Graveminder

The night I saw him. Rebekkah felt chilled. He was trying to bite me.

“Amity?” Byron said. “Talk to me.”

Amity still had her head tucked between her upraised knees. Her voice was muffled. “He bit me. Earlier I saw him, and I ran. Maylene said to tell you if anything weird ever happened and she’s gone.” Amity turned her head to the side and looked directly at Rebekkah. “What does it mean? Is he a vampire?”

“No. It just means I need to stop him from hurting anyone,” Rebekkah said. “I will, Amity. I promise.”

“And me? Will I get ... sick?” Amity didn’t look away. “I feel queasy just trying to force myself to keep it in my head ... or maybe because I’m missing a chunk of skin.”

“Or both.” Rebekkah put her hand on the side of Amity’s head and smoothed back the bartender’s hair. “Some things are easier to let yourself forget.”

“I don’t like forgetting. It’s why I keep the journal.” Amity laughed, but it sounded more like a sob.

Byron tucked Amity’s journal in his pocket. “Here comes Chris.”

The sheriff pulled up, a team of EMTs right behind him. Christopher got out of his car and stepped onto the sidewalk.

“What happened?”

Byron didn’t hesitate. “A dog or something got her. We heard her scream, and we found her like this.”

“Joe?” the sheriff yelled. “Another damn dog bite.”

A young EMT took over, and Christopher leveled a glare at Rebekkah and Byron. “I’m hoping this will end soon.”

“Me, too,” Rebekkah told him.

Byron slipped his arm around her. “It will. I’m sure of it.”

The comfort of his assurance was undercut by the way Amity watched them. She didn’t call out, didn’t ask Byron to go with her, but Rebekkah could see that she wanted to do just that.

“Why don’t you go with Amity,” Rebekkah suggested.

Byron gave her a look that conveyed exactly how foolish he thought that idea was. “Chris has it under control.”

The sheriff nodded, and Byron went over to Amity and murmured something Rebekkah couldn’t hear—and wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear.

She rubbed her eyes and looked into the street. She could see a smoky trail winding out in front of her. She took a step toward it.

Byron came up behind her.

“I need to follow,” she whispered.

Chapter 46

BYRON FOLLOWED REBEKKAH OUT OF THE ALLEY AND AROUND THE CORner. She was practically running. Whatever trail she was following was either fading fast enough that they needed to hurry or clear enough that they had no need to pause. Byron wasn’t sure which: he saw nothing.

They entered a small intersection, and Rebekkah stepped into the street without turning her attention in either direction. Byron grabbed her arm.

She muttered, “We need to—”

“Not get run over,” he interrupted. A car passed, and he let go of her.

This time, when she started following the trail, she did run.

“Damn it, Bek.” He grabbed hold of her hand to keep her from stepping in front of something or escaping him.

She said nothing, but she didn’t shake off his hand either.

For the next twenty minutes, they ran in silence; the only sound was the soft huff of Rebekkah’s breathing. At the loading area of a small grocery, she stopped.

“He’s here.”

She looked around the back lot, but didn’t speak further.

Byron withdrew the gun and let his gaze wander around the lot. Several cars made perfect spots to hide; so too did the two large Dumpsters that had been placed in the lot for trash and recycling. A small strip of grass filled the space between the lot and the river. A picnic table and rusty grill stood in the sorry-looking grass. Farther down the lot there was a netless basketball hoop.

“Troy?” Rebekkah called softly. She walked toward the Dumpsters. The gleam of her silver eyes made her seem inhuman, but Byron was no longer unnerved by it. “I’m here,” she called.

Gun in hand, Byron stayed beside her. He’d trusted his instincts earlier when he’d gotten between her and Daisha, but this felt different. Troy felt dangerous in a way that Daisha didn’t.

Rebekkah paused beside the Dumpsters. “I know you were looking for me the other night.”

Byron shot a look at her. “What?”

She ignored him. “I’m here now. That’s what you need, isn’t it? You need me. You came to find me.”

Troy stepped out from behind the Dumpster. He looked no different than he had the last time Byron had seen him at Gallagher’s: he was wearing one of his bandannas, black jeans, and a too-tight black T-shirt. What was missing was any sort of awareness in his expression. He and Rebekkah were once close enough friends that Byron had been jealous, but now, neither Troy’s eyes nor his body language indicated any sort of recognition. He didn’t smile or speak.

“I can fix this, Troy.” Rebekkah’s voice was filled with the sort of soft crooning tones people reserved for speaking to frightened animals. “Just trust me. I wouldn’t have let this happen to you if I’d known.”

Troy stared at her. His lip curled in a soundless snarl.

“I understand that you’re angry, Troy, but I didn’t know. I wasn’t even here yet.” She shook her head. “Let me give you food and drink, Troy. You remember all the times you gave people food and drink? You remember looking after me when I visited the bar?”

The dead man blinked at her.

“You do remember,” she murmured. “I don’t know how long you’ve been hungry, but I can still help you ... Let me help you.”

He stepped forward.

“That’s right,” she encouraged him. “Come to me.”

He frowned.

“Come on.” She extended her hand. “Do you remember last year when I visited and we danced on the bar after hours? I thought Amity was going to hurt herself the way she twisted around. I stayed in touch with her. Did she tell you that?”

The look on Troy’s face didn’t express the recognition that Rebekkah was clearly seeking. He stepped forward, though, and he took her hand in his. For a moment, Byron thought she’d succeeded in luring him to her, that things were going well, that everything was going to be okay.

Then Troy yanked her to him and pulled her arm to his mouth.

“No!” Byron lunged forward.

“Byron, stop,” Rebekkah said. She sounded calm. Byron looked at her closely. She’d shoved her arm so far back into Troy’s mouth that his jaw was forced wide open. He had wrapped his other arm around her waist. He hefted her off the ground.

“Syringe? Now, please.” Her voice cracked a bit.

Byron shoved the gun in the holster with one hand and grabbed a syringe with the other. “Where?”

The strain was clear in her voice now. “Anywhere.”

Hoping she was right, Byron shoved the needle into Troy’s neck just under his ear. Troy didn’t react at all. He stared at Rebekkah, who still had her arm in his mouth, and blinked a few times.

Then his grip on her waist loosened, and her feet touched back down onto the ground. Troy’s hand slid down her hip as his hold released; his arms dropped to his sides. All the while Rebekkah still had her arm in his mouth as