A flood of emotions washed over him, through him, almost bringing him to his knees.

In that instant, he knew.

Holy Christ. No! Please, stop!

He grabbed Jessica’s hand. “Let’s go back to the house.”

A flicker of understanding flashed in her eyes and she ushered the children ahead of her. “You know what kids? I’m starving. Can you take us back to the house?”

“Sure,” Jason said. “Follow me.”

Alice turned back to the clearing. “Goodbye. See you later.”

Jessica’s mouth opened as if she was about to say something to the little girl, then closed. She cast a wary glance at the scorched ground before urging the kids back to the house.

Eddie concentrated on the winding pathway, pushing the foliage back with his mind so nothing would hinder their exit.

When they were back on the main path, his head pounded to the beat of his heart.

He could still feel the desperate gazes of the dead children to their right.

Something skittered amidst the leaves. Eddie knew it wasn’t squirrels or chipmunks.

The spirits of the Last Kids and generations before them were everywhere.

And they were gaining strength.

Chapter Fourteen

The Harpers truly left Eddie and Jessica to themselves, allowing them to go anywhere they wished in the house or on the island. In fact, after lunch, Paul went upstairs with Jason and Alice to make sure they did their reading while Daphne and Tobe retired to the library. Fires had to be started in the downstairs rooms at two in the afternoon to make the house comfortable.

Jessica was in the kitchen, eyeing a door when Eddie came in through a side door leading outside.

“You think that’s the basement door?” she asked. He’d been pretty quiet since the weirdness at the little plot of dead land. Swallowing her urge to push his buttons, she’d left him to himself, confident he’d tell her everything he saw when the time was right.

Maybe I’m finally getting the hang of working with a partner. She’d been so stubborn when she decided to jump headfirst into the study and exploration of the supernatural. When Eddie initially came to her—at the request of her father, who had died thirteen years earlier—they butted heads constantly. She was beginning to realize she was the source of most of the friction.

The problem was, aside from her relationship with Angela, she’d been a loner most of her life. It was difficult sharing her passion with someone else, made even more so when he discovered that she had bizarre abilities that rivaled his own.

“With the water table on an island, I suspect there’s no basement,” he said, turning the old key and opening the door, revealing a fully stocked pantry.

“Good call,” she said.

“I have my moments.”

She stepped into the pantry. A few new cans of vegetables, soup and boxes of cereal lined one of the shelves. The others were cluttered with dusty mason jars, bottles of cleaning supplies with labels and logos decades old, several terracotta planters and other odd knick-knacks. Behind the door, what looked like an old lab coat hung on a hook. The linen was spotted with amber splotches of age. Eddie said, “Looks like someone liked to experiment in the kitchen.”

Jessica didn’t laugh.

“This may sound strange, but I can’t shake feeling sad. The air is heavy here, and not just in the house. It reminds me of the funeral home when my grandfather passed away. Everywhere I go, I get this sense of grieving.”

Eddie squinted at the ceiling light. “Did you bring your digital recorder?”

When she first started exploring EBs, she’d had all of the equipment she’d seen on TV and read about in books, from EMF meters to EM pumps, FLIR cameras and radio frequency boxes that purportedly helped the dead communicate with the living.

Eddie had replaced all of that. Now all she had was a couple of digital recorders and a video cam that could also take stills. She used these more for compiling corroborating evidence than anything else. Now that her website was gone, that evidence would never see the light of day beyond what she showed the people who came to her for help. Privacy was paramount.

“I have one right here,” she said, fishing the slim, silver recorder from her front pocket.

“Turn it on.”

She flicked the power button and pressed Record.

“Put it right there,” Eddie said, pointing to the kitchen table.

“Are you hearing something?”

“Lately, I’m always hearing something. I can just get enough from the mess to discern a coherent sentence. We need to go up there.”

He pointed at the ceiling. “To the locked bedrooms?” Jessica asked.

“Higher. There’s an attic above the rooms.”

Jessica recalled an image of the house as viewed from the outside. She’d walked around it several times, taking pictures at random. She didn’t recall seeing any windows above the second floor.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

Eddie shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not, but they are.”

“The Last Kids?”

She had to admit, when Jason and Alice mentioned talking to the Last Kids in the place where they went to sleep, a chill had danced up her back. She wasn’t frightened for herself, but for the Harper children. She knew full well how exposure to things like this at an early age could screw your head right around.

“First, middle and last,” he said and left it at that. As much as she wanted to shake him and ask him what the hell he meant, she knew it was best to back off—for now.

“All right, let’s go then. Should I just leave the recorder running here?”

“Yes. We can pick it up later.”

They went upstairs, their ascent on the old, bare steps making enough noise to wake the dead.

Except here, the dead never slept. She didn’t have to have Eddie’s ability to speak to them to know that.

Walking down the long hallway, they looked for a trap door in the ceiling. There was none. Paul’s muted laughter sounded from the children’s room, followed by a giggle from Jason or Alice. It was hard to tell.

“The access must be in one of the rooms,” Eddie said.

“Let’s check ours first.”

The Yellow and Blue rooms were dead ends. When they met back in the hall, Jessica said, “Might as well see about the kids’ room.”

She knocked on the thick door, the wood of the bottom half scarred as if numerous boots had kicked it open over the decades.

Paul opened the door. Jason and Alice sat on their beds, open books on their laps. A pile of magazines lay on an old rocking chair by the window.

“Hi Ms. Backman,” Alice said, smiling.

“Hello Mr. Home,” Jason chirped. They looked grateful for the break.

“How’s everything going?” Paul asked.

“Just mentally mapping the house out so we don’t kill ourselves when we knock around in the dark,” Jessica said, scanning the ceiling. No dice. Although, the attic entrance could just as well be in the closet beside Jason’s bed. “Do you mind if we take a quick look around your room, kids?”

“That won’t take long,” Jason said. The room was a bit on the small side, but it had a nice view over most of the treetops straight to Charleston Harbor. She went to the closet, finding a rack of clothes and a sealed cardboard box on the floor. No one was getting to the attic from here.

Eddie talked to the kids, asking about the books they were reading—Lord of the Rings for Jason and a Junie B. Jones chapter book for Alice.

“Paul, do you know if there’s an attic?” Jessica asked.

He scratched at his beard. “I haven’t seen it, but I’ve only been here a little over a week. I haven’t done much exploring. These two keep me pretty busy.”

“I noticed the spare bedrooms are locked. Do you have a key? If there is an attic, it would be important to know. EBs tend to stay in places where the living spend little time.” It was a lie, but one she’d seen perpetuated on ghost shows. She knew Paul would buy it.