Page 49 of A Ghost of a Chance

Rafe handed her a coin. “Is there a way to bring someone back from death?”

She muttered in a foreign language and blew out her breath. “You ask the impossible.”

Rafe quoted, “True love. You have it within your grasp, but only when you live true to yourself will you find your heart’s desire, the mate for your soul, and free you both from the chains that bind you each to your solitude. Free yourself, free her. Find love. Hold fast to it.”

She frowned.

“Your words to me suggest that there is a way she and I can be together in truth.”

She toyed with the coin. “I have only heard stories, the stuff of legend.”

“Many legends have an element of truth. Do these stories tell of a way to bring back the dead?”

She folded her arms and looked at him as if she were about to divulge a secret. “I have heard tell of a way to summon the Angel of Death.”

A chill ran down Rafe’s spine. “Summon him?”

She nodded. “Once he is summoned, one can petition him for mercy for those who are hovering on the brink of death or very recently died. For someone who has been dead more than fifty years...well, I cannot give you much hope, even if the legends are true.”

Rafe rocked back. Was such a thing possible? Did this tamper with the powers that be?

“So, I ask you, Mr. Beauchamp—do you have the courage to face the Angel of Death?”

Slowly, Rafe said, “In many ways, I have already faced him.”

“If you wish to do this, there are a number of items I must gather.”

“I would do anything to bring her back to life.”

“Very well. Meet me at the henge on the hilltop over there,” she gestured. “Come at midnight tonight. But know that this may not be truly possible.”

“I understand.”

The day crept by at an agonizingly slow pace. To pass the time, Rafe helped rebuild a stone wall, then went to the hilltop during daylight hours to be certain he could locate the henge in the dark. He paced around the ring of boulders of varied sizes and shapes placed in a circle. So many theories abounded as to who had built those ancient henges and for what purpose.

Later, Rafe paced the corridors of Ravenswood Manor. Which bedchamber had belonged to Osanne? Perhaps he’d ask her. Seeing what had been her private space might help him to feel closer to her.

About half past eleven, Rafe put on his warmest greatcoat and took up a lantern. He returned to the henge and waited for Madam Miska. A cold wind blew, shaking bare trees. The scurry of small animals filled the air. A raven flew overhead.

The fortune-teller arrived with a knapsack slung over one shoulder, and a young man carrying a rifle trailing behind.

Madam Miska jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “This is my grandson. He insisted on coming to ensure you didn’t lure me out here to murder me.” She cast an affectionately irritated look at the young man. “You may wait for me at the bottom of the hill.”

The young man gave Rafe a once-over and did as his grandmother bade him.

In the center of the stone circle, she knelt, opened her bag, and set out several objects. After placing them in a particular order she gestured to Rafe. “Come, sit here.” She patted the ground next to her.

Rafe joined her on the cold ground. She poured salt in a circle around them and made a curious shape directly in front of them. The gypsy closed her eyes, raised her hands, and chanted in an unfamiliar tongue.

Lengthy minutes passed. Perhaps she was right; the legends were all fiction.

A soft light opened up in front of them. The size of a pinprick at first, it grew until it resembled an archway. The shape of a man dressed in brilliant white robes appeared beneath the arch, standing several feet in the air. The light brightened to near-blinding intensity.

Could this be real? Rafe shielded his eyes and squinted into the light, which emanated from the being as if he were the source. Rather than fear, wonder and awe filled Rafe, as well as a tremendous sense of his own mortality, his own insignificance.

A resonant voice boomed and vibrated through Rafe’s chest. “For what purpose have you summoned me?”

Hoarsely, Rafe said, “I have come to beg for your mercy, my lord, and allow Osanne Jewell to return to life.”