The Night is Forever

She squinted through the peephole. The man at her door was Dustin Blake.

Surprised, she opened the door.

“We’re really not supposed to fraternize,” she said. “Not when I’m your therapist.”

“You’re not really my therapist,” he said. “And I’m not really in therapy. May I come in, please? I need to understand a lot more about what’s going on around here. One of our computer whizzes back in D.C. got me a copy of the autopsy report. There was heroin in Marcus Danby’s system.”

“Yes, I understand that. We may be in the backwoods of Tennessee, but we do have a county morgue and intelligent, well-educated medical examiners. I didn’t doubt the report. But the drug was administered to Marcus somehow. That’s the point.”

He stood just outside her door, stoic and patient. She recognized that he was kicking into true professional mode. “Ms. Gordon, I would be most unlikely to fault the capabilities of agencies in Tennessee, since I’m from the state myself and continue to love and admire my homeland. What I’m trying to tell you is that the facts of the situation are going to make it very hard. I’m trying to have a real discussion with you and find out everything you can possibly tell me.”

She opened the door wide. “Please come in. You actually don’t need to hear it from me. Would you like some tea, Agent Blake?”

She heard him close the door as he stepped in. Sammy gave a loud woof, then wagged his tail energetically and ran to the newcomer. Dustin Blake leaned down to scratch the dog’s head. “Hey, fellow, you’re a handsome lad. Poor thing, how’s the leg doing?”

“He’s healing nicely, thank you,” Olivia said. She led him into the kitchen; if Malachi had sent this man, if he was part of a Krewe, he must have some sense that the dead could, and sometimes did, speak.

“You should hear it from Marcus himself,” she said, coming around the counter.

But Marcus was gone.

Once more, he’d cut out on her without so much as a wave—now, when she needed him most.

4

Olivia Gordon had appeared irritated—and smug. As if she’d been about to prove to an upstart that her every word was true.

But she was obviously perplexed as they walked into the kitchen. Surprised by something, and off balance.

“What’s wrong?” Dustin asked.

She had the ability to collect herself quickly. “Nothing. Would you like tea?”

“Uh, sure.”

She went through the motions, moving a little too precisely, setting the mugs down a little too hard.

“Black or green?” she asked. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Black or green, and just plain, thank you,” he said. She knew, of course, that he was watching her. “I was going to hear what happened from Marcus?” he asked quietly.

She looked at him as if she wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t her cousin, but he’d come because of her cousin.

“Hey,” he said. “I’ll be honest with you. I’ve wanted to join up with one of Jackson Crow’s units since I heard about them. It’s a hard world to walk around in when you’re the only one who sees and hears things that others don’t. When you talk to the dead.”

Still looking up at him, she flushed.

“He was here,” she said. “He was in the kitchen, telling me how much he wanted to go to the light, but that he couldn’t. And he was sorry, he said, that he doesn’t have all the answers, but he just can’t go into the light. Not until he and the Horse Farm are vindicated.”

She reached for a tea bag. She was still agitated and the tea bag went flying across the kitchen floor.

He set his hand on hers. “Relax. It’s okay.”

“He was right here,” she repeated.

“Yeah. I believe you.”

“So, you’ve come to help. Why did he just vanish? Why did he vanish on me before?”

“He doesn’t trust me. And maybe, despite the fact that he seems to have learned how to haunt you, he may not have the force or the energy to stay around for too long—or at least not in a form in which you can see him. Like he said, he doesn’t have all the answers. We certainly don’t have them, either. There isn’t really any book of the dead. I’ve come across spirits who haven’t learned to communicate, and I’ve come across those who might be any friend chatting with you before a fire. We don’t know why. Then, there are some who are quick to appear before many people—and there are those who only appear after centuries and only because they believe they’ve found the person with whom they need to communicate.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed. He stepped back. “Are we okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said thickly. “Want to hand me another tea bag?”

He did. She finished preparing the two cups of tea, picked up both of them and walked out to her parlor. She placed the cups on a coffee table and sat on the sofa, curling her legs beneath her. He sat across from her on one of the old carved wooden chairs. The place was nice, he thought. It was historic, but it had been treated lovingly and had aged well. It seemed to offer the best of the old and the new.

“What do you need from me?” she asked. Before he could answer, she asked, “How did you get here? Do you have a car out front? We’re really not supposed to hang out with guests.”

He leaned forward. “No car out there—I walked. I’m at Willis House and I have the room with the separate entrance. People saw me go into my room, but they didn’t see me leave. Even if they find out I’m not there, they won’t know where I am.”

“You walked? Willis House is several miles from here.”

“Yeah. Pretty country for walking. The temperature is great.”

She reached for her cup and took a sip of tea.

“And no one saw me—unless, of course, they were hiding in your bushes. But if someone was messing around outside your house, I think Sammy would’ve known. I heard him bark before I came up the walk.”

“Aaron told me today that he and the others would help me in any way they could,” she said.

Dustin felt his brow furrowing and made an effort to ease it. “They know you’re convinced that Marcus was murdered?”

“I—I didn’t exactly announce that he was murdered. But I did deny that he’d gone back on drugs.”

“Just to Aaron—or to everyone?”

She looked at him warily. “Well, to everyone. We had a meeting at the end of the day. Marcus’s lawyer is going to be at the Horse Farm tomorrow morning to discuss the will. We’re all mentioned in it, apparently. From what we know, the Horse Farm itself goes to Aaron Bentley, but I believe Marcus had safeguards written in. I don’t understand the legal ramifications of any of it. As far as we’re aware at this point, we go on exactly as we’ve been doing. We’re nonprofit, so it isn’t as if anyone stands to get rich.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You know?”

He grinned. “Everyone has access to public records, Olivia. We have access to a little more than that.” He was quiet for a minute and then said, “That’s why it’s hard to understand why someone would have done this.”

“Do you think I’m in denial? Panicking?” Her tone was as stiff as her body.

“I didn’t say that you were in denial or panicking.”