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In no time at all, I’d found my way to their quiet, dark lane, lit only by the flickering gaslit lanterns hanging from their high walls and gates.
Will didn’t live up here. His family owned the fortress on the other side of town, near the high school and up in the hills. The massive house that stood high above us all.
I should’ve met him that night he wanted to take me to his house to watch movies. Seeing that pla
ce from the inside would’ve surely set my stupid brain straight and solidified my resolve before it was too late.
Sleeping with him only made it hurt more now.
I followed the road past the estates, past quiet and deserted St. Killian’s, and then I cut through the forest, past the Bell Tower, and into the cemetery.
I had no idea what time it was, but all that remained were the remnants of whatever party the Horsemen had had here earlier. It couldn’t be any later than midnight or one, and St. Killian’s was dark just now. They weren’t at the catacombs anymore.
I strolled through the cemetery, seeing the damage we did to the crypt and Edward McClanahan’s freshly dug grave was filled back in because he was staying right there. My brother couldn’t have the discounted hole anymore.
But darkness covered every corner of the graveyard, the moonlight barely visible through the clouds.
Quiet.
Empty.
Lonely.
Was that why I’d come here? I knew they were partying here tonight. Was I looking for him?
I walked between the headstones, moving silently over the grass and barely noticing the engine that purred, growing louder and closer second by second.
I blinked, looking up, and then stopped.
A matte black car creeped down the small lane, its headlights off and the driver invisible through the dark tinting of the windshield.
My heart skipped a beat, and I darted back a couple of steps, shielding myself behind a ten-foot-tall grave marker.
They didn’t speed up, turn on their lights, or stop, just kept crawling down the path toward me until it got close enough that I could tell it definitely wasn’t my brother.
They stopped, and after a moment, I saw the trunk pop open and a man exit the car, the hood of his black sweatshirt drawn over his head. I watched as he rounded the car.
Who was that? The cemetery was closed.
Of course, that didn’t mean anything, since the ground was littered with red Solo cups, candles, and other shit. Maybe he was cleaning up.
He lifted open the trunk, pulling something out over the edge, and I caught sight of bare feet dangling.
A cool sweat hit the back of my neck. What the…?
He lifted the body out, throwing it over his shoulder, her long black hair falling out of the sheet, down his back, and her long legs bare in her outfit.
I squinted, seeing the black strapless costume—like a ballerina or something.
Was she dead? I covered my mouth with my hand, my legs fighting with the urge to bolt, but fear kept me rooted.
Walking to the grass, he leaned over and threw her to the ground, her body hitting hard right next to the already disturbed soil around McClanahan’s grave.
I reached into my pocket, not taking my eyes off him as he trudged back to his car and pulled a shovel out of the trunk.
But my phone wasn’t in my pocket. I blinked, feeling the key, but I didn’t have my cell. I searched the other one, coming up empty, as well.
Shit.
