Prologue
The soft patter of rain on the shutters woke the girl up that morning. For a minute, she remained curled beneath the warm coverlets, struggling to hold onto the last strands of sleep. When she finally admitted defeat, she rolled to face the other side of her bed. “Derek, babe, you’ll never believe the dream I just had—“
The empty bed beside her made her jump. Impulsively, she ran a hand through her hair and realized it was short and straight, not long and curly. Then she glanced at the calendar and gasped as understanding hit her. Wrong year.
As she ran her hands through her brutally short hair again ruefully, the girl slowly climbed out of bed. With a hiss as her bare feet hit the freezing wooden floor, she padded across her bedroom to the window. Raindrops streaked the pane in a strange imitation of the salty wetness on her face. The girl tried to brush the tears out of the way; when she lost the battle, she curled up in the windowsill with a guitar in her lap. Her fingers instinctively found the chords to the old song, and though she did not sing aloud for fear of waking her parents up, she heard Derek’s voice in her head, his accent curling around the words…
Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme…
The empty bed beside her made her jump. Impulsively, she ran a hand through her hair and realized it was short and straight, not long and curly. Then she glanced at the calendar and gasped as understanding hit her. Wrong year.
As she ran her hands through her brutally short hair again ruefully, the girl slowly climbed out of bed. With a hiss as her bare feet hit the freezing wooden floor, she padded across her bedroom to the window. Raindrops streaked the pane in a strange imitation of the salty wetness on her face. The girl tried to brush the tears out of the way; when she lost the battle, she curled up in the windowsill with a guitar in her lap. Her fingers instinctively found the chords to the old song, and though she did not sing aloud for fear of waking her parents up, she heard Derek’s voice in her head, his accent curling around the words…
Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme…
Chapter One: The Key
Rachel cursed when something small and hard fell out of the top bookshelf in San Francisco House’s library and hit her square in the face. With a groan, she reluctantly dropped her thick stack of books and bent to retrieve the mysterious fallen object. Her heart almost stopped when she realized it was a skeleton key.
Instantly, fractured memories flooded her mind, dark thoughts of Ireland and antique shops, Kat running from the graveyard, the box—sepulcher—the thing in her bed and the birth and the key, the key—Rachel leaned against the bookshelf shakily as she fought to banish the horrible thoughts. That was over two years ago, Corrigan! You’re the psychiatrist. Get a grip on yourself. It’s over. It’s over. Still, it took her a few minutes to shut off the flow of memories and a few minutes more for her heart to slow its terrible pounding.
Once her legs stopped trembling, Rachel gingerly unclenched her fist to stare at the small metal object that left tiny imprints in her palm. Despite her initial terror, the key appeared to simply be a key. The thing was rust-stained and dusty, as if it had resided on the top bookshelf for eons; the silky pink ribbon tied to its end was faded with age so that Rachel could just barely make out the words inked on it: Breezy’s room, written in a slanting scrawl that Rachel instantly recognized as Derek’s.
“Rachel? Are you up here?”
With a start, Rachel closed her fingers around the key again as Alex climbed the spiral staircase to meet her. “Yeah. Sorry I took so long. I got hit in the head by something.”
The younger woman snorted and shook her head. “Well, that’s not surprising with all of the books that Derek shoves right up on the top shelf. We really need to remind him that the rest of us aren’t giants like him! Is your head all right?”
“Well, it wasn’t a book that fell on my head. It was this.”
Alex frowned at the key. “A key? What was it doing on the top shelf of the library?”
“I don’t know, but look at the ribbon.”
“‘Breezy’s room’? Rachel, that’s Derek’s handwriting!”
“I know.”
“I wonder…” Hesitantly, Alex reached to take the key from Rachel. “Could I…”
Rachel winced at the thought of Alex using her ESP to test the psychic waters around the key—who knows what she’ll find!—but nodded and reluctantly let her friend take the key.
Instantly, Alex’s eyes darkened; Rachel winced again at the telltale faraway look of someone in the throes of the Sight. For a moment, she considered shaking Alex out of it, but just as she reached out one hand to do so, Alex’s eyes focused again.
“Well?” Rachel prodded quietly.
“This key,” Alex murmured, “goes to one of the rooms upstairs, in the older wing. As far as I know, they haven’t been used since the late sixties or early seventies, definitely not in the time I’ve been here.”
“So Derek hid this key when he was in his…late teens? Early twenties?” Rachel suddenly envisioned a young Derek flying up the spiral staircase and launching at the bookshelves, shoving books to the floor in a blind rage, dropping the key onto the very top shelf where he would never have to see it again. “Why did you leave me? Why? Damn it, Bree, why?”
“Rachel?”
Quickly, Rachel shook herself and shrugged at Alex’s curious expression. No, I didn’t See anything. I can’t See. Sight doesn’t exist… “You know where the room is?”
Alex nodded slowly. “You’re curious now, aren’t you?”
“Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know why Derek shoved this key into the darkest corner of the library for all these years?”
“I’m sure he had his reasons—”
“He always has his reasons,” Alex and Rachel finished simultaneously. After a second, Alex smiled reluctantly at Rachel’s mischievous expression. “You’re right. I am curious. I'm sick of boring old research. I am ready for an adventure! Let’s go.”
With a grin, Rachel jogged down the spiral staircase after Alex and followed her friend up the regular set of stairs. Alex led her through a set of double oaken doors to a part of the House that Rachel had never seen before. Judging by the amount of dust that swirled through the air, making both women cough, this corridor hadn’t seen the light of day in a long time.
Alex seemed to be counting doors. Rachel watched with an inquisitive frown as Alex slowed, then stopped, in front of one at the very end of the hallway. “Here, I think. Wait…look at the door handle!”
Rachel’s eyes widened when she caught sight of the pink satin ribbon. “This has to be it. Matching ribbons.”
“Open the door on three?”
“Okay. One, two, three.”
Instantly, Rachel sneezed as a veritable storm of dust blew out of the barely opened door and engulfed her. She could hear Alex coughing next to her, but the dust was so thick she couldn’t see her anymore, let alone breath or think. “What the—”
“We’re only looking! We won’t hurt you! We’re just curious!”
As soon as Alex finished speaking, the dust storm stopped; tiny particulates froze in midair and fell on the two women like snow. Rachel scrubbed at her eyes furiously to get the dirt out. “What the hell was that?”
“It was a dust trap.” Alex sounded just as shaken as Rachel felt. “Nick and I ran into one in Sudan once. They’re used as a defense against trespassers. The only way to get them to stop is to tell them that you mean no harm.”
“Why—what—do you think—could Derek have put that there?”
Slowly, Alex shook her head in bewilderment. “Usually, I’d say no, but…who knows what’s in there. If something or someone is still living in this room…”
Rachel swallowed back her fear. “Well, there’s only one way to find out, right?”
Gingerly, Rachel kicked the door the rest of the way open—and then she gasped. “Oh my. Alex, look at all of this!”
Instantly, fractured memories flooded her mind, dark thoughts of Ireland and antique shops, Kat running from the graveyard, the box—sepulcher—the thing in her bed and the birth and the key, the key—Rachel leaned against the bookshelf shakily as she fought to banish the horrible thoughts. That was over two years ago, Corrigan! You’re the psychiatrist. Get a grip on yourself. It’s over. It’s over. Still, it took her a few minutes to shut off the flow of memories and a few minutes more for her heart to slow its terrible pounding.
Once her legs stopped trembling, Rachel gingerly unclenched her fist to stare at the small metal object that left tiny imprints in her palm. Despite her initial terror, the key appeared to simply be a key. The thing was rust-stained and dusty, as if it had resided on the top bookshelf for eons; the silky pink ribbon tied to its end was faded with age so that Rachel could just barely make out the words inked on it: Breezy’s room, written in a slanting scrawl that Rachel instantly recognized as Derek’s.
“Rachel? Are you up here?”
With a start, Rachel closed her fingers around the key again as Alex climbed the spiral staircase to meet her. “Yeah. Sorry I took so long. I got hit in the head by something.”
The younger woman snorted and shook her head. “Well, that’s not surprising with all of the books that Derek shoves right up on the top shelf. We really need to remind him that the rest of us aren’t giants like him! Is your head all right?”
“Well, it wasn’t a book that fell on my head. It was this.”
Alex frowned at the key. “A key? What was it doing on the top shelf of the library?”
“I don’t know, but look at the ribbon.”
“‘Breezy’s room’? Rachel, that’s Derek’s handwriting!”
“I know.”
“I wonder…” Hesitantly, Alex reached to take the key from Rachel. “Could I…”
Rachel winced at the thought of Alex using her ESP to test the psychic waters around the key—who knows what she’ll find!—but nodded and reluctantly let her friend take the key.
Instantly, Alex’s eyes darkened; Rachel winced again at the telltale faraway look of someone in the throes of the Sight. For a moment, she considered shaking Alex out of it, but just as she reached out one hand to do so, Alex’s eyes focused again.
“Well?” Rachel prodded quietly.
“This key,” Alex murmured, “goes to one of the rooms upstairs, in the older wing. As far as I know, they haven’t been used since the late sixties or early seventies, definitely not in the time I’ve been here.”
“So Derek hid this key when he was in his…late teens? Early twenties?” Rachel suddenly envisioned a young Derek flying up the spiral staircase and launching at the bookshelves, shoving books to the floor in a blind rage, dropping the key onto the very top shelf where he would never have to see it again. “Why did you leave me? Why? Damn it, Bree, why?”
“Rachel?”
Quickly, Rachel shook herself and shrugged at Alex’s curious expression. No, I didn’t See anything. I can’t See. Sight doesn’t exist… “You know where the room is?”
Alex nodded slowly. “You’re curious now, aren’t you?”
“Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know why Derek shoved this key into the darkest corner of the library for all these years?”
“I’m sure he had his reasons—”
“He always has his reasons,” Alex and Rachel finished simultaneously. After a second, Alex smiled reluctantly at Rachel’s mischievous expression. “You’re right. I am curious. I'm sick of boring old research. I am ready for an adventure! Let’s go.”
With a grin, Rachel jogged down the spiral staircase after Alex and followed her friend up the regular set of stairs. Alex led her through a set of double oaken doors to a part of the House that Rachel had never seen before. Judging by the amount of dust that swirled through the air, making both women cough, this corridor hadn’t seen the light of day in a long time.
Alex seemed to be counting doors. Rachel watched with an inquisitive frown as Alex slowed, then stopped, in front of one at the very end of the hallway. “Here, I think. Wait…look at the door handle!”
Rachel’s eyes widened when she caught sight of the pink satin ribbon. “This has to be it. Matching ribbons.”
“Open the door on three?”
“Okay. One, two, three.”
Instantly, Rachel sneezed as a veritable storm of dust blew out of the barely opened door and engulfed her. She could hear Alex coughing next to her, but the dust was so thick she couldn’t see her anymore, let alone breath or think. “What the—”
“We’re only looking! We won’t hurt you! We’re just curious!”
As soon as Alex finished speaking, the dust storm stopped; tiny particulates froze in midair and fell on the two women like snow. Rachel scrubbed at her eyes furiously to get the dirt out. “What the hell was that?”
“It was a dust trap.” Alex sounded just as shaken as Rachel felt. “Nick and I ran into one in Sudan once. They’re used as a defense against trespassers. The only way to get them to stop is to tell them that you mean no harm.”
“Why—what—do you think—could Derek have put that there?”
Slowly, Alex shook her head in bewilderment. “Usually, I’d say no, but…who knows what’s in there. If something or someone is still living in this room…”
Rachel swallowed back her fear. “Well, there’s only one way to find out, right?”
Gingerly, Rachel kicked the door the rest of the way open—and then she gasped. “Oh my. Alex, look at all of this!”
Chapter Two: Photographs
Breezy’s room looked nothing like the other rooms in San Francisco House. Instead of rich tapestries covering the walls, Beatles and Bob Dylan posters papered the room. A thick Persian rug lay across the wooden floor; dust billowed up from it as Rachel padded across the room to the picture window. When she drew back the airy white curtains covering it, the view of the gardens and crashing grey waves below took her breath away.
Alex seemed to lose her voice for a moment as she ran her hand over the thick coverlets on the four-poster bed. “It’s beautiful.”
“Isn’t it, though.” When Rachel stepped backward, her leg bumped against something that made an irritated twanging noise. With a yelp of surprise, Rachel glanced down at the acoustic guitar and then picked it up with a grin. “Hey, Alex, do know any good songs?”
The darker woman winced at the discordant sound of Rachel strumming the guitar’s strings. “Yeah, somehow I don’t think you were meant to be a musician, Rachel.”
“Excuse me? I’ll have you know I can play a mean song on the bagpipes!”
“And you also specialize in accordion, right?” Alex laughed as Rachel made a face at her. Rachel reluctantly set the guitar down and meandered over to a desk strewn with sheet music, the bars and chords to old tunes by Willie Nelson and Joni Mitchell. A thick leather book lay on top of the mess; its covers were bound shut by a length of the same pink ribbon that labeled the key and the door.
The women exchanged a long, curious glance before Rachel gingerly untied the bow and slipped the ribbon off of the book. To her relief, no dust monsters attacked this time, and she was free to open the book to the first page. Instantly, her heart leapt to her throat as she found a young, brooding Derek gazing back at her from a black-and-white photograph.
The teenager sat cross-legged on a bench in the rose garden with one dark rose tucked behind his ear. While Derek seemed furious at being forever caught on film, his companion looked as though she hadn’t a care in the world. A girl about his age leaned against him with her head thrown back, laughing; her long wavy locks were littered with flowers. One of her hands kept a tight grip on the guitar in her lap, but the other intertwined with Derek’s.
“He’s so young…”
“Probably fifteen or sixteen.”
Until Alex replied, Rachel didn’t realize she had spoken aloud. She frowned. “How can you tell?”
“Well, I’ve seen photos of Derek at fifteen before, mostly in his father’s dossier. He looks a bit older here, especially in the eyes, but that could just be from…what happened to his father in Peru.”
Rachel ran a gentle hand over Derek’s frozen visage. “Yeah. A trauma like that tends to show up in the victim’s eyes.” Slowly, she shook herself and tried to focus on the girl next to Derek again. “How much do you want to bet that this is Breezy?”
“Rachel, are you confusing me with Nick? Don’t get me gambling.” Alex grinned mischievously as she continued, “Let’s see if she’s in any of the other photos, but if I had to take a wild guess, yes, I’d say that’s Breezy, whoever she is.”
“Let’s take a look here…”
Both women carefully sank into the mattress and settled the leather photo album between them on the bed. Rachel lingered on the photo of the girl and Derek for a long minute before she allowed Alex to turn the page to more black-and-white photos of Derek and another teenage boy surfing at the beach, of the girl playing guitar as Derek and a whole group of kids sat around singing, of a horde of teenagers wearing black armbands and waving huge anti-war banners at passing cars. “STOP THE WAR—PROTEST 1971 AND LA JOLLA BEACH,” the scribbled caption read. A footnote written in a familiar slanting scrawl said something in Dutch that Alex translated with a giggle, “in which William wiped out while watching me hang ten.”
Rachel’s blue eyes widened incredulously at the last part. “Derek surfs?”
Looking as bewildered as Rachel, Alex shrugged and flipped the page. “He surfs and sings and protests, I guess. It’s strange: I distinctly remember the time he told Nick that surfing was way too dangerous for any sane person to try. Maybe we should call Derek out on that one!”
Instantly, Rachel shook her head. “No. Then Derek would figure out we’d been in here.”
“Rachel, he’ll figure that out sometime anyway.” Alex’s eyes darkened thoughtfully. “I don’t want to keep this from him forever.”
“Derek hid this key for a reason, Alex! For some reason, he didn’t want anyone in here, and I want to know why! He’s always keeping secrets from us. Remember when it almost got you killed? The Lithuanian she-devil—”
“I remember, Rachel,” Alex snapped. “How am I ever supposed to forget? What is this all about, anyway? Is it about last Christmas? You know, just because you made one mistake with Derek doesn’t mean you can’t fix it!”
Rachel flushed and picked at the bedspread. “This isn’t about that!” Apologizing to Derek would mean accepting that all of this is real! Making things right with him means accepting that my daughter can see her dead brother’s ghost and that I can feel things before they happen! How am I ever supposed to forget Ireland if I accept all that as real? Seamus and the key and—no, no, I won’t think about it. I’m better than this. I can’t. I just can’t.
Slowly, Rachel lifted her head to meet Alex’s surprisingly gentle gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said reluctantly. “I just…I’ll tell Derek eventually, or you can if you want to. I just want to find out more about Breezy first, and there’s no way we’ll figure it out if Derek knows we’ve been in this room. He’ll just take the key back and hide it for another thirty years.”
“Why, though?” Alex murmured. “Why did he hide it in the first place?” Gingerly, she flipped the book back to the first page and peeled off the photo of Derek and the girl in the rose garden. “I’ll scan this photo into the Legacy database and try to find some matches. For now, though, I think we should—”
“Alexandra? Rachel? Where are you? I’m back!”
The two women sprang to their feet in shock at the sound of Derek’s voice. “He’s here early!”
“Hurry, the door—”
Rachel quickly slammed the book shut and tucked it under her arm while Alex shoved the photograph in her pocket. Then, the pair ran through the door, shut it, and carefully turned the key in the lock with a wince as it clicked. To Rachel’s relief, Derek’s footsteps receded again; with a sigh, she leaned against the door to catch her breath. “That was close.”
Alex nodded with a rueful smile. “Too close,” she amended. “I’ll take the photo album if you take the key, all right? I’ll run the girl’s picture through the scanners tonight. If she pops up in the Legacy database—well, we could know who Breezy is by tomorrow morning.”
For a moment, Rachel fiddled with the key in her pocket. “Good. No telling Derek yet, all right? Promise me that.”
With a sigh, Alex shook her head. “Why do I feel like we’re back in grade school? Fine. I promise won’t tell Derek. I have condition, though…”
“A condition to make this even more grade school-esque, huh? What is it?”
Alex’s eyes darkened seriously. “Give Derek a second chance, Rachel. Just give him a second chance.”
Before Rachel could regain her voice, Alex jogged down the stairs and out of sight, leaving the psychiatrist alone with a rusty old key and her stormy emotions.
Alex seemed to lose her voice for a moment as she ran her hand over the thick coverlets on the four-poster bed. “It’s beautiful.”
“Isn’t it, though.” When Rachel stepped backward, her leg bumped against something that made an irritated twanging noise. With a yelp of surprise, Rachel glanced down at the acoustic guitar and then picked it up with a grin. “Hey, Alex, do know any good songs?”
The darker woman winced at the discordant sound of Rachel strumming the guitar’s strings. “Yeah, somehow I don’t think you were meant to be a musician, Rachel.”
“Excuse me? I’ll have you know I can play a mean song on the bagpipes!”
“And you also specialize in accordion, right?” Alex laughed as Rachel made a face at her. Rachel reluctantly set the guitar down and meandered over to a desk strewn with sheet music, the bars and chords to old tunes by Willie Nelson and Joni Mitchell. A thick leather book lay on top of the mess; its covers were bound shut by a length of the same pink ribbon that labeled the key and the door.
The women exchanged a long, curious glance before Rachel gingerly untied the bow and slipped the ribbon off of the book. To her relief, no dust monsters attacked this time, and she was free to open the book to the first page. Instantly, her heart leapt to her throat as she found a young, brooding Derek gazing back at her from a black-and-white photograph.
The teenager sat cross-legged on a bench in the rose garden with one dark rose tucked behind his ear. While Derek seemed furious at being forever caught on film, his companion looked as though she hadn’t a care in the world. A girl about his age leaned against him with her head thrown back, laughing; her long wavy locks were littered with flowers. One of her hands kept a tight grip on the guitar in her lap, but the other intertwined with Derek’s.
“He’s so young…”
“Probably fifteen or sixteen.”
Until Alex replied, Rachel didn’t realize she had spoken aloud. She frowned. “How can you tell?”
“Well, I’ve seen photos of Derek at fifteen before, mostly in his father’s dossier. He looks a bit older here, especially in the eyes, but that could just be from…what happened to his father in Peru.”
Rachel ran a gentle hand over Derek’s frozen visage. “Yeah. A trauma like that tends to show up in the victim’s eyes.” Slowly, she shook herself and tried to focus on the girl next to Derek again. “How much do you want to bet that this is Breezy?”
“Rachel, are you confusing me with Nick? Don’t get me gambling.” Alex grinned mischievously as she continued, “Let’s see if she’s in any of the other photos, but if I had to take a wild guess, yes, I’d say that’s Breezy, whoever she is.”
“Let’s take a look here…”
Both women carefully sank into the mattress and settled the leather photo album between them on the bed. Rachel lingered on the photo of the girl and Derek for a long minute before she allowed Alex to turn the page to more black-and-white photos of Derek and another teenage boy surfing at the beach, of the girl playing guitar as Derek and a whole group of kids sat around singing, of a horde of teenagers wearing black armbands and waving huge anti-war banners at passing cars. “STOP THE WAR—PROTEST 1971 AND LA JOLLA BEACH,” the scribbled caption read. A footnote written in a familiar slanting scrawl said something in Dutch that Alex translated with a giggle, “in which William wiped out while watching me hang ten.”
Rachel’s blue eyes widened incredulously at the last part. “Derek surfs?”
Looking as bewildered as Rachel, Alex shrugged and flipped the page. “He surfs and sings and protests, I guess. It’s strange: I distinctly remember the time he told Nick that surfing was way too dangerous for any sane person to try. Maybe we should call Derek out on that one!”
Instantly, Rachel shook her head. “No. Then Derek would figure out we’d been in here.”
“Rachel, he’ll figure that out sometime anyway.” Alex’s eyes darkened thoughtfully. “I don’t want to keep this from him forever.”
“Derek hid this key for a reason, Alex! For some reason, he didn’t want anyone in here, and I want to know why! He’s always keeping secrets from us. Remember when it almost got you killed? The Lithuanian she-devil—”
“I remember, Rachel,” Alex snapped. “How am I ever supposed to forget? What is this all about, anyway? Is it about last Christmas? You know, just because you made one mistake with Derek doesn’t mean you can’t fix it!”
Rachel flushed and picked at the bedspread. “This isn’t about that!” Apologizing to Derek would mean accepting that all of this is real! Making things right with him means accepting that my daughter can see her dead brother’s ghost and that I can feel things before they happen! How am I ever supposed to forget Ireland if I accept all that as real? Seamus and the key and—no, no, I won’t think about it. I’m better than this. I can’t. I just can’t.
Slowly, Rachel lifted her head to meet Alex’s surprisingly gentle gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said reluctantly. “I just…I’ll tell Derek eventually, or you can if you want to. I just want to find out more about Breezy first, and there’s no way we’ll figure it out if Derek knows we’ve been in this room. He’ll just take the key back and hide it for another thirty years.”
“Why, though?” Alex murmured. “Why did he hide it in the first place?” Gingerly, she flipped the book back to the first page and peeled off the photo of Derek and the girl in the rose garden. “I’ll scan this photo into the Legacy database and try to find some matches. For now, though, I think we should—”
“Alexandra? Rachel? Where are you? I’m back!”
The two women sprang to their feet in shock at the sound of Derek’s voice. “He’s here early!”
“Hurry, the door—”
Rachel quickly slammed the book shut and tucked it under her arm while Alex shoved the photograph in her pocket. Then, the pair ran through the door, shut it, and carefully turned the key in the lock with a wince as it clicked. To Rachel’s relief, Derek’s footsteps receded again; with a sigh, she leaned against the door to catch her breath. “That was close.”
Alex nodded with a rueful smile. “Too close,” she amended. “I’ll take the photo album if you take the key, all right? I’ll run the girl’s picture through the scanners tonight. If she pops up in the Legacy database—well, we could know who Breezy is by tomorrow morning.”
For a moment, Rachel fiddled with the key in her pocket. “Good. No telling Derek yet, all right? Promise me that.”
With a sigh, Alex shook her head. “Why do I feel like we’re back in grade school? Fine. I promise won’t tell Derek. I have condition, though…”
“A condition to make this even more grade school-esque, huh? What is it?”
Alex’s eyes darkened seriously. “Give Derek a second chance, Rachel. Just give him a second chance.”
Before Rachel could regain her voice, Alex jogged down the stairs and out of sight, leaving the psychiatrist alone with a rusty old key and her stormy emotions.
