Blood Moon Page 3

  The first and only clue came on a muggy August day the summer before Willa’s junior year of high school. It was also the first time a ghost answered back.

  August 2008

  The air in the tiny museum office was stale and hot. The air conditioning never reached the room, no matter how many times the maintenance man tinkered with it. Willa stood hunched over the worktable, a spread of tools and cleaning supplies laid out before her. She’d been tasked with cleaning one of the oldest artifacts in the collection: a tall silver candlestick. The candlestick stood about twelve inches high and was stunningly ornate. It sat on a cupped, circular base; the surface of the stem was curved, beveled, and handsomely shaped. Inside the cup of the base was carved the phases of the moon. In some places the candlestick was spotted with age and tarnished beyond the healing power of polish, but that only added to its beauty and mystique.

  According to the museum catalogue, the candlestick had belonged to Ruby Plate, one of the original founders, and was most likely some kind of family heirloom, as it dated back one hundred years before the town was founded.

  Willa put a dab of polish on a soft cloth and wondered how such an item had possibly been left to the museum and not kept by the Plate family—wherever they might be now. Another oddity of Twelve Acres was that no founding families remained living in town—not one relative of the original twelve settlers. Where had they gone? Why did they leave? And where were they now? Just more questions no one had answers to.

  Lost in her thoughts, Willa continued to carefully rub away a layer of dust and tarnish on the precious candlestick. Suddenly, the base fell off, clattering to the table. Willa blinked down at the stem in her hand with panicked surprise.

  Oh, no. Oh, no!

  She snatched the base off the table and fought a wave of nausea at the thought that she had destroyed such a magnificent piece of history. Willa leaned forward, held her breath, and looked to see if there was a way to reattach the base. She paused.

  What is that?

  For a moment she could only stare down at the frayed, brown edges of something just peeking out of the end of the stem. The quiet of the room seemed to expand. Willa angled her head and brought the stem closer to her face, noticing the coiled layers of paper. She set the base and the stem down on the table with extreme care and proceeded to sit in the squeaky, old swivel chair, rubbing her palms on her thighs.

  Do I dare?

  Making up her mind, she rummaged in a nearby toolbox. After much clinking and clanking she found what she needed: a slim set of tweezers. Holding her breath she took the stem in one hand and carefully pinched the end of the paper, pulling it gently, wincing as the paper crunched and flaked. With a whisper, the paper came free.

  Willa gasped and then lowered the paper to the table. Using a cloth, the tweezers, and the practiced patience of a historian, she unrolled the newly retrieved artifact. Her heart thudded. Written in dark ink and a curving script were twelve names: six women and six men.

  Willa’s knowledgeable eyes ran down the list.

  The town founders. All of them!

  If it had just been the names, Willa would have shrugged it off, but next to each name was a small triangular symbol. There were six distinct triangles, repeated twice, once for all the women and again for the men.

  To add to the oddness, below the names were four lines of text.

  Willa read the words out loud in a hushed mumble. “All the Gifts we join this day. The Powers of the Earth, the one true way. A Covenant of Light now forged for good. We bind forever, our true path understood.” Below those words was a date: October 8, 1889.

  A finger of heat stroked the back of Willa’s neck as a current of energy moved through the air that whispered of ancient, powerful secrets. She sat flustered in the heat, her heart racing, her mind spinning. She didn’t know what the words meant, but she knew how they felt on her tongue, how the air around her was perfumed with energy.

  Did the founders have a secret? “So who are you people, really?” she whispered.

  “Those are my parents.” A wispy female voice came right next to Willa’s ear, causing her to jump out of her chair and move away, heart pounding. The ghost of a young girl stood at the table, bending over the old sheet of parchment. She was dressed in a dark purple dress, a straight silhouette that fell just past her knees; her sleeves were short and playful organza ruffles adorned the collar. Willa pegged it as late 1920s, maybe early 1930s. Her hair was light blond, short and waved into finger curls. She looked young, maybe fourteen or fifteen.

  For a moment, Willa only stared, wondering if she’d really heard the words. She’d seen this ghost many times before, wandering around and sitting in the rocker in the Life in Early Twelve Acres room reading a book. But she’d never spoken before.

  “I’m sorry,” Willa started, daring one step back toward the table. “Did you say something?”

  The ghost looked up, smiling, her round face floating in and out of focus. “Yes. These are my parents.” She pointed to two names on the paper: Camille Krance and Ronald Krance.

  Willa looked down at the paper and then up at the ghost’s pretty round face. “Your parents were town founders?”

  “Are these the town founders?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, yes.” She smiled triumphantly.

  A rush of curiosity. Willa hurried to ask, “Do you know what this paper means? Why it was hidden in the candlestick?”

  The girl frowned and ran a translucent finger over the paper. “No, I’m sorry. I know those are my parents’ names—I can see their faces—but the rest is blackness.”

  Willa watched the girl’s face, a ripple of sadness moved over her eyes. “I’m sorry.” The girl nodded, her figure shimmering like a mirage. “So, you must be Solace?”

  Startled, the ghost looked up. “How did you know my name?”

  “I’m a historian here. I’ve seen your name in the town’s historical papers, listed with your parents.”

  Solace relaxed. “Oh, of course. And you’re Willa, right?”

  “Right. Nice to meet you, Solace.” Willa smiled. “Do you know how you are able to talk to me? No ghost has ever talked to me before.”

  Solace shrugged and leaned casually against the table. “No, but I do sense that I’m different than the others who are dead and trapped here, I’m not sure why. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while—there is something about you—but was nervous you wouldn’t talk back”.

  Willa nodded, a little disappointed. She’d finally found a ghost who could talk to her, but this one didn’t seem to have any answers. She sat back down in the chair and scooted to the table, leaning over the paper. “This was hidden inside that candlestick. I found it by accident when the bottom fell off.”

  “Oh! That sounds like a mystery. What do you think it means?” Solace leaned in closer.

  Willa looked at the symbols again and a strange heat sparked in her body. “I wish I knew. There’s something weird about this town’s history. It’s full of mysteries.”

  Solace grinned and rubbed her hands together. “I love a good mystery. Have you ever read Sherlock Holmes?” When Willa shook her head, Solace said, “Oh, you must. Maybe a few lessons from the master will help you solve your own mystery.”

  Willa smiled. “Maybe.” She scanned the note once more. “I wonder if this date means something significant.” She swiveled the chair and rolled to the computer on the desk behind the worktable. She typed October 8, 1889 into the search engine and scrolled through the results.

  Solace, hovering over her shoulder, asked, “Anything good?”

  “Hmm. Not really. That was the date of the full moon that month. That’s about as exciting as it gets.”

  Solace and Willa went back to the note. Solace leaned close to it. “Something about these symbols is familiar, but I can’t remember exactly what. I know I’ve seen them before, but I can’t recall what they mean.”

  Willa studied the ghost for a moment, think
ing about the few facts she learned about the girl, Solace Krance, daughter of Camille and Ronald. In the records, there was only mention of her birth—summer of 1916, if she remembered correctly—but nothing to indicate that the girl had died in Twelve Acres. There was no grave alluding to her name in the town cemetery. Curiosity swelled inside Willa, and despite what Solace had said about not remembering, she asked, “Solace, do you remember how you died? There isn’t anything about it in the history records.”

  Solace frowned, folded her hands, and lowered her eyes to the floor. “No. It’s all black.”

  “Do you think you died here in the museum? Is that why your spirit is still here?”

  “I wish I knew,” she said quietly, fidgeting with her hands.

  Willa could sense that Solace was uncomfortable with her questions, but she couldn’t resist. “What was your life like? Do you remember anything about what you did every day, who your friends were, stuff like that? Did you know Ruby Plate?”

  Solace turned away, her body nearly fading out of view.

  Willa reached out as if to grab the girl’s arm, but her hand passed through Solace’s form, touching only cold air. “Wait, Solace! Please don’t go.”

  Lifting her head, the ghost stopped, but didn’t immediately turn back. “I can’t remember anything, Willa. There are only a few faded pictures in my mind of my real life. My only solid memory goes back as far as waking up here in this building years and years ago,” she lifted her hand to gesture to the room. Finally, she turned to face Willa, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I’ve been stuck here ever since. Like this.” She looked down at her shimmering body. “I don’t know why. I don’t know how. And I hate it!” Her hands flew to her face to hide her emotions.

  Willa blinked in shock. She hadn’t meant to upset the girl, but in her haste for answers she hadn’t even considered how Solace might feel—it hadn’t really occurred to her that a ghost could have such strong emotions. Standing, Willa moved next to the girl. “Solace, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. You’re the first ghost I have ever talked to and my questions got the better of me. Are you okay?”

  Solace lowered her hands and shyly brushed at the ruffles on her collar. “Yes. I’m sorry, too.” She smiled weakly. “You’re the first non-ghost person I’ve talked to.” She lifted her head, her pale blue eyes suddenly bright. “And let me tell you, ghosts, for the most part, are terrible conversationalists. So I’d really love someone normal to talk to, but I can’t provide you with any answers. I’m really sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s okay.” Willa laughed. “And I don’t know about normal—I am talking to a ghost after all—but I’m here a lot. We can talk as much as you want. I’d really like that, too.”

  Solace nodded, smiling. “Friends, then?”

  “Friends.” Willa’s heart swelled at the word. Of course, she had friends at school, but none of them knew anything about her strange abilities. There had always been a disappointing degree of separation between her and all the kids at school. She’d accepted it, gotten used to it, but Solace was different. Something inside Willa stirred.

  Solace’s eyes drifted back to the forgotten candlestick. “Can I help you solve this mystery? If my parents are a part of it, maybe we can also find out some stuff about me. Maybe we can both get answers. Plus, I’m so bored all the time, stuck in this drab museum. I need something more to do than read all the same books over and over. What do you say?”

  Willa laughed again, feeling at ease, comfortable. “I’d love some help.”

  “Perfect!” Solace smiled big. “Sherlock and Watson.” She pointed to herself and then Willa. “But you have to promise to read that book because I don’t want to work with an amateur.”

  Willa threw back her head and laughed, and soon Solace joined in.

  Present Day, June

  “Good morning, Solace,” Willa said as she stepped into the Life of Early Twelve Acres room, duster in hand, the cheery June sun pouring in the windows. The room was divided into small recreations of different rooms of a typical nineteenth-century home. Sitting in a rocking chair, with a book in her lap, was Solace’s ghost. Her body shimmered in the sunlight, fading in and out of view, like a reflection on rippling water.

  “Good morning, Willa. Is it dusting day again already?” Solace smiled, her face diffusing for a moment and then steadying. She kept her eyes on her book, trying to finish the page she was on.

  “Every Saturday.” Willa was bursting to tell Solace about her night, but she was also nervous to say the words out loud, to make the events with Simon real by gossiping with her best friend.

  For a moment there was only the swishing of Willa’s feather duster and the gentle creak of Solace’s rocker. Suddenly, the ghost sat forward and snapped her book shut. “Something is different about you,” she exclaimed, her pale, almost transparent eyes pulling open wide.

  Willa stopped, the duster suspended over an oil-wick lantern. She looked up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  Solace giggled. “Don’t be coy with me, Willa. I can see your soul, and it is absolutely glowing.” She sighed and brought a hand to her heart as she continued to gaze at Willa. “Sun and moon, look at that! Like a little sun pulsing behind your heart. It’s beautiful.” She sighed again. “Alright, tell me what happened to make it so bright.” Solace threw her book onto a table, and a second later, seemingly without moving, stood directly across from Willa, her eagerness causing her form to shimmer even more than usual.

  Willa laughed and glanced down at her chest, wishing she could see her soul, knowing it would be a beautiful sight because it felt very much like Solace described.

  “Please, Willa,” Solace urged impatiently, clasping her hands under her chin.

  “Okay, okay. Sit down and I’ll tell you everything.”

  Solace clapped with delight, a soft and muted sound coming from her barely-there hands.

  Willa took a deep breath and then plunged into her story. When all the details of the life-changing night were told—with many smiles and gasps from Solace—Willa sat back in her wooden chair at the antique table, body tingling from the excitement of it. Telling Solace hadn’t taken away any of the magic, in fact, it had only stirred up the feelings inside her into a swirl of wistful hunger for this boy she knew nothing about.

  Solace, across the table, sighed deeply and dramatically. “How wonderful! To feel each other’s presence! Even better than love at first sight. I wish I had lived long enough to experience love like that. Or maybe I did and just can’t remember.” A shadow of longing moved over the ghost’s face before she found a smile for Willa. “Simon. It’s a good, strong name. He sounds so handsome. You must bring him here so I might see him.”

  Willa’s smile faded. Bring him here? That would mean making him an integral part of her life, making him real. It would mean pulling him out of the dreamy nighttime hours they’d shared and revealing him to the daylight. Until now it all felt surreal, separate from real life, but the reality of it finally hit her. To be with Simon again, to be with him for real, would mean risking exposure.

  Her own parents who had known about her abilities her whole life wouldn’t talk about or admit to her strangeness, how could she expect anyone else to? Would Simon just be another person she had to hide her secret from? She didn’t want him to be, but how could she tell him? Oh, by the way, I see dead people and have dreams about the future. This was exactly why she’d never had a boyfriend.

  “Willa, what’s wrong?” Solace asked.

  “I can’t have a boyfriend. I can’t be in love. I could never tell him about . . . about you and the dreams. He’d give me that look and then run in the other direction.” She dropped her face into her hands.

  The connection to Simon had been so powerful, so strong, but Willa feared revealing her secret would be enough to sever it. She exhaled. Why can’t I just be a carefree teenager like everybody else? The biggest mystery Willa wished to solve was her own. More than why Ruby Plate might ha
ve hidden a secret in her candlestick, or why information was missing from the town history, or why Solace was a ghost in the museum, Willa wanted to know why she was like she was. Why did she see ghosts and dream of real events? What did it mean? What was the purpose?

  Solace was quiet for a moment. “I think you’re wrong. I think you can tell him, and he will understand.”

  Willa scoffed. “Understand? No one understands. Not my parents, not even me. And besides, it’s not like it’s an easy thing to tell a boyfriend. Can you picture it? We sit down to dinner and I causally say I see and talk to ghosts and might see his future while I’m asleep?” Willa shook her head, a mirthless smile on her lips.

  Solace reached out a gauzy hand and put it over Willa’s—who felt only a slight breeze on her skin.

  “Dear, Willa. Listen to me, a girl who’s already dead and probably knows more about these things than you, the living. The connection, the heat you felt, is not an everyday occurrence. This is more, much more. This is not a school fling, not just a boyfriend. You and Simon are soul mates. That is why your soul is so bright. It is alive in its completeness.” Solace waited a beat until Willa looked up into her eyes. “Don’t you dare turn away from it because you are scared of what he might think or because it doesn’t make sense, isn’t normal. You never know; if he’s your soul mate, maybe he can do unusual things, too.”

  Willa hadn’t considered that, but it sounded too good to be true. “Soul mates? I don’t know if I believe in that.”

  Solace laughed. “Oh, yes you do, you’re just being difficult.” Solace dropped her eyes to the table. “I may not remember the details of my own life, but something tells me I’m right about this. There is something about you, and about how you felt with Simon. You must trust it.”