Page 92 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

And get left behind? I didn’t think so.

He shot me a look. “Then I’ll pull you up.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I wish I could read your mind.”

“You don’t need to. I’ve never lied to you.” He frowned. “Well, not unless it was a lie I was also telling myself. And I’m done with that.”

Shaking my head, I interlocked my fingers together and boosted him upwards when he stepped onto them. He hauled himself up with an easy athleticism that served as a pointed reminder of our age—and fitness—gap. Once balanced atop the wall, he wriggled around to face me and extended his hand as far as he could.

I vowed to be more productive at the gym in the future as I took it. I went, sure, but not in ways that transformed my body into one particularly suited to scaling walls. The weights could be heavier, my routine more varied. A personal trainer would probably help, assuming I could ever afford one.

There was nothing elegant about my ascent. The best description was a mad scramble, Baxter exerting nearly as much effort pulling me up as I did trying to find purchase with my feet. Eventually, we both sat astride the wall.

On the other side, nothing could be seen. The pitch-black cemetery might as well have been a yawning chasm. “How far down?” I asked. “I don’t want to break a—”

Baxter dropped.

A few seconds later, a light appeared. He shone his phone at the ground, revealing a clear expanse of grass only a few feet below, mercifully free of headstones. At least I wasn’t about to land on someone’s grave. I hung by my arms and then let go, landing solidly on my feet.

“Just for the record,” I said. “I’m not a fan of this.”

“Which part?”

“Any of it.” I pulled out my phone, the two of us using our flashlights to avoid walking into gravestones, or even worse, falling into a freshly dug grave waiting to be filled the next day.

“Did I ever get around to telling you what John did in that graveyard?” Baxter asked.

“No.”

“Reanimated the skeletons. About thirty of them.”

I shuddered. “And you’re telling me this while we’re in a graveyard. Thanks for that.”

“We’re fine. There are zero necromancers around.”

We found Baxter’s grave more quickly than we had the first time, which was impressive given the conditions. He spent a long time shining the light over the ground and the headstone, examining every inch.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“I thought he might have defaced it somehow, but apparently not.”

I peered into the darkness surrounding us. “Do you really think he’s here?”

Baxter scanned the area. “I thought he might be. I thought he’d take a twisted glee in arranging a meeting over a headstone that wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for him. But now that we’re here, I realize it doesn’t fit. Me standing next to it just highlights his failure. He wouldn’t want that.”

And that was when his phone rang.

The sound was jarring enough in the silence that, had I not relieved myself shortly before we left, it was likely I’d be doing it now.