Taken at Dusk

Shock filled Kylie's chest. Jane had killed her baby? Was that why Jane had amnesia? The horror of what she'd done had been too much for her to bear?

Jane swerved toward Catherine and held both her fists up in front of her face, her body tight with fury. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not Berta! I did not kill my own child. I would never kill my baby. I loved my baby."

Catherine looked at Kylie. "She's confused. I think they gave her a lobotomy. Probably trying to fix her."

"I'm not Berta!" Jane Doe's scream rang so loud, Kylie flinched. "And I'm sick to death of hearing you call me that."

"Then what's your name?" Catherine spouted back.

Jane got tears in her eyes. "I don't know. I don't know who I am, I don't know what I am, but I know who I'm not. And I'm not Berta Littlemon. I think my baby died, but I didn't kill it. I was somebody's wife. Now I'm just lost. And empty. And dead." She turned and looked at Kylie as if remembering the vision. "Somebody killed me." Tears slipped down the woman's cheek and then she disappeared.

Kylie's chest filled with empathy. She got back to her feet, and while she felt inclined to believe Jane Doe, she'd come here to find answers. And to find them, she had to ask questions. "Why do you think she's Berta Littlemon?"

"I don't think, I know," Catherine said. Then she smiled. "And I'll tell you all I know if you'll do me a favor."

* * *

Kylie still stood by the grave of Berta Littlemon when Burnett walked over to join her about thirty minutes later. This time, he didn't inquire if she was okay. But then, he didn't have to ask. Kylie sensed he could guess she wasn't okay by the look of dismay on her face. Placing his hand lightly on her shoulder, he asked, "Was this ... helpful?"

"I don't know," Kylie said, confused and disturbed by what she'd learned from Catherine O'Connell. Sure, she'd gotten some information, but mostly all the trip to the Fallen Cemetery had accomplished was to underscore how little she knew about Jane Doe and how impossible it would be to help her.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked.

She nodded and they started walking toward the gate where Della stood, looking as ill at ease as she had the moment they'd first arrived. The crowd of spirits followed them, moving close but not crowding her.

"Will you come back?" whispered an older-sounding male spirit.

"Please, say you'll come," begged a younger female spirit.

"It's not fair," wailed another female. "Why does she have to leave now? I didn't get a chance to talk to her!"

Then all of the spirits began to talk at once, making it hard to understand them and bringing Kylie's headache back in full force. Through the crowd of voices, she was dimly aware of Ima, the old man's wife, walking from one small group of spirits to another and whispering something to them.

Kylie stopped and massaged her temples. "I'm sorry," she said, and she truly was.

Right now, all she wanted to do was run from them, run into the sunlight, ignore the shadows and pretend that they didn't exist. But even as she wanted to run away, she knew she couldn't. How could she when she felt their pain, their heartbreak, as intensely as she did her own? How could she when she knew they all had some kind of unfinished business they wanted resolved and she was their only chance to make that happen?

Still, she had to establish some boundaries or else she'd likely lose her mind the way Jane Doe obviously had.

And then Kylie wouldn't be able to help any of them.

"I have to leave now," she said. "You can't come with me. You need to stay here. But ... I will come back. I promise." It was a promise she intended to keep, but not one she looked forward to.

"I'm not coming back," Della said, and walked toward the car.

Burnett shot Kylie a worried look and she shook her head, indicating that she was fine. When they stepped out of the cemetery property and the spirits didn't follow, Kylie sighed with relief. She'd never appreciated the blast of Texas heat that swamped her as much as she did right now.

She glanced behind her at the cemetery. The spirits were still there, staring at her wordlessly. She wondered if her promise had been enough to convince them to stay behind, rather than follow her. Or if it had more to do with whatever message Ima had been whispering to them. Kylie felt a shiver move down her spine. She ignored it and walked with Burnett and Della to the car.

The drive back to Shadow Falls was short. They didn't speak. After Burnett parked, Kylie and Della crawled out of his black Mustang. Kylie locked her gaze with Burnett and asked if she could be relieved from camp activities for the rest of the day.

He hesitated and she was frightened he was going to say no, but then he frowned and asked, "Would Holiday say yes?"

Kylie nodded. "Yes," she answered with honesty. Helping ghosts was part of her job as a supernatural. Holiday would understand that, and the toll it took on her. The camp leader was probably the only one who would understand.

Burnett still paused. "Are you okay? Do you need to talk or anything?"

"No," Kylie said.

The relief showing in his face was almost comical. Obviously the idea of having to offer advice or commiserate about spirits didn't appeal to him. Kylie might have teased him about it if she weren't so wrapped up in what she'd learned. "I just want to do some stuff on my computer and check some of the facts I learned."

"Okay," he said, and motioned Della to follow her.

"Please don't ever ask me to go back there again," Della said as they walked away. "That was super weird."

"I'm sorry," Kylie said.

"Did you learn what you needed to know?"

"Not really."

"Didn't they answer your questions? I heard you talking to them."

"It's not that easy."

For a second, Della looked ready to ask more questions; then she lapsed into silence.

Good thing, too. Kylie wasn't feeling up to explaining how communicating with the dead worked. Right now, she needed to focus on what she'd learned from her trip. She hadn't even begun to mull everything over and decide what she believed and didn't believe.

Was Jane, or was she not, a child murderer and all-around evil person? Anxious to prove Catherine O'Connell wrong, Kylie hurried her steps.

She cut through the first bend in the path, where the trees hung over, creating shade. She breathed in the scents of summer, the greenness of the forest, the heady aroma of dry earth. She had almost managed to calm her chaotic mind when the blue bird swooped down and landed right in her path. The blue jay cocked its head and chirped cheerfully as if performing just for her.

"Shoo!" Della said. But the bird, intent on watching Kylie, ignored Della.

"Shit!" Della belted out. "Is that the evil shifter?" When she started to bolt forward-to do God only knew what to the bird-Kylie caught her by her arm.

"Stop. It's just a bird."

Della's eyes widened. "Is that the same bird you ... brought back to life?"

"I don't know," Kylie said, but she knew it was a lie.

Della waved her arms, trying to scare the bird away. "This is freaky." The bird continued to sing.

"Get out of here before I break your neck!" Della bellowed.

"Just leave it alone." Truth was, the bird scared the crap out of Kylie, too, but it didn't deserve to die. Or to die again.

Besides, Kylie wasn't up to giving it another piece of her soul by bringing it back to life.

The bird finally finished its song, then flapped its wings and rose to hover in front of Kylie's face. A spray of sunshine came through the trees and made the creature's royal blue feathers glow. Then, letting out one more bit of song, it flew away. Kylie took off in a run and didn't slow down until she got to her cabin. Della followed at the same pace. Maybe after Kylie researched Berta Littlemon, she'd research blue jay stalking. Though she doubted Google would have anything on that.

* * *

"So you actually spoke to the spirits?" Jonathon asked. The vamp had taken over shadow duty for Della right after they'd arrived back at the cabin. Of course, first Della had given him the blow-by-blow account of what had happened at the cemetery. Kylie looked back at Jonathon, reclining on her sofa.

"Can I do this computer stuff right now, instead of chatting about the ghosts?" She'd been proud of herself. Instead of giving in to the desire to go straight to bed, pull the covers over her head, and have a good long cry, she'd booted up her computer.

Her screen brought up Google, and she typed in the name "Berta Littlemon." As the computer chewed on that information, Kylie looked back at Jonathon again. "I just need to get this done."

"Whatever." His tone told her he thought she was rude.

And maybe she was, but with a possible child-murdering ghost on her hands and a blue jay stalking her, she didn't have time to be polite. "Sorry," she still muttered.

Kylie read the list of Web sites that Google spilled onto her screen: Famous female murderers in Texas, Mamas who murder, Mean women in the past. Kylie's heart started to ache. She clicked on the first Web site and prepared herself to be disgusted.

She wasn't disappointed. The only thing she didn't find was a decent picture of Berta Littlemon that was clear enough to identify her.

"Some shadow you are, vampire."

Kylie swung around and found Lucas standing in the doorway, staring at Jonathon sleeping on the sofa.

Jonathon didn't move. He didn't even open his eyes when he spoke. "I heard you a block away. Smelled your wolf ass two blocks away."

Lucas growled.

Kylie rolled her eyes. Ah, the love between vamps and weres was never lost. For a crazy moment, she recalled Lucas's desire that she turn out to be a were. And she wondered what would happen if and when he discovered he was wrong. What would happen if she discovered she was vampire? Would Lucas still care about her? She so wanted to believe that it wouldn't matter to him, that he was above that type of prejudice.

But the truth was, she knew it probably would matter.

And that scared her more than stalking blue jays and amnesiac ghosts who possibly killed their own babies.

Lucas shifted his focus from Jonathon to her. "Are you okay?"

Kylie took a deep breath. She'd felt that hiding her weakness from Burnett had been a necessity. Nor had she felt comfortable sharing anything with Della or Jonathon, but one look at Lucas's caring blue eyes and she felt her throat tighten with the need for a little TLC.

He must have sensed her stress, or maybe it was the tears prickling her eyes, because he moved to her, grabbed her hand, and started walking her into her bedroom.

"I'm supposed to keep an eye on her," Jonathon called out from his still reclined position on the sofa.

"Why don't you just check out the back of your eyelids like you were doing when I came in," Lucas countered, and slammed her bedroom door shut. The cabin shook from the force.

Once they were alone, Lucas's gaze went back to her. "What happened?" He moved in, cupped his hand around her neck, and pulled her against him.

She rested her forehead on his warm chest and fought the need to cry. The need for TLC was one thing, but tears were too much.

"It was awful," she said, and swallowed hard.

"What was awful?" he asked.

"They were everywhere. And then-"

"Who were everywhere?" His hand moved to her back, consoling and offering just the comforting touch she needed.

Her heart hurt with the need to have someone help her understand the experience. She lifted her head and looked at him, but she didn't pull away. "The spirits. But that wasn't the worst part. I-"

He let go of another frustrated growl, cutting her off. Then he studied her for a second as if weighing his words with care. "Didn't you expect them to be everywhere at a cemetery, Kylie? After what happened in that vision, why you would even go there is beyond me."

Okay, so Lucas was like the others; he didn't understand what she did. She couldn't really blame him, though. Just as Della had pointed out this morning, ghost whispering pretty much made her a freak. Still, it hurt.

She wanted him to understand, to be able to sense how important this was to her. But he couldn't. He wasn't ... fae. He wasn't Derek. Not wanting to go there, she pushed that thought away, far away.

"I had to," she said, though she didn't think it would make a difference to Lucas. "That's what I'm supposed to do. That's why they come to me for help."

He frowned. "But at what cost? I don't like seeing you upset like this. I sure as hell don't like thinking you're putting yourself in danger to help someone who's already dead. For all we know, they're dead because they did something stupid and now they're gonna try to make you do something stupid and you could end up getting hurt as a result."

His tone, his expression, and even his body posture told Kylie that telling him that her ghost very well may be a murderer of small children might not be a brilliant idea. So she resigned herself to her current reality. She'd just have to bundle up the rest of the story until Holiday arrived. Which Kylie hoped would be soon.

"Damn, I hate seeing you upset," he muttered through gritted teeth, and then tugged her closer.

She bit down on her lip, remembering how it had felt when it had been coated with ice. "It was a little scary, but nothing happened."

He lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes. "You sure?"

Not wanting to lie to him, she rose up on tiptoes and kissed him. He tasted so good-a little like toothpaste and a bit like chocolate. She'd always been fond of chocolate mint, so she opened her mouth wider and he accepted the invitation and the kiss went from sweet to passionate in a heartbeat.

When his tongue slipped inside her mouth, she melted against him even closer, and any remnants of worry in her heart faded. All Kylie could think about was the wonder of this moment. The wonder of passion.

She loved having him this close to her. The silky feel of his mouth against hers was so perfect. The slight stubble on his cheeks tickled her, and his hard chest pressed against hers as though it were made to fit. She savored the tight feel of his strong hands on her waist. A voice deep within said she could deal with anything, stalking blue jays, a barrage of ghosts, even the amnesiac spirit of a child murderer. She could take it all on as long as she had Lucas's arms and kisses waiting for her when it was over. She could survive as long as she had the wonderment of his closeness to help her cope.

"Someone lives and someone dies."

The voice came at the same time as the chill crawling up and then down her spine. Kylie pulled away from the hot kiss and buried her face on Lucas's warm chest, not wanting to feel this cold. Not now. Not so soon after the visit to the cemetery and the haunting memory of all those lost souls who needed her help. Not when she'd just read the terrible things this woman had done.

"They keep insisting that I tell you," Jane, aka Berta, said.

Who dies? Kylie asked the question in her mind.

"Maybe they meant me," the spirit said, sounding confused again.

Somehow Kylie knew that wasn't right. Someone lives and someone dies. The words flowed again through her head. Perhaps there was one thing Lucas's kisses couldn't fix. The idea of losing someone she cared about was too much to bear.

Lifting her cheek from Lucas's warm chest, she opened her eyes and tried to focus on Jane Doe.

Staring at the spirit's face, Kylie recalled bits of the story she'd read about Berta Littlemon. She hadn't killed just her own child, but that of a neighbor, too.

The spirit gazed back at Kylie without reservation. No worries. No shame. Had the woman forgotten about what happened at the cemetery, that Catherine had ratted her out-that Kylie now knew everything?

But even now, as Kylie looked deep into the spirit's eyes, she didn't see the soul of a killer. She saw the soul of a woman who was lost, forgotten, and needed her help.

What, if anything, did this mean? Kylie wondered.