Bride of the Night by Heather Graham

you.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. President. I’ve come to beg you take care. You know that you have enemies all around you.”
    â€œI entered the great fray of politics—no man in politics is at a lack for enemies,” Lincoln assured her.
    She shook her head. “You know that your situation is different. Sir, you can’t be so open. You expose yourself to the trust of the people far too often. You must understand how fragile you are as a human being.”
    He walked to the window, and stared out at the length of the mall. His hands were folded behind his back.
    â€œI am not worthy. How can I serve people, if I cannot be among them? I can’t give them the answers they want far too often. But I can see that they know that my heart breaks when a man or a boy is killed. They can know that I spend my every waking hour thinking of ways to end this horror as soon as possible. I pray that we win the battles, so that the bloodshed can stop. We have come this far—we cannot be swayed from our position.” He turned back to her. “I feel that we are close. Having stayed our course, we will be triumphant.
    â€œI sometimes fear for myself, but more often I think of Mary. She weeps so often. Her family is Southern, and they suffer so. She is delicate. ‘Spiritualism’ became so popular in the Midwest when we were home, and at first, it seemed that she enjoyed exploring the possibilities—and, of course, the social interaction. But then our Willie died. She’s had séances here, in the Red Room. I have been, and I have seen, and we’ve had Dr. Henry—the head of the Smithsonian—in to investigate. And while he finds shenanigans among the mediums, Mary is unconvinced. She has seen the ghosts of my predecessors here, in the White House. She has seen Thomas Jefferson and Andrew Jackson and John Tyler. I know how troubled her mind is, but I…well, I have felt that I have known who will win a battle, and often my instincts have proven true. And I—”
    â€œSir,” Tara interrupted, hurrying over to him. “What’simportant is that you realize your physical danger. You are mortal. Any man might be an enemy.”
    He turned to her, and she could feel his hand as he touched her hair, smiling as gently as a father. “I will see you soon, I believe. I will see you soon.”
    Suddenly, she felt as if she was being pulled away from him. Great shadows that insinuated diabolical faces rushed between them. She was being hurled away, farther and farther, and she cried out, fighting the swarm of shadows.
    â€œHey!”
    She awoke with a start, and became aware of the hands firmly holding her shoulders. When she tried to bolt up, she was pushed back down.
    There were no shadows around her. She was lying on a blanket on the sand, her bed beneath the shelter of the tarp, the world around bursting with sunlight. She was even aware of the smell of something roasting, and the aroma was provocative.
    And she was facing the Pinkerton agent, Finn Dunne.
    â€œYou’re dreaming. Calling out and fighting in your sleep,” he told her.
    She stared at him a moment, trying to shake off the shadows and fog of the dream. She had no intention of giving him any explanations.
    The sun had really risen high, but then she hadn’t gone to sleep until it had started to rise. She smoothed back her hair, grateful that she’d been given a bit ofsoap by Captain Tremblay, and that she didn’t feel like a complete salt block.
    â€œRichard?” she asked. Her voice was thick.
    Finn offered her a canteen of water. She accepted it. The water was cool, crisp like the day, and it tasted delicious.
    â€œRichard fares quite well. He has been up and about, and is working with some of the men on salvage. Some of the goods aboard both ships survived. A few trunks floated to the surface, and Richard has suggested that we arrange a diving party to bring others up from