by Bailey Cates
The door flew open and Declan, Scott, Randy, and two other firefighters in full gear came in, carrying their helmets. Scott and Randy nodded to me as they passed by on their way to the register. “We’re here, Ben. As promised.”
My uncle laughed. “And in full costume, I see.”
“Hey, we can’t all be as original as that.” Randy pointed to Ben’s hat. “But at least we’re here to help hand out candy, whatever.”
Declan met my eyes and smiled, then gave a little nod toward the detectives Lucy and I were talking to. I shrugged.
Taite’s head tipped to the side as he looked around the room. “You seem to have plenty of help.”
“Can’t ever have too much,” I said, all bright and smiling.
His eyes narrowed at me. “Detective Quinn, what do you say we try some of that cider on offer?”
Quinn shrugged, but the curiosity was back on his face. “Fine by me.”
Lucy shot me a look of alarm, and I glanced down at my watch as she poured out hot cider for the detectives. We had an hour to get to Drayton Hills, and Mimsey had said it was on the very edge of town, but if we started changing out of our costumes now, Franklin Taite would know something was up.
* * *
It was ten minutes after nine when Taite and Quinn finally left. Jaida and Lucy quickly gathered supplies in the kitchen while I ran into the office to grab my tote. Mungo put his paws on the arm of the chair, ready to go.
“I’m sorry, little one. I need you to stay here.”
He glared at me.
“All the ladies are coming, and those druids will be there, too. I’ll be fine.”
He growled in the back of his throat.
I put the bag down and lifted him into my arms. “I want you to keep an eye on things here.” I nuzzled his head. “I know what you truly are, a wolf in terrier clothing. On Samhain, all sorts of things can happen. I need you to protect Ben and Declan and the others.”
When I put him back on the chair, he sighed and seemed to nod.
The spellbook club waited for me outside. Lucy pulled the Thunderbird up to the curb, and, still fully costumed, we piled in. With six of us, it was a tight fit. I wedged myself, gown and all, into the backseat, and off we went. Every time we turned a corner, Bianca’s Leia wig bumped my head, and I couldn’t see over Mimsey’s hat o’ fruit. At least it was warm enough to have the top down, so I could see the sidewalks of Savannah.
It was the middle of the week, so many locals had already headed home, but the out-of-towners were still going strong. Hearses carried paying passengers on the ghost tours all over the historic district, and I could hear the guides’ voices blaring through speakers clear down by the river. Heinrich was right: The tourists would be all over most of the cemeteries in town, especially Bonaventure, since it was featured in that wildly popular book set in Savannah.
Lucy drove quickly, following Mimsey’s directions, and soon we reached the edge of town. She turned left onto a gravel road. After about half a mile, she pulled over to the side and turned off the Thunderbird’s engine. I could hear it ticking in the cooling night and Bianca breathing beside me. A night bird called from the top of a tree.
I craned my neck but couldn’t see what lay ahead. “Mimsey,” I hissed, “can you take that contraption off your head?”
She opened the passenger door and got out. I crawled forward from the backseat, hauling my heavy skirt out. At least I had on sneakers. Mimsey removed her headdress and shook out her white pageboy.
“Much better,” she proclaimed in a low voice.
Something flew by. Cookie squeaked. “What was that?”
I whispered, “A bat, I think.”
She giggled nervously. I looked around at the others now standing by the car. Bianca looked like one very worried Princess Leia. Jaida’s expression was serious and determined as she took off the three-cornered hat and tossed it on the front seat. Lucy, however, appeared almost placid.
Ahead of us, a tall spiked gate blocked the road. It guarded a fenced-in area, heavily wooded and overgrown. Even in the bright light of the waning gibbous moon I couldn’t make out where the iron fencing ended.
The sound of tires on gravel made us turn our heads. A black Cadillac Escalade crunched slowly down the road, then pulled in behind the Thunderbird. Victor Powers got out from behind the wheel. He wore dark slacks and a zippered Windbreaker. Steve’s father stepped to the ground from the passenger seat, also clad in dark clothing. The rear doors opened to reveal Andersen Lane and Brandon Sikes.
Andersen shut the car door behind him and approached, peering at me through his plastic-framed glasses and tugging at the collar of his pin-striped oxford-cloth shirt. “I knew I was right to enlist your help.” He glanced around at the others. “I never would have suspected our erstwhile member’s progeny.”
“I just hope we can stop her.”
Victor Powers held out his hand. “We’ve never actually met, though I believe I did see you at my fund-raiser?”
After a second’s hesitation, I shook his hand. No comment on the fund-raiser.
Brandon’s eyes lit up when he saw Cookie’s Cleopatra costume. He kissed her on the cheek. “You look gorgeous.”
“So do you,” she said.
He did, actually, in a dark T-shirt and jeans, but everyone except the lovebirds exchanged disapproving looks.
As Heinrich’s gaze continued to take in the rest of the spellbook club, his disapproval deepened. “What on earth are you people wearing?”
I held up my palms. “We were at a party at the Honeybee. We had to dress up, and then there wasn’t time enough to change our clothes.”
He sniffed. “Well, you look ridiculous.”
Mimsey took a step forward. “And you look pompous. The Samhain spirits couldn’t care less what we look like, Heinrich. We have a job to do. Now let’s go do it.”
The Dragohs exchanged looks in the moonlight and turned as one to face the iron gate that blocked the road into the cemetery. They moved toward it, and the spellbook club followed. Two live oaks loomed on either side of the entrance, long shreds of moss hanging from the branches like clumps of trailing hair. Jaida fumbled a flashlight out of her knapsack and shone it on the lock. Rust encrusted the old-fashioned keyhole. Victor shook the gate, and the decayed metal sifted to the ground like so much red dust.
“It’s not locked,” Jaida said, and pushed against it. A brief shriek of metal on metal tore through the night, and the sky above filled with a rush of flapping wings. Victor and Brandon helped push the gate open a few more feet. Jaida shone the light through the opening to reveal a mass of overgrown vines.
“Is there another way in?” I asked. “Because I don’t think Nel came this way.”
“The road circles the fence,” Heinrich said. “There’s another gate on the opposite side.”
Andersen harrumphed. “I hope this hasn’t turned into a snipe hunt.”
No one responded, but I felt the same way.
Tires sounded on the road behind us again. My heart leaped in my chest as I watched the headlights barreling toward us. The vehicle suddenly swerved in behind the Cadillac. The driver cut the engine and lights, and then the sound of the door opening and closing reached our ears. I squinted at the approaching figure, recognizing his walk before I could make out his face.
Steve had joined the fray.
He stopped five feet away from where we’d gathered at the gate. The moonlight glinted off his hair. “Father.”
Heinrich nodded at his son in silence.
Steve looked at my face, then down at the dress, and again met my eyes. Something passed between us. I remembered months before when we’d linked together to heal a wounded man. The power we’d shared then had convinced me once and for all that I was a witch—and had saved the man’s life. Now it made me feel better that he’d come to help us. To help me. We worked well together magically.
Perhaps that was what he’d been referring to when he’d talked abou
t our destiny. Perhaps we’d be awfully good together in other ways, too. Perhaps I should rethink our relationship. Give it a try. I thought of Declan, back at the Honeybee. My good friend. But even if he was willing to roll with my being a witch, there could never be that bond of magic between us.
Steve walked right past me and stopped by his father’s side.
“Steve?” I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice.
He shook his head. “This is my place.” No apology, no explanation. Apparently, he’d rethought a few things himself.
I took a deep breath. Now was not the time to take umbrage. Now was the time to focus. “Since we don’t have a counter for the actual Spell of Necretius, we have to find Nel before midnight and bind her so she can’t summon Zesh in the first place,” I said.
“Did you bring the poppet?” Heinrich asked.
I nodded. “Cookie?”
She looked at Jaida, who extracted a small figure from the knapsack. It was about seven inches long and off-white. It was the stick figure of rag dolls—no clothes, no features, no anatomy other than torso, head, arms, and legs. It did, however, have a gray braid stitched to the scalp. Looking closer, I realized the whole thing was made of fiber rather than cloth.
“Where…?”
“It’s lightly felted wool,” Cookie said. “Annette already had the form and helped me…personalize it this afternoon. She thinks it’s for a Halloween gag.”
“Nice,” I said.
“How shall we do this?” Mimsey asked. “Y’all bind her while we protect you?”
The Dragohs looked at each other and appeared to reach a silent agreement. Victor nodded. “A circle within a circle.”
“All right.” Jaida patted the bag of magical goodies she carried. “We’re loaded for bear.”
“I hope you’re ready for considerably more than that,” Steve said, looking at me again. “Nel is willing to kill.”
“Well, now, I don’t know about that,” Heinrich said. “It’s unlikely she could even complete the summoning.”
“No, Father. Her attack on Katie was viciously strong. Don’t make the mistake of discounting her because she’s female.”
Heinrich began to bristle as the other men looked to him. Of course: The Dragohs were not a democracy. They had a leader, and it was Steve’s father. How had I not realized that before?
Would that role pass to Steve as well?
Then Heinrich looked at his son and nodded. “Understood.” He inclined his head toward me.
Slowly, I returned the gesture. “Where would Nel choose to cast the summoning spell?”
“I would choose the northern part of the cemetery,” Heinrich said. The other men murmured agreement.
Mimsey’s head bobbed. “Of course. Uriel’s side, near the edge where the veil will thin at midnight and the souls can cross.”
Chapter 30
“Let’s go, then.” I started pulling at the vines that clung to the gate, but they seemed to twine into the folds of my lacy skirt. I tried to tear it, but the fabric was too tough. “Darn it. I wish I’d had a chance to change out of this thing!” Frustration blew through my words.
Victor elbowed his way to my side. He leaned down, pulled up his pant leg, and extracted a ten-inch dagger from an ankle sheath. The metal blade gleamed wickedly. My breath caught as he plunged it into the edge of my skirt. Unless accompanied by food and a cutting board, knives gave me the heebie-jeebies, but I had to admit Victor’s athame was effective. Within moments the wedding dress had been modified into a mini, the skirt raggedly falling halfway down my thighs.
“Thanks,” I said.
“No problem.” Victor shouldered through the gate, now using the dagger to hack at the kudzu.
“Those high-tops are a nice touch,” Brandon said.
Cookie pushed him playfully.
Ignoring them both, I peered into the cemetery again.
A weight rustled against my shoulders, and I turned to find that Steve had put his jacket around me.
“Thank you, but I’m not cold.”
His gaze held affection and amusement. “Maybe not, but that white dress is bright enough to see from space. Zombie dirt or no zombie dirt.”
“Oh.” I tugged the navy blue fabric closer. “Good point.”
Heinrich fell into step behind Victor, and one by one the rest of us followed. The vines thinned enough within a few yards that we could move through them, albeit with care. They crawled over the graves, a green blanket to never warm the dead. Celtic crosses dotted what had once been a lawn to our left. Ivy and moss covered most of them to the point that only their vague shapes defined them as grave markers. To the right, a section was so overgrown with kudzu that no human could have gotten through it.
At least that narrowed the options.
The air grew cooler under the canopy of branches, and I was thankful for Steve’s jacket. The humid breeze caressed the back of my neck like fond fingers, and I shivered.
As the path widened, I saw it was a road broad enough for vehicles to drive down. None had for a long time, though. The Dragohs had taken point, Heinrich and Steve side by side in front, followed by Victor and Brandon. Andersen trailed behind them, and the spellbook club members followed, our jaws clenched. Around us, crumbling gravestones tilted, their lettering faded nearly smooth. It was like something out of a haunted house, the reality of it adding another level to the terror. My shoulders hunched against the possibility of something springing out from the darkness.
A bird flushed from a cluster of azaleas ahead. Cookie shrieked, then ducked her head in embarrassment. The men turned to glare at her, but Brandon broke rank and rushed to her side to put his arm around her.
“Sikes,” Heinrich admonished. Brandon moved back to his posse. Steve wouldn’t look at me.
We reached the northern edge of the cemetery without seeing any sign of Nel. The group paused. In the silence I heard Mimsey breathing. It had been a bit of a hike for a seventy-eight-year-old.
“Are you okay?” Lucy asked. Jaida took a bottle of water out of her supply bag.
Mimsey nodded at my aunt but took the water with a grateful smile.
“Maybe you were wrong about Nel after all,” Andersen said to me.
I curled my fingers around the iron fence and leaned my forehead against the back of my hand. “I don’t think so. Maybe she’s planning to summon Zesh from some other place altogether.”
I opened my eyes. “Wait. Do you guys see that?” I pointed at a bright red MINI Cooper—just like the one Nel had driven away from the gallery the night of Brandon Sikes’ art show. “She’s here. Somewhere.”
“Maybe we should break into pairs and search separately,” Cookie said, flashing a look at Brandon.
“Are you crazy?” I asked at the same time that Heinrich said, “Absolutely not.”
She shrugged, chastised.
“Hang on.” I sniffed the air. A thin wisp of something familiar.
Of something burning. Not hair this time, thank goodness. But something nasty nonetheless.
With everyone’s curious eyes watching, I took another deep breath and oh so carefully cast out with my mind. Gently, gently—there. A trace of that cold slipperiness I’d felt by Lawrence Eastmore’s shed.
“This way,” I said, turning to the west. A narrow path led through the wreckage of gravestones. I began to move down it. Heinrich followed me without a word. Victor fell in next, and the others followed.
“Are you sure—” I heard Andersen begin before Bianca shushed him.
The nature of the underbrush changed. Less dense, more dry. The ivy and even much of the kudzu had been beaten back. It appeared someone maintained this part of the cemetery, at least to a minor degree. The air smelled green, but I could still detect the burning smell under the lushness.
The ground suddenly collapsed beneath my foot. I gasped, stumbled, and managed to catch myself on a headstone. It crumbled under my hand as I pushed myself upright. Heinrich grabbed my other elbow
. I leaned on him, extricating my foot from the loamy earth. I had gone in to my ankle, but my high-top had helped protect the joint.
“You okay?” he asked in a low voice.
I took a tentative step. “I think so. Nothing’s broken or sprained.”
The others gathered around, concern on their faces. “Be careful,” I whispered. “The ground is uneven, and there are sinkholes.”
Everyone nodded.
We continued on. It took me four more steps to realize that sinkholes in a cemetery had to be because the plots had been caving toward the center of the earth for many years. I hid a shudder from Heinrich, who had remained by my side, and moved on with great care.
The silver light of the moon shone at an angle through the branches of the trees. I was glad it was past full. A full moon on Samhain would add another factor to the mix, and there were plenty of things to think about already.
The teasing odor became infinitesimally stronger. We were getting closer; I could feel it. Did she know we were coming?
Had she enticed me closer on purpose?
Well, that thought certainly slowed my steps. The others rustled behind me. I craned my neck. There was no sign of Nel. The brilliance of the moonlight shone in the sky, and the trees and underbrush had become thicker again. Only spots of illumination fell all the way to the ground now.
I stopped altogether. We all stood perfectly still. Quiet descended, enveloped us. A bird flapped its wings, breaking the silence. I heard a slither in the bushes and tensed until the sound grew fainter.
Great: snakes. I hated snakes.
I turned in a circle, taking in the bare space around us. How much farther? What direction? From what I could tell, we were smack-dab in the middle of the cemetery. Bare dirt ran from my feet to a square stone structure in the middle of the clearing. A building, really, at least twenty-five feet square. A tapered dome roof reached toward the sky. Four marble steps led to a landing and a recessed entry. I squinted at the name carved under the roofline.
DRAYTON.
A hand on my shoulder made me jump. Mimsey leaned close, barely whispering in my ear. “Aboveground burial for the Drayton family.”
