“And why do you believe the two are intertwined?” she asks, listening intensely.
“Because the police do. They think magic was involved,” I offer.
After a moment’s contemplation, Abigail asks, “Have the bodies been recovered?”
I shake my head. “Not so far.”
“I suggest proceeding with caution. I would not presume to suggest who or what is doing this horrendous act, but it is our duty to protect the dead. Not just raise them,” she says, her voice tapering off.
“What do you mean?”
“If the dead are being desecrated, as you have said, the time has come for you to become versed in your gifts, Autumn. More than what any school may be able to teach on this subject,” she says softly.
“Okay, and how exactly do I go about doing that? It’s not like information is super-forthcoming. Plus, Dad’s not around much to ask. And you’re not exactly the epitome of straightforwardness,” I say, frustration building.
“I wish I was of the living; it would make things far easier for you. I’d always wished to train a daughter,” she says with a tone mixed with sorrow and nostalgia. “Begin by learning more about the manor and its location. My energy to corporealize wanes quickly, so I am but a guide, pointing the way. However, trust that the manor is the key. It will help you unearth what could be headed your way,” she says. Her essence begins to flicker and she reaches out, trying to capture my attention. “Trust in this—if the bodies are not found and laid to rest, much worse things are sure to follow.”
Chapter 7
New Doors Best Left Closed
I stare out the passenger window of Wade’s car, watching the dead-looking trees and snow mounds drift by. My mind circles around the questions plaguing us the past week like the snow devils spinning alongside the road.
Who would vandalize the graves in both Windhaven and Mistwood Point? Why would they take the bodies from some, and the ashes of others? There’s now been a total of seven graves desecrated, one in Windhaven and three more in Mistwood.
While no one has found Wade’s grandpa’s urn yet, the cemetery has been able to replace the door to his columbarium. I didn’t realize just how much having it broken was weighing on Wade until he asked me to join him. He’d nearly broken down as he told me and I’m not sure if it was from the relief to have that part taken care of—or the overwhelm from dealing with everything the past week. Maybe both?
Twisting in my seat, I reach out and take his hand in mine. “Thank you for bringing me with you.”
He gives my hand a squeeze, then lifts it to his lips. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“Of course. Where else would I be, silly?”
“You could have said no,” he says, shooting me a sideways glance. “I’m sure you have just as much homework as I do.”
“And yet, it’s still not as important as being there for you,” I say, shooting him a smile.
His cheeks mound as he turns to face the road. “It’s been an odd week, for sure. Nothing like what I expected. Hell, I wouldn’t even blame you for wanting to keep your distance from me, you know.”
My solar plexus clenches. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Still,” he says, shrugging. He flips on his blinker and takes the next left into the cemetery.
I shake my head, sitting up straighter and looking around. Despite the recent bout of new vandalism, there’s no immediate evidence of it as we pull in. The cemetery looks as pristine and serene as usual, thanks in part to last night’s snowfall.
Wade pulls us up to the columbarium, parking in front of the large wall of concrete cubes.
“So far so good, huh?” he says, removing the key from the ignition and dropping his hand to his lap. His eyes sweep the graveyard, just like I had.
I nod. “I can’t even tell anything unusual was going on. Can you?”
“Nope, everything looks five by five,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car.
I follow after him, staying a foot or two behind so he can be the first one to check out the new door. However, when he’s a few feet away, he turns around and reaches his hand out. Smiling, I take it and stand beside him.
“Looks exactly as it should be,” Wade whispers after a few moments. “They didn’t change the style or anything.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Too bad he’s no longer in there. I still can’t get my mind wrapped around that. Like, why would anyone want to do something like this? Damage graves. Mess with the dead. There are grieving families mixed into all of this. It’s not just some funny prank,” he says, taking a few steps back. He dusts off the snow from the same granite bench we sat on when his grandpa’s ashes were laid to rest, then sits down.
I walk over, taking a seat beside him and sliding my hands between my knees. “I don’t know. Whoever they are, they obviously weren’t thinking about that. And if they were…well, it makes them kind of horrible in my book.”
“Mine, too.” Wade nods, taking a deep breath and dropping his gaze.
“So, what next? Is the cemetery going to increase security or anything?”
Wade shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s in their budget. As it is, the guys digging the graves around here are just people at the church down the road, who happen to know how to run a backhoe.”
My eyes widen and I stare out in front of me. “Oh. Well, that’s not very promising, then.”
“Tell me about it. At this point, I’d be better off dawning spandex and a cape and trying to capture the bad guys myself,” he snickers under his breath.
Flashes of him in tight leggings and a cape flash through my mind and my midsection erupts in butterflies. “Well, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. As
