The Anderson farmhouse was imposing, consisting of three floors of living space, a basement, and an attic. The entire adult population of the town had attended their burial and had managed to squeeze themselves into the first-floor rooms. Amber grabbed a plate from the kitchen buffet table and filled it to overflowing before taking a seat at the dining room table next to Grey. She sat quietly stuffing forkfuls of food into her mouth while he talked to one of the local deputies about the fire at the motel. "Who called about the fire?"
"The night manager, Fred. He smelled smoke coming from the room and grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher. When he opened the door, he was hit by a lot of smoke and steam. Just as he pulled the pin on the canister, according to Fred, the fire just quit. Poof! Gone. It was out when we got there. He opened the room for us. Sheriff went in first. Smell was something awful."
"Photos?" Amber mumbled with a mouth full of food.
"Is it possible for me to see photographs of the room?" Grey asked.
"Sure. You want digital? I can email them to you," the deputy said as he pulled out his phone. "Just let me make a note."
"Do you have copies of them on your phone?" Grey pulled out his phone. "We can transfer them directly. Save you some data charges."
The deputy located the file on his phone. "That's the folder you want."
Amber turned her attention back to the ten-year-old boy. He had barely touched the plate of food in front of him and seemed on the verge of tears. He had been twirling the tines of his fork on the paper plate, basically rearranging the food on it. Suddenly, he dropped the fork and bolted from the table running up the stairs. His aunt started up the stairs after him, but the minister's wife stopped her. Amber wafted up the stairs while the two women argued over the right thing to do for the boy.
Amber paused briefly in his second-floor bedroom and glanced at the fantasy posters on his wall and the science-fiction books in his room. She could hear his footsteps echo as he ran up the second flight of stairs. A quick pass through the wall into his parent's bedroom gave her a sense of their level of devotion to their only child. There were photo albums by the mother's side of the matrimonial bed and several framed photographs of his from birth to the present day hanging on the walls
AS Amber passed to the third floor, she found abandoned bedrooms where the family had lived before the death of Mr. Anderson's parents. They had inherited the house and moved down to the lower floor several years ago. The remnants of the boy's nursery remained with a slight coating of dust. By the time she had finished examining the floor, the boy had found his way up into the attic.
Michael Anderson was huddled against an old steamer trunk that had been shoved beneath an eave. The only light streamed in through a porthole window located just below the peak of the roof. The attic was dimly lit and dusty. Spiders had covered a corner with cobwebs. Amber could feel a cold draft swirling about the room. Tears rolled down his cheeks dampening the knees of his jeans. Amber walked slowly toward the sobbing child. "I won't hurt you." Amber tried to reach out to him, but something slapped her hand aside. "I'm here to protect you from whatever killed your parents." She tried to move closer, but something stood in her way. She kept talking. "It wasn't you. I know you think it had to be, that you saw them die. But you didn't kill them."
"Kill them," a ghostly whisper echoed Amber's last words. A sudden gust of cold air tossed Amber to the other end of the attic where an old dressing mirror stood. Glass shards exploded outward from the frame while Amber fell forward. She picked herself up from the floor and shook loose the glass fragments.
After rising from the pile of broken glass, Amber chose her next words carefully, "I'm here to help Michael."
"Help Michael," the whisper echoed. "Keep him safe."
"Yes, we must keep him safe," she replied to the wraith. "You know what I am."
"Trouble," the wraith whispered. "Your kind are always trouble."
"I am Ambergris," she whispered in reply. "I cause no harm to the innocent."
"Your name means nothing," the wraith replied. "I am his grandmother, Isabel. I protect him."
"Yet you hide up here," Amber moved closer to Isabel. "Because the real danger is down below?"
"Too many shadows," Isabel explained, "I cannot see."
Amber smiled. "Please tell me that you are tied to the boy and not the house." Isabel nodded. "He will be safe with his aunt and uncle, but you must tell him what he is. My friend, Grey, and I will deal with the one who made him an orphan. Your grand-daughter and her husband are in danger."
Amber accompanied Isabel over to her great-grandson and properly introduced the young clairvoyant to his ghostly guardian. While the two of them became better acquainted, Amber made her way downstairs in time to rescue her unfinished plate of food. When she returned the two women were still arguing. Michael's aunt stood her ground, raising her voice to match the volume of the minister's wife. The argument ceased when Michael made his way back down the stairs, choosing to cling to his aunt and keeping distant from the other woman.
