It wasn’t unusual for Adelaide Darke to encounter handsome men in the cemetery, but nine times out of ten, those men were dead.

This handsome dude, on the other hand, was definitely alive.

She sat on her favorite bench in the Necropolis, the one that perched in the shade of an overgrown willow tree, and tried not to appear too obvious as she ogled him. She held up her book, a dog-eared and worn copy of a behind-the-scenes guide to the making of Star Wars, and discreetly cast her eye toward him.

The man led a small group of people toward one of the graves, about twenty feet away from where Adelaide sat. He was tall, white and slim, with angular features, ones that were somewhat softened by his tousled sandy hair. It was a warm summer’s day and he was dressed in shorts, sneakers and a gray T-shirt. Adelaide peered at the familiar logo on the shirt, an illustration of Edward Gorey’s The Gashlycrumb Tinies.

She had the same shirt. They clearly shared the same dark sense of humor.

The view just got better and better.

The man gestured toward the grave, a red stone obelisk, and spoke to the people in his group. “This is the monument for Thornton and Lucie Blackburn. Enslaved in Kentucky, the Blackburns managed several daring escapes over the years. At one point, when Thornton was imprisoned, the Black community rose up in protest, an event now known as the Blackburn Riots. Eventually, the couple escaped for good and settled in Toronto in 1834. Thornton established the city’s first taxi business in 1837. Known as ‘The City,’ it consisted of a horse and carriage. The business grew over the years, giving the Blackburns resources to assist other enslaved people with their escapes. They remained active in the community and with anti-slavery activities, and helped to build Little Trinity Church. When Thornton died in 1890, his estate encompassed eighteen-thousand dollars and six properties in Toronto. Lucie passed away five years later. In 1985, the remains of their home were discovered under a local school. After an archaeological dig, a plaque was erected to commemorate this amazing couple. They were deemed ‘Persons of National Historic Significance’ in 1999.”

He gestured for the group to follow him. “Now, let’s head over to the grave of Ned Hanlan, Canada’s famed professional rower.”

He must be the new tour guide at the Necropolis. The previous tour guide, Nancy, had told Adelaide someone would be replacing her.

Because Adelaide hung out at the cemetery a lot, probably more than her sisters thought was healthy, she’d gotten to know Nancy. When the guide had mentioned she was retiring, Adelaide had assumed her replacement would be…similar.

“Another old lady, you mean?”

“Ssh, Maria. Not now.”

She must have said the words louder than she thought because the hot tour guide glanced in her direction, a curious expression on his face. He led his group toward the Hanlan grave.

Great. Yet another person who thought she was a weirdo for talking to herself when she wasn’t actually talking to herself.

Maria had been with Adelaide for as long as she could remember. Adelaide’s recollection of her early years was remarkably vivid, including the first time Maria had materialized. Addy had been in her crib, happily gurgling away, when all of a sudden, a little girl had entered the room. She’d smiled at Addy and held out her hand, saying they would be best friends forever, that she would take care of her. Even at such a tender age, Adelaide had experienced a surreal calmness and a sense that everything was right.

They’d been inseparable ever since. Maria’s outward form had changed over the years, growing along with Adelaide. When she saw her now, she presented as an adult. Maria had guided her through tough situations and had helped her through her most difficult paranormal investigations. With her sisters Edwina and Susannah, Adelaide ran Darke Paranormal Investigations, and they’d made a name for themselves by clearing their clients’ homes and businesses of unwanted spirit people.

So, basically, she and Maria were a package deal. As much as she was at peace with her strange reality, she still couldn’t help feeling like an outsider sometimes.

“He’s attractive. Definitely has that ‘I-was-a-goth-in-high-school’ vibe,” Maria teased. “Just your type.”

Adelaide frowned and shoved her book back into her tote bag. She pulled out a green apple and angrily nibbled it.

“What? You know I’m right. Don’t you have that exact same shirt?”

“Irrelevant,” Adelaide mumbled behind her apple.

Curious about the new guide, she got up from the bench and followed his group discreetly, pretending to read a couple of the headstones. Of course, she didn’t really need to read any of them to learn about the occupants of the graves. All she needed to do was close her eyes and concentrate on the person, or touch the monuments, and images would flood her brain.

It was a lot to take at times, but Adelaide had learned how to filter the information and the messages from the dead.

It didn’t mean they didn’t sneak up on her sometimes.

The tour guide hit a few of the other graves that Nancy had included on her tour. George Brown, a Father of Confederation. William Lyon Mackenzie, rebel and Toronto’s first mayor. Kay Christie, one of only two Canadian nurses to have been taken prisoner in World War II.

Every so often, the guide’s gaze strayed toward Adelaide.

She hung back, conscious of the fact that she wasn’t a paying customer. She didn’t want him to think she was trying to get the tour for free.

He approached another grave and turned to it, a wistful expression on his face. “I think, of all the monuments here at the Necropolis, this one means the most to me. It’s not flashy, like some of the others. It’s not dedicated to a famous person. The headstone is simple plain gray marble. What fascinates me most is the inscription. ‘Sarah Byrne, died Nov. 24, 1860. Aged 28 years. Sheltered and safe from sorrow.’”

He paused, never lifting his gaze from the headstone. “Sarah Byrne was an Irish immigrant, one of many who escaped Ireland during the Great Famine. Although she didn’t have to deal with famine here in Toronto, her life would not have been an easy one. Sarah’s family lived in a worker’s cottage at the north end of the cemetery, on Amelia Street. For people like the Byrnes, there was plenty of hardship, poverty and loss. In fact, Sarah lost all her children. During the time Sarah was alive, Irish Catholic immigrants lived on the edge of society and formed the greater part of the urban poor. My own ancestors came here on the ‘coffin ships’ from Ireland, ships that were so rife with overcrowding and sickness that many of those passengers never made it.”

His voice cracked. “‘Sheltered and safe from sorrow.’ And she was only twenty-eight years old. Well, we’ve got a couple more stops. Watch your step on the tree root as you follow me around the bend.”

Moved by the guy’s words and the emotion in his voice, Adelaide approached Sarah Byrne’s burial place. She’d never really noticed this grave before on her previous cemetery jaunts. It looked like so many of the other headstones. Still, the poignant inscription made her pause.

Out of habit, she touched the marble stone, curious to learn something more about the woman resting under it. A terrible wave of sadness washed over Adelaide, distressing her to her core. It was an overwhelming, clawing sensation and it dug its nails into her being.

“Be careful,” warned Maria.

All at once, Adelaide’s gaze was drawn to some movement at the far end of the cemetery. A spirit woman glided between the monuments, her face turned toward the tour group. Her Victorian garb was torn and dirty and her brown hair hung loose around her shoulders. She was pale in the face, paler than anyone ever should be. Her dead eyes were lit with a frightening sort of focus. She walked right in front of Adelaide without sparing her even a glance.

Strange. They always come right to me.

Instead, she headed toward the tour guide. All her attention was concentrated on him.

As the man continued his talk, leading his group to several other graves, the spirit woman followed. She snaked between the tourists, even passing through a few of them, her unsettling gaze never faltering. At one point, she extended a hand toward the guide, as if trying to latch onto him.

“That might be a problem,” Maria said.

Immediately on edge, Adelaide put up her mental wards. Over the years, she’d learned how to protect herself from invasive spirits. In general, they swarmed her once they sensed her light, but she was able to erect a sort of barrier when the attention from the dead became a bit too much.

But this woman didn’t even seem interested in her.

Without trying to connect directly with the dead woman, Adelaide tried to glean as much information as she could about her.

All she saw was harrowing anguish.

“Who is she, Maria?”

“She is darkness.”

Maria could be cryptic sometimes.

The guy finished up his tour and thanked the others for joining him. A few people lingered to ask him questions, but most of them scattered quickly, obviously having had enough of cemeteries. Adelaide understood. Places like the Necropolis oozed creepy, gothic atmosphere.

As it happened, Adelaide was quite comfortable among creepy, gothic things. She understood dead people.

Living people, though? Not so much.

“You have to tell him,” Maria urged.

“And say what, exactly? ‘A dead woman has the hots for you?’” Normally, Adelaide didn’t have an issue with approaching strangers with messages from the dead, but this guy intimidated her with his tousled hair, chiseled jaw and superior taste in T-shirts.

“Tell him. If she lingers, he’s not safe.”

“Okay, okay. Just let me do it in my own way. No outbursts, please.”

The guy said goodbye to the last tourist and headed over. His generous mouth curled with what looked like a shy sort of interest. He was completely oblivious to the gruesome specter following him.

Adelaide’s face heated.

“Sorry to bother you,” he said. “I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed interested in the tour. We run them every couple of weeks.”

“Oh, I know. I knew Nancy, the previous guide.”

“So, you’re a…regular, here at the cemetery?”

And here we go. Cue judgment in three…two…

“Because I love it here,” he interjected. “So much history in one place and it’s really beautiful. You can see why Victorian people made coming to the Necropolis a bit of an event. They’d come to pay their respects to dead loved ones and hang out for a few hours, having picnics and catching up with family.”

Hmm. He really is a nerd, just like me. “Yeah, right. And, um, yes. I guess you could say I’m a regular.” As a psychic medium, Adelaide needed lots of time in the fresh air, to break up the moments spent in the presence of the deceased. Aside from her work with Darke Paranormal Investigations, she was a professional medium and did a lot of readings. All that spiritual energy could be draining. “I live nearby and I come for a lot of walks here.”

The whole time they spoke, the spirit woman hovered near him, drinking him in.

As much as it put Adelaide on guard, she could understand the fascination. Up close, he was super cute. He had amber brown eyes and the cheekbones of a soap opera actor. There was something lovely about the way he was smiling at her, but Adelaide knew that smile would disappear the moment he figured out she was a weird girl with an interest in dead things.

She was definitely interested in the dead thing clinging to him.

He held out his hand. “I’m Will Moran.”

“Adelaide Darke.” She waited a nanosecond before grasping his hand. Touching others could sometimes be problematic for people like her because it tended to release the hounds, so to speak. Sure enough, as she slid her fingers against his, a barrage of other spirits appeared behind him, wanting to pass on messages. Adelaide tuned in for a few seconds, in case anyone had pressing concerns, but they were mostly just trying to share their love. She released his hand and silently held his dead relatives at bay. She couldn’t afford to become invested in his family backstory, not while he had another, darker entity hovering around him.

The spirit woman gazed at him like she wanted to make him her next meal.

Somewhere in the background, Maria began to cough. That was her way of warning the living that shit was about to go down. Adelaide quickly covered her mouth and pretended to be the one coughing.

“You okay?” asked Will.

Begging Maria to settle down, Adelaide held up a finger. “Sorry about that. Seasonal allergies.” Once she was convinced Maria would behave, she resumed the conversation. “So, are you a full-time tour guide?”

“No, that’s just a fun side hustle.” He rolled his eyes, obviously aware that not everyone would consider that fun. “I work for the City of Toronto Museums. We’re opening a new location right here in Cabbagetown, in one of the old workers’ cottages on Amelia Street. I’m the lucky guy who gets to curate it.”

“Amelia Street. Where Sarah Byrne lived.”

“You really were listening.” His voice rose in delight. “And yeah. Believe it or not, that’s exactly where I’m working. The City was able to acquire the Byrne house when it went up for sale a while back, so that’ll be the museum’s home.”

“Interesting.” Adelaide tried once again to extract information from the dead woman, but she refused to engage. “It must be fascinating to be a curator.”

He leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, I think so, but I’m kind of geeky that way. How about you, Adelaide?”