Page 16 of Amber Gambler

Two things convincedme that Farah hadn’t lived on the streets for long.

She had taken me, a total stranger, at my word when I offered to help her.

And she gravitated toward Harrow, despite his being an authority figure.

That told me this girl had been raised to expect kindness from others and to believe there was goodness in the world. Shealso respected police officers. Anyone who had spent months or years sheltering under a cardboard roof or shopping for groceries in dumpsters behind restaurants had no trust in others or any faith in higher powers left in them.

Or perhaps I was superimposing my past experiences over hers.

We chatted for a few more minutes, long enough for me to grasp that Audrey was, for whatever reason, her unfinished business. I doubted missing out on holiday plans merited Farah sticking around, but I knew of souls who had stayed behind for less.

From where she stood, she grew brighter. “Can I come with you?”

“That’s up to you.” I didn’t mean to sound flip, but I couldn’t answer for her. “Spirits tend to be tethered to their bodies or where they die.” Her frequent appearances here spoke to a connection with the area. “Do you want to give it a try? You’re welcome to ride with us. I know somewhere you’ll be safe.”

Cemeteries held their own magics, and other people’s graves could shelter her.

“I don’t know where I died or where my body is now. I don’t feel anything holding me here.”

Extending my hand for a second time, I earned a smile when I focused until her fingers solidified in mine. I led her to the Chevelle, opened the passenger side door, flipped the seat forward, and guided her onto the backseat. “Ready to go?”

Jaw set, fingers sinking through the fabric, she nodded hard once.

Harrow, taking cues from me, climbed in and cranked the engine. Putting muscle behind it, I locked my seat into its original position. I slid in beside him, ignoring the squelch of fabric, and turned until I faced Farah.

“Go slow,” I warned Harrow. “We don’t want to give her whiplash if she’s yanked back.”

Maybe it was ignorance of her limitations. Maybe it was determination to be reunited with Audrey. Or it might have been that her body had washed so far from where she died, she had no trouble traveling the distance between them. Honestly? We had no way of knowing what enabled her to stick it out from that lonesome bridge all the way out to Bonaventure, but she managed without breaking a sweat.

After guiding Harrow into my usual parking spot, I climbed out of the car. “Can you guys wait here?”

“Sure,” they chorused, though neither one heard the other.

How I let myself into the cemetery wasn’t a secret from Harrow. Unfortunately. Which meant that there was no harm in climbing the fence as I had earlier and jogging off in search of a friend who tended to get lost birdwatching near the Heaven’s gate-inspired monument atop General Alexander R. Lawton’s grave.

Sure enough, as the Wilmington River came into view, I located a silvery figure standing at the bluff.

“Alyse,” I called out to the woman dressed in a simple Victorian chemise. “Do you have a minute?”

“Frankie.” Silky black ringlets slid over her shoulder as she turned her head. “How are you, dear?”

“I’m good.” I rushed up to her. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course.” Her binoculars vanished as she took my hands in hers. “Name it.”

“The Buckley Boys tipped me off about a drowned girl wandering La Roche. I’m not sure what happened to her or how long she’s been dead. She doesn’t know either. Without a body or a memory of her death to anchor her there, she was able to leave. With me.” I massaged my knuckles. “She’s, um, here now.”

“I see.” Her attention shot to a black and white bird on the shore. “You want me to shelter her.”

The bird’s distinctive red-orange bill and red-yellow eyes left the species tickling the edge of my memory.

“Your family has a mausoleum.” A marble vault with wrought iron covering the doors and protecting the vivid stained glass windows in the back. “I was hoping you could make room for her, just for a few days.”

“The stove hasn’t been used in decades.” She tracked the bird with avarice. “The basin is full of leaves.”

Wealthy as her family had been, their mausoleum included space for visiting relatives to spend the night if the roads home were too dark or too long for them to return after paying their respects. In addition to space for a cot, there was a small woodburning stove with a chimney and a shallow basin for washing up in the corner. Amenities that, while luxurious, Farah couldn’t make use of any more than Alyse.

“She won’t mind,” I promised her. “She’ll be grateful for the shelter and the company.”

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