Charity looked around for any sign of Mitchell but he wasn’t in his usual spot at the edge of the cemetery — in fact, their car seemed to be gone.
“You and I seem to have something in common,” Lazarus said.
“What’s that?” she asked, wishing that she hadn’t left her weapons in the vehicle.
“We both have a penchant for coming back from the dead.”
“I’ve heard rumors,” Charity replied. “But I thought they were a bunch of bunk. Did you really die?”
“Yes and no.” Lazarus took a few steps forward but stopped when Charity looked like she might bolt and run. “How about you?”
“I did. A higher power offered me a shot at redemption and I took it.”
Lazarus studied her closely. “And now you’re killing people. Did you murder Josef Goldstein? You’re living in his house.”
“What did you do with Mitchell?” she asked, refusing to answer him.
“He’s fine. My associates just took him away so that we could talk in private.”
“I know Mitchell. He wouldn’t have gone quietly.”
“He didn’t,” Lazarus admitted.
“Why are you here?” Charity asked.
“I’ve heard rumors about The Gravedigger but it took me awhile to figure out if they were true — and once I had done that, who might behind the mask. I had to station informants all around the city before one of them noticed that Goldstein’s house was still being used, despite the fact that he died months ago. I wasn’t sure if it was connected to Gravedigger or not — but a few days of watching the property led me to you, a dead girl. Suddenly, things began to make a little bit of sense. You killed Goldstein, possibly in cahoots with Mitchell, who turned on his employer. Now the two of you live in his house and have set yourselves up as judge, jury and executioner.”
“You’re wrong about several things.”
“Such as?”
“I didn’t kill Josef. He was training me when a nutcase named Arthur Meeks murdered him. The Peregrine and I teamed up to bring him down.”
There was a subtle shift in Gray’s expression, so minor that most would have missed it. Charity knew that it was in response to her mention of The Peregrine — while he didn’t trust her, it was obvious that Gray did trust Max Davies.
“So you’re a vigilante?”
“If you want to call it that.” Charity took a deep breath. “I was serious about dying — and about being given a second chance.”
“You’re saying that God sent you back to murder criminals?”
“I don’t know if it’s God. It doesn’t matter, really. Josef was a Gravedigger and there have been others before him. I’m the first woman to ever have the mantle and I plan to be one of the ones who survive. I only have three years to do it in.”
“What happens after three years?”
“The Voice returns and it judges me. If I’ve redeemed my soul, then I’m a free — and better — person. If I haven’t, then my soul is condemned to Hell.”
“I don’t think killing people is the way to redeem anyone.”
“That’s what The Voice told me to do. And I’m not just killing random people — I’m killing people who’ve dug their own graves. I’m taking scum off the streets.”
Lazarus reached into his jacket and Charity tensed. She grew even more still when a pistol appeared in his hand. He pointed it at her and said, “We’re going back to Robeson Avenue. I’m going to ascertain whether or not you’re sane. If you are… and I’ve encountered enough strange things in my time to admit that you may be… then I’ll offer you a position with my group. We kill from time to time, but only when there’s no alternative.”
Charity felt an anger rising up within her. There was no turning back after today — even if she managed to defeat Lazarus and escape, he knew where she lived. He was aware of her allies and could reach out to harm them. And he had the bargaining chip of Mitchell’s well being, something she couldn’t ignore.
On the other hand, she wasn’t about to become a prisoner of anyone, especially not her half-sister or her employer.
Charity moved quickly, reaching out with her left hand to smack Gray’s gun hand. With the barrel no longer pointing in her direction, she felt better about raising a foot and kicking him hard in the midsection. It was like striking an oak tree and he showed no sign of having been pained.
Lazarus brought his pistol around again and fired, his shot narrowly missing her torso. As she spun away from the blast, she noticed that it wasn’t a bullet at all — but rather some sort of specially made tranquilizer dart.
Charity dropped down and spun about, her foot knocking Gray’s legs out from under him. He went down but recovered quickly, getting off a second shot from his prone position. This time, Charity performed an acrobatic back flip that once again allowed her to avoid being shot.
Clutching a handful of dirt in her hand, Charity hurled it into Gray’s face. The act momentarily blinded him and allowed her to lunge towards him without fear of being caught. She had caught a flash of something sheathed under his coat — a dagger. Realizing that she needed a weapon to even the odds, Charity grabbed hold of the blade and yanked it free. As she did so, the edge of the weapon caught Lazarus under the chin, leaving a tiny cut in its wake. Blood oozed from the wound but Charity felt no regret about its presence — she was the victim here, not the other way around.
Now armed, Charity struck quickly — she slashed her blade across Gray’s chest, slicing his tie in two. Another line of blood appeared.
Gray now used his gun as a bludgeoning weapon, clubbing Charity in the shoulder. She winced but refused to fall — instead, she drove the blade into Gray’s hip. Yanking it free, she started to strike again but she was distracted by a sharp stinging sensation in her neck.
Staggering back, Charity realized what had happened, even before she reached up to yank the tranquilizer dart from her throat. She turned her head, seeing Gray’s “associate” at last. Samantha Grace stood there, looking beautiful in an ankle-length coat, turtleneck sweater and form-fitting skirt. She looked like she’d stepped right off the society page of The Sovereign Gazette, with the addition of a pistol, of course.
Charity swayed on her feet. She fell forward into Gray’s arms, darkness claiming her.
The Headless Horseman sat atop his steed, hiding in the stygian shadows that cloaked Sovereign. He was positioned outside the home of Inspector Cord, a well-known member of the police department. Cord was on the straight-and-narrow, which put him at odds with many of the more corrupt officials in the city. But the whippet-thin man with the perpetually narrowed eyes was no friend to men like Lazarus Gray, either. He despised vigilantes almost as much as he hated crooks.
Cord stepped out from his house, a cigarette dangling limply from between his tightly clenched lips. He headed towards his car but stopped abruptly when he saw the bodies draped across the hood.
Even with the damage done to them, he recognized them: O’Hara, Gibson and Drake. Three of the best cops on the force, good and decent men who had families.
Cord’s shock lasted for only a moment before he reached for his holstered gun. The killer or killers were likely to have fled the scene but if they hadn’t….
A sharp blade touched the side of his neck, giving him pause.
“Draw your weapon and die.”
Cord couldn’t see the figure behind him but he sure as hell could smell him. “Who are you?” he demanded, using the same voice he used on two-bit hoods when he was shaking them down.
“You should avoid Charon,” the Horseman replied. “You and your men have been asking too many questions. Now they won’t be able to ask anything, ever again.”