AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Caelan lifted a shoulder. “You want in?”
Tentatively, I extended my hand. “I want in.”
We shook. He patted the space beside him. “Prick those human ears and listen close, Miss Davins.”
I moved so we were shoulder to shoulder overlooking the fallen community.
“I headed up and east chasing prey after joining an investigation into a series of disturbances in Louisiana. Werefolk there claimed worse than gators prowled the bayous. Pouches of fish scales and skulls hanging from cypress trees, white eyes in the mist, dead deer rising and running mid-bite. A year earlier, a gator tour found a young woman’s body dumped outside New Orleans. She'd been rumored to be the second coming of the great voodoo queen, Marie Laveau. Several disputes broke out among community leaders and rivals over which faction should fill the power vacuum. Leaders either disappeared or their remains were found torn and partially consumed. Consensus was one faction was using necromancy to sick undead Werefolk on the rest. As the body count rose, the suspect list shrank. One those suspects, a musical therapist by the name of Ingram Hayes, was tipped off and fled Louisiana. Soon after, reports trickled in from other states, culminating in a spike of disappearances and undead activity in Connecticut. Gannon, your retired sheriff, failed to contain the outbreak.”
“And here you are.”
“Here you are,” he corrected, “tangled in this web. Ingram has killed a lot of people, but more and more frequently, we’ve been encountering zombies in bridal gowns, all of them with their hearts ripped or eaten out. So far, I’ve recovered nine different species of the Otherworld. I ain’t sure what he’s doing, but he’s either failing or practicing. Thing is, he hasn’t taken a human in this way. I think that’s about to change.”
I felt numb, nervous and drained as adrenaline dissipated. Without prompt, I went and sat inside the truck. The sheriff joined me, occasionally glancing my direction.
“I know it’s hard,” he said.
“What's going to happen here, Caelan? This was an entire community. People with jobs, friends, families. What is your government—”
“Our government,” he corrected. “Already told you, Miss Davins. I’m the wrecking ball, not the cleanup crew. Given the state of the bodies found and the probable number missing, this will be deemed the result of a horrific cult. Ingram Hayes is wanted by the FBI. He’ll rightly take the blame for this.”
“What about James’ sister?” I willed myself not to cry. “She’s gonna need so much help when it finally sinks in that they’re lost forever and she’s alone in this world.”
Caelan made an understanding sound in the depths of his throat and gently, delicately, patted my shoulder. “I'll see she’s cared for.”
“Lisa—” My voice cracked. The image of James scattered across the concrete would haunt me forever. “Lisa always made sure I renewed my CPR certification and yet I reached straight for the gun.”
Caelan’s phone rang. He silenced it and tossed it on the dash. A ‘Jali Mishra-Anderson’ went to voicemail. “You feel guilty.”
“A part of me doesn't. A part of me thinks I was right.”
“Didn’t take more than a sniff to know he was hamburg.”
“That’s mean.”
He shrugged. “That’s death. The end ain’t pretty.”
I shook my head. “Not true. Walk the halls of the Wadsworth, the National Gallery, or the Louvre, and you will find death sculptured, drawn, painted, laced and hung. And should you bend close as I do in my work, should you examine expressions, weapons, dying poses and fading pigments...You’ll find beauty.” I swallowed hard, wiping my cheek. “But I don't see how someone could ever dare make so beautiful the destruction I saw tonight.”
“There’s a difference between what hangs on the wall and what knocks at your door.” I realized at that moment the man’s hand warmed mine. When I looked down, he returned it to the steering wheel. “This will hit the news. Far as your housemate is concerned, we ate pizza, went for drinks and I got the call.”
“Thanks.” A shift in focus helped, even if it was temporary. “Why would the necromancer want publicity?”
“The slaughter will keep our hands full with the press, but he’s been picking off werefolk for several months. Likely he’s close to realizing his end game and has tired of taking only the foolish and unfortunate. Also possible the spider jiggled his web and addressed you direct because he wants something he can’t get by taking you. Don’t believe it was an accident my team became preoccupied with a murder after we’d left your home.”
I touched my puffy lip. “He told me I’m the spitting image of my grandmother and I should go home.”
“Is there anything in your actual familial history I should be aware of, Marcy?”
“Mom had breast cancer. Dad couldn’t work and support her needs so we moved into my grandparents’ lake house. Couple weeks later, the werewolf slaughtered them, my paternal grandparents who’d travelled from Greece to visit, and my sister.” Rubbing my eyes, I leaned against the headrest, curious to learn what he’d unearthed about me, uncertain how many gaps to fill in. Calico’s warning that sheriffs charm and sheriffs isolate still rang loud in my head. “Sorry, Caelan. I can’t talk right now. I've slept like four hours in the past two days. If you or someone could bring me home, I’d be grateful.”
“Until we know what home means to the necromancer, you shouldn't be alone in yours.”
“I meant to say Cal’s.”
He nodded. “Listen, if you’re uncomfortable with her pack, you don’t have to stay there. I could return you to your friend’s apartment, the station, a hotel, or you can crash at my place. None are a fortress from the undead, but safe enough for shut-eye.”
I wanted my own home and Samson and Igor, but understood. “Yours,” I decided. “Fewest people, least possible carnage.”
