Page 39 of What Happens at Nightfall

The path led steeply downward from above the tomb, curving around the side. Jess could see the bust of Cornelia Vanderwilt looming, her hair meticulously arranged even in marble. Adam raised a finger to his lips and pointed. Grasping Jess’s hand, he drew her down into a crouch, out of view.

Candles flickered along the path from the stairs to the portico of the tomb, not plastic ones this time, but real ones.

In the shadow of the portico loomed a creature out of childhood nightmares, hooded, faceless, its voluminous draperies making a swishing sound as it turned in a slow circle, pouring something on the ground in a steady, slithering stream.

As it completed its rotation, Jess could see it was holding a Morton salt container.

High drama plummeted to ludicrousness in a moment. She could catch a hint of profile now. It was just the guide, in a robe looted from Hogwarts, deploying kitchen salt by the light of a boatload of votive candles. Jess felt her breath go out in a relieved whoosh.

The hooded figure was mumbling something to herself. She lifted a bulbous chalice and flicked red liquid at the four corners of the compass, her voice rising as the ritual proceeded. Pictures, they were supposed to be taking pictures. Jess fumbled for her phone before remembering she had stupidly turned it off.

She turned to Adam, but he was staring in shock at something below.

The sun was setting now, well and truly setting, and the harsh orange light glinted off the bars of the cage that sat in the center of the circle and the knife the guide held high above her head in both hands.

In the cage, a small green bird batted its wings in increasing panic, struggling to get free.

“Whoa,” said Adam, and surged to his feet, bolting down the slope, vaulting a rosebush on his way.

Jess made a grab for his arm, but he was well away. As she stumbled down after, slipping and sliding on the uneven terrain, she saw the guide whirl to face him, her face transformed by a look of panic as she shouted, “The circle! Don’t break the circle!”

The light of the sunset pulsed against Jess’s eyes, with a pressure that made her head ache, a glowing ball of light and darkness gathering above the tomb.

The eyes of the marble statue of Cornelia Vanderwilt seemed to snap open, fixing on the glow that wasn’t the sunset at all but flame and fear, scented with sulfur.

Adam barreled forward, grabbing for the cage, as the guide tried to push him back with one hand, grabbing for the salt with the other, splashing it with abandon as she shouted, “By Ashtorath and—”

“Ha! Ashtorath! Do you think I fear Ashtorath?”

Out of the flames grew a beast of smoke and malice, crackling like a bonfire made of green wood, sullen and smelly.

It reared above them, as the guide punched Adam hard on the arm, crying, “I told you not to break the circle!”

Adam stood there, holding the cage with the increasingly agitated parrot, staring up in bewilderment.

The creature stretched and pulsed as the sky behind him darkened, as if he were drawing the rays of the sunset into himself, feeding on them.

“I can taste your fear,” mused the creature.

Jess slithered her way down the rest of the slope, slamming hard into one of the pillars on the portico. She wasn’t entirely sure what she intended to do, other than shove Adam out of the way, although why she thought someone at least nine inches taller than she was and correspondingly broader needed her protection, she wasn’t quite sure.

The burning embers that passed as eyes focused on Jess. “You,” it said. “I know you.”

Fire. Screaming. The smell of burning flesh. Pushing, shoving, trying to run toward the flames.

“Vade!” The guide was chanting, her voice high and shaky. “Vade retro spiritus immundus!”

“Your accent is atrocious,” the creature growled. It moved its smoky claws in a gesture that sent the guide reeling back, banging hard into a stone pillar. “Puny human, did you really think a few misspoken words could contain ME?”

The guide’s parasol was resting against a pillar. Without thinking, Jess grabbed it, not by the end meant for holding, but by the slippery furled silk. Smoke was closing around her, choking her. Her chest was tight, her eyes streaming, her arms trembling. The parasol seemed to be made of lead; she struggled to lift it.

“Angele dei,” Jess whispered. She wasn’t sure where the words came from. She wasn’t even sure what they meant. Something she must have heard or read, like a forgotten song at the back of her head. “Angele dei, qui custos es mei. Angele dei, qui custos es mei . . .”

The pressure on her chest lightened; the terrible smoke thinned into wisps. Reversing the parasol, Jess thrust it into the air, pointing the ornate silver circle at the creature hovering above her.

“Go away!” she shouted. “Go away and leave us alone!”

Chapter Twelve