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No other cars are coming, and the scent of fire is stronger. Turning toward the network of buildings, I run to the first one. Heavy wooden doors stand open, and a bright green vine climbs the center. Looking inside, spoiled grey tiles are broken and bits of wood are scattered across the floor. Graffiti covers the walls in bold red and blue symbols.
Continuing on toward the smell of burning, I pass another open door. Inside are two rows of pews with a wide passage down the center ending at an altar. A cross is suspended in front of a large, stained-glass window. The glass is missing and the wooden framing hangs like broken teeth in a gaping black mouth.
The scrape of a metal door closing jerks me to attention. Dropping back, I duck under what appears to be the remains of a woodshed and wait, doing my best not to make a sound.
Shuffling of feet echoes in the passage to my left. An old man moves slowly through the debris of what appears to be an abandoned church or convent.
“If I catch you, I’ll throw the full weight of the law against you!” He shouts in my direction, but I don’t move. “Damn kids have no respect for anything.”
He shuffles on a few more paces then I hear him pull up quick. Pulling back further into my hiding place I hear him inhale deeply. “Hmm,” he says in a stage whisper. “Something new in these parts.”
Leaning against the open doorway, he pulls a pipe out of his pocket and taps it on his wrist. “Only thing worse than vandals is all the damn immortals lurkin’ around here.” He lifts the pipe to eye-level and peers into the bowl. “Have to light a fire to get rid of the smell.”
He continues in my direction, and I’m pretty sure he knows I’m here. A quiet inhale tells me this guy is more than human. He’s a shifter, although I can’t tell what kind in his human form. His comment puzzles me. Shifters are not immortal, which means he can only be referencing one thing.
Cautiously, I step toward the light, peering out at the crusty old caretaker. His back is to me, but I see his muscles tense. He knows I’ve come forward, but he isn’t engaging me.
“I’ll be getting back to the fire now. Have to make the rounds of the cemetery before it gets too late. Make sure no vagrants are hanging about the place.”
I watch as he shuffles down the lane and out of sight. It’s the lucky break I need, and I take off following the tree line back to Doris’s house for clothes.
Digging
Koa
I’m back at what I now know is the St. Dymphna Convent. It’s been abandoned for almost eighty years, and the old man is the caretaker for the cemetery. Doris had some choice words for the guy, but I’m certain he has the answers I seek.
Walking up the lane in my human form, I’m struck by the size of the place. The main building is a massive brick structure with arched entryways and detailed scrollwork along the windows and balconies.
The old man is nowhere in sight, and I walk the overgrown pathways until I’ve reached the other side where the graveyard is located. It’s empty as well, and I move slowly among the neatly lined headstones. The statue of an angel, kneeling with a bowl on her lap, is covered in a thin layer of green fungi. Down a bit is a long slab of concrete with the statue of a woman lying on top. She appears to be weeping. It disturbs me.
“I call that one Maria.” The old man’s scratchy voice makes me spin around. “She looks like she’s crying for her lost child.”
He’s dressed in baggy brown corduroys and a long-sleeved brown plaid shirt. A vest hangs open from his skinny shoulders, and a tweed driver’s cap is on his head. The only thing distinguishing him from any regular human is his height. He’s tall as me.
“She could be crying for a lost lover,” I say, hoping to nudge him back to what he was saying earlier.
“Meh, she’s got nice round tits.” He pulls out the pipe again, lighting it this time. “She’d be able to find a new lover.”
His implication irritates me, but I continue fishing. “See many ghosts in your line of work?”
“Not as many ghosts, though the town has its fair share of the supernatural.” He blows a ring of smoke and looks up at the trees before casting his attention on me. “You here visiting relatives?”
Doris’s explanation of who I am enters my mind. “I have an aunt in town. Doris White.”
He nods. “That kid of hers got hit in the head as a child. He’s been funny ever since.”
“Jim,” I say, looking down.
“Yep.” The wind rushes through the trees and a waterfall of yellow leaves rains down around us. The man holds out his hand and catches one. “Good luck to catch a leaf.”
Glancing up, I reach out to catch one as well, but just before it hits my palm, it darts away on the wind. I reach for another, but the same sequence occurs. Pushing off the statue where I’m leaning, I step out, determined to catch one. Frustration burns in my chest.
“Not as easy as it looks,” he says as I finally get one in my hands. Holding it up I raise my eyebrows before letting it go. “Nope. You dropped your luck.”
My brow lines. “You didn’t say I was supposed to keep it.”
“Didn’t know I had to tell you everything.” He takes another pull on his pipe, and I decide to cut to the chase.
