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Having a good sense of where we were going now, I set off ahead of Holden and Desmond. I’d grabbed my sword from the car before we left and had armed Desmond with a shotgun from the house. Holden insisted he preferred to go without a weapon, and I didn’t argue. A vampire could easily take a wolf down in a fight, and we’d faced far worse odds than this before.
If Ben and Fairfax were still alive and in good shape—and I was too busy fretting over Grandmere to consider my brother might be hurt—we would have almost even numbers against Mercy’s clan. And the willingness of these rogue wolves to follow an insane bitch like my mother meant they couldn’t be too smart.
I liked our chances.
The night air was cool and a bit damp. Not so cold to threaten snow, but chilly enough I could see my breath. Holden’s only showed when he spoke, which was a strange effect. Sometimes I forgot he wasn’t really alive in the traditional sense.
“It’s over this way. We have to cross a big field to get to the main house, and we’ll be exposed if they’re waiting for us. Is the scent still strong?”
“Yeah,” Desmond answered. “They definitely came through this way.”
“And the blood?”
“I stopped smelling blood down by the creek.”
Perhaps that was a good thing. If Grandmere’s wounds had been superficial, the blood might have washed away in the water. Anything more severe and she’d probably still be bleeding. That was presuming the blood was hers. I hadn’t asked, and neither Desmond nor Holden had offered, though both could probably tell. My senses were good, but not honed enough to determine sex and species from such trace amounts.
I was grateful not to be able to determine whose blood it was, because it meant they hadn’t lost enough for me to figure it out.
We reached the edge of the tree line and came to a stop. The barren Syler crop fields had grown wild with tall grass that swayed and rustled in the wind. It swept out before us like a wall of sharp brown fingers waiting to grasp and pluck at us. The noise could very well announce our arrival if we didn’t proceed carefully. I didn’t bother looking for a path because that would be the approach equivalent to ringing their doorbell.
The lights in the main house were off, but a small lamplight flickered in the window of the barn, throwing eerie shadows onto the ground that shifted and moved like a living thing.
I tried to hear any sounds of struggle or screams, but there was only the chatter of the grass and the whisper of the wind. If I stood still too long, the thump of my own heartbeat was liable to drive me mad.
“We crawl,” I announced. “Spread out and stay low. They won’t see us over the grass, and if we move slowly, they won’t hear us coming.”
The clouds broke, sending a spear of cold white moonlight to the ground, briefly illuminating the whole tableau.
In another time, the farm might have been almost pretty with its big red barn and rambling two-story house. But with the porch in shambles and the paint peeling from every surface, it looked like what it truly was.
A scene out of a horror movie.
No ghosts, I pleaded to myself. Please, no ghosts.
I was haunted enough without having to deal with any angry spirits. I didn’t see ghosts often, certainly not every ghost out there, but I’d seen a handful, and it never got easier.
Given our location and knowing why the restless dead were here, I had zero interest in interacting with them. I couldn’t offer them peace or release. I couldn’t even find peace for myself.
Neither of the boys kicked up a fuss over my plan. Desmond slipped to all fours naturally and crawled forward with such ease I had to stop to marvel at the fluid grace of his motions as he disappeared into the grass. Looked like he’d retained a few tricks from his wolf form.
Holden, who typically moved like a dancer when on two feet—or in the bedroom—didn’t do as well on the ground. He gave his trousers a forlorn look before getting in the dirt. It was a good thing I hadn’t suggested he crawl on his belly, he might have murdered me.
The distance from the woods to the barn took longer to cover this way, but it was smarter than leaping into the fray with guns blazing. I had to know what we were up against, and it was always smarter to maintain the element of surprise as long as possible.
By now they would probably know we’d arrived in Elmwood. Even a basic drive-by of the farm would turn up our car. So Mercy would know I was coming for her. I had to be the endgame target of her assault. If she’d only wanted to kill her mother, this would already be over. But for her to run off with Grandmere and hole up in some haunted shithole, she was drawing me out. Taunting me.
Mercy liked to hit me where it hurt; she’d already proven that by killing Brigit. I wouldn’t put it past her to wait until I showed up to bump off Grandmere in front of me.
I had to be careful.
The handle of my sword bit into my hand as I crawled, making me wish I’d thought to bring along its sling. It took me about twenty minutes to clear the field quietly, and by then my palms were cut up and I’d worn a hole in the knee of my jeans.
At this rate I would need to buy stock in Levi’s if I was going to keep burning through denim this way.
Desmond emerged from the grass a few feet to my left and Holden about ten feet to my right. We were facing the broad side of the barn farthest from the house. If we moved right, we’d be at the front side where I’d seen the lamp burning in the window. Better to go the back way.
I wasn’t well versed in official SWAT hand signals, but I did work for the FBI now, so perhaps I’d inherited some skills along with my new nonexistent title. I waved my hand at Holden to get his attention then pointed emphatically to him and to the front of the barn. Then I waved my hand between Desmond and myself and pointed to the backside.
