"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.
Chapter Twenty-one
An hour later, Lucas left to go to a hiking class and Kylie continued her online research. She'd read most of the articles on the Web sites containing information about Berta Littlemon. She'd also done a quick search on Catherine O'Connell, the woman who'd ratted on Jane. Not just because Kylie intended to keep her promise to her-a deal was a deal-but because she wanted to know if the woman was honest.
Kylie's quick search on the information Catherine had given her proved to be true. But did that also mean she was right about Jane Doe?
So far, she'd found one other site that had a picture of Berta Littlemon, but it too had been so fuzzy that Kylie couldn't swear it was her Jane Doe. Sure, she had brown hair and it appeared to have been long at one time, and the facial features were similar, but ... there was still hope.
A lot more hope when Kylie vaguely remembered something that Holiday had told her about spirits who were overall bad.
Almost as if thinking the woman's name had worked magic, Kylie heard Holiday's voice.
"Can I come in?"
Kylie saw Jonathon jerk from a dead sleep, then she bolted from her chair, ran across the living room, and threw her arms around Holiday.
"I'm so glad you're home," Kylie said, releasing the camp leader only after a good long hug. She'd missed talking with Holiday, missed having her around. But Kylie probably missed Holiday's hugs most of all. "I have so many things to ask you, to tell you." She was about to dump her emotional trauma on the woman when Kylie suddenly remembered the reason Holiday had been away. Her aunt had died. And the death had rocked Holiday's world to its core.
Maybe, Kylie realized, Holiday already had enough on her plate and didn't need Kylie to add more.
Kylie paused a moment to catch her breath. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry about your aunt. Did you get things settled?"
"I'm fine." Holiday gripped Kylie's shoulders as if she understood Kylie's thoughts. "And yes, I think I managed to get everything in order. The important question is if you're okay. Are you?"
Jonathon sat up on the sofa, looking half-asleep. Holiday must not have seen him earlier because she jumped a little at the sound of him shifting.
"Oh, Jonathon. You startled me." Holiday stared at the sleepy vampire.
"Do I need to stay here now that you're here?" he asked.
Holiday looked at her watch. "I should be here for an hour, and Della will be back before that, so if you want to go, you can." They watched Jonathon leave, then Holiday draped an arm around Kylie's shoulder. "Now, tell me what's going on with you."
Kylie met her gaze. "Are you sure you can handle this?"
"Is it that bad?" Holiday's brows creased with worry.
"No. Well, yeah, it is, but I mean, can you handle my problems right now with your own?" Kylie looked at Holiday with empathy. "I know what it feels like to lose someone. When my grandmother died, I could hardly breathe."
Holiday smiled. "I'm fine. I'm still grieving a bit," she added honestly. "But let's just say I'm using the Kylie Galen method of dealing with my problems."
"Which is what?" Kylie asked, puzzled.
Holiday grinned. "Concentrating on everyone else's problems, so I don't have time to think about mine." She looked Kylie right in the eye. "Seriously, I'm fine. Now, tell me what you learned at the cemetery. And then we have a lot of things to discuss."
Kylie started walking over to the kitchen table and then remembered the imminent question she'd wanted to ask Holiday. She swung back around.
"One thing first. Didn't you tell me one time that really bad souls don't hang around, that hell claims them pretty quickly?"
"In most cases, that's right. But there are some that..." Worry pinched Holiday's brows together. "Why?"
Kylie frowned, and just like that, all the frustration from earlier landed on her shoulders with a big thump. "Why does everything have to have exceptions? It would be so nice to ask a question and get a definite yes or no. It's either black or white." She dropped into a kitchen chair. "Life would be so much easier."
"Easier, yes. But realistic ... no. Few things are ever black or white." Holiday tilted her head to one side and studied Kylie for a moment, then frowned. "Please tell me you haven't gotten mixed up with a hell-bound spirit."
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Kylie sat beside Holiday as she read the different articles about Berta Littlemon on the computer screen.
"That's it. I can't read any more!" Holiday reached over and turned off the computer. "You shouldn't even being reading this. You are not to deal with this spirit anymore." Something about Holiday's tone, so maternal, so un-negotiating, sent up warning flags all over the place.