Chapter 5

Long after I dropped Pascal off at Bonaventure for the night, I idled the wagon before the front gate next to Matty, who hadn't woken yet. Some days hit him hard like that. I should have driven us home and put him to bed, but I kept sitting there, staring out onto the world of the dead as they roused for the evening.

As if a flock of birds had startled, the spirits burst into silvery wisps, bolting for the safety of their graves.

"Give me a minute," I murmured to Matty, drawn out of the wagon to discover what had alarmed them.

As if I didn't already have a pretty good idea of exactly who had scared them into hiding.

After locking Matty in with his cellphone balanced on his knee, I climbed the fence and took Stoddard Way.

"Go."

"Leave."

"Flee before him."

Once again, the spirits urged me to abandon this place that had always brought me such comfort. But if there was something wrong here, I owed it to them to discover the cause and eliminate it. And if the stranger was the problem, I needed a better read on him, and on what he was, before determining a course of action. That was my reasoning as I skirted their warnings yet again.

"You come here often."

Heart in my throat, I spun toward the voice, certain he was more handsome than I remembered him. His skin luminesced under the moon, and his eyes gleamed in the low shadows cast by the monument rising above his head. His clothes were expensive…and once again flecked with mud as if he had been wading through the underbrush near the Wilmington River that ran behind the cemetery.

"Apparently so do you."

"Lately, yes." He tilted his head, birdlike, and studied me. "You look different."

"I just got off work." I gestured to my dark wash jeans and my tee with the shop logo printed across the front. "I had to give a coworker a lift home."

"Your coworker lives in the cemetery?"

The slip caused my pulse to quicken, or maybe the sharpness in his gaze left me breathless.

The blip of predatory interest wasn't a point in his favor, with the whole soul devourer thing ringing in my ears, but I couldn't help but wonder. Who was he? What was he doing here? How did one devour a soul? What manner of creature would pick entrees from a cemetery buffet?

"Why do you come here?" I started walking, to see if he would follow. "Enjoy moonlit strolls, do you?"

Prickles coasted down my spine to have an unknown entity at my back, but I didn't sense a threat from him. I was giving him a chance to act on my vulnerability, but so far, he had yet to capitalize on it.

"Devourer."

"Devourer of souls."

"Leave. Go. Run."

Clearly, the spirits were still having none of it. With a nickname like Devourer of Souls, I could see why.

"This cemetery is quieter than I recall from my last visit." He sounded puzzled. "Where are the spirits?"

Hard to believe he couldn't hear them, but not everyone could, even when they were yelling at me.

"Spirits?" I decided to play dumb, see how he reacted. "Don't tell me you believe in ghosts?"

The tip of his nose grazed my nape in an upward glide, and he inhaled me slowly.

"You smell of the grave." His breath gusted across my skin. "Of moonlight and earth and candlewax."

Jolting at the unexpected contact, I scurried ahead a few steps to put space between us. Just because I wasn't dead didn't mean I wanted to test his devouring skills on me. "It's rude to sniff people."

"Apologies."

Just like before, his hands remained in his pockets the entire time. As if he didn't want to scare me.

"You're a little strange." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"You wouldn't be the first." He dipped his chin until it hit his chest. "I doubt you're the last."

"Same." I chuckled at his surprise I was an odd duck too. "Would you like to get something to eat?" The offer popped out of my mouth without my permission, as casual as you please, as if I asked strange men out every day. "There's a seafood place on River Drive."

Sharing a meal, away from the cemetery, was a good way to discover what the spirits saw in him. And he might be more forthcoming if he was full. I doubted spirits, being ephemeral, were all that filling.

"I've already eaten, but would you like to walk with me for a while longer?" He swept out his arm, indicating the path ahead. "I find I enjoy the company."

Maybe the spirits would get more specific in their warnings if I pushed my luck. "I have a little time."

"You're a necromancer." A faint smile touched his lips when he noticed the identification unnerved me. "You have more than a little time."

Not about to open that can of worms, I sidestepped the assumption I could live for hundreds of years.

"You strike me as someone who has more than a little time himself."

"I am old," he agreed, his expression somber. "I will be older still when I am done."

"You don't sound particularly happy about it. Plenty of folks would kill to live forever."

A stillness swept through him. "What makes you think I haven't?"

As my heart kicked hard just once, I was saved from responding by the trilling of my phone.

Recognizing the number, I awarded the call my full attention. "Mary?"

A nickname felt safer with this peculiar eavesdropper than using Matty's real one.

"Where'd you go?" His voice was soft with sleep. "Bathroom?"

"I'll be right there."

Working up the nerve to face the stranger, I lifted my gaze, prepared to make my excuses.

But he was gone.

Again.

As I pulledinto the shop, I spotted Harrow sitting on the bottom step leading up to our apartments.

Beside me, Matty had conked out, so I left him in the wagon while I went to confront my guest.

"We have a problem." Harrow rubbed a hand over his face. "We got an ID back on the victim."

He didn't stand, just let me tower over him. I liked it. This must be how it felt to be him—above it all.

"Okay." I lost a fraction of my cockiness when I noticed his bloodshot eyes. "Who was he?"

"Duncan Phelps."

"Okay," I repeated myself when the name didn't register. "Who was he?"

"A vampire." Gripping the rail, he hauled himself to his feet. "The blood on scene came from his dinner."

Of all the creatures to kill, she had to target a vampire? They were the Society's bread and butter.

Head spinning, I couldn't decide if I wanted to puke, cry, or puke and then cry.

"That makes this a para-on-para crime." I wished he would move so I could sink down and take his place. "You have to report it." I clutched at the rail to keep my legs from giving out on me. "You have to tell the sentinels." Familiar panic clawed up the back of my throat. "My family… The shop… Our home…"

"As far as they need to know, a human woman killed her vampire lover after he traded her in for a newer model." His rough hand settled over mine, his warmth sinking into me. "Case closed, okay?"

His offer to stretch the truth like taffy sold on River Street left me too stunned to reply.

Humans did kill vampires. Not often. But it did happen.

"The victim wasn't staked," I pointed out as the shock wore off enough to get my tongue working. "They won't find a cause of death for Brightman either."

She had died of natural causes, but the spell would prevent them from pinning down the reason.

"Leave that up to me."

"Be straight with me. Will this work? Will they believe you? Or are you just giving me time to pack a bag and run?" I was only half kidding, unable to trust he could—that he would—protect me. "Why cover for me?"

"Help me figure out what happened." His earnestness drilled into me. "Help me find the real killer."

"The real killer?" My arms turned to limp noodles that flopped down at my sides. "You believe me."

Shock rendered me mute that he would extend that much faith to me, and my control over my talent.

"I believe you love your family enough to want to give them the best life possible, and that means you wouldn't do anything to draw unwanted attention to yourself knowing it could blow back on them." His gaze wandered over the property. "You've built something special here. I would hate to see you lose it."

"Fine." I couldn't decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. Puking was still on the table too. "You win."

"You'll help?"

"Do I have another option?"

Harrow cocked an eyebrow at me, which was answer enough.

Forcing my spine to straighten, I released the rail. "When do we start?"

"Do you have plans tonight?"

Aside from checking on Mrs. Minchin, just to be on the safe side, I drew a blank.

"Plans?" I couldn't remember the last time I had nonwork plans. "What are those?"

A commiserating smile curved his lips. "Can you summon Ormewood, see what she can tell us?"

"I can try." I glanced over my shoulder, checking on my brother. "I need to get Matty in bed first."

"Let me help." He walked me to the wagon. "He looks wiped out."

"Long day at work." I buttoned my lips before I let more slip. "He gets tired more easily these days."

For all his faults, Harrow had never gone after my brother or sister. I respected him for that.

Once I wedged the heavy door open, he leaned in. "Mathew?"

A soft murmur was all the reply Matty gave him.

"Mary." I poked his shoulder. "Hey, Mary."

The mumble he managed for me wasn't much better, so I turned to Harrow. "How do you want to do this?"

"I'll carry him." Harrow ducked in, scooping Matty into a bridal carry. "He doesn't weigh much."

"He's one forty-three." I got out of the way. "Are you sure you won't drop him on the stairs?"

Other than a grunt, he waited until he climbed halfway to express concern. "Put your hand on my back."

Quick to rush behind him, I teetered one step below him. "Do you need help?"

Afraid he would overbalance, I planted a palm beneath each of his shoulder blades to brace him. Then I tried very hard not to notice the shift of his muscles as he adjusted his hold on my brother or the heat that poured off him. I also did my level best not to flex my fingers, just to test the taut skin under them.

"No." He glanced back at me, a smile threatening the creases at the corners of his eyes. "This way, if I fall, you'll have to catch me."

"Keep telling yourself that."

As loath as I was to allow him entry to Matty's private space, I skirted Harrow to let myself in. I stepped aside as he entered, guided him to the bed at the rear of the apartment, and fussed over my brother to get him comfortable. I doubted he'd wake again tonight. I would have to let Josie know he was having one of his bad days. She was, most likely, in the garden out back.

For a few hours every night before going to bed, Josie rooted herself in the soil. It replenished her and allowed her to chat with the fruit trees and the vegetable and herb gardens she lavished with attention and affection as if the plants were her children.

Funny how, no matter how well you did for yourself later in life, if you grew up poor and hungry, no amount of money in the bank would ever convince you a pixelated balance on a screen made you safe.

Canned fruit? Fresh vegetables? A disturbing variety of pickled produce?

Those were worth more than gold.

On the way down, I texted Josie an update so she wouldn't worry if she heard me leaving.

gt;Keep an eye on Matty.

gt;gt;Bad day?

gt;Bad day.

gt;gt;Where are you going?

gt;Harrow wants to talk about the Ormewood thing.

Before we reached the bottom of the staircase, Josie appeared with murder in her eyes and curling baby leaves she plucked each morning in her hair. I had been right about where she had gone. Her feet were brown as bark, rough and wide. Her toes were roots, long and gnarly. She had to run like a duck to catch us.

"Are you nuts?" Her feet slapped as she paddled after us. "You're not going anywhere with him."

"It's okay," I tossed over my shoulder. "I'll be back soon."

I could knock out this favor, check on the Minchins, and be home in time for dinner.

A grunt had me turning in time to watch Harrow taken down by the snarling dryad riding him to the dirt. As best as I could tell, she had grown her fingers into vines and used them to yank his feet from under him. She was halfway to hog-tying him with roots when I yanked her off his back and dumped her beside him.

"What if it's a trap? What if he turns you in?" She glared a hole in the back of his head. "Again."

"He needs my help." I did my best to sound convincing. "This won't take long."

"What if I let you go—" a wobble softened her voice, "—and I never see you again? It can't be my fault if we lose you. It can't be." A tear as thick as sap rolled down her cheek. "Please, Mary, don't go."

"I give you my word," Harrow said, standing, "she will come home safely to you."

"Your word means dirt to me. Actually, no. That's an insult to dirt. Dirt is amazing."

There was one way to guarantee he kept his word, but he wouldn't do it in a million years.

With a pointed glance at me, as if he had overheard me, Harrow pulled a knife from his belt and cut into the meat of his palm without flinching, as if he did it every day. Bright crimson splattered on the gravel at my feet as he passed his blade to her.

Fingers twitching with the need to bind his wound, I exhaled, "Harrow…"

Ignoring my hesitance, Josie sliced her forearm deep. Rosy fluid the consistency of freshly tapped maple syrup flowed from the cut. They pressed their lacerations together, meshing fingers, mingling blood. The magic in him rose around us as he said, "I vow Mary Frances Talbot will come home safely to you."

The binding smelled like copper and sage and earnestness.

With a yelp, Josie yanked her hand back. "You've gotten more powerful."

"No," he said flatly, his expression grim. "I've only learned to use what I've got."

"He's used magic on you before?" I gawked at her. "He hates using his magic."

A flush pinked her cheeks, she spun on her heel, and ran like she was wearing snowshoes to the garden.

"I don't hate magic," he said once we were alone.

"I'm not interested in arguing about your beliefs." I jingled my keys. "I'll drive."

"I won't complain." He slid into the wagon, twisting to absorb the details. "This is…"

"I know." I couldn't help my pride as I patted the dash. "She's the love of my life."

"If I had a girl like her, I would never let her go."

"I don't intend to." I cut my eyes toward him. "Where to? Chatham County Coroner's Office?"

"Ormewood is at a private morgue." A bit of the sparkle left his eyes. "Do you need any supplies?"

"I keep a kit in the trunk." I cranked the wagon, and Harrow shut his eyes. "Got a thing for oldies?"

"How can you sit on this seat, hear that engine, and not fall a little in love?"

"You're asking the wrong person." I got out my cell and thrust it at him. "Care to input the directions?"

"You don't trust me to get us there in one piece?"

"I prefer taking directions from professionals. Otherwise, you end up with loads of confusion. Turn here. No there. You missed it. And other famous hits." I shook my head. "I get road rage just thinking about it."

With a shrug, he set the address then passed the phone back. I clipped it into a custom chrome holder mounted on the dash, my only modern concession, and the only aftermarket thing about the wagon.

"Aside from spirits, how many people do you talk to daily?"

"More than I would like." I began my starting route. "I work in the office, remember?"

"No friends? Boyfriends?"

Without permission, my thoughts zipped to the stranger in the cemetery. "I have Matty and Josie."

And Armie, when he and Josie were more on again than off again, but I kept his name out of my mouth to avoid introducing another witness who could be used against me.

"Hmm."

"What does that mean?" I kept my eyes on the road to avoid reading into his expression. I was too afraid I would glimpse pity there. "They're my friends."

"They're your siblings." He sawed his teeth over his bottom lip, which I wouldn't have seen if my eyes had listened to me and kept facing forward. "It might do you good to get out sometime."

Despite the uptick in my pulse, I wasn't reading anything into Harrow's statement. Been there, done that. I couldn't be with someone who didn't choose me every time. "Maybe."

A muted bzzt bzzt sent Harrow searching for his phone. "Harrow."

Part of me expected him to tell his caller he was in the car with a suspect and to please call back later.

"Are you sure?" A frown settled into familiar lines on his face. "Yeah." He exhaled. "See you soon."

Uncertain if he wished I hadn't overheard his end of the call, I kept my mouth shut. I was doing that a lot around him.

"The victim's cause of death wasn't the knife to the throat." He tapped his phone against his chin. "They can't find a damn thing wrong with him otherwise. It's as if he just…stopped…right in his tracks."

The average vampire lived for five hundred years. Maybe his time ran out. No one could pinpoint time of death to the exact day. It was more of a guideline, really. Except the death of an old vampire would have left a pile of ashes and not a corpse. To leave his body behind, he must be new. So much for that idea.

"That's good news, right?" I winced at the eagerness in my voice. "For me. Not for him."

"It depends." He tapped his phone against his thigh. "On whether Ormewood knew he was dead before she started cutting."