Part 1 (1/2)

Crimson Twilight.

A Krewe of Hunters Novella.

By Heather Graham.

On the Krewe of Hunters.

By Heather Graham.

I've always been fascinated by both history and stories that had elements that were eerie and made us wonder what truly goes on, what is the human soul-and is there life after death? When I was young, I devoured gothic novels and became a fan of Was.h.i.+ngton Irving, Edgar Allan Poe, Bram Stoker's Dracula and Mary Sh.e.l.ley's Frankenstein.

And with years pa.s.sing-for some of us earlier in life and others later-we lose people. When we lose people, we have to believe that we'll see them again, that there is a Heaven or an afterlife. Sometimes, it's the only true comfort we have. I think it's a beautiful part of us-the love we can have for others. But it also allows for pain so deep it can't be endured unless we have that belief that we can and will meet again.

Having grown up with a Scottish father and an Irish mother, I naturally spent some time in church learning the Nicene Creed-in which we vow that we believe in the Holy Ghost.

I suppose people with very mathematical and scientific minds can easily explain away such things as ”death” experiences shared by many who technically died on operating tables before being brought back. ”Neurons snapping in the brain,” is one explanation I've heard.

But I sadly lack a scientific brain and my math is pathetic, so I choose to believe that all things may be possible.

Have I ever sat down with a ghost myself? No.

But I have been many places where it's easy to imagine that the dead might linger. I've heard of many strange tales. And I love the chance that when a loved one needs to be soothed, when a right must be avenged, a ghost-or perhaps the strength and energy of the human soul-might remain.

Thus the Krewe.

Who better than an offshoot of a crime-fighting agency to help these wronged individuals-far too, well, dead, themselves-who wish to set the record straight?

I've had incredible chances myself to do wonderful things and while I haven't met a ghost, I have certainly been places where the very air around you feels different. Walking through the Tower of London, stepping into Westminster Cathedral-or standing at dusk on one of the hallowed fields of Gettysburg, you can easily feel seeped with history and the lives that went before us.

I've enjoyed working on the Krewe novels, setting them various places I've loved myself. Each year, a group of writers takes the Lizzie Borden house for a night. For promo, I've done a doc.u.mented seance at the House of the Seven Gables. I've been on expeditions with ghost ”hunters” on the Queen Mary, the Spanish Military Hospital, the Myrtles Plantation, and many more wonderful locations where history, time, and place took their toll on men and women.

Wonderfully fun things happen. The incredible owner of the Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast and Museum, has restored the house to as close to the way it looked the fateful day that Lizzie herself either did-or didn't-take an ax (or hatchet!) and give her mother forty whacks. (It was really somewhere between 18 and 20, but that doesn't work well in a rhyme!) One year, the Biography Channel was filming there and my newly graduated Cal-Arts actress daughter, Chynna Skye, played Lizzie Borden for the Biography Channel-and hacked me to pieces as Abby Borden. (What a charming mother/daughter shot, right?) I've stayed at the 17hundred90 Inn in Savannah in the room from which their resident ghost, Anne, pitched to her death. The management there has a wonderful sense of humor-they have a mannequin of Anne in one of the windows, waving to those on the tours that go by. We also happened to follow a then young recording and television star's stay in the room. She left the inn a letter, telling them that Anne had been in her luggage, messing up all her packing. Having spent time with ghost trackers who did seek the logical explanation first, all I could think was, ”But did you look for the note from the TSA?”

A favorite occasion was at the Spanish Military Hospital in St. Augustine where, watching the cameras set up by my friends, the Peace River Ghost Trackers, I was certain I saw a ghost. But good ghost trackers are out to find the solid solution to a ”haunting” first-it was pointed out to me that I was seeing Scott's shadow as he moved across the room.

While Adam Harrison first makes his appearance in Haunted, the Krewe of Hunters series actually begins with Phantom Evil, taking place in one of my favorite cities in the world, New Orleans, Louisiana. I have put on a writers' conference there every year since the awful summer of storms and flooding decimated the city. There are few places in the world with an aura of ”faded elegance,” of the past being an integral part of the present. There are tales of courage there, of tragedy, and of adventure. The cemeteries stir the imaginations of the most solid thinkers. There are many ghosts with the right to be truly furious at their earthly fates-not to mention some of the most delicious food in the world!

Jane Everett and Sloan Trent first meet during a wicked season of murder at an old theater in Arizona reminiscent of the Bird Cage. The Wild, Wild, West certainly had its share of violence and intrigue as well. Cultures came together and clashed, miners sought treasure, and the ever-present human panorama of life went on-including love gone wrong, hatred, jealousy, and greed.

And where ghosts might well linger. If they exist, of course.

For this story-while thankfully, nothing went wrong and it was an incredibly beautiful day!-I have chosen a castle in New England and the seed of its imagining came from a real wedding-my son's.

Yes, in America, we have castles. That's because we've had men who lived with ma.s.sive fortunes and could indulge their whims and have them brought over-brick by brick or stone by stone-from a European country. And there's just something about a castle...

So many things can go wrong at a wedding. What with dresses, a wedding party, nervous brides, nervous grooms, bad caterers, and so on.

But what could be worse than the minister-dead on the morning of the nuptials?.

Dedication.

For Franci Naulin and D.J. Davant.

Yevgeniya Yeretskaya and Derek Pozzessere.

and Alicia Ibarra and Robert Rosello.

And to all kinds of different, beautiful-wonderful weddings!

One Thousand and One Dark Nights.

Once upon a time, in the future...

I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.

I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast library at my father's home and collected thousands of volumes of fantastic tales.

I learned all about ancient races and bygone times. About myths and legends and dreams of all people through the millennium. And the more I read the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually become part of them.

I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I would not be telling you this tale now.

But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off with bravery.

One afternoon, curious about the myth of the Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar (Persian: , ”king”) married a new virgin, and then sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade, the vizier's daughter, he'd killed one thousand women.

Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged places with Scheherazade a phenomena that had never occurred before and that still to this day, I cannot explain.

Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have taken on Scheherazade's life and the only way I can protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to protect herself and stay alive.

Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.

And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.

And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that he might hear the rest of my dark tale.

As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before you now.

Chapter 1.

”I say we fool around again,” Sloan Trent said.

Jane Everett smiled.