Page 105 of Death's Daughter
I free the hood of my sweatshirt from under my coat and pull it up over my hair as we approach the main gate. I have no idea whether dressing in dark colors actually helps or simply guarantees that anyone who sees us knows we’re up to trouble.
The others are dressed in solid black, varying combinations of jeans, sweaters, and jackets. I never realized how little I owned in that color until tonight—a subconscious attempt to deny stereotype, I suppose. So, I’m doing my best in black fleece-lined leggings, an oversized dark blue sweatshirt, brown faux fur– lined boots, and a gray puffer coat borrowed from Chessa. Just call me a non-fashion influencer.
“Mary Grace is buried over this way,” Chessa hisses once we’re inside, pointing with the shovel to the far side of the cemetery, where the oldest graves remain. The earth is still torn up in frozen black hunks, like claw marks in the grass, visible in the narrow sweep of her phone flashlight.
An actual flashlight would have been more useful, but apparentlynoneof us thought of that.
“Yeah,” I say. But I can’t seem to make myself move in that direction, even as Chessa leads the way, Devon at her heels with all the bags.
I don’t feel any particular pull toward the mausoleum. Cenotaph, whatever. Just like before, the sense of magic isthicker, for lack of a better term, here in the cemetery in general, but that’s all.
Still, instinct, or maybe the memory of all those blood-red asterisks on Kelleher’s pages, tugs at me. A little nudge somewhere in the vicinity of my chest, but one that can’t be ignored.
I pivot in the opposite direction to head toward the mausoleum. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I turn on the flashlight to avoid tripping over ancient roots or one of the low-to-the-ground stones.
The mausoleum is in the back corner, close to the wrought iron fence boundary on two sides. Discreet placement, except for the fact that it stands taller than me by a couple of feet.
Mausoleums always look like small, ornate houses to me, and this one is no exception. The roof is pitched at an angle to keep the snow from settling on the structure. The building itself is constructed out of a solid gray stone with sparkling flecks, reflecting my light back at me. Small columns on a little porchlike area stand on either side of the front doors, like guards. On the triangular pediment above the columns, a Latin phrase is carved—Requiescat in Pace—along with a disconcertingly large eye in a triangle. The open hole of the pupil seems to be home to either a bird’s nest or a collection of random sticks and dead grass.
On the side closest to me, more words are inscribed, this time in English:
Gone For Now, Never Forgotten
NANCY NGUYEN
LINDA VANG
PATRICIA MCGUIRE
KATHLEEN HAHN
NOVA WEST
The gap between the fourth name and the final one strikes me as odd until I remember that they never found the body of one of the girls. I’m betting that might be Nova West. Maybe her parents were reluctant to add her name at first.
“What are you doing?” Carter asks, coming to a stop next to me, his breath emerging in a white cloud. I hadn’t realized he’d followed me.
“I don’t know,” I say after a moment. “I just think we should start here.”
He nods and turns away. A moment later, he’s leading Chessa and Devon back across the cemetery toward us.
Chessa is grumbling under her breath about this being ridiculous, and who put me in charge, when the grave is obviously better and we should just get started over there. Fair, but she’s also hanging back, moving sideways instead of directly toward the structure.
And that doesn’t strike me as a very Chessa thing to do. An idea flickers in the back of my mind.
“Chessa,” I say.
She looks up sharply, her fingers gripping the shovel so tight her knuckles are going pale. Rather than carrying it in front of her or even over her shoulder, she’s got it locked under one arm, the blade of the shovel pointing out, like she’s ready to use it as a weapon if necessary.
“Do you really feel that the grave is a better option?” I ask.
She opens her mouth to start speaking immediately, and I hold up my hand. “Or is it more that you really don’t like this place?” I point to the mausoleum.
She gives me a hostile look, but to her credit, she pauses to consider the question. “Both, I think. I don’t know.” She hunches her shoulders, less like a shrug and more like a protective gesture. “I just feel like it’s not… right over here. I hated it even when my class came through.”
I glance at Carter for confirmation. “It’s… not pleasant,” he says after a moment, with a faint grimace.
Yahtzee.
