I gave him discrete, sideways glances while he drove up the winding road that had tall pines flanking each side like pillars holding up the sky. About a mile away from our destination, Greenwood’s low walls stretched out like uneven toy blocks piled together by a toddler. My thoughts mimicked the aged stone, stacked over each other and held together by mortar made of worry and anxiety.
After shutting off the engine of his hybrid at the entrance, he stared at the open wrought-iron gates. He sat and just looked at the bold, black letters spelling out GREENWOOD in an arch. Knowing to wait, I settled into a comfortable position in my seat and stared at the interlocking vines of the gate’s design. He sighed heavily. I turned my head to face him until my cheek touched the headrest. To my surprise, he’d done the same thing. His slate-gray eyes never looked as tired as they did then.
Without breaking eye contact, I reached for his hand, which rested on the side of his seat. I squeezed his clammy fingers hard. I wanted my warmth to seep into him and tell him that I wasn’t going anywhere. That I’d do this with him no matter what.
Then, like the first sunrise of autumn—golden-yellow brightness—he smiled. It formed in stages, beginning at the corners of his mouth. His lips pulled up, causing his cheekbones to become pronounced, ending with his eyes crinkling. A genuine smile, same as the one he’d given Penny and me the day he returned from his month-long absence.
“Ready?” I asked tentatively.
He returned my squeeze. “Ready.”
Everything was going to be fine.
I repaid his smile. Then I let go of his hand and opened my door.
The moment I stepped out, imaginary cold hands touched my back, sending shivers all over my body. Creepy, much? The same unease I felt the first time I stood outside the bookstore, and most recently, in the stockroom, wrapped around me like a heavy blanket. I rubbed my arms to stop thinking of the eerie air surrounding us.
“Cold?” Kyle asked while he pulled out the yellow roses from the backseat.
“It’s weird,” I said, looking around. “It’s just the end of September. Aren’t you cold?”
He blinked a couple of times. “No. But if you are, I have a jacket in the trunk.”
“I think it’s being here.”
“Then let’s get this over with.” He tilted his head toward the gates and walked on ahead.
I kept up with his long strides. I felt nervous being among the dead. The thought of corpses crawling out of their graves freaked me out. My Night of the Living Dead experience at Valley View picked that time to replay in my head. I rationalized my fear by thinking I didn’t want to leave Kyle because he needed me for support. The croaking frogs and humming crickets didn’t help ease the spooky quiet. Large pines loomed ominously in clumps on each side of the clearing, like silent guards watching over the gravestones.
“Did you know,” Kyle said. “Gravestones were once believed to have been used to keep the living dead from rising from their resting places?”
I laughed nervously. Why’d he have to mention that particular factoid now? Gravestones didn’t stop the puppets at Valley View. “Do you believe the dead can…” I swallowed. “You know…”
“What?” He stopped and looked at me, yellow roses in his hands.
I rubbed my arms. “Do you believe that the dead can rise again?”
He laughed, cutting the eeriness of being the only two people in Greenwood. “If I knew you’d be this freaked out, I would have come alone.”
He meant it as a joke, but I still felt bad for showing any weakness. I blamed it on my stockroom experience. My nerves were still too raw. Despite that, I reminded myself of why I was here. I let go of my arms and stood up straight, jutting my chin out.
“I can do this,” I said with a shaky grin.
“That’s more like it.” He returned my enthusiasm with a small smile.
I ran to his side and entwined my arm with his. “Let’s go.”
Even with his answering shoulder bump, we still hurried past rows of tombstones, marble statutes, and a variety of crosses. In the distance, a large, marble angel came into view. He slowed his pace. The lightness around him turned heavy again. The storm cloud above his head returned. I matched my steps with his while looking straight ahead.
The angel, once pristine, now showed the effects of weather and time. With its wings tucked behind it, the statue’s arms and face reached for the heavens as if asking for blessings. Or deliverance. I couldn’t be sure. Below the angel’s feet, a gold-lettered granite slab stated: Alexander and Tanya Hilliard, beloved parents. Never found. Never lost.
Tears threatened to fall from my eyes. The inscription got me every time. I lifted my hands to cover my trembling lips. Kyle still believed his parents were alive somewhere. He fell to his knees and placed the bouquet of roses on the patch of grass beneath the angel. His shoulders shook as he covered his face with his hands.
Sobs filled the air around us.
The sun had set beyond the tall pines by the time Kyle wiped away the last of his tears and stood up. He stretched from his fingers all the way to his toes. I distinctly heard some joints popping.
The coming gloom brought with it a gray twilight. A soft mist gathered on the ground, covering the graves in a damp, smoky blanket. Kyle faced me again, and in the dim light, I could see the tip of his nose was red, and his usually light gray eyes copied a stormy sky.
“I’m really glad you came,” he said softly.
I bridged the gap between us and threw my arms around his shoulders, giving him the biggest, warmest hug I could muster. He pulled me up until my toes barely touched the ground.
“I braved the scary cemetery for you,” I said even if my eyes welled up.
“I owe you one.” He barked a sad laugh. After a minute, he said, “I still miss them.”
My heart crumpled a little. “Every damn day,” I replied.
“What?” A sniff escaped his nose.
“I miss my mom and dad every day,” I clarified in a gentle tone. “The loneliness and the missing them never goes away.”
Kyle buried his head deeper into my shoulder, and I felt the spreading dampness from his tears on my sweater. We shared the same sadness.
I understood that he was closer to his parents than I was to mine since they died when I was much younger than him. But grief was grief. I only had a few concrete memories of them. Actually, if Grams didn’t have pictures of them hanging on the walls of the living room and up the stairs, I wouldn’t have been able to recall the light in my mother’s eyes or the laugh lines on my father’s face. They were more like flickers of light at the back of my mind now, but it didn’t mean I thought of them any less.
Forgetting all the craziness in my life, I lost myself in memories of my parents’ scent and touch and Kyle’s comforting embrace.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dillan
No Time for Sarcasm
Dillan stood in the shadows of an outcropping of pines as Kyle and Selena walked hand in hand toward the cemetery’s entrance. He didn’t expect to encounter them on this detour Sebastian had him on. The hellhound was positive it felt the Maestro’s energy signature within the grounds. He would have confirmed it if he had more of his powers, but right now all he had to corroborate Sebastian’s instincts was the hint of sulfur in the air. Not enough for humans to pick up. Conjuring—the dark side of Channeling—always left an acrid scent behind.
But instead of concentrating on the case, his eyes never left Selena. It took all of his willpower to resist the urge to run after them. He’d been feeling insanely jealous of anyone in her company since the bookstore. It made no sense. Even he knew that. But when he saw them hugging, he almost charged them just to pull them apart.