"Is that where they buried Cary?" Savannah asked. "By the fence?"
"I think he was cremated."
Cortez nodded. "A course of action which, had it not been determined prior to the visitation, I'm quite certain would have been considered afterward."
"No kidding," I said with a shudder. "After that, I'm a cremation convert."
"Wait a sec," Savannah said. "If they cremated Cary, how are we going to take dirt from his grave?"
"We aren't."
"Lucas can't take it from just anyone," Savannah said. "It has to be from the grave of someone who was murdered."
"What?"
"Uh, didn't I mention that?"
"No."
"Ummm, sorry, guys."
"We have"--I checked the clock--" forty-five minutes to find the grave of someone who was murdered. Great. Just great."
"Pull over again," Cortez said. "We're going to need to give this some thought."
We'd been sitting at the side of the road for nearly ten minutes. Finally I sighed and shook my head.
"I can't even think of the last person who was murdered in East Falls. The Willard girl was killed by a drunk driver before Christmas, but I'm not sure that counts."
"We ought not to take the chance."
I thudded back against the headrest. "Okay, let me think." I bolted upright. "I've got it! The woman in the morgue. The one behind the curtain. Someone shot her. I don't know the story, probably because I've been avoiding the papers, but that's murder, isn't it? Or could it be manslaughter?"
"Premeditated or not, it appears a clear case of homicide, and that will be sufficient. Is she buried in town?"
"Oh, God. I don't know. I didn't recognize her. She probably wasn't from East Falls, but I can't be sure. Shit! Oh, wait. It would say in the local paper, right? If we could get last week's paper--"
"How are we going to do that?" Savannah asked.
"Hold on. Let me think." I paused, then smiled. "Got it. Elena. She's a journalist. She should have resources, right?"
"She'll have access to online newswire services." Cortez passed me his cell phone. "Tell her to search for anything on Katrina Mott."
"Where'd you get the name?" Savannah asked.
"From the notice board outside the funeral home on Monday. There were only two services listed."
"Good memory," I said.
He nodded and turned on the phone for me.
As I'd hoped, Elena hadn't gone to bed yet, though it was past eleven on a weeknight. Not that her social calendar was any busier than mine--she stuck pretty close to home, which was several hours from any late-night city clubs--but she had the advantage of having housemates over the age of thirteen, neither of whom had to get up early for work or school. Plus there was the whole werewolf thing, which often necessitated late nights. When I called, she was outside playing touch football with visiting Pack mates. Rough life, huh?
She took the information and called back within five minutes.
"Katrina Mott," she said. "Died Friday, June fifteenth. Shot to death by her common-law husband during an argument because he--and I quote--'wanted to shut her (obscenity deleted) mouth for good.' Sounds like murder to me. Hope the bastard gets life."
"Life in prison and a lifetime of haunting, if there's any justice in the world. Does it say where she was being buried?"
"Uh ... oh, here. Memorial at East Falls Funeral Parlor followed by interment Tuesday morning at Pleasant View Cemetery."
"The county cemetery. Perfect. Thanks."
"No problem. You sure you don't need help? Nick's here for the weekend. The three of us could come. Clay, Nick, and I. Or is that exactly what you don't need?"
"Something like that. No offense, but--"
"None taken. If you need more subtle muscle, I can sneak down without Clay. For a while, at least. Until he finds me. Sounds like you have everything under control, though."
I made a noncommittal noise.
"Call me if you need me, okay?" she continued. "Even if you just want a bodyguard for Savannah. She's still coming up here next month, right?"
"Absolutely."
She laughed. "Do I hear relief in your voice? We're looking forward to having her."
" Uh-huh. Let me guess, 'we' as in you and Jeremy."
Another laugh. "Clay's fine with it. Not counting down the days, but not complaining either. With Clay, that's a sign of near-approval."
"Approval of Savannah, not me."
"Give it time. You're still staying for the weekend, right? And we're driving down to New York? The two of us?"
"Absolutely."
Savannah was waving for the phone.
"I have to go," I said. "Savannah wants to talk."
"Pass her over and I'll talk to you soon."
As I passed Savannah the phone and started the car, I couldn't help smiling. For two minutes there, I'd forgotten everything else. Two minutes in which I could again see the future progressing exactly as I'd planned it before all this started. I'd get through this. Then I'd go on to enjoy my summer. I'd have a Savannah-free week to squeeze in some social time with my Boston-area friends, plus a New York weekend to develop my friendship with Elena.
For the first time since Leah arrived in East Falls, I could envision a time when all this would be a memory, something to talk about with Elena over drinks at an overpriced New York nightclub. With that came a renewed burst of optimism. I would get past this.
Now, I just had to gather dirt from a murdered woman's grave before the stroke of twelve. I could handle that.
CHAPTER 35
A GOOD WALK SPOILED
Pleasant View Cemetery did, surprisingly, have a pleasant view, though I doubted any of the residents appreciated it. Pleasant View was less than a hundred years old, but already quadruple the size of its East Falls counterpart, owing to a century-old municipal bylaw prohibiting any "newcomers" from buying a plot within town.
The argument was that the East Falls cemetery couldn't expand, so to ensure that people could be buried beside their ancestors, you had to already have a family plot there. This is East Falls's version of a country club. Seriously. At my first town picnic, three people found a way to work into conversation his or her eventual inclusion in this elite society. "Have you seen our local cemetery? Quite beautiful, isn't it? My family has a plot there, you know." "See that oak tree by the swing set? There's one just like it on our family plot in the cemetery." "I'm Emma Walcott. My family owns the mausoleum in the town cemetery. Pass the dip, please."
Though it already holds more graves than East Falls, the Pleasant View site is so large that the burials are spaced out, some tucked in valleys, some nestled in wooded groves, some amidst meadows of wildflowers. Legend has it that an unnamed philanthropist donated the land and decreed that nature be left as unspoiled as possible. Members of the East Falls elite say the old guy gave away the property to save on taxes and the county was too cheap to clear it. They're just jealous because they're gonna spend eternity surrounded by a hospital, a funeral home, and a 7-Eleven.
The parking lot for Pleasant View was empty, as one might expect at eleven-thirty on a Tuesday night. Eschewing the lot, I pulled over along the side road.
"How are we going to find her?" Savannah said, squinting into the darkness beyond the car.
"At the front gates, there's a map showing where everyone's buried."
"That's handy."
"Handy and necessary," I said. "Some of these graves are almost hidden in the trees. The only problem is that they may not have added Ms. Mott yet, in which case we'll have to do some searching."
As we neared the map, a horrible thought struck me. What if Mott hadn't been buried today? The newspaper article listed the funeral for this morning, but that was before her corpse got up and started slugging people. To my relief, Katrina Mott's grave had been penciled in on the map.
"Would you like me to collect the dirt?" Cortez asked.
I shook my head. "There's no risk of being
seen here, so I'll do it. You two can wait back at the car."
" Uh-uh," Savannah said. "It's my dirt. I'm helping you get it."
"I'll stand watch within the cemetery," Cortez said.
"You don't have to," I said. "It's dark, secluded. No one can see us."
"Humor me."
Katrina Mott's grave was near the middle, nestled in a U-shaped cluster of cedars. Sounded easy enough to find, and it probably was ... during the day. At night, though, all trees look alike, and my ability to judge distances was severely compromised by the fact I could see only five feet in either direction. If there was a moon overhead, it went into hiding the moment we entered the cemetery.
After stumbling over two graves, I cast a minor illumination spell. A tiny glowing ball appeared in my palm. I tossed it and it hovered before me, lighting my way.
"Now that is definitely handy," Cortez said.
"You don't know this one?" I said.
He shook his head. "You'll have to teach me."
"She's teaching it to me first," Savannah said. "After all, I'm the witch."
Cortez was about to answer, then stopped and looked around. "There," he said. "Ms. Mott is buried over that hill."
"How do you know that?" Savannah asked.
His lips twitched in a tiny smile. "Magic."
"He memorized the map," I said. "It went gully, hill, three oaks, then another hill. There's the oaks. Now let's get moving. We've only got ten minutes."
"It doesn't need to be precisely on the stroke of twelve," Cortez said. "That, I fear, is a romantic, yet illogical embellishment. Illogical because--"
"Because the 'stroke of twelve,' according to someone's watch, probably won't be dead-on." I glanced at the graves near my feet. "Sorry, folks. No pun intended."
"So what does it mean, then?" Savannah asked.
"Simply that you must gather the dirt in the dead of night--" He looked around. "That is to say, roughly at midnight, give or take an hour or so."
"Well, I'm not hanging around," I said. "If I can grab it now, I'm doing that and getting out of here."
"Go ahead," Cortez said. "I see some juniper over there. I'll gather that, then stand watch partway up the hill."
"Don't you think it's spooky out here?" Savannah asked as we tramped up the hill, having left Cortez behind.
"Peaceful, actually. Very peaceful."
"Do you think that's what it's like when you die? Peaceful?"
"Maybe."
"Kinda boring, don't you think?"
I smiled over at her. "Yes, I suppose so. Maybe just a little peace, then. A break."
"Before what?"
I shrugged.
"Come on, Paige. What do you think happens? After all this."
"I'll tell you what I'd like to happen. I'd like to come back."
"Reincarnation?"
"Sure. Come back and do it all over again. All the good and all the bad. That's what I'd want for my eternity."
"Do you believe what they say? That you keep coming back with the same people? All the people you cared about?"
"It would be nice, don't you think?"
She nodded. "Yeah, that would be nice."
We climbed in silence to the top of the hill. When we got there, Savannah paused.
"Do you hear that?"
I stopped. "What?"
"Voices. Like whispers."
"I hear the wind."
I started forward again, but she grabbed my arm.
"No, really, Paige. Listen. I hear whispering."
The wind rustled through the trees. I shivered.
"Okay," I said. "Now you're scaring me. So much for a peaceful walk."
She grinned. "Sorry. I guess it is just the wind. Hey, what if Leah's necromancer buddy followed us here? This place would be even worse than the funeral parlor, wouldn't it?"
"Thanks for bringing that up."
"Oh, I'm kidding. There's no one here. Look." She turned and gestured at the vista beyond the hill. "You can see all the way to the entrance. Nobody's there. Anyway, Lucas is guarding the path. He's an okay sorcerer. Not great, but at least he could shout and warn us."
"Sure, but Leah would probably knock him unconscious before he finished whatever he was trying to shout."
Cortez's voice floated up on the still night air. "I can hear you perfectly well. This is a cemetery. There isn't much in the way of noise interference."
"Sorry," I called down.
"Did you hear me, too?" Savannah asked.
"The part about me being an 'okay sorcerer'? 'Not great'? No, I believe I missed that."
"Sorry."
A sound floated up, something suspiciously like a chuckle. "Quiet down and get moving before we learn whether it really is possible to make enough noise to wake the dead."
"What are we putting the dirt in?" Savannah asked as we approached the trees surrounding Mott's grave.
I took a sandwich bag from my pocket.
"A Baggie?" she said.
"A Ziploc Baggie."
"You're putting grave dirt in a Ziploc? Shouldn't we have a fancy bottle or something?"
"I thought of bringing a jam jar, but it could break."
"A jam jar? What kind of witch are you?"
"A very practical one."
"What if the Baggie breaks?"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out another one. "Backup Baggie."
Savannah shook her head.
I pushed through the cedars. Three graves lay in the cup formed by the U. I didn't need to check the headstones to find Mott's. The fresh dirt had not yet been covered with sod. Perfect.
I took a small trowel from my coat pocket, bent over, and was blinded by a sudden glare of light. As I stumbled backward into Savannah, I dowsed my light ball. Yet the light was still there. Someone was shining a flashlight into our faces.
Savannah started an incantation, but I clapped my hand over her mouth before she could finish.
"See?" a woman's voice said. "It is her. I told you so."
The flashlight dropped and I found myself standing before four people, ranging in age from college-bound to mid-retirement.
"Wow," whispered the youngest, a woman with rings through her lower lip. "It's the witch from the newspapers."
"I'm not--" I cut off the denial. "What are you doing here?"
"Seems we should ask you the same thing," a twenty-something man in a ball cap said.
An older woman, the one who'd spoken first, shushed him. "She's here for the same reason we are."
"To find the treasure?" the man said.
She glared at him. "To communicate with the spirit world."
"Is it true you saw her rise from the dead?" the younger woman asked, pointing at Mott's grave "That is so cool. What was it like? Did she say anything?"
"Yeah," Savannah said. "She said, 'Bother me again and I'll rip your--' "
I prodded her to silence. "Do you people know what you're doing? It's called disturbing a grave site. A--uh--" I slipped my trowel behind my back. "A very serious offense."
"Nice try," the young man said. "My brother's a cop. We can't get in trouble unless we dig her up. We aren't stupid."
"No," Savannah said. "You're just hanging around a cemetery looking for buried treasure. Hey, wait, I think I found something. Nope, just another rotting corpse."
"Mind your tongue, child," the older woman said. "While I disagree with the concept of using the spirits for material gain, necromancers in the ancient world often did exactly that. They believed that the dead could see all--the past, the present, and the future--thus allowing them to locate hidden treasures."
The elderly man beside her made a noise.
"Quite right," she said. "Bob wishes me to clarify that the dead are believed to be able to find any treasure, not just that which they themselves may have buried."
"He said all that with a grunt?" Savannah asked.
"Mental telepathy, dear. Bob has moved beyond the realm of verbal communication."
/> "Maybe so, but he hasn't moved beyond the realm of human justice," I said, bending to pick up a saucer of dried mushrooms, which I doubted were shiitake. "Bet these help with the mental telepathy. Maybe you can explain this to the police."
"There's no need to threaten us, dear. We're no danger to you or anyone else. We simply want to communicate with poor Miss Mott. A spirit who has been raised once remains very close to the surface, as I'm sure you're aware. If we can contact her, perhaps she can relay a message from the other side."
"Or tell us where to find treasure," the young man said.
The younger woman rolled her eyes. "You and Joe, always on about your treasure." She looked at me. "Joe's another member of our group. Joe and Sylvia. Only Joe had bowling tonight and Sylvia doesn't like to drive after dark."
" Uh-huh."
"We don't need to worry about these guys raising the dead, Paige," Savannah said. "They're so dumb they couldn't raise--"
I elbowed her to silence. "I'm going to ask you, once more, to leave."
The young man stepped forward, towering over me. "Or what?"
"Better be careful, or she'll show you," Savannah said.
"Is that a threat?"
"That's enough," I said. "Now, we're all leaving--"
"Who's leaving?" the young man said. "I'm not leaving."
The older woman's mouth set. "We aren't leaving until we've communicated with the spirit world."
"Fine," Savannah said. "Here, let me help you."
Her voice rose, words echoing through the silence as she recited an incantation in Hebrew. I whirled to stop her. Before I could, she finished. All went silent.
"Damn," she muttered, leaning in so only I could hear her. "It's supposed to--"
Her body went rigid, head jerking back, arms flying out. A deafening crack ripped through the silence, like the thunder of a hundred guns fired at once. A flare of light lit up the sky. Savannah stood on tiptoe, barely touching the ground, body shaking. I dove for her. As my fingers grazed her arm, something hit me in the gut, throwing me against a tombstone.
CHAPTER 36
KINDA COOL ...
IN A BAD WAY
When I recovered from my fall, I saw that Savannah had collapsed. The four would-be necromancers stood ringed around her prone body. I pushed myself up and ran to Savannah. She was unconscious, her face white.
"Call an ambulance," I said.
Nobody moved. I checked Savannah's pulse. Weak but steady.
"Wow," the young woman said. "That was, like, so cool."