Look For Me By Moonlight by Mary Downing Hahn Page A

an ignorant old woman.”
    â€œOn the contrary, Jeff, I agree with Hamlet.” Vincent leaned forward and gazed into Dad’s eyes. “‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,’” he quoted, “Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”
    Vincent spoke with a quiet conviction that made me shiver, but Dad merely shrugged and said something about Shakespeare’s gift for turning a phrase. I noticed that Susan didn’t join in Dad’s laughter. Like me, she huddled deeper into the sofa and folded her arms across her chest to ward off the cold.
    I found my voice with difficulty. “Are you saying you believe in ghosts, Vincent?”
    â€œYes, Cynda, I most definitely do.” As he spoke, a log fell in the fireplace and sent a shower of sparks racing up the chimney.
    The noise startled us all, including Ebony. Uncoiling from his place beside me, he jumped off the couch and stalked toward the door. Halfway across the room, he noticed our guest and came to a dead stop. Vincent stretched a slender hand toward him, but Ebony sidestepped deftly and disappeared into the dark hall.
    Seemingly indifferent to the cat’s snub, Vincent rose to his feet. “I must bid you good night,” he said. “If I encounter a ghost, I’ll let you know tomorrow. In the meantime, sleep well.”
    The three of us watched our guest climb the stairs, his step almost as noiseless as Ebony’s. After his door shut softly, Susan turned to Dad. “What a charming man,” she said. “Handsome—and so mysterious.”
    Dad slid his arm around her waist. “Are you trying to make me jealous, Susie?”
    She laughed. “Of course not, silly.”
    Dad turned to me. “Has Vincent won your heart too, Cynda?”
    â€œHe’s very intelligent,” I said, struggling to hide my interest in our guest. “He knows so much about everything—history, politics . . .”
    Dad agreed. “I wish we had more guests who enjoyed talking about something besides the weather.”
    â€œHe’s open-minded, too,” I put in. “He didn’t think what I said about ghosts was dumb.”
    That made Dad chuckle. Giving me a hug, he said, “I’m sorry, Cynda, but I can’t help being a skeptic.”
    Susan looked sympathetic. “Face it, Cynda. Your father’s a dreadful old cynic.” Taking Dad’s hand, she led him toward the stairs. “Let’s call it a night, Jeff. Ghosts or no ghosts, I’m exhausted.”
    Dad paused to bank the fire. Then, giving me a quick kiss, he followed Susan. Without them, the room seemed cold and unnaturally still. I blew out the candles hastily and ran down the hall, resisting the urge to look behind me.
    Safe in bed with Ebony curled up beside me, I lay awake a long time trying to sort out my feelings. As much as Vincent fascinated me, he made me uneasy. More than once I’d caught him looking at me with an intensity I didn’t understand. His eyes were dark, unreadable—did he find me attractive or simply amusing? It was hard to imagine a man his age being interested in me, yet I could have sworn something intangible quivered in the air between us, a knowledge, a familiarity, a scary sense of destiny fulfilled.
    When I fell asleep at last, Vincent followed me into my dreams. We were walking through the inn, but it had become a labyrinth of narrow halls and twisting corridors; I was lost, I wanted to get out, but every door I opened led to another room, darker and smaller than the one before. Vincent silenced my fears with laughter and kisses and promises. “You belong in the dark with me,” he murmured. “I am the king of night and you are my queen.”
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    I woke with his words ringing in my ears. Sunshine poured through the windows, filling the room with a dazzling white light. I smelled coffee brewing and muffins baking. In the hall, the clock