Free The Night Is Forever by Heather Graham Page A

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