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By now, Xero should be a flailing pyre, if he isn’t still under the effects of the somnochlorate. Guilt stabs at my chest the way it did when I pushed Mr. Lawson off the edge of the roof garden, but I force myself to continue moving. Something that could be grief tears at my heart, but I shove it down.
The footsteps retreat, but it’s too early to feel relief. Once my mind processes what I did to Xero, his afterimages will add to my roster of ghosts. That’s if I survive Xero’s followers, who will no doubt want revenge.
Less thinking, more slithering through the gaps between walls of bones.
Long-dead femurs brush against my cheek, and I swear my fingers dip into the hollow of a skull’s eye sockets. I continue shuddering until the alley eventually widens into a chamber.
I pull out my phone and turn on the light to find myself inside the lower level of a mausoleum. Dust-covered sarcophagi line one side, while the other features a tall angel statue set within a memorial wall engraved with names. At the far end of the room are stone steps that I hope will lead to the surface.
“Thank fuck.”
I race toward them and charge up to the upper level, where I find more stone coffins and, more importantly, a door.
But it’s locked.
Sending a silent word of apology to the family whose resting place I’m disrespecting, I kick its lower panel until the wood shifts and then work around its weak spots with one of my knives.
Finally, the panel gives way, and I break it open with my hardest kick. Sunlight streams in through the hole, and I want to drop to my knees and sob. Instead, I slip the knife in my pocket and crawl on my hands and knees to freedom.
Somehow, I’ve ended up at the edge of the mausoleums, with the new rectory about a hundred feet ahead. It’s a stone building set among a group of weeping willows with large bay windows, pitched roofs, and a doorway surrounded by ivy.
To my far left is the graveyard where Xero’s memorial statuelooms over the tombstones. Sunlight glints on its scythe and wings, its grandeur making me feel like a fool.
I spent months of my life not only worshiping a killer, but leading others to do the same. We spent thousands of dollars on an elaborate grave for a man who desecrated it in the worst way. I must have been insane.
Movement from the rectory catches my attention. An athletic figure exits a black car and walks through the courtyard.
“Reverend Tom?” I yell.
He turns around, his head swiveling from side to side.
“Reverend Tom!”
I race toward the priest, who greets me with a broad smile.
“Amethyst. Are you alright? I came around to check on you after your altercation on the street, but there’s a sign outside that says your house is up for auction. Where are you staying?”
I shake my head. “Nowhere. My mom kicked me out.”
He frowns. “I’ve just vacated my room at Mrs. Baker’s. Maybe she can take you in.”
My gaze darts over my shoulder into the mausoleum area, where another man in black darts between the structures. Smoke rises in the distance beyond the tall trees. It’s so faint that only the person who started the fire would notice it.
Reverend Tom places a hand on my shoulder, breaking me out of my musings. “You look shaken. Come in and tell me all about it.”
“O-Okay,” I whisper.
“Let me take your bag.” He pulls the handle from my loose fingers and continues through the gravel courtyard.
I follow the priest through a wooden door into a white hallway of black-and-white tiles. My nostrils twitch at a faint scent of chemicals in the air, reminding me of bug killer.
He turns around, catching my expression, and chuckles. “The fumigators didn’t do the best job of extractingall the odors. I think this is one of the downsides to living in an old building.”
I offer him a weak smile, wondering if he can serve as an alibi when the police come after me for arson.
After depositing my bag by the front door, Reverend Tom strolls down the hallway, passing the open door of a living roomfilled with worn furniture and bookshelves. Xero invades my thoughts. Did he wake up when the flames consumed him or did the smoke kill him first?
“Amethyst?”
