Beneath the Black Moon (Root Sisters) by Clara Fine Read Free Book Online Page B

him. Somehow he had walked into a
field of ash without even realizing it. The stuff surrounded him, gleaming from
beneath blades of grass, smoking in heaps at his feet. How had he not seen it
when he walked into it? And what was it from?
    Then
a chill ran down his spine, because he remembered. The carriage house fire, the
fire that had killed Sam and Solange. The fire that had claimed two lives. It
had been so many years ago, surely he couldn’t be standing in the ashes from
that night. But as he stared at the yard around him, so very different at night
than it was during the day, as barren and windswept and moon-pale as a white
desert, he could almost taste death in the air.
    He
was standing on the ruins on that carriage house. He was standing on the grave
of Cam’s mother. What was he doing on this lawn, spying on a woman who had
already known such darkness? How could he intrude on a family tragedy like
this? Suddenly, Brent wanted nothing more than to leave Cam in peace, to stop
his desecration of this place and return to the ball where he belonged, away
from the scene of such sadness.
    So
he left. He had intended to wait until Cam or someone else emerged from the
kitchen, but he no longer had the will to. He felt unnerved and ashamed, as
though he were a grave robber plundering caskets for information rather than
jewels. Brent walked gingerly across the ash until he reached the soft green
grass that he remembered from the barbecue earlier that day, and then he quickly
crossed the lawn to the house and the brightly lit gathering within.
    One
of the young local husband-hunters found him and pounced on him before he had
taken too many steps within the door. “Mr. Anderson!”
    Brent
managed to smile at her. It took him a moment to remember her name, only
because there had been so many young women trying to win his favor since he had
moved into the neighborhood. This one had a pretty face, but her personality
and conversational skills were altogether unremarkable, so he couldn’t quite recall…
    Ah,
yes, Carreen Williams . “Good evening Miss Williams.”
    “Good
evening Mr. Anderson,” she returned with a wide smile.
    “Tell,
me, Miss Williams,” he said, before she had a chance to start chattering about
something that he would undoubtedly have absolutely no interest in. “What are
those ashes outside from?”
    Carreen
blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
    “The
ashes,” Brent said, trying to keep his voice even so that it sounded like an
idle curiosity. “The field of ash on the Johnson lawn, outside. Do you know
what those ashes are from?” They had to be from the fire, he was almost certain
of it. Hell, he had practically felt the flames licking at his own skin. Yet it
wasn’t possible. It had been fourteen years, and the ashes should have been
washed away.
    “I
don’t recall any ashes,” Carreen said, looking perplexed.
    It
took a little doing, but Brent finally coaxed her out onto the porch. She
blushed more than once, perhaps because she expected he was luring her out
there so that he could take liberties. No. He just wanted to know about the
ashes. It had been damned unnerving. “There,” he said finally, pointing at
where he had stood just a few minutes earlier. “Do you know anything about the
ash?”
    Carreen
squinted in the moonlight, a slight frown on her face. “I don’t see anything.”
    “Right
there,” Brent said, turning to point out the exact spot where the ghost-white
shadow of the ash had fallen. Inexplicably, he could not find it. The yard was
dark and where the moonlight shone it hit thick grass and tall, well-tended
trees. There was no ash in sight.
    “Mr.
Anderson, what are we doing out here?” Carreen said, in a tone that suggested
he had been overcome by her feminine wiles and had tricked her in order to
spend some time alone with her.
    Brent
took a step away from her, putting several feet between them so that she could
have absolutely no doubts about his intentions. “I