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Am I making the right decision? Am I digging Antony deeper into a trap he can’t escape?
I can’t know the answer to that, and it’s driving me insane.
I roll down the window and watch the German landscape roll by – picturesque hills and chocolate-box houses along the river. Our first stop is an overgrown ruin of a castle on the hill overlooking the town of Rothenburg. This is where one of George’s internet buddies claims to have seen Mackenzie.
A sign with tourist information has been deliberately defaced, and there’s a new sign beneath it. Eli translates for us, but it’s pretty obvious – PRIVATE PROPERTY, KEEP OUT. The driveway is so overgrown Antony can’t get the minivan up – we park at the bottom and trudge up on foot. Gabriel complains the whole way. Eli leaps up the ragged stone steps three at a time. Show-off.
After twenty steps my face is soaked in sweat and my abdomen feels like it’s on fire. I hate this. I have a job to do, and this stupid injury keeps slowing me down. Noah pulls me onto his back. I hate needing help, but it’s either this or I sit at the bottom, and I’m not doing that, so I nuzzle into his neck and try to enjoy being the damsel in distress for once.
It doesn’t fit.
We emerge onto a flattened terrace surrounded by ruined walls. A circular tower juts from the hill like a fairy chimney. Frigid wind whips my hair against my face, and my feet crunch on fresh snow as I pick my way over the crumbling footbridge.
I batter my fists on the door, but no one answers. We circle the castle, peering through crumbling walls and arrow slits into ruined grandeur and buried history. Reconstruction work had been done on the south tower – adding wooden floors and lockable doors and safety bars over the windows. It looked as though the place was once open to tourists, but has been shut off for some time. Now it’s home to wildlife and rot.
And maybe… someone else.
Noah hoists me up on his shoulders again. I clamber onto the parapet. Gabe must’ve found another way up, because he appears at the far end, outside the intact tower, striking warrior poses and yelling lines from Braveheart into the valley below. Ignoring him, I stand on tiptoe to peer into the highest arrow slit on the second floor. Someone has definitely lived inside recently – there’s a sleeping mat in the corner, old furniture scattered around, posters on the walls, and…
“Gabe,” I whisper.
There, on the wall, is an Octavia’s Ruin poster.
Gabriel’s head crowds in beside mine, his smoky pagan scent the only thing keeping me upright. That poster could mean anything. All you’re looking at is the hovel of a homeless person with great taste in music.
I tell myself this, but I know it’s not true.
Gabriel sees the look on my face. He steps forward, his arms wide. I fall into him, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I ride through a raw panic that seizes my entire body.
“I hate to break it to you, but I am quite popular.” He grins, but there’s no real mirth in his smile.
He’s afraid. So am I.
“Are you okay now?”
I nod. Gabe takes another look in the narrow slit.
“There are newspaper clippings on the walls, too. A lot of them are from the Emerald Beach Gazette.”
Yeah, that’s no coincidence.
“What’s going on up there?” Antony calls up. “What do you see?”
“Someone’s been living here.” I peer over the parapet. “We need to get inside.”
Noah and Antony slam their shoulders into the door. The wood splinters in all directions. The four of them shove their way inside. A moment later, I hear George shriek.
“What is it?” I yell down. “What’s happened?”
Footsteps pound across the wooden floor. A moment later, the wooden door leading to the parapet flies open. Noah grabs my wrist and drags me inside.
I’m halfway down the stairs before I notice the body.
Body is a kind word. It’s a skeleton picked clean by rodents and insects, although shredded clothing still clings to the discolored bones – thick cargo pants, work boots, and a checkered vest. Not Mackenzie Malloy, then. Even living in this squalor she wouldn’t be caught dead in those clothes.
Caught dead… I groan inwardly. I’m sounding more like Gabriel every day.
“What are the odds this person died of natural causes?” I ask.
