Page 32 of Coven of Corpses

“Right?” Demetrius thought a minute, then shook his head. “The witch is different than I was expecting.”

“Did you think it would be a woman?”

“Well, yes, which I hate to admit. But whoever that was looked a lot younger than I would have thought. I was expecting it to be someone who’s been around a long time. Like maybe someone out in Parson’s Pines.”

“That would make sense. And you’re right, he seemed surprisingly young. But maybe it’s a disguise or something. Maybe he’s incredibly ancient and is adopting a younger appearance. I mean, think about Aldrik and Dr. Graham. For having been hundreds of years old, they seemed pretty young.”

“True. But they were vampires. You kind of expect that of a vampire, right?”

Oliver lucked into a parking space in front of the library. When they approached the doors, they were forced to step aside as a number of people hurried out of the building. Most were young moms carrying small children or hurriedly pushing strollers. All were wide-eyed with tense expressions. A couple laughed nervously, and one woman said to an older man, “I’ve never seen him act like that before.”

Demetrius exchanged a look with Oliver. “What do you think?”

Oliver’s eyes were wide. “I think we got here just in time.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and started recording a video. “Let’s go.”

“Is this your reporter side coming through?”

Oliver reached the door and grabbed the handle, turning to say over his shoulder, “I’m adopting what Dave calls my ‘brash and brooding investigative reporter persona.’”

“That’s a mouthful.”

“Dave’s a mouthful.”

“And we’re done with this discussion.”

He followed Oliver inside. The familiar smells of paper, binding glue, and some kind of carpet freshener met them, all overlaid by the stench of something gone rotten. Demetrius put a hand over his nose and mouth and saw Oliver do the same. They both jumped at the sound of a crash from somewhere behind the circulation desk.

Moving slowly, taking the shallow steps up one at a time, Demetrius reached the main level and looked around. The library was empty, open books and forgotten backpacks a testament to the panicked evacuation they’d witnessed. Another crash made them jump again. Oliver moved up beside him, then stepped to the left, one hand holding his phone up, the other covering his nose and mouth.

“What is that smell?” Oliver said. “Did something die in a vent?”

The air grew very still, and an unnerving silence fell over them. A shadow moved in the hallway behind the desk. Demetrius was familiar with the layout because the ancient artifacts and texts room was at the end of that hall, secured behind a locked door. He knew there was a small break room and an office shared by the library director and Tracey, who was the assistant director. Someone was back there, standing in the shadows by the door to the office, just out of sight. Someone big.

“Hello?” Oliver called. Demetrius had to fight down the urge to shush him, and not just because they were in the library. There was a strange and dangerous charge in the air.

An overhead fluorescent flickered and buzzed. Demetrius wondered if maybe the buzzing might be flies as well, attracted to the terrible smell.

The shadows in the hall moved again. They shifted and wobbled, then seemed to come together before pulling apart again to reveal Heath. He stood in the entry to the hall, and he looked terrible. His dark hair was greasy and tangled into corkscrews and knots, and his matching beard, fuller than usual, had a couple of twigs and a leaf caught in it. The lights above the desk flashed across the lenses of his dark, heavy-framed glasses as he remained very still, arms at his sides.

“Well, I think a small part of me just died inside,” Oliver said.

Demetrius gathered his courage—he’d faced an alpha werewolf and a vampire thousands of years old, for God’s sake, he could handle a librarian, even one as creepy as Heath—and took a step forward. He took his hand from in front of his mouth and tried for a friendly smile. It didn’t feel like he’d quite achieved it, but he said, “Um, hi, Heath. Are you feeling okay? You look a little rough.”

Heath turned his head slightly, and Demetrius could now see his eyes were completely black. A tingle of fear crawled across his scalp beneath the beanie, and he felt chilled and overheated at the same time.

“You know the code.” Heath’s voice was deep and completely unlike his own.

“Sorry, what?”

“The code to the door.”

That voice sent a shiver through him. He took an involuntary step back. “Oh, the code to the door in the back? No, I don’t know it. Tracey always opens it for me. Is she here? Can we talk to her?”

“She is out.” Heath tipped his head to the side, making Demetrius think of a bird eying an insect before snapping it up. “You’ve seen him.”

“Sorry, seen who?” Demetrius was at the steps down to the entrance, and he slowly and carefully descended without turning his back on Heath. From the corner of his eye, he saw Oliver do the same.

“The one who freed me. The one who wishes to…use me.” Heath drew in a rattling, wet-sounding breath and tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. He opened his mouth wide, and let out a deep, terrible moan that felt as if it had reached right inside Demetrius and squeezed his heart.