I stopped next to Erkens, my eyes fixed on Mr. Holtz. He looked awful. He wasn’t hurt in any physical way. It was like his reason for living had simply been sucked away.
He didn’t even acknowledge the fact I was there, his eyes fixed on something over Erkens’ shoulder. “It wasn’t her fault. We shouldn’t have left her alone with him. We thought everything was okay, though. She was just a kid.”
“Who?” Bukowski asked, his voice a lot calmer than it had been before.
Mr. Holtz sniffed. “My daughter, Skylar. We thought everything was okay, so we left her in charge for the weekend. We thought it would give us a chance to reconnect. Deke’s death wasn’t her fault. He was sick.”
“Who thinks it’s Skylar’s fault, Mr. Holtz?” I asked, getting into the rhythm of the Erkens/Bukowski questioning style.
“My wife,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “I don’t think she really believed it but she was hurting and . . . Skylar was available to put the blame on.”
Erkens shook his head. “When did your wife find out about Deke’s grave being dug up?”
Tears filled his eyes. “I let her know shortly after the cops called me . . . but I also told her I had seen Deke. I told her I thought our son had come back.” Mr. Holtz sank to his knees. “I did this. Teresa had only just started to come back from her depression and I told her our son was back. Seeing that empty grave . . . it must have been too much.”
My heart dropped down into my belly as I saw a bloody figure being loaded onto a gurney, then into a waiting ambulance. My stomach tried to eject my heart from its depths as it hit me.
Mr. Holtz had told his wife what had happened. She had come to the cemetery to see . . . and she had killed herself over her son’s empty grave. I didn’t know if I wanted to weep or shriek.
But that didn’t make sense. Wouldn’t that give the woman hope like it had done for Mr. Holtz? How could that kind of news drive her to kill herself?
Unless she hadn’t. What if she had come to see and had found the revenant? Or what if whoever had brought the revenant back had decided to kill her?
I stepped away from the group, walking toward the lights near one of the holes in the ground that was surrounded by crime scene tape. The cops ignored me, so I was able to get very close to that grave. And bile rose in my throat.
A perfectly square hole was dug in the ground. The box inside it had been opened, the little boy’s corpse simply gone. But it was the blood and what looked kind of like pink cottage cheese that was sprayed over everything, including the empty casket, which made the tears rise.
A man with a camera took pictures of a handgun that had been dropped on the ground next to a white outline in the grass. That outline was the shape of a woman. It was true. She had come to see if her son’s grave was empty and had killed herself over it?
No. That couldn’t be it. There was no way. There had to be another answer.
I looked around, my eyes fixed on the ground . . . then on the trees. I slid my hand into my bag and took out the piece of amber Spencer had given me. It didn’t change color at all. I didn’t know what color it would change if it was in the presence of a revenant but since black was the indication something was evil, that was what I expected to see.
Whatever or whoever had dug up the bodies had probably come back through the woods. There had to be a clue out there. There had to be proof that Mrs. Holtz had not killed herself.
I took a flashlight out of my bag, ready to spend all night searching for evidence. I stepped toward the trees, my body jolting when someone took hold of my arm. I wanted to yank myself free and bury my fist in that person’s gut.
But I recognized Ian almost immediately. Him, Spencer, and Erkens were all right there, Bukowski a little way behind them.
Ian leaned down so his mouth was close to my ear. “We need to get back to the office. There’s nothing we can do right now. It’s too dark to be able to see anything.”
I lifted the flashlight to show him how wrong he was.
He shook his head. “I need to get out of here. Please come with me. Please, Mads,” he half whispered.
I looked more closely at him and my mouth fell open. Ian’s hair was standing in every direction. His face was slick with sweat and the musty smell of it rolled off him in waves.
I looked around the cemetery and mentally face-palmed myself. Ian was a medium, a new one only just learning how to deal with the ability to speak to the dead. Being there must be very hard on him and I hadn’t even thought about it.
I took his hand and turned, ready to get out of there. What surprised me was that Bukowski came along with us. He didn’t look any happier about it than Erkens did, though there he was.
Quinn waited next to my car, her phone in her hand as she stood there. She didn’t speak to any of us. All she did was get in the backseat, still texting with somebody.
Spencer got in the backseat and Ian got in the front. Erkens and Bukowski must have ridden together. I understood why the guys wanted to get away from them.
Quinn looked up from her phone as we pulled away. “So Tria passed you her ability to speak with the dead,” she said in a dull voice, her eyes fixed on Ian.
He glanced back at her. “Uh, yeah. I thought you knew that already,” he said, wiping sweat from his face with the bottom of his t-shirt.
“I shouldn’t know that,” she said, tipping her head back with her eyes closed. “They’re looking for a medium.”
My heart skittered in my chest. No. No freaking way could those mad-scientists take Ian. Over my dead body.
Ian didn’t look bothered in the least. “We know. Spencer is--”
Quinn held up her hands. “Seriously. Don’t tell me anything about any of you. Because of the section I’m now working in, security is a lot tighter and they have ways of finding out what we know.”
I turned the rearview mirror to look at her. “But does this mean they know about Dawson?” I asked, trying to word my question carefully.
Quinn shook her head. “Because of who Dawson is related to, there are protections put up around their bloodline.” She glanced at Spencer. “That means Imogen is safe from being found out through me as well.”
He didn’t respond as he flicked his eyes toward Ian.
So did I. If the PSA was looking for a medium and Quinn knew for certain that he was one, we needed to find a way to protect him.
Ian reached over to rest his hand on my thigh. “Don’t worry about me, Mads. Let’s focus on this case.”
I nodded and glanced back at Spencer. “Do you know anything that can help?”
Spencer considered for a few seconds before he shrugged. “Erkens told me a revenant is a reanimated corpse. I’m guessing that would be because a summoner brought the soul back from the afterlife. If that’s true, we should contact the Valkyries. They’d know more about this than we do,” he said in his usual, calm tone.
Quinn groaned and dramatically stuck her fingers in her ears. “You need to drop me off at home before you say anything else,” she said, her voice a little shaky.
My heart sank. Whatever magical hold the PSA had over her, it had to stop. Even the mention of a supernatural being was enough to make her run for cover, all so they couldn’t get info about what we were doing. I wanted to scream. I also wanted to get back to the office and call that shaman.
Maybe it would be better just to go to Boston to talk to him. If he had the ability to help get her out of that contract, I would go anywhere, do anything.
Quinn sat forward when I pulled up in front of her house. “Let me have your phone. I’ll get it back to you tomorrow morning.”
I handed it to her without hesitation. “Are we still on for your birthday dinner?” I asked, curious if anything would have changed because of the small things we’d let slip.
“Of course,” she said, getting out of the car and waving the tiniest bit before she walked to the house.
EIGHT
We all sat there and stare
d at Quinn as she walked into her house. I had no idea what was going on. I had less idea how much danger we were in because of the things we’d said in front of her.
“That was weird,” Ian said, his brows almost touching his hairline.
I agreed but didn’t want to think about it anymore. If I did, it was possible my temper might rise up and consume us all. I wasn’t angry. I was livid.
Quinn was right about me. I was protective of the people I loved. Despite the fact we hadn’t known each other long, I did love my sister. It was likely the stress of everything that had happened making my emotions so strong. It didn’t matter.
I would save Quinn from the PSA. The shaman I had been trying to contact would help me figure out how to free her from them. I would not allow him to turn me down.
I didn’t speak as we drove back to the office, my mind too focused on everything going on around us. I needed answers to quite a few questions. My primary question was why would a mother kill herself over her son’s empty grave when her husband told her the kid had come back?
My mouth fell open as we walked into the office. Bukowski sat in my usual chair. The thing that surprised me, was that Twitter sat on the desk in front of him, staring him down. Bukowski didn’t move like he thought the cat was about to jump him.
As we walked in, Twitter jumped down and weaved himself through our legs. All three of us were graced with his presence before he sauntered back to the desk and jumped up to sprawl out across its surface.
Ian smirked at the cat, sighing as he stepped in. “It’s so quiet in here,” he said, taking my hand to guide me over to the kitchenette.
I had been told that before. The fact the office was warded meant that spirits couldn’t speak to Ian. It would be the one place where it was just him with no interference from the other side of the veil.
I scooted up onto the countertop and looked at Erkens, waiting for him to explain what his old partner was doing there.
Erkens harrumphed. “The chief has told Bukowski he needs to work with us to solve this case. Our job from the department is to find out who dug up the graves and figure out if the bodies have been reanimated.” He looked at me and shrugged a little. “I’d like you to work with Bukowski. Ian and I will try to figure out if Deke Holtz really was roaming the woods around Dead Man’s Hollow. Spencer, if you wouldn’t mind talking to--”
“Hold on one minute,” Bukowski cut in, holding up his hands. “Firstly, the chief told me to work this case with you, not with your little protégé. The girl’s barely old enough to drive,” he snapped, folding his arms like a petulant kid.
I opened my mouth to speak but closed it when Twitter bounded to his feet. The cat jumped onto the chair next to Bukowski’s and hissed so ferociously, Bukowski jerked back.
Erkens nodded. “Consider the cat our spokesman. Madison has solved more cases, saved more lives in her first six months as an investigator than you and I did in the first five years working together. You’re getting the better end of the deal. Trust me,” he said in his usual, gruff tone.
Ian slanted a look at me. “Yeah. It was an insult of me. I’m bright enough to figure that out,” he said, not looking offended at all.
Bukowski scowled but didn’t speak. He appeared to be too afraid of Twitter who still sat in the chair next to his, eyeing him with contempt.
I frowned at Erkens for his put-down of Ian but couldn’t help the smirk that rose up. Instead of commenting on any of it, I scooted off the counter and set my laptop up where my butt had been. What I did was make a list of all the questions I needed answers to.
The first question that burned in my mind, was what made Glenn Holtz believe that he had to contact a paranormal investigator when he’d seen his son. Because he’d mentioned his daughter a little while ago, I decided to look into her.
I could hear Erkens and Bukowski sniping at each other, hear Ian commenting occasionally, hear Spencer NOT speaking. It was their background noise that helped me the most. They were easy to ignore while I searched out Skylar Holtz.
“Spence,” I half whispered when I clicked into one of her social media accounts.
Spencer stepped over and looked at my screen, letting out a groan. “No way,” he said as he continued to read.
“What did you find?” Erkens asked, clearly eager to get away from the argument with Bukowski.
I turned to look at him. “Skylar Holtz is a pagan. She’s into the Egyptian form of Paganism. There’s things all over her social media having to do with Anubis.”
Erkens groaned and tipped his head back. “Remember when I said I needed a break?” he asked no one in particular.
Bukowski’s gaze clouded. “What are you talking about? So what if the kid is a pagan?” he asked, rubbing his chin as he gazed around at all of us.
I shrugged. “Anubis is the Egyptian god of the dead.” I let that sink in for a few seconds before going on. “The reaction Mr. Holtz had today was not normal in the least. It does make sense if he knew about his daughter’s belief system and thought she’d found a way to bring Deke back from the dead. He specifically asked us to ‘make it stick’. He also contacted his wife to--”
“Ex-wife,” Bukowski corrected. “They split up a month after their son’s death and Teresa filed for divorce the same day.”
My stomach fluttered. I understood the emotional horror they had gone through but allowing it to end their marriage seemed . . . normal. The death of their son had broken both of them.
Erkens looked over at Spencer. “If you’d talk to the Valkyries, see if they can give us any information, we’ll work the rest of the case.”
Spencer nodded to Erkens and leaned back against the counter, his arms folded as he looked at Bukowski. “You worked the case where my dad was killed,” he said calmly, his expression as unbothered as usual.
Bukowski sighed, rubbing his brow with a downturned expression. “Yeah. And I worked the case where your sister helped to kill Emma Gregory and tried to kill Madison.”
Spencer didn’t flinch at the mention of what his adopted family had done. “I’m not my family. I’m nothing like them,” he said simply.
Bukowski looked harder at him and gave a slow nod. “I get that. I’m not judging you, kid. I’m just not happy about all this woo-woo crap. It makes me uncomfortable.”
Spencer smirked a little. “Yeah. I can tell. What I’m telling you is that the only people I’m a danger to, are the woo-woo kind who hurt people.”
Bukowski sat still for a few seconds before he slowly got to his feet. “Okay. I see when I’m beaten,” he said and nodded to me. “I’ll meet you here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” he said and turned to leave, shooting a nervous look at Twitter as he was forced to pass him.
The cat eyed him, though didn’t make a move. All he did was sit there, a ruler looking over his kingdom.
When the door closed behind Bukowski, Spencer walked to the portal generator set up on the wall and entered the location he needed. Because Spencer hadn’t been born in our realm, he was allowed to pass into other realms without going through all the red tape the rest of us were required to. The rules for humans were very different than they were for otherworlders.
When the portal was open, Spencer glanced back at us. “When you’re talking to the girl tomorrow, use the amber. If she’s the one who did summon back her brother’s soul, the colors will be fractured. It’ll be a mix of black, gray, and brown.” And with that, he stepped through the portal.
NINE
Deke Holtz crouched in the corner of the basement, his face hidden as the voice continued to fill the air. It was like a nightmare, one he couldn’t wake up from. He could feel the wrongness of the fact he was even able to be afraid.
“Stupid crybaby!” the voice jeered for at least the twentieth time.
Deke could feel anger rise inside him. His hands clenched into tight fists and he lifted his head. “Shut up! I hate you! I hate you!” he bawled, his voice cracking as he spoke.
He had to get out of there. He needed to see his dad. His dad always knew what to do. He was smart. Deke had to find him.
He had already tried to open the basement door. It had been locked and standing in the stairway had been even scarier than being next to the wall. There had to be another way out.
He looked around and his heart sank. The windows were high up on the walls and it was dark outside. But maybe that would make it harder for the mean man to drag him back there.
Maybe if he could get into the woods, he could hide in the ruins. He had always loved the ruins trail. All he had to do was get out and run.
His stomach roared like a scary monster but Deke ignored it. He would eat something later when he got home. His mom would make him macaroni and cheese. It was his favorite and she always made his favorite when he didn’t feel good.
He looked around some more and saw the kind of shelf his mom stored stuff on in his house. He knew the shelf didn’t weigh much, so maybe the mean man wouldn’t hear it if he dragged it to the window and climbed out.
With his heart in his throat, Deke walked to the shelf and grabbed onto the bottom support. There wasn’t a lot of stuff on the shelf, so it wasn’t too hard but it made a LOT of noise. He had to hurry before the mean man came back.
He was panting for breath when he got the shelf over to the window but the worst part was that his throat hurt. His body felt cold and shivery, just like it had before he got sick. He wanted to lay down and sleep but he had to get away from that horrible house and the mean voice and the mean man.
He reached for the shelf to pull himself up, his hands shaking hard as he did. He needed to be brave and strong, just like his dad. He needed to get to the window.
“What are you doing?” the ghostly voice asked as he took the first step onto the shelf.
The Trail of Ruins Page 4