you had.” Her thoughtful gaze passed over my shoulder. “I want to help you get to the bottom of them.”

With an urge too strong to control, I lifted my other hand and placed it on her arm. The sleeve of her blouse felt silky against my skin. When I rubbed my thumb against the alluring material, the neckline opened slightly, exposing part of her collarbone and the dark crevice above it. Feelings I’d never experienced before awakened inside my stomach. A cool sensation traveled along my veins, surfacing on my face. As I stared at the newly exposed skin, I gripping her upper arm in a most gentle but determined way. I was aware of Desiree drawing nearer to me.

When I lifted my gaze to hers, I could tell by the new spark her eyes held, and the sudden heaviness of her lids, that she was as drawn to this moment as I was. My heart lurched forward, pulling my body with it. I slid my hand around back of her neck, under her ponytail, using my fingers as a guide to nudge her closer—not that she needed coaxing.

She’d already slipped her hand out of mine and inched it between my ribs and the sofa, resting it on my lower back.

“Desiree.” My mouth watered at the thought of tasting her, she was so close, but I felt it only fair to warn her first.” I don’t think it’s safe for you to be near me.”

“I’ll worry about that,” she whispered, her breath caressing my lips, heightening my urges.

At the same time that her eyes fell shut and I opened my mouth to claim hers, the apartment door flew open, banging against the wall.

“Desi!”

My heart pounded to new heights as we sprang apart and cast looks of surprise and resentment at the intruder.

She was already in the room, standing directly in front of us.

“Are you all right, Des?” Her straight blonde hair was a mess against one side of her head, and her pajama bottoms were in a twist at her slender waist. “Oh. My. God. I just heard what happened from Karen.”

As if she just noticed me in the room, she took a step back, her wide-eyed gaze roaming down my body. “Whoa.”

Desiree flashed me a flustered look, then stood.

“Chrissy, I’m fine. See.” She held out her arms and did a spin.”

“But Karen said—”

“There was some trouble, but…” Desiree paused, as though thinking of just how much information to give her obviously close friend. “Solomon came to my rescue, and everything is fine now.”

That was the inaccurate short version. Hopefully, her friend would accept it.

But Chrissy plopped into the only chair in the room, a red and gold striped, armless chair.

She looked at me, her hazel eyes big and curious. “Wow, so you were just there out of the blue, huh? Is that how you two met?” She brought a finger to her lip. “Yet you were kissing.”

She turned her attention to Desiree. “You never kiss on the first date.”

“What is this, a courtroom?”

“Just saying.”

“What are you still doing here?”

“Waiting for Karen.”

“What?”

Desiree stomped off to the far side of the room, which doubled as a modest kitchen.

“Well, you didn’t think we were going to let you spend the night alone after Tyrell attacked you, did you?” Chrissy called over her shoulder. “So,” she said, focusing back on me, one leg swinging rapidly over the other, “how did you two meet?”

“Chrissy!”

“Okay.” Her eyes rolled to the ceiling. “I’ll go wait on the balcony. Geez.”

Desiree sounded more annoyed than I felt. I thought it best I leave. She seemed to be in good hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said, rushing to my side once we were semi-alone. “Apparently she isn’t leaving my side tonight.”

“I should go anyway. It’s late. I’m sorry I showed up. If I hadn’t—”

She pressed a finger to my mouth to shush it. “No. I’m glad you came.”

With her smile lighting up the room, I forgot for a second about her friend peering in at us from the other side of the patio door. I wrapped my hand around her slender wrist and kissed her fingers, then let her go.

“I’m going to help you, Solomon. We’ll figure this out together.”

Before I entered the stairwell, I glanced back to see Desiree standing in her doorway, smiling. Beside her, three wisps of light gray mist appeared, hovering in the hallway. She would be safe tonight.

spent the bus ride back in a blur of people glaring at the bruised and bandaged guy with blood on his T-shirt—me. I shut out the gawkers by thinking only of Desiree, and our almost kiss. The moment her lips opened against mine, then froze as her panicked friend burst into the room. I tried to get that moment back, and at one point even felt my lips twitching.

It was nearly midnight when I arrived back at the motel. The parking lot seemed darker than it should have been. Then I noticed a blown light on the nearest streetlamp. I turned from the darkness, and forced the key into the lock. As I was about to step inside, someone called out my name. I turned to see Glyda waving a small piece of paper in her hand, from the office doorway.

“What in the good Lord’s name happened to you, boy?” she asked, once I reached the glow of the office light.

I had to think of something fast. “Oh, I fell… ah, at work. Tripped over a board. But I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.” Planting a look of suspicion on me, she held out the paper and thankfully, didn’t elaborate on the topic.

“You got a call tonight, not so long ago. Sweet, young voice on the other end. Asked me to give you a message, to call her at the number on the paper when you got home.”

Desiree McClinton. It had to be her, and she wanted me to call her.

“Thanks,” I said, deep into thoughts of Desiree again. I made a turn in the direction of the pay phone at the other end of the parking lot.

“Heck, you can use my phone. That’s not a long distance number. Come on in. Phone’s right there on the desk. I’ll make myself invisible. Be in the back room if you need anything…”

I’d never used a phone before, but I saw Melba make a call once, and earlier that day, Justin had made several on the bus. It couldn’t be that hard. When I picked up the device off its carriage; a steady ring resonated. I clicked the numbers in a row as they were written down by Glyda, and waited. After a brief period of intermittent ringing, Desiree’s voice flowed into my ear. Just the one word, “hello,” almost satisfied the need to be with her again.

“Desiree.”

“Solomon. I’m so glad you called. There’s… I… I forgot to tell you something.”

Suddenly, the inanimate object I breathed into came alive. The soft drawl of Desiree’s voice floated inside my ear, for only me to hear, and in some ways, this moment seemed more intimate than the so-few others we’d shared.

“Solomon?”

“I’m here, Desiree.” I spoke low, so Glyda’s ears couldn’t pick up my words. “What did you forget to tell me?”

“That I missed you, too.”

As if her own hot breath had come through the receiver with her declaration, a flush of warmth gripped me like a hug on the inside, and I smiled to myself.

“Is your friend still there?”

“They’re both here, camped out on the sofa bed. I’m in my room… in bed, wishing Chrissy had never interrupted us.”

“That was most unfortunate. Maybe we could meet somewhere, sometime.” My words sounded formal, but I didn’t know any other way to express myself without her in my sight, or in my grip.

“Soon, Solomon. But not for a couple days. I have a major exam coming up, and I have to study when I’m not working. How about Saturday? Do you work that day?”

“Saturday sounds great.” If I can make it until then without you. “Where?”

“Do you know Chippewa Square?”

I perused the desk in front of me until I located a pen, and then scratched the name down underneath her phone number. “I’ll find it.”

“Okay. I get off work at noon, so how about 2:00 p.m.? Look for General Oglethorpe’s statue.”

By the time I had everything I needed written down, I’d used one side of the paper.

“I’ll be there.” And I’ll hold my breath until then.

“Well, I don’t want to hang up, but it’s so late, and I have to go to school in the morning.”

“I’ll miss you ‘til Saturday, Desiree.”

“Good night, Solomon.”

“Good night, Desiree.”

Even after the soft click, I didn’t want to hang up. Maybe she would come back. But Glyda entered the room behind me, as if she somehow knew the conversation had ended.

“My, don’t you look all smitten.” Her grin revealed a dark crevice on one side of her mouth, where a tooth had once been.

I hurried to the door, wanting to keep the phone conversation fresh on my mind, not the one Glyda carried on. “Thank you for the use of your phone. Good night.”

The warm glow of the orange room greeted me as I closed the door behind me, locking it. A good night’s sleep was in order. That night was the first in a long time, maybe forever, that I felt truly happy. Sleep claimed my conscious mind, depriving me of the images of Desiree’s satiny peach lips and lustrous peridot eyes that floated in my mind. I wanted more time to fantasize, to finish what we had started on her sofa, but the ill-timed drowsiness won over, and her image faded into the void of sleep.

Sometime later, a loud crack replaced the unconscious silence, startling me. Several more followed. With each commotion, the odor of something burning grew.

I threw off the covers, jumped up, and pulled on my jeans. It was then, after I stood, that I noticed how dark my surroundings were—unusually dark. Remembering the light switch on the wall, I shuffled in the direction of the door, banging my knee on the luggage rack at the foot of the bed. I continued on with caution, and for each step I took, my heart beat faster, and faster, until my chest hurt. The char-scented air around me thickened, until I had to fight for breath. When I reached the wall, I ignored the light switch and threw open the door instead. Darkness prevailed in the parking lot, and the streets of Savannah beyond. All except one corner of the lot.

In that particular spot, a lone street lamp illuminated a small area like a spotlight, shining a circular glow on a beat-up white pick-up truck, displayed on a piece of broken pavement.

“Solomon.” The long, drawn-out summons came from outside.

Barefoot and shirtless, I stepped out into the night. The world seemed deserted. The parking lot empty of vehicles. All but the white truck. Not a motor could be heard anywhere. Not even the steady bark of a dog I was accustomed to hearing from somewhere else in the city. In the eerie silence, the sound of my feet shuffling across the warm pavement seemed amplified. Like my breathing. As I drew closer to the dreary beacon, I could see bits of broken glass at the bases of each street lamp I passed.

“I find it oppressing, if not downright depressing, don’t you?”

The voice I’d come to know and dread sent a chill across my hot flesh. Although, the tone was neutral, not belligerent, as I had come to expect.

My evil twin leaned casually against the white truck. One hand rested inside a pocket, while the other fingered a coin, nonchalantly. I halted at the fringes of darkness, letting the evil Solomon own the light.

Not nearly as offensive in appearance as before, his dapper attire consisted of a crisp white shirt covered by a dark suit, complete with swallowtails. His hair, probably slick with its own grease, smoothed down the side of his head, curving over his shoulders. I supposed he could have been considered handsome in his day.

“Southern charm abandoned like the runt of the litter. That’s what’s happened to this motorized world.”

My adversary eased himself away from the side of the truck and turned to face me. Red rings of hellfire smoldered around his striking blue eyes set into his gaunt face. The gentlemanly image before me was no more.

When I took a step backward, he took one forward.

“You remember Savannah in her glory days, don’t you, Solomon? The cotton mill next to the river? Our mill, Solomon. Our shipyard. Half this city was labeled ‘Brandt.’ Those were the days of grandeur, were they not?”

A grin as evil in appearance as his eyes spread across his face.

“What do you want from me?” I asked. trying to keep my voice low and steady.

A deep laugh reverberated somewhere inside him. “It’s rather simple, actually. I want to live, as you do.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I really don’t know what part of me you derive from, Solomon. You’re weak—”

My hands turned into fists at my side, flexing upper body muscle. “I’m not weak.”

“Brawn doesn’t give man strength if he has no will to use it. That boy would have pounded you into sunrise if I had abandoned you to fight your own battle.”

Was he right? Would I have just stood there and let Tyrell beat me? No. I didn’t think so.

“You don’t have what it takes. You’re only half of yourself.” The smoldering rings around his eyes burned brighter as his excitement heightened. “But with my essence, and your body, we can both become whole again. Two of us, equal in stamina and intelligence. Savvy twins working together. What say you?”

The terror of what he suggested seized my mind briefly. I didn’t notice when he advanced, but now, he stood just inside the circle of light, the toes of his black polished shoes grazing the border of darkness.

I pressed my teeth together, tightening my jaw. “I’ll never help you gain entry into this world.”

“Oh, I think you will. In fact, you have only two choices, Solomon. Give me what you most desire.”

Desiree? He wants Desiree!

Another chill fell over me, and for a moment, I couldn’t unhinge my jaw to speak.

“That’s right, Solomon. Bring me your heart. Bring me Desiree.”

Her name slipping though his lips was all it took to release me from my fear. With a roar crawling up out of my throat into the quiet night, I lunged at the beast, but as my skin touched him, it burned. I jumped back, glaring at the charred skin on my hands and arms. The scent of burning flesh—my flesh—sickened me to the core.

Another low, throaty laugh came from the demon in front of me. Flames danced off his form, licking at the air. His defenses rendered me powerless against him. I held out my arms, away from my body in shock, not knowing what to do next.

The next time the evil Solomon spoke, it was in the harsh, demanding tone I’d come to expect. The fire surrounding his eyeballs blazed wildly. “Bring me the mixed-breed bitch so I may cut out her heart and drink of her purest blood. Then I will give you charge of her body to do with what you will, and you and I can part ways permanently. If you do not bring her to me, I will find her and take her. There will be no mercy shown. I will rip her to pieces slowly, and when I come upon the organ that beats in tune to yours, I will devour it and every drop of blood in her body. But, not before I ravage her.” The demon’s grin widened.

I’d felt the blood drain from my body moments ago, and stood there fighting the faint feeling that had possessed me.

“You choose her fate, Solomon. A quick death, or prolonged agony.”

Weakness won over, and my knees hit the pavement. White flame engulfed the demon, all except for the eyes—they blazed red. Acrid, green smoke lifted off the human-shaped fireball. The scent of a hundred and fifty-year-old charred and rotted body wafted up my nose and crawled into my lungs. I fought back the vomit that surged up the back of my throat and used my scorched hands to pull myself away.

But the putrid-smelling monstrosity kept its advance. Molten venom rained over the parking lot as the demon lifted its arms in rage. Sizzling holes appeared in the pavement. One drop burned through the hem of my jeans, just missing my foot. I rolled onto my stomach and pushed myself up. Hellfire licked at my feet as I ran as fast as I could in my weakened state, barely making it back inside the motel room. As I slammed the door and set the deadbolt, the beast lurched against it. Hinges creaked. Wood splintered. The door burst into flames.

I awoke sometime later in a blanket of cold sweat. Jumping from the soaked sheets, I ran naked to the window, threw open the drapes, and with a fear-filled gaze, peered out into the parking lot.

All looked as it should.

Streetlamps glowed in rows down the street and across the lot, mixing with the tree branches. Somewhere in the city, a dog barked. Vehicles belonging to motel patrons were back in their spaces, and so was the white truck.

With my next breath, I picked up a faint, charred scent. I followed the odor to my jeans on the floor. One piece of the hem had been burnt.

arly the next morning, I called Desiree from Glyda’s. When I heard her voice and knew she was safe, I hauled in a deep breath and silently thanked the spirits.

Then, I inspected the parking lot for clues as to whether or not I had dreamed up the horror. What I found was evidence to the contrary. Bits of pavement were gouged out in an irregular line from the empty parking space to my door, perhaps by hot, dripping flames.

I spent the rest of the week under the persona of Shane Black. I went to work, avoided going inside the mansion, ate at the motel diner—thwarting Justin’s suggestions for fun—and slept dreamless. Desiree called once, on Friday night, to remind me of our date the next day. That evening, I fought with my conscience about whether or not to end this relationship before it got started. I could just not show up, not call her back when she called. She would never understand, of course. But I would be doing it for her. The abysmal ache inside my chest told me to heed the threat presented in the latest nightmare, that I really had been visited by Solomon Brandt.

Despite it all, excitement coursed through me as Saturday morning broke over the city. Before showering, I decided to shave off the scruff. Mistake. With my hair in need of a trim, and my face bare, I looked more like my evil twin than I cared to. But it was too late now. I just hoped I didn’t remind Desiree of the image she’d shown me of the other Solomon Brandt.

With my map of Savannah as a guide, and the bus for transportation, I set out to find Chippewa Square, arriving more than an hour early. The statue of the General wasn’t hard to find, since it dominated the area with its height.

Of all the places I’d been to so far in the past month, from Melba’s piece of paradise to the high traffic area around the motel, to the frenzied club scene, this was by far the most soul-fulfilling. Something about the people, the way they mingled; their laughter carrying on the breeze with the bird song overhead in the treetop canopy. My life never held a more perfect day.

As I sat on the base of the statue, people strolling by threw plenty of looks my way, but always positive. One older man, dressed in layers of tattered clothing, even asked me for money. I figured he must need it badly, so I gave him my pocket full of change. A while later, a young couple asked if I would take a picture of them in front of the statue. The woman kindly showed me how to use her camera, and thanked me with a generous smile afterward. This part of the city sparked with life and happiness. No wonder Desiree wanted to meet here.

A group of bicyclers rode through the square. On the other side of them, a head of persimmon curls appeared. Today, Desiree wore it just the way I liked it—long and loose. Once the bicyclers passed, and there wasn’t anything between us, a thrill settled into my chest as I watched her walk toward me. She wore her jeans tight down her legs, ending above her slender ankles. A purple top covered her upper half loosely, leaving her arms bare, which swung at her sides. She was close enough now that I could hear her sandals slapping on the walkway, growing louder with each step she took.

I stood, barely breathing, waiting for the seconds to pass until she was in front of me. Even before words were exchanged between us, we were in each other’s embrace. The spell broke when I heard someone say, “Oh, how sweet.” Then I heard the snap of a camera.

Wearing embarrassed grins, we broke apart.

“You found the place,” Desiree said, her bronze skin shimmering in the light-dappled area.

“It was easy.”

Her gaze fell to my left forearm. “How’s the wound? Any better?”

I lifted my arm and looked at the fresh bandage she’d given me to change with. “It’s getting better, thanks to you.”

She flicked her gaze briefly to my forehead, where the other cut was hidden behind my bangs. “Good.”

Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the tree branches waving merrily above us. “I love it here. It’s my favorite place in all of Savannah.”

“I can see why.” Although the area wasn’t big enough to afford any privacy, the people here seemed happy.

“I grew up near here with my mother. She would bring me to a different square each day when I was little, and when she had the time. This one became my favorite. We’d picnic, and she’d read to me under the shade of the oaks. I still come here to study sometimes.”

“I don’t know how you can study with so many distractions.”

“I can usually tune it all out. It just makes me happy to be here. It’s where I feel closest to my mom.”

Her hand slipped inside mine; our fingers laced together.

“Come on, let’s walk,” she said.

Desiree had a story to tell about nearly every tree, bench, or patch of grass we passed. But I didn’t grow tired of listening to her talk, or watching her express herself with an arm gesture, or a twist of her body. With every breath I drew in under the oaks, I felt as if I belonged, not out of place, or unwanted. In this moment, I was just an ordinary man enjoying the perfect breeze with the perfect woman, on this day in late May.

Desiree stopped in front of a massive tree trunk and pulled me to the other side, where another tree helped partially shelter us from the public. A playful grin lifted her cheeks.

“This is my favorite reading spot—when it’s not taken.”

She let go of my hand and rested her back against one tree. I copied, leaning against the other, resting a foot on the trunk.

Her chest lifted in a deep breath. “Mmm, smell the lilacs?”

I nodded, breathing in the floral perfume, reminding me of Melba’s magnolia tree, which steered my thoughts to Excalibur.

But Desiree continued to talk, pulling me back to the present.

“Did you remember anything from your past yet?”

I didn’t know how to answer. If my cursed dreams and visions were clues to my past, then yes, I had memories.

“No. Nothing.” I hated lying to Desiree, but I wasn’t sure of anything, really.

“That must be awful. I hope you don’t mind, but I had a friend who works for the Metro Police, and has access to police records, look up your name in their data base to see if you were missing.”

I lifted a curious eyebrow. “And?”

“Well, she didn’t find anything.” Her expression turned apologetic. “There’s no police record in the country on Solomon Brandt. No one missing by that name.”

I figured as much.

“So, that makes me think that Solomon Brandt isn’t your real name.”

Unfortunately, it is.

“What do you think?”

“You may be right.”

“You know, like I said before, you can always go have that blood test.”

Although I was sure there was no need, I humored her anyway. “Maybe I will.”

“I can take you to the hospital sometime, after exams are over.”

“That would be very kind of you.”

A soft giggle floated in the sweet air between us. “You’re so formal sometimes. Like a real Southern gentleman. Whoever you are, Mr. Brandt, you must come from good stock.”

Her statement took me back to the latest nightmare. My nemesis had dressed and spoken so formally, he had almost seemed like someone else, until he turned to face me. I shook the horror from my mind and concentrated on the beauty in front of me. This was our day, our date, as Desiree had called it on the phone. I couldn’t help but wonder why she’d want to be here in this glorious place with me. I couldn’t even identify myself properly. But, she was here, of her own free will, and it was time I started feeling a little less worthless.

”Solomon? What’s wrong? You look so serious all of a sudden.”

Holding her gaze with mine, I pushed my back off the tree and took a step toward her. I reached for her hands. She gave them freely.

“I think you’re beautiful, Desiree.” The declaration came easily. I’d wanted to say it since the first night I’d met her. “Your eyes are so striking, I find it hard to look at anything else when I’m with you.”

Relinquishing one of her hands, I picked up a lock of fiery ringlets from her shoulder. She placed the abandoned hand on my waist.

“And your hair…”

“You mean my curse.”

“How could such loveliness be a curse?”

“Let’s just say, humidity is my enemy. And it’s quite humid in Georgia—but not today.”

With the silky locks wrapped around my fingers, I moved my hand to her face and brushed the plump part of her bottom lip with my thumb.

A telling shade of blush tinted her cheeks, spreading to the tip of her nose. She lifted her head away from the tree. Her lips fell apart, “Now would be a good time to kiss me, Mr. Brandt.”

She whispered the last word against my mouth as I pressed it into hers, in a smooth, glorious motion that didn’t last nearly long enough. Her eyes were closed and her lips still puckered when I pulled my yearning lips from hers. A heat like no other stirred deep down in my loins. If I felt one more stroke of her eager tongue against mine, one more press of her soft body, I might breach the point of no return, or at the very least, some protocol.

When Desiree lifted her heavy lids, two glassy pools gazed back at me.

“Forgive me if I’ve taken advantage of you, Miss McClinton. It was not my intention.”

Her sweet breath touched my lips when she giggled. “I know. You’re a novelist, who writes whirlwind romances that sweep girls off their feet.”

I gave her a curious look.

“Well, you never know.”

“Maybe.” It wasn’t a bad thought. “For now, I can be whoever you want me to be.”

A playful grin lifted her cheeks. “I like the sound of that, mystery man.”

On the other side of the tree, a crowd gathered around an old woman and a cart she pushed, drawing my attention. People gave the woman money and left with her ware. Flowers, of several kinds and colors, filled their grips.

“Maybe you’re a doctor, or a Secret Service agent, and you know who you are, but can’t tell anyone.”

Her imagination made me grin.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back. And keep looking that way.”

I left Desiree to stare at the opposite tree. The last of the crowd left with a bouquet of yellow tulips as I approached the weathered cart. As if she read my heart, the woman picked the showiest red rose from a bunch and held it out to me.

“A special flower for da special lady,” she said, in a thicker accent than I was used to hearing.

I took the rose. Its fragrance surpassed all others on the cart.

“Dat be tree dolla.”

I pulled out a five and handed it to her. When she passed me the change, the tips of her fingers grazed mine. Instantly, her plump cheeks fell, turning her grin into a silent cry. She dropped the change into my palm and snatched back her hand, as if she’d been stung. The fear in her once laughing eyes doused any happiness inside me.

“You!”

“Who? What do you see?”

She turned the cart faster than I would have thought she could move and headed back the way she came.

“Tell me!” I demanded as she hurried away. “What did you see?”

“I see nottin’,” she called back without turning.

As I returned to Desiree, fear and anguish settled in my chest. And although only a few steps away, I hurried, reaching the tree in a matter of second.

The emptiness of our private, little area pushed the fear deeper, cutting and twisting, until a burning ache erupted in my stomach.

“Desiree!”

A sheen of sweat broke over my skin. Why did I leave her? Why did I even agree to come here? I knew she was better off without me, and I put her in danger anyway.

“Des—”

Two hands covered my eyes, plunging me into darkness. In the same instant, a soft giggle floated into my ear and straight down into my heart. I grabbed the hands and turned. The moment I saw her looking the same as she had when I left her, my knees weakened as relief pulsed through me.

“What is it? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“The old woman…”

It was then Desiree settled her gaze upon the flower, barely secured between my weak fingers. And a smile lit up her face.

“I see you met Tilley.”

“Ti…”

“The flower lady. She’s been selling flowers in the squares for as long as I can remember.”

The fragrance from the rose filled my senses as I took in a couple deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves.

“Is that for me?” Desiree asked, peering intermittently from me to the flower.

Resisting her charm took more will than I could gather. I lifted the rose and touched the tip of her nose with its petals. “Yes, you silly girl. This is for you.”

The delight she exuded as she took the thornless stem in her delicate hand warmed the sudden chill inside me.

Although the moment seemed fine, I didn’t want to be here anymore. “Why don’t you show me around some more? Pick out your favorite place to eat.”

“That’s easy. The Mellow Mushroom. It’s just down the street. Do you like pizza?”

“Do you?”

“Love it.”

“Me, too. Let’s go.”

I had no idea what manner of food pizza was. So when we got to the restaurant, I let Desiree pick from the menu. When the waitress placed a hearty disk, smelling deliciously of foods and spices I knew nothing of, on the table, I waited until she served herself, then I copied.

After our late lunch, we strolled through the streets of Savannah, visiting some of the other squares. Desiree apologized for the history lesson that came with every tour. But I didn’t mind. Some places even seemed oddly familiar to me.

Dusk brought us to the place where she’d parked her car. She seemed hesitant to leave, leaning against the driver’s side door, wearing a rather glum half-smile. I stood on the sidewalk wishing I could keep her, missing her already.

“Why don’t you come back to my apartment, and I’ll make us coffee, then I can take a look at your injuries?”

Although the cuts and bruises were fine, relief overwhelmed me. She didn’t want the night to end yet, any more than I did. So we drove to her place, where she kept her promise and made us coffee. I explored the balcony, taking in the view of this part of the city when she joined me, holding two mugs of the steaming, aromatic liquid.

“You make it just the way I like it,” I said truthfully after the first sip.

We sat on the floor of the balcony, our backs against the brick façade, sipping the beverage I’d grown accustomed to. A set of twinkle lights, wound around the railing, cast a romantic ambiance over the little area. Between sips, we talked, and laughed, and got to know each other better.

There wasn’t an ounce of shyness in Desiree as she spoke about her life growing up in the city or her school studies. She checked my wounds, planting a soft kiss on the one on my forehead. In the next motion, we were in each other’s arm, our lips connecting like magnets. She worked her way onto my lap, my back pressed to the wall. A low moan escaped her when our tongues entwined. With another moan, she tilted back her head—probably needing to breathe, as I did. In my next breath, I was kissing her neck, stretched out in front of me. She didn’t protest when I dropped a hand to her thigh.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew I moved too fast, that I should stop—save the next step for the next date. Hopefully there would be another. But how could I push her away now? My body was on fire inside and out, and her flesh burned just as hot.

So when Desiree jerked her body away from mine, and space formed between us, sending an inkling of coolness across my heated skin, I immediately assumed the worst. When she gasped and jumped to her feet, I knew the feeling was justified.

My heart beat at an explosive speed. “What’s wrong?” I said, jumping after her, looking from her to the wall she stared at. Apart from the reflection of the twinkle lights, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

Desiree frowned, then let out an airy laugh. “I guess it was a bug.”

The scare deflated out of me with a long, expelled breath. “Just a bug? Are you sure?”

She glanced at me briefly, nodding, as something else seemed to have her attention. “Uh huh. Just a bug.”

I didn’t like the new tone in her voice. Rushed, and an octave higher than normal. But I didn’t press the matter.

“Um, Solomon? It’s getting kinda late.”

I had my suspicions about what it was she saw, and if I was correct, her guardians intervened at the right time. I couldn’t fault them for having Desiree’s best interest at heart.

“You’re right. I should go.”

When I turned to leave, she grabbed my wrist. I faced her.

“I want you to know that I loved today, and if you want, I’d love to do it again sometime. I can show you more of Savannah, like the famous Bonaventure Cemetery, or the beach.”

“I’d pick a beach with you any day over a cemetery.”

Our laughter lightened the sudden pall that had befallen us. Our good night kiss was a short peck, while Desiree peered over my shoulder.

As I walked below the balcony heading to the bus stop, her voice carried down to me.

“This is my life, and my choices,” she shouted, almost crying.

I stopped to listen, in case she was in some kind of trouble.

“He’s not who you say he is. I know it in my heart. So go. Leave me the hell alone!”

My suspicions were confirmed.

In one way, it saddened me to know that Melba’s trio of spirits were now involved in my relationship with Desiree and protected her against me. In another, I was grateful.

The city gave off the right amount of darkness for my sudden bad mood. I decided to walk for a while and forgo the brightness of the inside of the bus and the possible conversations and glares that could find me there.

ightfall didn’t deter Savannahians from enjoying the outside. I discovered many people out walking, waiting for buses, and gathered in groups. The constant chirp of crickets kept me company, also, creating a steady hum amongst the city noises. Before I knew it, I had made it back to the historical district where Desiree and I had begun our date. Without her as a pleasant distraction, I really took notice of the Victorian homes that lined the streets here. Well kept, with sprawling outside staircases leading to ornate front doors, and wrought iron scrollwork railings, the homes looked vaguely familiar. The more I studied their detail, the more they transformed back to their original state.

The next step I took led me into a past era. Horses harnessed to small buggies and elaborate carriages lined a dirt street where motorized vehicles had just been. Ladies wearing grand gowns, dripping with lace and jewels, capes or shawls covering their upper arms to keep off the night chill, conversed with gentlemen looking dapper in tails and top hats. I walked alone, under the oaks—not yet old enough to create a complete canopy of branches overhead. The young trees invited light from the half-moon and stars to shine down over the budding city. Oil lanterns hanging from carriages held flickering flames, casting glows over the faces of the wealthy as they made merry in the streets at this late hour. I paused under the illumination of an oil lamp that hung from a pole on a street corner, to check the time on my pocket watch. A slight intoxication blurred my vision as I focused on the solid gold numbers. Nearly 1:00 a.m. But the air was fresh, and I felt invigorated, having just made a land deal, and snagging a bonus romp in the bunk with the finely endowed Miss Lillian Whitefield, heir to the Whitefield Estate. The Brandt name would one day be untouchable. Soon, I would own all of Savannah. I tipped my hat to Mr. Salter and Mr. Miller as I passed by them to get to my carriage. My driver wasn’t there at first, but soon came along. There would be no whipping tonight, though; I was in a rare good mood.

The clip-clopping of horse’s hooves on pavement brought me back to present day. The new memory from the past now lived in my head. I looked down at my jeans and T-shirt-clad body, and heaved a sigh of relief. The clip-clopping grew louder, as a horse came into view. Its chestnut coat gleamed under the streetlights as it pulled a small buggy carrying the driver, who spewed out the park’s history to two passengers. My heart gave a little flip as I watched the proud animal trot by.

I decided to visit Excalibur. Maybe tomorrow, if I could get a ride. I knew the bus wouldn’t take me as far as Melba’s. But it would take me almost to the estate. I could walk from there.

As I made my way through the city, my thoughts wandered back to the vision. It had felt so real, in an unsettling way. Besides the confidence and power that had coursed through my body and exuded from my pores, I had felt the intoxication of the brandy weighing on my mind, as well as its lingering essence on my palate. But there had been another feeling, smoldering warmth deep down in my loins—satisfaction, and I had reveled in it.

I tried putting the robust memory away as I came upon the south side of Chippewa Square. It was then I realized the streets were deserted. In fact, the desertion had happened so suddenly, I didn’t remember a transformation from bustling to empty.

An eerie silence came with the emptiness. No sounds of motors from anywhere in the city reached me. No incessant chirping of crickets. Porch lights and streetlights were out. Only the streetlights illuminating the square stayed lit.

There it was again.

Clip-clop, clip-clop, echoing in the unnatural stillness of the night. This time, the beat didn’t sound so cheerful. As the prominent noise grew louder, a mysterious fog rolled along the ground, covering grass, flowerbeds, and tiled walkways. The black cloud surrounded the base of General Oglethorpe’s statue, and then came together in a large mass moving toward me.

I didn’t run this time. I stood my ground and waited.

The white head of a horse appeared out of the dark mist, followed by its rider and the rest of the animal. Solomon Brandt sat, proud and handsome, atop Excalibur. He looked exactly like he did in the memory in my head. His black hair shone like silken threads out of the bottom of his top hat. And his eyes, even in the dim light, were the truest blue I had even seen. No fiery rings circled them. One thing was different, though; I could see through him, as if he was a faint essence of himself and not a whole person.

From the very core of my being, I hated this man.

“Must we remain a divided soul?” he taunted.

Excalibur turned his head to the side and planted a big brown eye on me. He didn’t seem agitated. But the sorrow he expressed wedged deep inside my heart. I’m sorry, Excalibur. I’ll get you back.

I tightened my jaw and threw my gaze back to the master of all this. “Get off my horse.”

His white-toothed grin made him look even more handsome.

“Last I checked, my dear twin, this horse is mine.” He laid a white-gloved hand on Excalibur’s neck. “His soul presents a gateway for me to slip in and out of this world, but I am still bound to the past, as you can see. Without him, I am condemned to your dreams. It was easy to capture him without those annoying Priestesses on guard.”

I thought back to Desiree’s apartment. They had been there, protecting her. Did he know?

“Go back to your pathetic life and leave me the hell alone,” I roared.

“The past wasn’t all bad. You just got a glimpse of the good old days. How was your most recent memory?” He leaned forward, crossing his hands over the horse’s back. “Miss Lillian Whitefield has nothing on your Desiree, though. That slender neck of hers you had the pleasure of kissing and those voluptuous curves and hollows begging to be handled… mmm. How can you resist taking her?”

“She isn’t mine to take. And she’s not yours, either.” Although I stayed strong on the outside, a sick feeling settled in my stomach.

“And what a quaint place she has.” His grin widened.

My heart stopped beating a moment, then pumped back to life with an adrenaline rush. The mist parted as I lunged for Solomon. But Excalibur reared, forcing me to stumble backward. The blackness swallowed me as I fell into the murk, losing my breath.

From somewhere above, a deep guttural laugh exploded from a man, as hooves clopped at a fast speed away from me.

When I thought my lungs would explode, a hand grabbed my arm, and then another, as someone hauled me out of the abyss.

The moment I opened my eyes, the city returned to normal. Crickets, a few late night motorists, and a sparse scattering of people returned, along with the night lighting. A face came into focus. It was dark, with only the whites of the eyes glowing at me.

“Dat was close. You okay now.”

Recognition of the voice came first, and then her form came into view as my eyes fully adjusted.

“Tilley.” I searched either side of the old woman, but all was quiet in the park.

She helped me stand.

“Thank you,” I said in a weakened voice.

“Don’t mention it. Now listen carefully.” She shuffled even closer. “Dat was no ordinary man.”

“You saw him? How can you see, when no one else can?”

“I see lots of tings. I see your lady friend grow up here. I see you pledge yourself to her earlier. I understand now. You have a true heart.”

“Yeah, I keep hearing that.” I wasn’t comforted. “What else do you see?”

“I see a long, dark road ahead of you, but dere is light, too. Always travel toward the light. Do whatever it takes to survive, but don’t dwell on the darkness or it will claim you. You understand? The glass if half full, not half empty.”

“I think so.” Precious time wasted away as we spoke. “Which way did he go?”

She pointed north. “The way he came.”

“I may still have time, then.”

I turned to leave. She grabbed my arm.

“The girl is safe tonight. Go home. Get some sleep. You’re gonna need it.”

How could she possibly know if Desiree was safe or not? Unless…

I looked upon the old woman, dressed in haggard clothing, with new sight.

“Go now, and rest your mind. Your troubles will be no more this night.”

On her last word, she disappeared into thin air, leaving a wisp of smoke behind. I watched, barely breathing, as that wisp headed in a long thin stream, toward Desiree’s part of town.

y new gift, or curse, of a memory, haunted me during the night. The little rest I did find was fitful. That one nagging memory tugged on the edges of my sleep, never allowing me complete rest. And with it came the realization of who I really was. In some cryptic way, I had known it all along. But even now, I wouldn’t admit it to myself. Maybe, just maybe I was wrong.

Something felt off when I woke to the sounds of heavy traffic—too heavy for morning. Groggier than usual, I rolled my head to the other side of the pillow and pried open my lids. 12:15 p.m., the clock on the night table screamed at me. I blinked and looked again, hoping my eyes weren’t yet adjusted to the light, but I was right the first time. Panic filled me, waking me completely.

Desiree. Was she safe? Had I failed her?

I bolted from the bed and rushed to the window, sliding aside the orange curtain. The city was alive and bustling, and I’d wasted half the day in bed. I had to talk to Desiree, so I pulled on yesterday’s clothes from the floor, and headed to the motel office.

Hot, sticky dampness clung to the air, filling my lungs with each breath. Above, dark clouds gathered, promising a storm. An ominous foreboding settled over me like a heavy blanket. Was I too late?

After two rings, Desiree answered, “Hey, it’s Des. Leave a message.”

“Desiree, it’s me… Desiree? Desiree!” After a period of silence, followed by a beep, the phone went dead. I had to see her, make sure she was safe. But I didn’t want to seem overprotective. What if she was at work, or out with a friend? Tilley told me she would be safe through the night. Tilley. I began to wonder if she was the cause of my oversleeping. Had she worked some mumbo jumbo on me? After thinking on what to do next, I decided to check on Excalibur; that way I could explain what’s been happening to Melba, and maybe ease the homesickness that had set in over the past week.

After a shower and a piece of toast, because my riled up stomach wouldn’t allow for much food, I took the bus to Melba’s, at least as far as the bottom of her road. The last two miles, I walked. The ominous cloud covering pressed down on me, and the humidity brought the sweat to the surface of my skin, sticking my shirt to my body. Melba’s house came into view just as the clouds began to rumble.

The darkened sky cast the usual cheerful yard in an eerie shadow. The grass needed mowing, too. My first order of business was the shed. Its emptiness sent a chill through me, despite the unbearable warm temperature. Frantic, I searched the yard for the big, white beast, yelling out Excalibur’s name at the edge of the woods. The sky answered back with a low rumble. When I came to a familiar path, I took it, running all the way to the river. Desiree’s bergamot was in bloom. I caressed the balls of lavender spikes with the tips of my fingers, releasing fragrant oils of a minty-citrus note, all the while, searching. But there was no sign of Excalibur, or fresh hoofprints.

Foreboding stillness prevailed. It wrapped around me like a smothering blanket, threatening to crawl under my skin if I didn’t get out of the woods. Coming back here was a mistake. Whatever this was, it waited for me. I gazed into the dark, rushing water that had once been so comforting. As the whitecaps broke over the river rocks, I felt the inevitable—something bad approached.

The trees swayed, but didn’t return to their natural position; instead, they breathed with new life. Their trunks creaked and groaned, snapping bark, as they inflated. Like slow-moving snakes, roots extracted themselves from the ground, hauling up dirt and crawling insects. The twisted shafts of wood slithered over the musty earth toward me. Branches turned into claws, reaching for me. To the north, a mesmerizing dark fog traveled through the woods. As I watched it approach at great speed, I began to feel queasy… lightheaded. This witchery felt more real than all the other supernatural encounters I’d had so far. I felt powerless against it. Sedated under the spell, as it intended.

Then a distant sound pulled me in another direction, away from this hideous nightmare.

“Solomon!”

The army of tree roots crawling along the ground halted their pursuit, as if listening also. Branches—still formed into claws, froze in mid-reach.

“Solomon?” The voice was louder this time. Closer.

Melba’s voice, soothing like a breeze over a fevered body, gave me cause to break from the spell and run. The advancing darkness chased me to the edge of the woods, where Melba waited for me.

“Solomon. Hurry!”

We didn’t stop or look back as we ran across her yard and up onto her doorstep.

“Do you see it?” I gasped out the words in between breaths, glancing from her to the dark curtain hovering behind the tree line.

Melba nodded, shooting a wide-eyed gaze toward woods. “I see the darkness that follows you.”

“I’m sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come back here.”

“I’ve felt the evil waiting for you, Solomon. I thought it took you last night when you galloped out of here on Excalibur.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“But I saw you ride into the woods.” Her perplexed look changed to one of knowing. “You mean…”

I nodded my confirmation. “So Excalibur hadn’t returned since then?”

“No.”

“That bastard has him.” The likelihood of seeing the horse again was slim.

As if to comfort me in some small way, Melba put her hand on my back. “Come in out of the heat.”

Once inside the door, she welcomed me with a hug, and then headed to the kitchen.

Ceiling fans kept Melba’s house slightly less humid than outside. I wiped sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand and followed.

I talked to her back as she fixed two glasses of ice water. “I saw him last night.”

She turned to face me. “So you were here last night?”

“No. He found me.”

The lines in her forehead deepened.

“He rode Excalibur to the city, or appeared there with him. I’m not exactly sure which. I could see through him, as if he was only half there—a faded image of himself. He told me that because the horse was buried with him, he is able to use Excalibur’s body as a vessel and his soul as a guide to enter into this time period. He also said he needs… my body to make him whole.” I lied. I couldn’t tell her that what he really wanted was to kill her niece and drink her blood.

“Melba, I know now who I am.”

Her eyes widened with fear and wonder. She stood very still, as if not even breathing, waiting for the truth to pass through my lips—truth that I was sure she already knew.

“I’m not Solomon Brandt’s ancestor… I am he.”

A glass slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor between us, splattering water and ice in every direction. That same hand flew to the pendants she always wore around her neck. The other grabbed the counter as she fell against it.

“I know.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I didn’t want it to be true.” She looked up at me with sorrow and fear etched into her face. “You have to understand why I wanted to protect Desiree.”

“I guess I knew for some time, too,” I admitted. “What does it mean?”

She had to have answers.

Her forehead creased with thought. “So, he needs you to become whole.”

I nodded.

“Can he take you, or do you have to consent?”

“I don’t think he can take me, yet.”

“Yes. But the longer he stays on Excalibur, the more his body will materialize—and then, there will be no stopping him.” Melba put things into perspective, quickly.

“You know I would never put Desiree in danger. I would give my life for her, if necessary,” I said, feeling the need to reassure Melba.

She grabbed my arms. “Is she in danger?”

“I think so.”

“Then we mustn’t let her out of our sight. Where is she?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t answer the phone today when I called. But I saw her last night.” A mild blush surfaced on my face at the thought of the two of us in her apartment. “I think your spirit Priestesses watch over her.”

“Yes. Good.” She said it like she knew. “I’ll give her a call.”

When Desiree didn’t answer, Melba hung up the phone and grabbed her purse. “Let’s go and find her. We’ll stop at the plantation on the way.”

“Why the plantation?”

“Aubrey, from up the road, said he saw a white horse and rider galloping through there last night. Maybe your horse is there.”

A sprinkling of rain dotted the windshield as Melba pulled out of the driveway. Solomon Brandt Estate was the last place I wanted to visit.

he freshly painted mansion flitted into view between the massive trunks of the live oaks out front. Overhead, clouds rolled, churning up their fury, sending forth the first flash of lightning, followed by a crack of thunder. At the same time, the heavens opened, drenching everything in sight.

“The place suddenly looks spooky,” Melba said.

But I barely heard her, because my gaze was glued to the mansion. Through the blur of rain that pelted the glass, I distinctly saw a glow coming from inside the den windows.

The noise of the water pelting the car grew louder once Melba turned off the engine.

“Go and check the buildings out back,” she said. “I’ll wait here for you, then we’ll go inside together, see if we can find a clue as to what’s going on. I just can’t seem to make myself go inside that place alone.”

Melba’s lips twitched after that, but no sound came out. I assumed she conversed with her ancestors again.

By the time I’d run through the grass to get to the buildings out back, the water had soaked through my sneakers. Standing in the doorway of the first building, I glanced over the nearly empty shed. Apart from some lawn equipment, the space looked deserted. The other two buildings were as empty as the first. Before I headed back, I stood in the downpour, searching the land, yelling out Excalibur’s name, but saw nothing.

By the time I’d run back to the car, Melba had the kitchen door opened for me and was standing just inside. “Nothing?”

“No sign of him.”

“It’s important to get that horse back. The longer he has control of Excalibur, the closer he is to becoming whole,” she said.

I stepped inside and pulled the wet, clingy T-shirt away from my chest. When I lifted my head, my heart constricted at the sight awaiting me.

“Solomon? What is it?” Melba followed the line of my widened gaze. “What do you see?”

The old slave woman stood in one corner of the room, her hands wringing together in front of her apron. She eyed me warily.

“Who are you?” I asked, taking a step toward her.

Without words, she pointed a finger toward the hall door.

“Solomon?”

I felt the pressure of Melba’s hands on my shoulders, reminding me she was there.

“Don’t you see her?” I asked.

“See who?”

“Never mind. It’s nothing.” I turned from the apparition and headed into the hall she pointed to. “I have to check on something.”

“Solomon, you’re dripping water all over the floors. I just finished cleaning the place for the grand opening.”

Her voice trailed close behind, but I ignored her ramblings. I took a left and then a right and soon stood in the open doorway of Solomon’s den.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Melba said from behind me.

I could imagine her fingering her pendants.

“In all the years I’ve worked here. I never felt these hostile vibes in the air before. I think we should leave and go find Desi. Your horse isn’t here.”

“In a moment.”

Although nothing meant more to me than Desiree, I felt a pull beyond my control coming from within the room, and I couldn’t turn back.

I took a step inside, and then another. The den door slammed shut behind me.

Melba cried out my name from the other side. I tried the door handle from my end. It didn’t budge.

Then the stench of something familiar sickened me to my very core. Death. Nausea crawled over and under my skin.

I turned from Melba’s distressed voice and faced the room. It looked no different than it had the last time I was there. Everything was pristine and in its place—all except for the fire blazing in the hearth, lending no warmth.

The next step I took cursed me with a vision from the past. A young girl with hair as dark as coal and skin as light as Desiree’s knelt in front of her master, begging for his mercy. She held the front part of her dress together with slender fingers. It looked as if it had been ripped open by a pair of strong hands. My adversary looked on from his golden throne, not an ounce of remorse on his hardened face.

He bent forward and covered the girl’s slender neck with one beefy hand. Whimpers replaced her cries. The master, in all his inhumane glory, took the other hand and stripped the girl of the top part of her dress.

I knew I was powerless to stop the heinous act I was about to witness, but I yelled out anyway. And for a brief moment, the beast’s intense blue eyes met with mine. He curled his fingers into a claw. I ran toward them, lunging at my twin, but I only succeeded in grabbing an armful of air, as my body fell onto the throne. Suddenly I felt heavy and couldn’t stand. I gripped the wooden arms, trying to pry myself away from the front row view, but I was powerless.

The girl’s eyes, the same green as Desiree’s and widened with fear, stared into mine. I wanted to reach out to her, cover her, at least express my sympathy, but my muscles locked. All I could do was look on with sorrow and regret.

With a clawed hand bearing sharp and pointed fingernails, my evil twin reached out from within me, penetrated the girl’s flesh between her breasts, and ripped out her heart with one yank. Her last breath expelled, and she collapsed into a heap at our feet, her eyes froze open. But her heart, sitting in the palm of our hand—still beat the last bit of warm life through it.

Without wasting a precious moment, he brought the dying organ to our lips and drained it of its sweet liquid. Warm blood flowed down my throat and seeped into my flesh, mingling with my own. On one hand, I felt invigorated and all-powerful. On the other, I held back vomit and tears.

The girl’s frightened gaze etched into my mind as her life’s essence pulsed through my veins. I only hoped this wasn’t a memory. Not of my life. It had to be a twisted vision courtesy of my twin. Another frightful image that wasn’t real. Or had they all been real?

I licked blood off my chin and arm, watching the crimson liquid spill from the girl and pool onto the carpet, threatening to cover up the rose pattern in the center. As I swallowed the last drop, my insides tingled with new life.

A sharp thunderclap shocked me back to reality. In the same instant, Melba burst through the door. The fire in the hearth extinguished, leaving no lingering scent of char behind.

Melba stopped just inside, holding her chest, a look of relief highlighting her features.

“What happened? Why did you lock the door?”

Swallowing the last bit of metallic taste in my mouth, I said, “I didn’t. A draft must have blown it shut.”

Her suspicious gaze lifted to a blowing curtain hanging in front of an opened window that wasn’t opened a moment ago. Mumbling something about water stains on the floor, she rushed to close it.

I stood, towering over the spot where the girl’s body had lain. “We have to go.”

“Solomon! You’re bleeding”

Out of instinct, I checked my hands.

“The corner of your mouth.” She touched her own mouth.

I wiped the salty liquid away with my tongue. “I bit my lip.”

She gave me a pointed look. “Boy, you’re not telling me the truth. You’ve been in here almost an hour. Didn’t you hear me yelling?”

“What?” Alarms went off in my head. So much time wasted. “We have to get out of here and find Desiree. Now. Come on.”

I herded her toward the door, glancing back as lightning lit up the room in its eerie glow. On the second flash, the image of Solomon appeared—a bloodied sneer across his face. I slammed the door shut and rushed toward the kitchen. I felt the old woman’s presence, but I didn’t glance her way.

When I stepped out into the rain, I couldn’t hold back the horrors of what I’d seen. What I’d participated in. My stomach heaved, emptying its contents, a piece of toast and a glass of water. But the pile of vomit on the grass was tinged red.

“Solomon, are you all right?”

With my hands on my knees for support, I lifted my head and filled my mouth with rainwater, swirling it, then spitting.

“Yes.” No! Far from it. When my stomach settled, I got in the car.

“Are you sure you aren’t coming down with something?”

Yeah, a bad case of memories. “Let’s just get to Desiree’s before it’s too late.

“Too late for what?” Melba peeled out of the driveway and sped past the estate. “What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing.”

Melba picked up a pendant, brought it to her lips, and whispered into it for the remainder of the drive.

It was early evening when we arrived at Desiree’s apartment. The rain had slowed and the thunder paused. But the sticky dampness prevailed. Besides its gnawing emptiness, my stomach was in knots with worry. When Desiree didn’t open her apartment door, Melba used a key from her purse to let us in. The first thing I laid my eyes on when I walked in was the rose I’d given her the previous day. It stood in a tall glass of water in the center of the small kitchen table. I couldn’t help the smile that formed on my face from the memory of our date.

Melba called Desiree’s cell phone, and when she didn’t receive an answer, she called the coffee shop, but didn’t reach her there, either. She hung up the phone and turned to me, her face lit with worry.

“Now what? There has to be somewhere else we could look.” I refused to believe that vile creature had her.

Then a new light switched on in Melba’s face. “The campus. We’ll check there. She could be studying. I think she has another test tomorrow.”

“Right. Let’s go, then.” I rushed Melba out of the apartment.

Savannah State University was a city in itself. Finding Desiree here would be like finding a particular ball of cotton in a field ripe with cotton plants.

Melba drove from building to building. I followed her inside the ones that weren’t locked, but we had no luck in finding Desiree. As hope dwindled of ever seeing her again, we came to the library. Before I could get out of the car, I spotted her head of vibrant curls as she walked under a streetlight.

“There she is.”

“Thank God, child,” Melba said when we reached her.

Desiree looked more confused, and also a little annoyed, than happy to see us. Melba threw her arms around her niece. I didn’t think she would let go, but Desiree soon squirmed out of her grip. Melba captured her hand.

“What is this?” She looked from me to her aunt. “Did something happen? Are you okay, Auntie Mel?”

“Yes, yes. I’m fine. I want you to come with us, back to your apartment.”

What?” She grabbed her hand back. “No. I just got here. Now what are you two up to?”

I stepped in. “Desiree, it is for your own protection that we barge in on you this evening. Now please listen to your aunt and come back with us. I’ll explain everything there.”

“Seriously?” She couldn’t seem to get her mouth to close.

“Please.” If I had to get down on my knees and beg, I would.

She threw her hands in the air. “All right. Fine. But if I fail the test tomorrow, I’m blaming both of you.”

Despite the circumstances, I found her anger stimulating. Everything about this girl filled me with some level of renewed life.

So she didn’t have to leave her car behind, I went with her, leaving Melba to lead the way.

Music blared when she turned the key in the ignition. She turned it down, and melted my heart with a sweet smile.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I told you, when we get back to your apartment.”

Her smile turned into a frown. “Have you gotten yourself in trouble with the law?”

“No.”

“Is Melba in some kind of trouble?”

“No.”

“Fine, keep your secrets. But I want answers once we get home.”

“And you’ll get them.” Probably more than you will really want.

When we reached her apartment, she turned to face me before getting out. “This whole mystery is kinda scaring me.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to scare you.”

“Hmm. Not even a smile? Yesterday, I had such a good time with you. Did I do—?”

“No, no.” I reached for one of her hands and held it between us. “You didn’t do anything. Yesterday was the best day of my life, and I wish I could relive it every day.” Looking into her eyes, I saw the girl in the mansion’s den. My heart ached for both of them. “Come. Inside where it’s safe.”

“Okay, I’ll play along,” she said, with a hint of amusement in her tone.

Melba stood by her car, flashing us looks of suspicion and annoyance. When we reached her, she grabbed Desiree’s hand again and held it until we were inside the apartment with the door locked and deadbolted. Then she had a quick look around and joined us in the living room.

“All right. I can hardly stand the suspense, so spill.” Desiree assumed authority, standing with her hands on her hips, shooting pointed looks our way.

With Melba at a sudden loss for words, I decided to tell what I knew.

“Solomon Brandt, the one from the plantation, is haunting me.”

“In your dreams?”

“Yes… and also when I’m awake.”

“Welcome to the second most haunted state in America.” As soon as she said it, remorse twitched in her eyes then she grinned. “Sorry, bad joke.”

“On my way home last night, I saw him in the park, riding Excalibur.”

Skepticism flashed across her features. “What? Really?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be sure it wasn’t one of the tour guides taking a horse home?”

“Solomon stopped and spoke to me. He was a faded image of himself. But Excalibur was whole. He used the horse as a vessel to enter this time period.”

Desiree turned her skeptical gaze on her aunt. “Is this for real?”

“Yes, Desi. Everything he says is true. The real Solomon died a tortuous death”—Melba flashed me a pointed look—”as was fitting. His black soul remained imprisoned by Hoodoo magic for a century and a half. Now he is risen—a true demon who reeks of evil and wants to dwell among us.”

“Why?”

Melba and I threw each other grave looks.

“He’s here for me.” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell both of them the truth as I knew it.

“Why does he want you? Who are you, really?”

That, I couldn’t even admit to myself yet. My heart raced on overload as I considered her question and how to answer. I began to wonder if I had ended up at Melba’s by accident that first day, or if some higher power had planned it?

I looked into her questioning eyes. “I think I am… he himself.”

The half-grin she sported then did nothing to lighten the mood.

“That doesn’t make any sense. You can’t be two people.” Her gaze begged me to take back my confession.

“That’s all I have.” And with that small statement, I felt the justification of how powerless I really was in this whole plan.

A spiral of hair brushed Desiree’s cheek when she shook her head. “Uh-uh. I don’t believe that.”

“There’s something else you both should know,” I said in a most serious tone.

Silence.

“He wants you, too, Desiree.”

Melba gasped, mumbled something into the air, and then grabbed my arm, spinning me toward her. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I agreed she was in danger.”

“What a minute,” Desiree chimed in. “I’m still here, remember? Now what does some dead plantation owner want with me?”

I glanced at Melba, whose skin tone had turned a sickly gray, then clouded the truth with a lie. “I don’t know, exactly. But you are in danger, and I’m not leaving your side. At least tonight.”

Or ever. But I would take things one day at a time.

Melba stepped closer to Desire. “I’ll stay, too.”

“There’s no need. I’m sure I’ll be safe here with Solomon.”

Melba cast me a shrew look. “Mmm hmm. I don’t think so, Des—”

“You can trust me,” I said softly to Melba.

“I do, but—”

“Auntie Mel, I’m an adult. I’ll be fine.”

“Hmm, well, I know when I’m not wanted.”

Her lips twitched, and immediately, I felt a familiar ghostly presence nearby. Melba would see to it that her beloved niece was well protected.

“Solomon, you take good care of her. You know what’s out there.”

Desiree locked the door behind her aunt, and then turned to face me. And judging by the new flush of pink in her cheeks, she still didn’t take the danger as seriously as I did.

“So, here we are, alone,” she said.

But were we really alone?

o you really think I’m in danger?” Desiree asked, picking up the phone.

“Although it pains me to say it, or even think it, yes, I—”

She cut me off and spoke into the phone. She ordered a spinach and artichoke pizza with chicken and extra cheese, then hung up and looked at me. “Sorry, I’m starving. Are you hungry?”

Although hunger gnawed at my stomach, food was the furthest thing from my mind.

The image of the girl whose blood I helped devour came into view again. Her pleading gaze haunted me through Desiree’s eyes—a fitting punishment. I shook the poor wretch from my mind and concentrated on the warm, breathing body in front of me. Desiree—very much alive—stepped closer until the hardened buds beneath the silky fabric of her top pushed against the muscles in my chest. Already, I could barely breathe from her intoxication. She slid her hands up my arms, and rested them on my shoulders. A pleasant, cool sensation followed, settling in my cheeks, forcing me to take a deep, shuddering breath.

I wanted nothing more than to scoop her up into my arms and carry her to a place of peace and euphoria, where desires could be fulfilled without the threat of evil looming. But, instead, I summoned all the restraint I could devise and tried not to concentrate on the pleasant tingles shooting through every part of my body.

“Oh, Solomon, I’m sorry for not taking this as seriously as you are, but, well, it’s kinda hard to believe, you know? This isn’t how I pictured the mystery surrounding your identity to unfold at all. Do you really think you’re… him?”

Her voice was no more of a distraction than her fingers tickling one side of my neck. I pushed hair back from my face and nodded.

“Well, my aunt believes it. But she believes in a lot of nonsense.”

Unable to resist touching her any longer, I lifted my hands from my sides and slid them to the deep arch in her back. “Desiree, the things she believes in are not nonsense. What about the dream you told me about?”

She considered my question. “Yeah, it did feel real, and I did see something the other night when you were here.”

“The bug?”

“It wasn’t really a bug. I didn’t know what it was, just some weird shadowy thing. And there was a feeling that came from it, like I suddenly felt ashamed about us being together… in front of it, like it watched us. I thought if I told you, you would think I was crazy.”

I grinned down at her, then sheltered her in my arms and captured her parted lips with mine. The reward was sweeter than I imagined. In the heated moment, she managed to get backed up against the kitchen table, where the glow of the entry light barely reached. In a smooth motion, she hoisted herself onto the table’s surface, holding me inside the grip of her thighs. Passion flowed from her kisses to the deepest part of my being.

When I felt her fingers tug at the still-damp T-shirt I wore and push it up my chest, I aided her by lifting my arms. Our bodies came together again, this time just the thin fabric of her top between us.

She smoothed her hands over my ribs, and up the sides of my chest, kissing the spot right below my neck, spreading insane amounts of heat across my skin. Then she did something that turned the internal furnace up even further. She undid the first button on her top, then the second, exposing a little white bow in the center of her bra and two round bits of fawn flesh peeking over top of the lace.

As much as I wanted her to continue, I heard Melba’s voice in the back of my head, telling me to take care of her niece—not take advantage of her. At least I didn’t feel three pairs of ghostly eyes watching us.

Desiree’s fingers worked at the next silver button when I grabbed her hands and held them between us. I was about to tell her to stop, to not go any further. But the two passion-filled, glossy pools that stared up at me urged me onward. Clearly, she wanted this thing between us to happen as much as I did.

I let go of her hands and brought my fingers to the next button, unfastening it for her. She rested the palms of her hands on the table and arched her back. The motion popped her shirt opened further, exposing the white, lace garment that covered a little more than half of her breasts. I took the invitation eagerly and lowered my face to the mounds, touching them with my lips, brushing them along her flesh to the spot in between. At my leisure, I explored that spot, then worked my way up the front of her neck, holding the back of her head in one hand and the bottom of one breast in the other. Each little moan caressing the back of her throat made me hungrier than I already was.

And when I thought I would end up on the table, on top of her, the doorbell rang.

“Darn,” she whispered, her eyes still closed. “The pizza is here.”

After one more, soft moan she sat up and fastened one button.

Reluctantly, I took a step back and tried to steady my breathing. Desiree jumped down off the table and with the back of her hand, wiped moisture off her mouth. Then she straightened out the twist in her top and went to answer the door.

Although the moment was lost, I took some pleasure from the pink flush on her cheeks, and the mess of curls on one side of her head from my hand, and let her answer the door that way. When she spoke to the man at the door, her voice seemed softer than before, more relaxed than I’d ever heard it. She pulled money out of her purse. I clued in and intercepted the transaction with my own cash that I kept in a pocket.

A flush of red burned on the young man’s face as I stepped into view, half-naked. He glared from Desiree’s half-exposed chest to mine. She told him to keep the change and closed the door softly in his face.

“Poor guy.” Her laughter sent shimmers of joy surging through me. “He probably wished we had invited him in.”

“Never in a thousand years,” I said, pulling her back into my arms.

“We really should eat while the pizza is still semi-hot.” She teased my sides with her fingers. The muscles contracted beneath her ticklish touch. Then she left me to go to the cupboard and bring down two glasses, which she filled with clear soda.

We ate at the same table we’d nearly desecrated. Gray smoke from a candle flame, sitting on the table beside the rose, danced between us. The flame itself set Desiree’s skin aglow. I’d fallen for her to the point that she meant more to me than anyone or anything I’d ever known, even my own life. So deep were my feelings for her, I almost hoped I didn’t have a recent past, that I did appear out of the ground suddenly and had no ties, no one searching for me.

After the two of us devoured three-quarters of the pizza, I cleared the table while Desiree went to change out of her jeans. Her plan was to snuggle on the sofa together and watch a movie. I looked forward to the snuggling.

I turned the TV on low and waited for Desiree to emerge from the bedroom. An uneasy feeling grew in the moments of her absence. From one corner of the sofa, I took in as much of the apartment I could see. No spirits. I couldn’t feel them. All was quiet—except for the gnawing buzz in my head, an omen of something yet to happen. The sliding doors leading to the balcony were right in front of me. All was clear out there. But something brought a sudden chill to the surface of my skin, on this balmy evening. As I was about to knock on the bedroom door, it opened, and Desiree, wearing a skimpy peach nightshirt that looked poured over her curves, flashed me a smile that took my breath away… but the chill remained.

She had added a little makeup and smoothed out the messy parts of her hair since I’d seen her last. But it was hard to keep focused on her face with so much going on below it.

As Desiree opened her mouth to speak, the storm returned with a vengeance. A loud boom, sounding more like an explosion than thunder, made us both jump.

Before I could catch my breath, the patio doors shattered, scattering shards of glass all over the floor. In that same instant a white stallion carrying a ghostly rider burst into the living room.

“Solomon”! Desiree screamed and latched on to my arm.

With no time to think up a plan, I pushed her against the door casing and spread my body in front of her, staring breathlessly at the apparition of my evil twin on top of Excalibur.

With each passing second, my heart beat faster and faster, filling my chest with searing pain, and with each beat, the evil Solomon appeared more whole.

The Priestesses had failed.

“Jesus,” Desiree whimpered.

Without lifting my gaze from the fire-eyed demon, I shoved Desiree into the bedroom doorway. “Get inside and close the door. Don’t come out no matter what you hear.”

I heard the door slam shut behind me, but I knew a simple wooden barrier wouldn’t keep this inhuman beast out if he wanted her.

With the evil Solomon fully materialized now, I took the opportunity and lunged at him, sinking my fingers into his leg and pulling him off the horse. The coffee table smashed to pieces beneath his weight when he landed on top of it. But he quickly regained composure, quicker than any human could. He kicked broken boards out of the way, and cocked his head to one side.

“So, you want to battle for the prize? How gallant of you.”

Before I could take the next breath, he thrust himself at me, knocking me to the floor with such force, the two of us slid into the foyer. My head slammed into the closet door, sending a shooting pain down the back on my neck.

The demon’s eyes burned down on me; his breath hit my face like a hot poker. After a struggle, I was able to get to my feet. My enemy, looking robust as all hell, brandished a bowie knife.

He lunged at me again, knocking me against a wall. The tip of the knife stuck into the first layer of skin over my heart.

With my hands gripping his, I struggled to push his arms back, but he didn’t budge.

A look of disappointment flitted across his face, and he backed the knife away, leaving a trickle of blood to run down and pool at the waist of my jeans. In that moment, I realized something vital—he needed me alive. That if I died, he died, too. A selfish grin of triumph lifted my cheeks. Selfish, in that I spared the moment to gloat.

“Go ahead; plunge the blade into my beating heart, something you’ll never feel again in your decayed cavity of a body.”

Blue irises replaced the fire burning in his eye sockets, followed by a flash of worry. It was enough of a distraction for me to grab the knife out of his hand and manoeuver away from him.

But now what? I glanced at the shiny blade and realized also that this material possession was useless against the undead. Although I had felt his hot flesh as we fought, somehow, I knew no heart beat inside that chest.

But another idea came to mind.

I backed away farther, until I hit the kitchen cupboard, then turned the knife on myself. His mark was there, directly over my heart. I had to be quick. I would get only one chance. Gripping the ivory hilt with both hands, I punctured the first layer of skin with the point, holding back the grimace that begged to follow the pain.

If I died, he died, too.

My darker half made a move to stop me. Desiree’s anguished cries filled the room.

“No! Don’t! Please.”

Excalibur, who I’d almost forgotten about, let loose a furious string of neighs and snorts.

Through my own misery burning my eyes, I glanced over at Desiree standing beside Excalibur.

“Desiree, go. Leave the apartment.” With a grunt, I shoved the knife in farther, tearing through muscle.

“Solomon… I love you!”

Every fiber of my being caught those three words and held on to them. How could I do this to her, in front of her? But wouldn’t she be better off if I didn’t exist? As I was about to plunge the knife in to the hilt, ending my life for good, my twin threw himself at me. The knife fell to the floor, just before his body merged with mine.

I lost all control of movement, except for my mind, which was only partly mine.

“Desiree, run… run, because… I’m going to cut you to pieces—” No. Don’t listen, run, Desiree. I couldn’t get the words out I wanted to say. “Then I’m going to suck the blood from your flesh.”

His thoughts turned into my words, as his hot poison bleed into my veins, and his sinful desires spread into my loins. My evil self quickly took hold of my brain, all except the part that allowed me to know who I was, and that I loved Desiree with my whole heart. He afforded me just enough self to suffer from what I was about to do. The vile bastard would make me kill her.

“Go!” I screamed with the last breath in me.

His evil grin spread across my face. Desiree came out of her shock and fled the apartment. I used the last bit of humanity I had left and fought back with willpower. To anyone watching, I would have looked insane, thrashing myself against the counter, walls, furniture. Anything to keep him occupied so Desiree would have enough time to flee our wrath. An inner struggle between two strengths, one bad, one good, carried on for an immeasurable amount of time. When exhaustion conquering my human body, I screamed in my mind, until the words burst out of my mouth.

“Leave my body! Go back to your fucking hell!”

The love I felt for Desiree grew inside me, filling me, pushing the evil Solomon out. It was easy then to bring her image into my mind. Her green eyes sparkled in a beam of sunlight at the park. The passion in her kiss, even now, sent a pleasurable shiver through me. In the next instant, the beast was sucked out of me. I just hoped I gave her enough time to escape.

Fire raged in the demon’s eyes, and steam lifted off his skin. Other than fiercely enraged, he looked no worse for wear, while I struggled to stay standing, feeling almost as dead as when I’d first burst from the ground.

Sirens wailed in the distance, all the while growing closer.

The enraged demon jumped on a saddened Excalibur.

“I’ll find the bitch. And when I get finished with her, you won’t recognize what I leave behind as even being her.” He pulled the reins, pointing Excalibur toward the space where the patio doors had been. “And you will have yourself to blame!”

He threw his head back in a guttural laugh, then he and the horse disappeared over the railing.

lashes of blue and red streaked the apartment walls. The sharp wail I’d come to fear and hate stopped abruptly. I’d barely made it to the phone when my knees gave out and I collapsed to the floor. A heavy weight pressed down on me, as if someone had replaced my blood with lead and encased me in cement. Ripples of nausea flowed through me, awakening the pain to new heights. An invisible force overpowered my will to move. My fingertips grazed the edges of the torn piece of paper with Melba’s phone number on it I kept with me, but the toll of the recent catastrophe fought to claim my consciousness, along with my body.

Then I felt buoyant, almost as if I didn’t exist. Pain lifted, with the weight. For a moment, I felt a sprinkling of water on my face. More sirens blared, somewhere close to my head this time, and lights flashed on the other side of my eyelids. Something cold and sharp bit into my wrists that were shoved behind me. Blurred glimpses of the city rushing by made vomit crawl up the back my throat. Someone helped me to walk, but when my knees gave out and I couldn’t stand, they dragged me.

Chains rattled and metal clanked. Someone with a deep voice said, “Let him sleep it off. He can’t tell us anything in his drunken state.”

Then vertigo hit right before I slammed into something hard. Sharp needles of pain radiated through my head. Holding on to the last fragment of will, I conjured Desiree’s image to the forefront of my mind. But quickly her face changed to the slave girl’s, with the same green eyes. Desiree would be dead by now, or at the very least, at the mercy of her pursuer. Her image faded as I lost consciousness…

I woke chilled to the core, lying on something hard. A steady drip and heavy snoring somewhere nearby added to the pounding in my head. The stench of urine and body odor greeted me with every breath I took. I pried my eyes open. Directly overhead, an exposed light bulb glowed behind a small cage. With aching muscles, I pushed myself into a sitting position on the cement floor, a groan accompanying my every move.

The source of the snoring lay on a bench at one end of the barred room, one arm dangling over the edge, a small puddle of drool accumulating on the floor below the guy’s squished face. As the previous night’s events tore through my mind, my stomach threatened to vomit again. Where was Desiree? Had she gotten away?

“He’s awake,” someone yelled from down the hall.

In minutes, keys clanked together as a uniformed man unlocked the barred door. “On your feet, Mr. Black.”

It took a moment for me to realize he addressed me. I checked my pockets; they were empty.

“Where’s my wallet?” I said with a rasp to my voice, standing on shaky legs.

“You’ll get your things back later, Mr. Black. Now let’s go. It’s time you gave us some answers.”

The man, wearing a police uniform, exuding an abundance of confidence, escorted me into a room not far away. Another uniformed man sat on one side of a table. With a forceful grip, my escort pushed me into the only other chair, then went to stand beside the door.

Desperate for water, I asked for a drink.

“Consumed too much alcohol last night, did you?” the man sitting said.

“I didn’t have anything to drink but soda.”

He leaned back in the chair, expanding his stomach beyond his belt. “Well, that must have been one intoxicating soda you had.”

“I wasn’t intoxicated.”

The fog in my head started to burn off as anger simmered.

“That’s not what it looked like to the officers who brought you in.”

Tired of his attitude, I leaned into the table.

“Back away from the table,” the guy at the door barked.

I backed away, but said my piece. “I don’t care what those guys thought; I wasn’t drunk. Now give me some water?”

“One more demand like that and your ass will be so far in the hole, you’ll never see the sunlight again. You got that, Mr. Black?”

I threw my back against the chair in silence, glaring at the officer in front of me, wishing there were only the two of us in the room.

“Now, when you’ve given us some satisfactory answers”—he pointed his chin at the other guy—“Officer Mike will get you all the water you can drink. Now, tell us exactly what happened at 102 Clairview Drive last night.”

“Do you think this is funny?” the policeman said when I shook my head and let out a breathy laugh.

Clearly, he couldn’t be pleased. He wanted straight answers that I couldn’t give him, so I thought up a story.

“This guy.” My twin’s image came into view. “He broke the patio doors and forced himself into the apartment.”

“Can you give us a description?”

He looked exactly like me. “He…”

“What race?”

“White, tall, with blond hair.”

“His build?”

“Skinny.”

“How did he break the glass?”

I pulled up images of the encounter in my aching head. “He had a knife.” I held out two fingers. “About this long.”

“Is that how you got the cut on your chest?” The officer gave a nod in the direction of the wound.

I looked down at the dried blood and suddenly felt the sting. “Yes.”

“Do you know what he wanted?”

“Desiree… he said.”

“The woman who lives in the apartment?”

“Yes.”

“What is her full name?”

“Desiree McClinton.”

“Where is she?”

“I held the guy down and told her to run. I haven’t seen her since.” A weak spell hit me, and I teetered in the chair, but caught myself. “After a few minutes’ struggle, the guy jumped off the balcony and disappeared.”

“A two-story jump?” He exchanged a cynical look with the other officer.

I shrugged, tired of the interrogation.

“Do you have a picture of the girl?”

“No.”

“How do you know her?”

“We’re friends.”

The only other item in the room, a phone hanging from the wall, rang. After the other officer had a quick conversation with someone on the other end, he hung up and said, “He’s been cleared. And someone is here to pick him up.”

The man across from me leaned on the table, as if defiantly knowing I couldn’t. I folded my arms across my chest to keep from grabbing him and bashing his head into the table.

“Well, Shane Black, looks like you’re in the clear for now. But don’t leave the state just yet.”

“I can go now?” I was anxious to start the hunt for Desiree and my adversary.

“Not so fast. Officer Mike will escort you to the front desk to fill out a form and give you your belongings. Then you can go.”

I stood and turned toward the door, not giving him the courtesy of a goodbye.

Melba sat in a row of seats near the outside door, wringing her hands in her lap.

“Solomon.”

Her gentle squeeze made me hurt all over, but I didn’t care. She was comfort.

“Where am I?”

“You’re at the police station.” She gave me a quick looking over. “Are you all right? We were so worried.”

“Who? Who’s we?” Although darkness etched her face, she didn’t look upset enough for me to expect the worst.

“Desiree. She came to my place last night. She told me everything.”

I said a silent thank you to anyone listening. “So she’s all right?”

“Yes. I think. But you don’t look so good.”

“What do you mean, you think?”

“Come on. I’ll explain in the car.”

Another gray and humid day greeted me outside. The warmth did nothing to shake the chill from my body, though.

Once we were in the Toyota, Melba explained everything. “Oh, Solomon, you were right. He does want her.”

I held onto my forehead with my fingers, trying to dull the ache that dwelled there since I woke up. “Where is she now?”

“She wouldn’t stay with me, said it would be too easy for that bastard to find her. And she didn’t want to put me in danger.”

“She’s not at your house?”

“No. She left for Atlanta before sunrise.”

A new wave of panic washed over me. “You let her go?”

“I couldn’t stop her. She’s with her godmother, a lady I’m not too fond of, to say the least.”

“Will she be safe there?”

“For the time being. Celeste practices in the dark side of Hoodoo. And if Desiree tells her the truth about everything, who knows what that witch will conjure up to stop the demon, or aid him, even. I don’t trust that woman. Never understood why my dear sister and she were such close friends.”

A shiver tore across my shoulders as a moment of lightness settled upon me for the second time that morning.

“Are you in any pain?” she asked.

“Nothing time won’t cure.”

Melba pulled into the Rainbow Motel parking lot.

“What are we doing here?”

“You need to shower and pack. I’ll settle up with Glyda.”

“Where am I going?”

“We, Solomon. You, me, and the Priestesses. I conversed with them last night,” she explained. “The evil Solomon travels by night, so Desi should be safe today. But we must find her before sundown. She should be at my sister’s place in Atlanta—that’s where she’s headed…”

“You know something else, don’t you? Something you’re not telling me… Why?” he asked her, when she shook her head sadly and wouldn’t elaborate.

“My guides told me something else,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “The longer you are separated from Excalibur, the weaker you'll become. Eventually, you will die." She twisted in her seat and looked me over. "You feel it already, don't you? Your paleness and fading energy gives you away."

“I feel something… yes. I feel lighter."

“Without Excalibur, you will eventually lose your soul. We can’t let the evil Solomon take it from you! He grows stronger, while you grow weaker. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“Yes.”

Solomon nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing more. So many questions, and yet, none of the answers were easy fixes. There was only one solution to satisfy everything.

Find the original Solomon Brandt.

Find this wicked twin before anything worse befell his beloved horse and the girl who held his heart.

usk fringed the Atlanta skyline in hues of deep blue and gray. The towers of light, peeping through the murk, seemed to grow taller as we neared the city. Besides the low hum of noise Melba called music coming from the car radio, silence had reigned between us for the last hour of the journey. I could tell by the furrow between her brows and the death grip she held on the steering wheel, worry, not music, kept her company.

I, too, had fallen into my own vat of silent distress. Minutes passed like hours at thoughts of Desiree in peril. Every now and then a weak flash overcame my thinking, casting my brain in a thick, heavy cloud of dread. In those moments, I could barely sense myself, stretched like a thin sheet of paper against the seat of the car. And when those torturous spells faded, a languorous heaviness settled upon me once more, and a dull ache gripped the sides of my head.

Melba made a right turn, away from the traffic and the rising steel jungle, onto a quieter street lined with large houses set behind sweeping lawns.

"Are we near?" I asked, scanning the neighborhood through the rain battering the windshield.

"Just up here."

In the same instant that she made a left turn, the nagging sickness stopped. My body settled into a more natural balance between light and heavy. I sat up. Except for the fissure in my heart, I felt… normal, strong.

"What? What is it?" Melba shared her puzzled gaze between me and the road.

"We're close."

"Yes. It's just up here." Melba said with a hint of suspicion. "The next driveway, I think."

"No. We're close to Excalibur."

"What?"

The tires squealed as the car came to an abrupt stop.

"Did you see something?" she asked.

With a subtle headshake, I peered past the wipers sweeping the battering rain off the windshield and into the night. "No, but I feel like myself again, like I did before this sickness invaded my body, like I did before he took Excalibur away. He has to be somewhere nearby."

"Hope you're right… sort of."

Melba turned the wheel, pulling the car into the driveway beside us. "Celeste lives here. In the Ansley Park area."

"Judging by the homes, I would assume Celeste has money." I spoke into the side window, not really caring for an answer.

"Never assume anything. Nothing about Celeste is what it seems."

We drove past the large brick house into the backyard, and headed straight toward a small dwelling in a back corner of the property.

"This is where Celeste hangs her fortune telling sign. In a hovel behind the house she's paid to clean."

"Strange the owners would allow it in such a lavish neighbourhood."

"The owner is her brother. Trash with money."

She shut off the ignition and turned to look at me with a hand on the door handle. "Now mind what you say. In fact, don’t say anything at all. I'll do the talking."

"What is it about this woman that makes you so nervous? Is she a danger to Desiree?"

With a fist secured to the red pouch around her neck, she opened the door and stepped out into the downpour, ignoring my last question. Melba stopped under the little porch roof. The yellow gleam from the outside light backlit the darkness in her eyes. "No more talk. We're on her territory now."

She glared at me until I gave in and nodded. Then she released her grip on the charm and wrapped her knuckles on the screen door, rattling a string of tiny bones hanging from a hinge.

Perfumed wisps of smoke seeped through the screen door, tickling my throat, blending with the foggy air. In the same instant, the clop of heels on wood echoed from inside, coming closer.

"Hold on, hold on, I'm coming." A rattling noise grew louder as a tall woman appeared through a thin veil of smoke. "What in blazes does anyone want with my services this time of night? You can clearly see my light ain't on." A purple light flicked on and then off again.

"Celeste."

The woman caught her breath. Holding her chest with a ring-adorned hand, she squinted, looking from my companion to me, then back to my companion.

"Melba, darling. What on earth brings you at this late hour?"

"Aren't you going to invite us in?"

I hoped the impatience in Melba's voice wasn’t as obvious to Celeste as it was to me.

Our hostess reached between us and pushed the door open, then stepped aside. "Of course. Please come in."

The woman's long-lashed gaze fixed to me again—all over me.

"My, what handsome company you keep these days… and young."

A new habit made me check the porch floor for a familiar red line. I didn't see it at first. The threshold was clean, except for two piles of brick dust that looked as if they'd been swept to the sides… but why? To allow some unearthly creature to gain access?

"Well, are you coming in?"

With a new sense of foreboding, I followed Melba into the house.

As if flipping a switch inside herself; Celeste's nature changed from her initial shock to flirtiness. A lean, brown leg peeked out from a slit in her bright, multicolored evening gown.

Melba spoke, commanding her attention over the low hum of a TV. "We're here to see Desiree." She peered past the tall woman's shoulders into the paneled hallway. "Where is she?"

"She's not here," Celeste graced us with a wave of her hand.

"What?" Melba said, exuding as much anxiety as I felt.

I made a move to squeeze past Celeste, but she took a step of her own, casually blocking my way.

"Where is she?" I demanded, none too politely.

"Not so fast… what did you say your name was?"

Melba and I shared an uneasy glance. "This is So—"

"Shane Black," I said before Melba could get the tainted word out.

"Is that so?" Celeste answered dubiously.

"Yes. He's a friend of Desiree's, just come to town, and I think she would really like to see him."

"And you came all the way here from Savannah. . . this time of night… in a rainstorm." She traced her bright red lips with a matching fingernail. "Interesting."

"Actually, I just picked him up from the airport and brought him here before heading back to Savannah. Now can you please get Desiree for us? It's getting late." Melba flashed a forced smile.

"As I said, she isn't here."

"What do you mean? She told me she was coming to stay with you."

"Yes, well, she was here earlier, and then she got a phone call and left. In a hurry, too. And no; she didn't tell me where she was going, just ran out muttering the name, Solomon."

As she said my name, she flicked her dark gaze at me.

"Now if you don’t mind, it's getting late and I was just about to run a hot bath." She stretched past us and opened the door. "Melba, darling, please do come again at a more appropriate time."

Melba was on the porch deck first. As I took a step to follow her, a cold hand pressed to my forearm, sending an icy chill over my clammy body. I turned and looked into Celeste's knowing gaze. A cinder sparked in their dark depths.

"I know who you are." White teeth flashed between her red lips.

"Where is she?" All manners flew by the wayside as I trapped her wrist in my grip. "Tell me or I'll snap it in two."

She winced when I tightened my hold.

"Shane!" Melba called out from the porch.

We ignored her.

Celeste's fearless gaze held me in its grip. "You wouldn't hurt a woman now, would you?" Her goading words dripped sarcasm. “Oh but that's right, you've hurt many women, haven't you—Solomon?"

Crushed by the reference to the monster I once was, I loosened my grip. Celeste sprang away.

"What's going on?" Melba asked in a shaky voice, coming to my side.

The malevolent look Celeste cast me then, squeezed the breath out of my lungs. , Ignoring Melba, she spoke in low, even tones that chilled the back of my still-damp neck. "If you touch me again, I'll place a curse upon you the likes those priestesses have never seen."

Ignoring her threats, I pulled myself together, remembering why I was there, and took a step closer. "Is Desiree here?" My demanding tone drowned out the TV and the rain, and brought forth a new awareness to the eyes that looked more evil to me with each passing moment.

"On second thought, don't leave. I've got a task for you, Solomon. That’s if you're brave enough to accomplish it."

"I will not waste my time doing anything for you."

She tilted her head to one side. "And if I could help you find your girl? Would you do it then?"

Desiree's eyes appeared between us, the greens brightening the gloom behind them. Celeste lifted away from the wall, invading my vision. I gritted my teeth, and tightened my jaw, deciding to hear her out.

"Are you ready to listen, young, but not-so-young man? If so, follow me. Melba, you come, too."

With silence between us, we followed the strange woman past the sound of the TV into a small room with no windows. After she fumbled with something in a corner, I heard a match strike, and welcomed the light of a tall, human shaped candle, no matter how small the glow. Celeste lit several other candles in various shapes and sizes—all black. One in particular, standing on a silver tray, beckoned to me. I walked toward the upside-down wax cross and sat in one of the four mismatched chairs surrounding the round table.

"Celeste, this is blasphemy. I will not sit at this table, or stand in this room another second."

"Oh, Melba, don't be a hypocrite. You have your beliefs, however vague, and I have mine. Now please sit.”

With a touch of encouragement to Melba's wrist from me, she unclutched the pouch around her neck, and slid her chair close to mine.

I felt her shudder when she sat down, and laid a reassuring hand on hers. Although I wasn't reassured myself in this ritual space.

Celeste pushed her skirt aside, sat, and adjusted folds of gaudy material around the one leg she bared. Then she held out her jewellery-adorned hands, backs down on the velvety table covering.

"Welcome seekers. Place a hand in mine and join the other two together to seal the sacred circle and the door to the outerworld."

A memory burst into my head. The outerworld—something I heard talk of from some of the slave kids when I was a kid myself. A place where unearthly beings dwelled lying in wait of weak souls to possess so they—the damned—could filter into our world. I never paid much attention to the beliefs of the slaves. My father called their practices devilry, and warned me to stay away from them.

At the memory, I went to pull away from Celeste's grip, but she held steady. When I settled, she traced invisible swirls on my palm with a long finger. "Your soul has been tortured, but not beyond repair. I can break the binding that surrounds it, Solomon. But freedom comes at a price."

Celeste's eyes appeared as black and shiny as obsidian as she glared at me through a thin stream of candle smoke. "Are you willing to pay the price?"

I glanced at Melba, my lifeline, hoping for a sign. She didn't move. In fact, her unblinking gaze held fast to the candle's flame.

"She can't help you, Solomon. You must make this decision on your own."

"What's wrong with her?" I pushed gently on her arm. Nothing. "What did you do to her?"

"She sleeps until you return."

"With her eyes open?"

"I promise you, she's fine."

"It seems I don’t have a choice, but to do your bidding, witch."

"There's always a choice."

In that moment, an icy tendril shot through my palm, into my wrist, traveled up my arm, and settled in my chest, where it defrosted into a temperature somewhere around normal.

"What was that?" I asked, still held in her grip.

"Open your mind. I have given you a gift, a skill, really."

I concentrated and felt no different than I had before entering this cursed room, other than the new, lingering awareness that something strange now inhabited me.

"You will find the skill when you need it."

"So, is that it? Is the curse lifted?"

In a flash, a grin spread across her face. "Curse? Oh no. That is your link back to me. When I get what I want, you will receive the information you seek about Desiree, and then…" She released my hand and slid hers up my wrist in a flirtatious gesture. "I might lift that nasty curse from you. It does make you rather ornery."

I snatched my hand away from hers, and reluctantly lifted my other from Melba's. As I was about to get up to leave, Celeste stood, blocking the closed door.

"Not so fast. I haven't yet told you what I want from you."

I'd almost forgotten about the price.

She pulled a small object out of a drawer in a table next to the door and held it out to me. "Take this box." She fondled the top. "Its wood comes from the remnants of a burnt stake a witch lost her life at. Go back to Savannah, to Bonaventure Cemetery, and fill it with graveyard dirt."

My mind whirled. All the way back to Savannah, alone. And what could she possibly want with dirt from a graveyard?

"But Solomon, you must only bring the dirt from the grave of Madeline Jacobs. And it must be retrieved between the hours of midnight and 3:00 a.m., when the veil to the outerworld is at its thinnest."

"What's so special about her?"

"She was known as the Black Witch. The first of her kind to cross Hoodoo and European witchcraft. Not many have tried since, successfully. Ordinary people don’t know her history. If they did, she would be on top of the Bonaventure tour guide. As it is, you won't find any info on where she's buried on the internet."

"Why don't you go get it yourself?"

"I'd never make it past the gates with those—"

I studied her carefully, catching her switch direction mid-sentence.

"Let's just say, graveyards are not my thing. They're creepy." She ended the lie with a devious grin and opened the door for me to leave. A chill air blew around me, penetrating my still damp T-shirt. But there was something I had to know before leaving.

"What exactly are you?"

Her expression turned dark. "Something beyond your scope of understanding. Now be on your way. And, Solomon, I will know if what you bring back is not exactly what I want."

With one last look at Melba, I bolted from the house and into the downpour.

Many thanks…

To my co-writer Aiden James for bringing me in on this series, and for having complete faith in me.

To the entire Curiosity Quills team for being super supportive and for transforming my jumble of words into a high quality book.

To my editor, the all-knowing Mary Harris. It’s always a pleasure.

To all Curiosity Quills authors who have become my virtual family. Thanks for all your help and support.

And to the readers for accompanying me one step farther along the path of my dreams. Let’s walk slowly and treasure the moment, shall we?

~Lisa Collicutt

Aiden James is the bestselling author of Cades Cove, The Judas Chronicles, and the Nick Caine Adventures (with J.R. Rain).

Aiden resides in Tennessee with his wife, Fiona, and their two sons, Christopher and Tyler.

To learn more about Aiden James and his latest books, please visit his website: http://aidenjamesfiction.com.

You can also follow him on:

- Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Aiden-James-Paranormal-Author/186876114703747

- Twitter: https://twitter.com/AidenJames3

Lisa Collicutt likes to write dark and twisted tales of magic and romance. She has a passion for Young Adult and New Adult Paranormal.

When she’s not conjuring tales about witches, demons, and other magical beings, she can be found leathered, and bound to the back of her husband’s Harley, touring her homeland of Nova Scotia, Canada.

Enter Lisa’s imagination where light ends and fantasy begins. But heed these warnings… it’s dark, it’s magical, you may experience tingles.

London 1888.

here was a time, long ago, when I hung myself with remorse. An act I considered justified in exchange for the betrayal of my good friend Jesus of Nazareth. My gain? Thirty pieces of silver and, my curse? To become immortal, forced to roam for eons of time while many learned scholars attempted to debunk what really happened to me. Rumors abounded through the centuries about my demise, some laughable, others close to the truth, whilst I continued to wander through centuries neither growing old nor dying. I had, with misfortune, met the sharp blades of knives, a bullet and various types of torture contraptions. None succeeded in killing me. Instead, after a quick recovery, I was restored.

But the curse of greed remained. With good faith, I attempted to shake my desire for money, and failed miserably as I amassed many fortunes in short spaces of time. Of course, I had the advantage of longevity in which to learn how to perfect the finer points. Each venture becoming more successful than the last. Short of blowing my own trumpet, I admit to being expert in many skills and, having the good fortune to prosper in England, my residence for over eighty years, I created many new business ventures, bought and sold many properties.

My friend, and fellow immortal, Roderick Cooley walked the earth on and off with me for seventeen hundred years, until settled on his fine plantation in Virginia. I began a campaign of letters and telegrams six months ago. I needed Roderick to come in as a partner on a lucrative business opportunity. Having sold my existing business for a tidy sum, I planned on expanding my wealth considerably.

My name, Judas Iscariot, is not used for my current residence; I much preferred the alias of Emmanuel Ortiz for appearances. It suited well; I had many pseudonyms, a master in all disguises with a penchant for excitement. In the midst of my business dealings I found another, far more sinister path I wished to take - my intrigue heightened after reading various newspaper reports.

My latest purchase was a splendid Regency home in the heart of London’s Belgravia. It afforded a true gentleman’s lifestyle with all the trappings my heart desired. Party invitations became a regular occurrence shortly after I acquired my new address, giving me the opportunity to mingle with London’s elite upper class society on a regular basis. My new import business flourished as England opened its doors to new tastes and delights from foreign lands. In came cotton, gold, diamonds, tea, spices, flax, and opium with abundance. I didn’t care to admit to my clandestine operations: to supply the opium dens of London alongside the respectful supplies to pharmaceutical companies who turn them into Laudanum.

We all have a secret or two and I had plenty. For example, who I really am and why I was fixated and enthralled with Jack the Ripper. News of his hideous crimes spread far and wide, to America and beyond. I wanted to meet the chap head-on and stop him. But the lure of lavishness and excess had overtaken and distracted me for such a long time I was unsure of my commitment.

A good example of one distraction would be the drawing room, a place for entertainment and my pride and joy. In olden days, privileged members of the French court of royalty would gather outside the King’s Levees waiting for him to make his first public appearance of the day. In Victorian times the Levees had become the drawing room and took on quite a different purpose. When entertaining, after a lavish dinner, the ladies made their way to the room for idle gossip, while we fellows stayed in the dining room to enjoy a fine cigar, conversation and a good Napoleon cognac. Later we would join the ladies, if I was fortunate to have Eliza Gardiner in attendance, after some gentle persuasion she would delight us with her wonderful piano recitals. Occasionally, I was given the opportunity to duet with her. It was such a pleasure, being musically inclined. Eliza possessed the voice of an angel and enjoyed singing my self-written sonnets, while I played my precious Stein piano. Our guests always loved the high level of entertainment and I loved Eliza, as a friend. Never once did I contemplate a liaison and betrayal of her husband Cyril, who I considered a fine fellow. Although I found her to be very attractive indeed, I remained a gentleman.

The chill of autumn reminded me the short summer had come to an end and the fire now needed to be drawn and lit.

“A telegram for you, Sir.” My trusted butler, Edward, brought the post along with my morning tea into the study. I always gave telegrams my complete attention.

‘The Leather Apron still at large in Whitechapel. Stop. Enough frivolity. Stop. Contact me at your earliest convenience A.L. Richard. Stop.”

Rumors ran rife in London that each murder may be connected. There was not a social circle left that did not have something to say. The various hoax letters purporting to be from Jack had started to circulate, but none led to the killer. Now, my good friend and news reporter, Albert, had thoughtfully sent me a telegram, using one of the nicknames given to the elusive Jack: The Leather Apron, on account of his habit of carving up victims in the most gruesome manner remained free as a bird.

Through my own omission, I could not help but be drawn to the brutal murders. Caught up in the moment, I desired to be the one to bring him to justice. I was not startled easily or unused to witnessing unspeakable horrors in the past. I often thought there could be no mortal that would succeed in catching the treacherous and elusive killer.

The self centered part of me yearned for a quieter, more reserved existence. Now I had become a proper English gentleman. There were millions in cash and investments placed in bank accounts throughout the world. If I desired, I could become a gentleman at leisure - indulging in anything my heart desired.

With great haste I penned a letter to Albert. I suggested we meet at The Old Bell Tavern on Fleet Street, a popular watering hole for newsmen to gather and gleam information. London was already ablaze with speculation. Each unsolved murder had printing presses running overtime and Albert was in the thick of it, holding a prestigious post at The Times.

I instructed Bert, my trusted footman, to deliver the letter forthwith. If I was going to assist in the capture of this heinous killer, time was of the essence. Though I had plenty, his victims did not. I preferred to keep myself busy, a distraction from the thoughts that constantly plagued me as I periodically found myself in reflection. The morning had hardly begun, when much to my delight Marianne paid an unexpected visit flinging the door wide open before Edward could do his formal introduction.

“My darling, good morning and what a fine day it is!” she loudly exclaimed.

“What do I owe for this unexpected visit?” Although slightly taken aback, it was a joy to see her. Nothing about the stunningly beautiful and vivacious twenty three year old actress surprised me.

“I had a hard night, three curtain calls and a divine party after at the director’s home in Chelsea. But I awoke early and had to come and see you. Have you heard the news?”

“It depends on what news you are referring to. Every day brings news.”

“Emmanuel, my love, are you in a cocoon? It’s Jack, he’s still at large and there are fears he will strike again!”’

“That I know, I received a telegram this morning from Alfred. It appears Scotland Yard is at a loss of what to do next.”

“Well then, what are you planning to do, my darling? Surely you must know everything?”

Marianne knew about my indigenous past, as did a select few. Against my better judgment, I shared one night of unbridled passion with her and, fearing it would cause damage to both our reputations, convinced her it was best to remain just friends.

She possessed the most marvelous eyes, likened to two pools of a light blue ocean, with skin of porcelain. Her cheekbone structure divine and she always wore the latest designs from Paris, setting her apart in style. Gender roles are clearly defined in this Victorian Era, women in particular are expected to marry at the earliest opportunity and portray a weak inferior persona. Marianne did not fit that category, a dramatic actress with the spirit of an unbroken horse. One of only a handful of successful west-end performers and the daughter of a Sussex School Master, she had reached the ranks of the popular, becoming the toast of London society and a trusted confidant.

“I wish I could have been with you in those biblical times,” she remarked, running a middle finger seductively across my top lip. I could feel my manhood rising, but like a gentleman, I fought the urge.

“Stop that. You know we have an agreement not to become romantically inclined.”

“A girl can try. At least give her credit for that.”

“I only want to savor the memory of an extraordinary night. Let’s not spoil it,” said I, doing my best to stay in control. Hundreds of years taught me well. For example: how to restrain myself when in close proximity to an irresistible woman, such as Marianne Ashmore who, was truly delightful. I loved her fiery temperament and scandalous talk of joining the ever-growing band of women campaigning for the right to vote. Her company was forcing me to digress from my plan to journey to Albert. With matters to attend to; Marianne had to leave.

“My dear, sweet, handsome man, it appears I have called on you at the wrong moment. But then I must go to sleep, being up all night and an early breakfast has begun to take its toll.”

After a brief, unexpected kiss on the cheek, she was away, leaving me free to take the carriage to Fleet Street and Albert while I put her luscious body out of my mind.

For now, London suited me. It held infinite fascinations and opportunities to expand my fortune even further. Previous success in countless ventures left me confident enough to be involved in the rapid growth of an import business. Blessed with abilities far greater than any ordinary mortal, whose life span was guaranteed to expire within an expected time frame, I had notched up eighteen hundred years of experience. Frequently, during sleepless nights, I thought about how much I would be worth by the year 2150 if my Midas touch continued. Forever needing to think ahead, in what was becoming an increasingly materialistic world, I took no chances in missing out on lucrative business opportunities at every turn. I was Judas, after all.

A light drizzle was building, accompanied by a chilled wind in the air, as my carriage drove through the busy London streets for the rendezvous with Albert. The familiar cries of street sellers, accomplished at hawking their wares door to door echoed, ‘Buy my carrots, juicy carrots.’ ‘Fresh flowers for the lady of the house.’ Their shouts loud and clear, with the clip clop of horses hooves on the damp, slippery cobbles.

By the time I arrived at The Old Bell Tavern it had begun to rain in earnest, England’s weather bemusing at the best of times. Its perpetual rain and fog, which descended on London in the winter, was abominable.

Albert was waiting for me, eager and thirsty.

“Well, old chap, I was going to order you a fine ale. Or maybe you’d prefer something stronger?” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

“A good ale accompanied by a tender beef steak with potatoes will do nicely.”

I knew I would be paying for lunch. Albert’s meager wages did not allow for luxuries, or extras. Occasionally, due to my generous nature, I would make a donation.

“Would it be okay to make it two steaks?” he asked in a tentative tone of voice.

“Of course, it’s fine, old chap.”

“Will you be happy to pay for the ale?”

“Yes, that too.”

“There is a delicious apple and blackberry pie served here, a grand dessert.”

“Albert, my good man, everything is on me. I thought I’d mention that now before you ask for anything else after dessert, like a brandy.”

He was, after all his idiosyncrasies, a damn good fellow. I did find his small moustache to be slightly ugly, not suiting his wiry features or close set eyes. For some reason his clothes never seemed to fit, appearing to be slightly oversized, and, annoyingly, his shoes were always in need of a good polish. Appearances aside, he was an astute young man with a nose for news and an eye for the ladies. At the age of twenty eight, he had reached the status of a main news reporter. It was quite an achievement in Fleet Street for someone so young.

The Ripper case gave newsmen enough fodder to keep going for months. But Albert was never satisfied, hungering for more information, not caring how it came his way as he nosed around. He had the makings of an ideal policeman if he decided to give up putting pen to paper.

I, too, considered myself to be skilled in detection, but was I truly capable of catching such a slippery devil? Having endured many challenges throughout the centuries far worse than this, I was not prepared to give up, if only I could get my mind to focus.

“This Jack character is giving Scotland Yard a run for its money. He’s devious and tricky. Emmanuel, you must take your surveillance talk and do something with it, in the thick of it, the streets of Whitechapel,” said Albert.

“I can only do what I’m capable of, my dear friend. Surely you must know, even Judas is not invincible.”

“But you have a distinct advantage over the rest of us. If you have the misfortune to be harmed you are healed in a matter of minutes.”

“Not quite, if I have the misfortune to suffer an extreme attack it can be fatal. I am not indestructible, and I wager you would enjoy it immensely if I were to be the sacrificial lamb for the greatest scoop of your career.”

“I don’t wish you dead silly man, only triumphant. I doubt you would shout it to the world, being said with honesty, you would do your best, lambs discounted!”

If I were to fail, would Albert hold me responsible? I had the impression he underestimated Jack, a force to be reckoned with, as a simple catch once identified.

“He’s deadly. We must never underestimate him. That includes you,” I warned in no uncertain terms.

I often wondered if Albert actually believed I was immortal. I inadvertently confessed one night when full of ale and bravado. Alcohol put me in a drunken state very quickly if I consumed more than I should have. I surmised it was to do with my immortal status. Albert, on the other hand, was a bottomless pit. For every ale I drank, he drank double and twice as quickly. But we reached a mutual understanding. He was never sure if I was really Judas drifting through the centuries and I, in turn, tolerated his heavy drinking and ever increasing opportunistic ways to get me to pay for his vices.

“I will speak with Roderick. It would be better not to go alone, if I can get his mind off the fog and cold.”

“I was hoping that we’d avoid Roderick Cooley,” he replied with a grimace. Albert did not take to him upon introduction; his first impression one of horror. I understand why the sight of Roderick wearing hand crafted dark glasses to disguise his strange eyes is unnerving.

Albert is often cocky and arrogant. Roderick will not suffer fools gladly, making his opinion known. The tension recently lessened between them and it looks as if they found a degree of tolerance. I have yet to see what happens when both are full of ale.

Roderick joined me in London on my insistence and persuasion. I encouraged him away from his fine Virginian plantation where he had been since 1663 to oblige me in my new ventures. There was a time when we were neighbors until a wealthy land holder made an offer on my property I could not refuse. I returned to Europe soon after to see many changes. Tea and coffee had become popular and the women even more beautiful than I remembered.

Roderick was a dark Irish horse, and, under an assumed name, had signed the Declaration of Independence. He was also an instigator in the bill to move the nation’s capital from Philadelphia to Washington, DC. A keen property investor, he purchased a townhouse in the new capital and, like me, acquired a sophisticated and elegant apartment in the new Manhattan. Although I traveled the world and spent most of my time in London, I also took passage back to America on occasion. It was an irony while on a visit; news reached me there was more money to be made right in the hub of London. Imports. How could I turn down such a marvelous opportunity?

It was a twist of fate the recent spate of murders in London’s Whitechapel and the name alone, Jack the Ripper, coincided in need for something else. I told myself it was possible for me to undertake a search for the suspect. But, I could not run the business alone and needed someone trustworthy to assist. Only after many pleading telegrams did Roderick reluctantly agree to leave his home for the shortest time and take the journey to England. With his keen eye for business, I quickly made him a partner in the vain hope it would distract him from his frustration and I did so enjoy the company of my closest companion. Roderick found it troublesome to settle, he preferred the less formal ways of Virginia, which bended easier with his relaxed Irish ways. Unlike London, his strange, sometimes frightening appearance was largely ignored in a new world of countless immigrants.

His almost seven foot height intimidated most, including Albert, who refused to admit it and, was not weakened even by the sight of his cane. Forever the cynical joker, he decided to feign a leg injury taking too long to heal. The severity of his shuffle depending on whose company he found himself in, he played it beautifully and, fooling everyone.

In the meantime, I followed the Ripper case closely, devouring every newspaper I could lay my hands on, staying in close contact with Albert.

But it was proving very complicated as I had become far too ensconced in my business and social activities. Roderick thought me a snob, an upper class over-indulged so called English gentleman. I stood for everything he despised; his protest was to complain constantly about the weather and the formalities of the Victorian stiff upper class, and to speak Gaelic at every inappropriate moment.

I reminded him constantly that my friends and associates were unimpressed and, due to their lack of understanding, did not take kindly to his using the language. Roderick’s response was to ignore me and continue to use it regardless.

Albert put aside his distaste for Roderick to urge me, once and for all, not be so distracted by women and revelry. I was to be serious in my quest to take on the Leather Man.

“All your stories of battles drawn and won, surely a lone figure like him will be easy pickings. That is, if you are the fighter you claim to be,” he said. Often mindful of Albert’s uncertainty, never sure if he thought me insane or just plain deluded, I reassured him of my intentions.

It was time to take my leave as he had become slightly intoxicated and annoying, his belly full of steak and a head full of ale. Like so many of London’s newspaper men, his lifestyle consisted of a walk between his office and the closest Inn. The excuse? He would pick up on the idle chatter circulating. Somewhere in there could be a snippet of news that turned into a story or two.

Jack the Ripper. The Whitechapel murderer began his killing spree early in April of this year and picked the perfect location. London’s east-end had become swollen with the impoverished. Living conditions were abominable. With my own eyes, I had seen rats in the gutters where raw sewage ran with velocity. In less than fifty years, the entire area had disintegrated, crime was rife, robbery being most commonplace, with roughly distilled gin consumed like water. The deprivation brought an alarming increase in prostitution and the current murders only added to the area being labeled as ‘riddled with vice and danger.’ Few outsiders ventured there. There were rumors circulating that men of high social standing and, members of royalty, did slip unobtrusively in and out of Whitechapel for a quick rendezvous with a woman of dubious means. For me, prostitutes were to be avoided at all costs, but my sympathies were with the victims, who did not deserve to be killed in such a brutal fashion.

My first chore would be to contact Roderick by telegram at the office, though I knew what his response would be. One of, ‘Not that dreaded Ripper fellow again, leave me out of it.’

eyond the village rooftops, they stared back at me. Cold, iron likenesses of ravens, strewn across the dormer peaks of the Ravenwyck Inn—a place straight from nightmares.

I hated Deadwich. Dark nights terrified me.

An icy chill swept across my shoulders. I shuddered and dropped my bags onto the porch floor. Mom and Dad had unloaded the rest of my belongings from their SUV and were now headed up the steps.

“Mom, please don’t make me stay here.”

She walked right on by, ignoring my pleading gaze.

“Brooke, I’m not having this discussion with you again this morning.”

“But, Mom—”

She stopped in front of the red screen door of her sister’s cape house and looked at me sternly. “You’ve protested this move all summer, and you almost had me convinced until last night. Getting picked up by the police for drinking at sixteen is the last straw.”

“But Luke had the beer, not me.”

“It’s one thing after another with you, Brooke. Your father and I think spending a year away from the city will be good for you.” Her voice lowered. “Now shush, or you’ll hurt Aunt Rachel and Uncle Jim’s feelings.”

In a last desperate plea for help, I switched my focus to Dad. If he’d heard our conversation, he didn’t let on.

It was no use. I was a gazillion miles north of Boston, about to begin my junior year with my cousin and not my friends. Worst of all, the nightmares would return as they always did when I slept in Deadwich.

The scent of cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee did nothing to alter my dark mood as the front door flew open. Aunt Rachel greeted me with open arms. I gave her a fake smile and let her hug me. When she let go, Uncle Jim scooped me up in his arms. After the greetings, we followed Aunt Rachel into the yellow painted kitchen. The whole scene was too cheerful for me, so I headed back outside and slumped into the porch swing.

As I answered a text beep, a sharp caw made me drop my cell phone into my lap. I jerked my head toward the disturbance. An enormous black bird circled above before landing in the large oak in the front yard. With a fringe of ruffled feathers around its neck, and glossy plumage tinged blue, it was the biggest crow I’d ever seen. It tilted its head, eyeing me with curiosity before leaping skyward with a whoosh. One black, downy feather zigzagged through the air and made its way under the porch roof, coming close to tickling the end of my nose on its way to my lap. A twinge of fear opened a rift deep inside me, accompanying the gloom.

I tried shaking off the grim feeling by scrolling through pictures I had taken of my friends the previous night. There was Luke with his arm around me, holding that beer—the beer I blamed my fate on.

The sound of crunching gravel caught my attention. I wiped away a tear and looked up to see a girl I barely recognized coming up the walkway.

“Hi, Brooke,” she said with a smile in her voice.

My cousin Sammy had dyed her hair since I’d seen her last. She’d gone from a natural wavy brunette like me, to unnaturally straight and Gwen Stefani-blonde, with a new set of straight bangs resting on her eyelids. I was impressed.

I forced a smile. “Hey, Sammy. How’s it going?”

Her blue gaze widened as it fell to my fingers, where I absentmindedly twirled the feather. “What is that?”

I held it out and gave a sharp laugh. “A welcome gift from a crow.”

“Eww, crows are bad luck. Throw it away.”

How could my luck get any worse? Just in case, I tossed the feather over the railing.

Her scrunched up expression morphed into an impish grin. “So, I hear you got caught drinking last night and ended up in jail.”

“Hmph. I didn’t think news traveled that fast in the sticks.”

She ignored my insult and kept her grin, waiting for the dirt.

I glanced at the lush canopy of leaves above me, feeling silly I’d allowed myself to be frightened by a crow, and sat up from my slouch. “It was just a beer, and Luke was holding it, not me. The cops took us to the station when we wouldn’t tell them where we got it, and my parents came shortly after. Now I’m stuck here for the rest of my life.”

“It won’t be so bad.” Sammy leaned back on her elbows against the railing. “Deadwich is a happening place, and there are hardly any cops around. Oh, and there’s a party next weekend on Skull Island.” As she said it, she looked thoughtfully down the street toward the ocean.

“Skull Island? Are you kidding me?” Didn’t sound like the kind of place I wanted to hang out, especially when there was a sale on designer clothing back in Boston that weekend. “Is it shaped like a skull or something?” I asked not out of curiosity, but for lack of something else to say.

“No. There’s a legend that says two lovers were murdered out there, like a hundred years or more ago and—”

“Murdered?” Great, a nature party with murdered lovers. Not my idea of a fun time.

“Yeah, and some people believe their skeletons are still out there somewhere. Their bodies were never found, but like I said, it was ages ago.”

“That’s twisted. It’s a daytime party right?” Please say yes.

“Nope. It’s an all-nighter, actually.”

“And you’re allowed to go?” Curiosity widened my gaze behind the hair that blew across my face. I flicked it back and glared at my cousin.

“Not exactly. I tell Mom I’m staying overnight at Robyn’s—you remember my friend, Robyn?”

“Sort of.”

“Anyway, I say I’m staying there and she says she’s staying here.” Her grin widened, exposing perfect white teeth and no braces.

Okay, enough of Skull Island. I had to change the subject. “So, how hard is working at the Inn?”

As I said it, a chill grabbed the back of my neck. The after-school job, which Sammy had gotten me, was something else I wasn’t looking forward to.

“It’s not hard at all; we just make beds and fold laundry. When we’re finished, we can leave.”

I stretched and got up. “I’m going for a walk.” I’d slept through most of the hour-long drive up the coast and needed to wake myself up. I walked past Sammy and down the stairs, looking back over my shoulder. “Coming?”

Sammy darted to my side.

With no destination in mind, I needed to clear my head and went where my feet took me. As we walked, we caught up on the past year. Before I knew it, we had turned a couple of corners and had come to a stop. It was then I realized where we were, and that perhaps my subconscious had a secret agenda.

The Ravenwyck Inn loomed before us, looking like something from a horror movie.

“It still looks haunted,” I whispered.

“You’ll get used to it. I did.”

The century old, dark green building stood three stories high, up a short incline from the road. On the peaks of the dormers, each raven looked the same: wings spread, their tips arching downward like their heads. It was as if they were the eyes of the inn, forever watching the grounds.

“No way can I work inside of that creepy old building.” I pictured long dark hallways and secret rooms and lots and lots of ghosts. I’d even had a nightmare or two, starring the haunted-looking mansion.

“Oh come on, Brooke. You’re not, like, scared are you?”

“Of course not,” I lied. I was terrified of the place.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Maggie.”

“Who’s Maggie?”

In a scary storytelling voice Sammy said, “She’s the Mistress of the Manor.” Then she laughed.

I couldn’t find the humor in it.

Sammy led the way and I followed. Once on the other side of the thick shrubs that lined the property’s perimeter, the place didn’t seem as foreboding. Vehicles filled the parking lot. They had to belong to someone—right? The scent from the pink and white wild rosebushes, which hedged the landscape, mixed with the odor of freshly cut grass from somewhere else in the village, created a calming effect. Probably how Maggie the murderess lured in her victims.

With slow and guarded steps, I approached the iron-hinged front door, ready to turn and run at any moment. Sammy peeked over her shoulder at me. I gave her a fake smile and gestured her onward. She opened the door and walked right in. I followed.

My mood didn’t change once inside the creepy old place. If I was to imagine a haunted hotel, this is how it would look. Decorated with dark paneling and heavy chandeliers laced with cobwebs, it held as much charm as movie versions of Dracula’s castle.

Off to the right, a wide doorway opened to a large main room where clusters of people sat engaged in a medley of conversations. Their voices held little comfort. We continued on past a huge, dark wood staircase, which dominated the foyer and wound its way upward.

“Samantha.”

The ancient voice crept under my skin and seeped into every cell, chilling me to the core. I stopped dead in my tracks and turned in the direction it had come from. For crying out loud, it’s just a little old lady. So why did I feel like I should run and never turn back?

“Hi Maggie.” Sammy smiled, showing off her dimples.

Alone, leaning heavily on a cane for support, Maggie hobbled toward us, fixing her ice-blue stare on me.

“I wanted you to meet my cousin, Brooke,” Sammy said as casually as if Maggie was her own grandmother.

“Ah yes. How thoughtful of you, Samantha.”

Maggie seemed pleasant enough, until she spoke again. “I’ve been waiting for you, Brooke.”

Although her lips hadn’t moved, her sharp words pierced my brain like frigid icicles. Unable to look away, I stared at her, wide eyed, while her teeth grew to razor-edged points and an inky blackness swallowed the pale blue of her irises.

As quickly as the apparition had paralyzed me, it released me. Once again, I looked upon the face of the feeble old woman Sammy had just introduced me to, with the knowledge that her last remark had solely been meant for me to hear.

I grabbed both sides of my head, trying to rub away the sharp, pulsing pains that lingered there.

“Brooke, are you okay?” Sammy asked through clenched teeth, while jabbing her elbow into my arm.

I lowered my hands and cleared away all thoughts of the dreadful image. My mind was playing tricks on me—it had to be. This sweet, ancient-looking woman posed no threat and neither did her inn. I had to get a grip. Soon I’d be working here.

“Brooke?”

Finally able to blink, I lowered my eyes from Maggie’s. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I got up too early today, I guess.” I put on a genuine smile. “Hi, Maggie. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Maybe you should sit down dear,” Maggie said. “You’re a ghastly shade of ecru.”

With her cane, she pointed toward a red velvet settee at one end of the foyer. I sat uncomfortably on its edge, clutching my clammy hands together. Maggie and Sammy seated themselves in chairs opposite me. The piercing pains in my head mellowed slightly.

A pale-skinned girl, who looked to be about twelve or thirteen, appeared from behind the staircase. With her face bent toward the floor, she shuffled across the foyer toward us. Her raven hair, a stark contrast against her pale complexion, had been gathered into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. Despite the layers of clothing she wore and lack of make-up, she was sort of pretty in a peculiar way. She came to a stop beside Maggie’s chair, her hands clasped in front of her. She stared at me oddly with dark, lifeless eyes. The chill melted, and I grew uncomfortably warm from the inside out and lowered my gaze to the timeworn patterns in the area rug.

“Beth dear, will you be so kind and bring us drinks?”

The shy girl obeyed Maggie’s order, disappearing behind the staircase.

Fresh paint over old decay hung in the air. I found it difficult to breathe as Sammy and Maggie conversed about the mundane happenings of the village.

Within minutes, Beth came back carrying a tray with three glasses of sweet tea, complete with lemon slices and a plate of homemade sugar cookies sprinkled with colored sugar. She set the tray on an oak side table and smiled at me before leaving us.

“So, Brooke dear, you must find it a big change moving from the city to our quaint village.” Maggie smiled, pushing back the abundance of wrinkles like an accordion, the new arrangement of deep lines framing her mouth.

“It wasn’t my idea, that’s for sure.” I regretted my sarcasm immediately and changed my tone before I continued, not wanting to sound like an ungrateful brat. “But I’m sure I’ll get used to it. And thanks for giving me a job here.”

Maggie’s pleasantries seemed to mask something more sinister—my imagination again. She made every effort to make me feel comfortable, so why didn’t I? There was something odd about her, and I was sure Sammy didn’t detect it or she would have said something to me.

I kept up the grateful façade throughout our conversation, eating a cookie and drinking the sweet tea. When I just about couldn’t take any more of the creepy old woman and her creepy inn, Beth came back to collect Maggie for a phone call.

With the young girl’s help, Maggie stood. “I’ll look forward to seeing you girls later this week. Goodbye until then.” She turned and hobbled away with Beth at her side.

Once they were out of sight, I stood up so fast I got a head rush. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Geez, Brooke, relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

I bolted toward the open door as fast as I could without running, pushing past a couple of the inn’s patrons. I didn’t stop to wait for Sammy until I was halfway down the walkway, where I allowed myself to stop and breathe in the fresh sea air and wild roses.

“Are you alright? You’re acting weird,” Sammy asked when she caught up.

After some deep breaths, I faced her. “No, I’m not all right. That woman’s a total creep and so is her sidekick.”

Sammy burst into a laugh. “I’m sorry, Brooke, but when did you get so paranoid? You used to be the tough one.”

If she only knew.

“Come on. I’m suddenly hungry,” I said, making any excuse to get out of there.

The lack of street lighting in Deadwich had me reflecting on the light outside my bedroom window as we walked back. It had illuminated my nights and lightened my dreams ever since I could remember. I would miss it most. In approximately nine hours, Deadwich would be in total darkness, and my new bedroom was in the back of Aunt Rachel’s house, gifting me with a million-dollar view of the Ravenwyck’s dormer peaks. How lucky for me.

Now that you have completed this book, we hope you will leave a review so that other readers may benefit from your perspective. Authors like Aiden James and Lisa Collicutt live and die by your reviews, after all!

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The Judas Reflections: Murder in Whitechapel, by Aiden James & Michelle Wright
(http://j.mp/1ggRe65)

Emmanuel Ortiz holds an ancient and dark secret: his real name is Judas Iscariot. Forced to walk the earth as a cursed immortal, Judas’ disguise as Emmanuel does little to ease his eternal loneliness.

But when the brutal murders ascribed to Jack the Ripper in poverty-stricken Whitechapel, London in 1888, he recognizes the bloody signature of killing that speaks to the unholy talents of a fellow immortal… an enemy from long ago.

The Gathering Darkness, by Lisa Collicutt
(http://j.mp/161ihTZ)

They say “third time’s the charm”, and for sixteen-year-old Brooke Day, they had better be right.

She doesn’t know it yet but she’s been here before—twice in fact. Though, she’s never lived past the age of sixteen.

Now in her third lifetime, Brooke must stay alive until the equinox, when she will be gifted with a limited-time use of ancient power. Only then will she be able to defeat the evil that has plagued her for centuries.

Shattered Secrets, by Krystal Wade
(http://j.mp/1cAhsiI)

Magical beings who guide human emotions are fighting an invisible war dating back to the dawn of time, and Abigail's one of them. The more she learns of her heritage, the less she wants to know. Armed with a very old, very massive book to teach them about their history, Abigail and Derick run away to a place where they think they can be safe and happy, only to have their troubles secretly hitch a ride.

Her history book is in a sharing mood, and it tells her to keep a secret of her own. But has she put her trust in the wrong place? And will the world survive if she has?

Broken Forest, by Eliza Tilton
(http://j.mp/1nw1zyw)

Hopeless he'll never be more than the boy who didn't save his brother, 17-year-old Avikar accepts his life as the family stable boy, trying to forget the past.

But when his sister, Jeslyn, is kidnapped, the thought of losing another sibling catapults him on a desperate quest. With his best friend by his side, and using the tracking skills he learned from his father, he discovers Jeslyn has been taken, kidnapped by one Lucino, the young lord of Daath, a mystical place thought only to exist in fables.

And Lucino has plans for Jeslyn…

Wilde's Fire, by Krystal Wade
(http://j.mp/1ak2Ju1)

“There is no pain in this death, only peace, knowing I am going to die with the one I love the most.”—Katriona Wilde.

Katriona Wilde has never wondered what it would feel like to have everything she’s ever known and loved ripped away, but she is about to find out: her entire life has been a lie, and those closest to her have betrayed her.

What’s worse, she has no control over her new future, full of magic and horrors from which nightmares are made. Will Kate discover and learn to control who she really is in time to save the ones she loves, or will all be lost?

Appetizer:

- Book Cover

- Copyright & Publisher

- Title Page

- Dedication

Main Course:

- Chapter One

- Chapter Two

- Chapter Three

- Chapter Four

- Chapter Five

- Chapter Six

- Chapter Seven

- Chapter Eight

- Chapter Nine

- Chapter Ten

- Chapter Eleven

- Chapter Twelve

- Chapter Thirteen

- Chapter Fourteen

- Chapter Fifteen

- Chapter Sixteen

- Chapter Seventeen

- Chapter Eighteen

- Chapter Nineteen

- Chapter Twenty

Dessert:

- A Taste of: The Serendipitous Curse: Reviled (next book in the series)

- Acknowledgements

- About the Author: Aiden James

- About the Author: Lisa Collicutt

- A Taste Of: The Judas Reflections: Curse of Stigmata

- A Taste Of: The Gathering Darkness

- Thank You for Reading

- More from Curiosity Quills Press

Table of Contents

- Copyright & Publisher
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty

- A Taste of: The Serendiptious Curse: Reviled (next book in the series)

- Acknowledgements
- About the Author: Aiden James
- About the Author: Lisa Collicutt

- A Taste of: The Judas Reflections: Curse of Stigmata

- A Taste of: The Gathering Darkness
- Thank You For Reading
- More From Curiosity Quills Press
- Table of Contents