Graveminder

if it were a bone in the jaws of a dog.

“Bek?” Byron wasn’t sure what to do, but Troy didn’t seem to be injuring her now. In fact, he seemed almost comatose.

Rebekkah lifted one foot and caught Troy behind the knee, then she pushed the whole of her weight forward and he fell. She fell with him, landing on top of him with her arm still in his mouth.

She turned her head and gazed up at Byron with her strange silver gaze. “Hold his jaw open.”

Byron squatted down, put a hand on either side of Troy’s face, and pressed his thumbs into the hinge of the dead man’s jaw. This didn’t force it to open any wider, but it would keep the jaw from snapping closed.

As Rebekkah pulled her arm out, Byron saw the teeth marks filled with blood imprinted on her skin.

Seemingly oblivious to her own bleeding arm, she stood up and looked at Troy. “He’s been dead too long.”

“You’re bleeding.” Byron didn’t have any bandages, anything to help stanch the blood or ease the pain.

She ignored him. “I need to take him to Charles.”

The dead man’s gaze tracked Rebekkah, but he stared at her with absolutely no recognition. He seemed to be alert—at least as alert as he’d been when they’d found him—but motionless. We’ll have to carry him to the tunnel.

Rebekkah took Troy’s hands, and he came to his feet in a single fluid movement. He floated several inches above the ground as she laced her fingers with his.

Or not.

Byron repressed a shiver at the sight of the dead man gliding over the ground as Rebekkah walked forward. He’d thought that the things he’d seen in the land of the dead were disconcerting, but the clash of period clothing styles and the suspension of natural law were no longer the most abnormal sight of the week.

A few steps away, Rebekkah paused.

When he realized that she was waiting for him, he did a quick scan of the ground in case they’d left any mementos of their visit. Assured that there were no traces of their presence, he joined Rebekkah and said, “To Charlie’s, then.”

Chapter 47

THE WALK TO THE FUNERAL HOME WAS AT A SLOWER PACE THAN THEIR race to find Troy, but not by much. The pressure to get Troy to the land of the dead drove Rebekkah. She wasn’t sure what it was that was holding Troy to her, how it was that he moved so carefully a few inches above the ground, but she was certain that it wouldn’t last forever.

Rebekkah sped up. “We need to hurry, Byron.”

Byron muttered something she couldn’t hear. They walked through the town, people ignoring them on their return much as they had ignored them during their search. At the door of the funeral home, Byron went in first, making sure that no one was waiting to obstruct their progress.

Troy glided into the building and down the stairs with Rebekkah.

“Almost,” she whispered. “Close.”

The words were spoken as much for herself as for Byron; she felt a trickle of fear that they wouldn’t reach their destination, that Troy’s cooperation would end, that the gate would be too far. Byron was there, though; he opened the door to the storage room and then he slid open the cabinet that hid the tunnel.

The expression on his face was strained as he took Rebekkah’s other hand. “Don’t let go. No matter what.”

“I know.” She felt the breath of the dead against her face, heard their whispering voices welcoming her home, and wished that it didn’t feel so true.

“Bek?” Byron stepped in front of her. “Do not let go of my hand this time.”

She nodded and whispered, “Or his.”

“Honestly? I’d rather you let go of his than mine. He’s here now, but you ...” Byron’s words were swept away in a scream of wind.

“He won’t be trapped in the tunnel,” Rebekkah told the whispering dead. “I won’t let go of him.” She looked at Byron. “If I let go of Troy, he’ll be trapped like the others in the tunnel.”

Byron winced. “Don’t let go of either of us then.”

Rebecca nodded. She held tightly to both Troy and Byron as she walked through the tunnel. The dead man didn’t speak, didn’t seem to react to anything around them. Byron led them forward, and the tunnel breathed around them.

“Are you okay?” Byron asked.

She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to Troy. It didn’t matter: in that tunnel, in that moment, she was the only one who could answer. “We are.”

The sense of rightness filled her to bursting as they walked. This was what she was meant to do; it was what she needed to do in order to fill her place in the order of things. After years of feeling like every city, every man, every job was wrong, she knew that this was absolutely right. It wasn’t that San Diego or the ad agency or Lexington or the tech writing job had been wrong. They just weren’t the fit she was looking for. Here, with Byron, in Claysville, escorting the dead to Charles: that was right. Absently, she wondered if finding one’s place in the world always felt like this, as if an audible click could be heard.

As they approached the tunnel’s end, she stopped and took a deep breath. So far she’d been trusting instinct, but instinct began to war with desire as they neared the land of the dead. It felt like she was answering a siren’s song, trying to still her feet as she was urged forward.

Would it still be so tempting if I were dead?

Rebekkah pushed those thoughts away and looked at Troy. “Come on.”

For the first time since she’d seen Troy in the street, the person she remembered was looking back at her. He didn’t speak, but he wasn’t trying to attack her either. Instead, he looked hopeful.

“It’ll be okay now,” she assured him.

She felt Byron’s hand squeeze hers tighter as they stepped into the land of the dead, together this time, and bringing the Hungry Dead with them.

“We’re here,” Byron said. “Now—”

Troy wrapped his arms around Rebekkah in a sudden hug. He seemed to be shaking as he held on to her. Byron reached out, but Rebekkah shook her head. It wasn’t frightening.

“Thank you.” Troy’s voice was rough, but she wasn’t sure if it was from disuse or tears.

“It’s what I do: I bring the dead home.”

“I wasn’t sure where I was. I died , Bek.” His eyes were wide as he realized what he’d said. He looked from her to Byron and back at her. “I’m dead.”

“You are,” she said gently. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know why.” His brow furrowed. “I wasn’t, and then I was, and then I wasn’t either . I needed to find”—he sank to his knees—“you, but I couldn’t.”

“You did, though,” Rebekkah told him. “You found me, and I brought you here. It’s okay.”

“But before ...” Troy’s eyes widened. “There was a girl. She’s small. I tried to hurt her. After. Not before. She’s not alive either. The girl I tried to hurt ... I think I hurt her. Am I dreaming? Tell me I’m asleep. Is Amity okay?”

“She’ll be fine.” Rebekkah brushed his curls back. “You’re not asleep.”

“I’m dead.” Troy backed away from Rebekkah, but she still held tight to his hand.

“I killed her,” he said. “I think I killed a girl. I didn’t want to, but I was so hungry. They wouldn’t let me leave. They had me trapped ... Poison all around the ground. It burned to touch. I wanted to disappear. Like smoke ... drift away. I could do that, but they wouldn’t let me.”

“ Who wouldn’t let you?” Rebekkah squeezed his hand.

Troy furrowed his brow. “She hates you ... the you that you were ... or are. Are you