I nod. “I guess. So what?”
“The dead typically go two ways—they get reaped, or they stick around. If they stick around, they’re usually echoes of the person they were. Like Abigail—she’s been here for centuries and still has some semblance of herself.”
“Yeah, but we thought she was the one who was doing all of this at first, remember? I thought she was angry and was starting to take it out on me for not helping her.“
Wade raises his eyebrows. “True. But I have to admit, that didn’t really make a helluva lot of sense to me. Especially after…”
I glance up at his narrow eyes. “After what?”
“That day in the study. Whatever tried to strangle me—it felt masculine. But it didn’t make sense at all. I guess it makes more sense now,” he says, frowning.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say, covering my mouth.
Wade shrugs. “I didn’t think it made sense. Besides, it’s not like I could see who or what was doing it.”
Agony courses through me and hot tears slip from my eyelids. “I couldn’t even see him. It’s like—” I pause, thinking back. “—It’s like he didn’t want me to know.”
“Or maybe there’s a different answer,” Wade says, reaching out for me. He pulls my hands into his. “If it was your dad, maybe it took a lot of energy to manifest so forcefully. I’ll bet he had to choose. Or maybe there was no choice at all.”
“What do you mean? No choice?” I say, swiping at my cheek.
“Maybe he’s been running solely on instinct. You said he thinks I’m a beacon, right? He’s obviously trying to protect you from something. The question is—what?”
“Do you think it’s your dad?” I ask, widening my eyes. “I mean, that he’s protecting me from.”
Wade shakes his head. “I don’t think so. The Angels of Death have strict rules. They don’t come for anyone until they’ve died. Part of the reason we’re not supposed to—” He looks down, screwing his face up. “The reason I’m not supposed to be with you has to do with what Angels of Death perceive as a circumventing of Natural Law. At least, as far as I understand it.”
My head is swimming with everything I’ve learned today. Exhaustion threatens to consume me, so I sit down on the edge of the bed, staring blankly out the window.
“Autumn, you look like you could pass out any second. It’s been a long night and neither one of us has slept at all. Let me hold you. You need rest so we can face whatever’s next,” Wade says, sitting down beside me and placing his left hand on my thigh. “It’s barely six o’clock. There’s not much you can do unless Abigail comes back—or the police station opens up. I mean, if you plan on contacting them. You know?”
I sigh deeply and nod. I don’t know what the best move is right now. I just feel so…numb. The anger I felt moments ago has already begun to drain my energy and even if I wanted to stay up, I can feel my edges fraying and sleep beckoning me into its embrace.
“All right. Let’s try to sleep a couple of hours. Then we can decide what to do from there,” I say, unable to fight off the fatigue any longer.
Wade pulls back the blankets and we curl in together. After a few minutes, the gentle rhythm of Wade’s breathing helps me to relax and I submit to the darkness.
Once again, I walk the dark tunnels of the catacombs in anticipation. There’s something very important I need to do. Everything is pitch black, but somehow I know my way around and the direction I’m heading, as if a compass has been embedded inside my mind.
Suddenly no longer alone, I can feel Abigail’s presence walking beside me. Though the tunnel remains dark, I’m acutely aware of her, as if I can see her in my mind’s eye. We walk in silence for a few moments. It’s not entirely uncomfortable, but there’s an agitated energy lingering in the air between us.
I’m here for a reason.
Abigail takes my hand, pressing her cool, unearthly palm against mine. Suddenly, we’re no longer in the catacombs, but somewhere outside.
“There is much I should have been truthful about,” Abigail says, her voice soft.
I’m oddly aware of my state—a strange sort of lucid dream. While I’m sure this place exists, I’m also aware it’s all happening inside my mind. The only thing I don’t know is whether I’m in control, or if Abigail is.
I stare down at the scattered evidence of a circle—one that vaguely tugs at my memories, though I can’t place why. It’s off in the recesses of the dreamworld and no matter how I try to focus on it, it slips through the cracks of my mind.
While the circle is evident, it has seen the seasons come and go. How many is hard to distinguish. Inside are the remnants of a ritual—salt, water, candles—as well as a tattered red string. It’s almost exactly like the ones I’ve been finding, but this one has been faded in time’s weathering gaze.
Abigail stares down at the circle, her eyebrows tugging inward as she frowns at the contents within. Then she turns slightly to the left, her eyes landing on a small pile of leaves and brambles. No words are necessary as I instinctively follow her gaze.
At first, it appears like any other part of the forest. But there, slightly obscured by nature and time itself, are the remains of a human body.
Chapter 19
Answers Within
No matter what I do, I can’t stop staring at the tufts of clothing and bone jutting out from under the brambles. As much as I want to deny what I’m seeing, I know this is no ordinary dream.
“The void is far easier to cross in the space between sleep and wakefulness,” Abigail says, somehow reading my mind. “I must
