Enshadowed

by Kelly Creagh

  Oh no, she thought. This was it. Gwen had run into trouble. And now she’d made some desperate response, blowing their cover without meaning to.

  Whatever the situation, Isobel knew she couldn’t stay here with her father any longer. She would have to make a run for it. She’d need to find Gwen on her own and still hope they could make it to the graveyard before midnight. Gradually, inch by inch, Isobel edged her way down the seat, preparing to bolt. She stopped, however, the moment her father’s head snapped up.

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  Isobel felt the blood rush from her face as he thrust her phone out to her, screen first.

  Her eyes widened at Gwen’s response.

  DON’T HOLD IT AGAINST HIM. YOU CAN TELL THE POOR GUY’S NEVER KNOWN WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE POPULAR. BY THE WAY, HOW’S THE HARBOR? I’M PARKED RIGHT BY THE HUDSON MYSELF. I CAN SEE ALL THE WAY TO NEW JERSEY. IF ONLY THERE WAS SOMETHING TO SEE.

  Despite the insult, Isobel felt her shoulders ease in relief. She knew the message, again coded, must mean that Gwen was nearby, waiting somewhere outside and in sight of the harbor.

  Regardless of what would happen now, it was time to move.

  “Uh . . . sorry about that, Dad. You know Gwen. She’s kind of . . . ”

  “Rude? Yeah, I know. ”

  Isobel reached out to wrap her hand around the phone still clutched in her father’s outstretched grip. She had to tug it to get it free from his hand. “Listen, Dad. I think you’re right. I think I’ll just turn it off for a while, okay?”

  Isobel held the power button until the screen on her phone went dark. Next, she snapped the phone shut and pushed it to his side of the table. “Here,” she said, “you keep it. ”

  “Humph,” he said. He picked up his tea, the redness in his face ebbing away. She almost had to wonder if what she’d perceived as anger had really been embarrassment. “I’d be happy if you could just find a way to turn her off,” he muttered before taking a sip.

  “Hey, Dad?”

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll can it,” he said, “but I’m taking you up on the phone blackout. ” Picking up her cell, he leaned to one side, the booth seat groaning underneath him as he tucked the phone into his back pocket. “If this isn’t going to be a Gwen-free trip, it should at least be a Gwen-free meal, don’t you think?”

  Isobel had to force herself to move. She slid down the booth, leaving her coat and scarf tucked against the wall.

  “Hey, where you going?”

  She aimed a thumb over her shoulder. “I just . . . bathroom. I’ll be . . . back. ” She nodded toward her things, hoping to draw his attention away from her face. “Watch my stuff?”

  “Like it’s going to sprout legs and walk off while you’re gone. ”

  Isobel turned to go, but she couldn’t seem to take another step away from the booth. It was as if something magnetic was holding her in place, a pull that told her she wasn’t quite done there yet. She glanced back to her father and saw that he had since picked up the dessert menu and seemed to be eyeing the caramel apple pie.

  She took a moment to study his features one last time and really absorb the details of his face, like taking a mental snapshot. She loved how he looked whenever he went a day without shaving. It was his Sunday afternoon look, she thought. The pepper-colored stubble on his chin always made her think of old rough-and-ready yet sophisticated movie-screen rogues like Harrison Ford and Sean Connery. Guys who you knew would always save the day, no matter what.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Um . . . I just . . . Thank you,” she said. “For bringing me here. I needed to go. I mean . . . to come. I don’t think you’ll ever know just how important this is. ”

  He lowered the menu to the table and folded his hands in front of him. “I know it’s important. ” He ducked his head in a low nod. “That’s why we’re here, right?”

  “I love you, Dad. ”

  He arched a brow at her. She knew she probably shouldn’t have said it, that it would only raise a red flag. But she also knew she didn’t care anymore. If she was going to do this, if she was going to walk away right this moment, then at the very least, she needed him to understand that it wasn’t because of him.

  “I love you, too, kiddo,” he said. He watched her with one eye keenly squinted. “Is everything okay?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be back,” she said, and she hoped that the statement wasn’t a lie.

  “Okay,” he said, and smiled.

  Turning again, Isobel strode down the line of booths, this time without looking back.

  Her legs felt stiff beneath her as she left her father behind, knowing that, fifteen minutes from now he’d be panic-stricken, left to wonder what had happened and where he’d gone wrong. She pushed the thought aside, reminding herself that she’d already made her decision. That the decision had long since been made for her.

  She walked on.

  At the last booth before the pathway opened toward the exit, Isobel noticed a family of four, their table jam-packed with glasses and plates of food. A little girl in a red jumper sat next to a man who shared the same corn-silk hair. The little girl watched her father, swinging her legs while he leaned over her to cut her chicken strips for her.

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  Isobel did her best not to stare at the two as she made her way past. Before her guilt could swallow her whole, before she could change her mind and turn back, she pushed through the front doors of the restaurant and out into the cold.

  Without her coat on, it was like taking a plunge into a vat of ice water.

  Outside, darkness had stolen over the harbor while minuscule flakes of white filtered down, lighting on the brick walkway. Mottled moonlight glistened on still waters, mingling with the slightly warmer glow emanating from the tall lamps and storefront windows. Shoppers, huddled in thick coats and scarves, hurried toward doors that would lead them into warmth.

  Above, troops of puffy-cheeked clouds waited in the sky, frozen in place.

  Isobel squinted through the darkness toward the road, where she saw a familiar navy-blue car pulled close to the curb. It waited just beyond the line of flagpoles, its yellow flashers blinking.

  Glancing back at the restaurant one last time, Isobel noticed a trio of servers standing in the light of the propped-open kitchen door, smoking. Then she saw the flowered headband, the smear of red on black visible in the bright white light fixed above the door.

  She kept her head ducked and her back to the restaurant while she strode quickly toward the Cadillac, hoping her getaway would go unnoticed by their waitress. At the same time, she knew it would be hard not to spot someone walking around without a coat in twenty-degree weather.

  Just as the thought occurred to her, a cold sting of wind whizzed past, gusting in from the direction of the harbor. Sharp and knifelike, it carried the scent of the salty sea air. It made her hair whip at her face while, above, she heard one of the flag lines clank against its metal pole.

  Isobel grabbed the cuffs of her long-sleeved T-shirt and pulled them down over her fists. She hunched her shoulders as she hurried to the curb where the Cadillac waited.

  Opening the rear passenger door, she all but fell into the backseat, where she found her backpack waiting for her.

  With the winds picking up, she only had to pull lightly on the handle and the door swung shut on its own. Behind them, someone laid on their horn.

  Without so much as a “long time no see” to Isobel, Gwen cranked down her window, just enough to stick her head out and shout “Bite me!” at top volume. The offending car blasted its horn again in a string of Morse-code bursts. Collapsing back into her seat, Gwen shifted the car into gear. She put her foot to the pedal, and Isobel was slammed backward as they lurched away from the curb.

  Other horns joined in now, honking like a flock of feather-ruffled geese.

  “Try telling
him!” Gwen railed at the surrounding cars. “Think anybody here’s ever heard of the phrase go around? Look at the blinkers, you schmendricks. When the blinkers are blinking, that doesn’t mean you sit there and blink with them. You go around!”

  As they gained speed, Isobel twisted to peer through the rear window. She saw the young waitress staring after them. Dropping her cigarette, she stamped it out with one foot, crossed her arms against the cold, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “What is it?” Gwen asked. “Somebody see you?”

  “Gwen, to quote you directly, I think everybody saw. ”

  Gwen switched lanes, putting on her signal before veering left as the light changed. “Did you expect me to just put up with that back there?” Isobel heard a click from the dashboard area, followed by a burst of heat. “By the way, I hope you packed a coat in your bag of tricks back there, ’cause it’s supposed to start snowing, and there’s no way we’re playing pass-the-parka with mine. ”

  Isobel grabbed her backpack and, placing her thumb under the silver wings of the butterfly watch, popped them open to reveal the time as just after eight.

  “Gwen, they locked the cemetery gates an hour ago,” Isobel said. “How are we supposed to get in?”

  “Actually, they locked them an hour and seven minutes ago, if you want to get technical about it,” Gwen said. “On the website, Westminster lists their hours as eight until “dusk,” and I have to say, they were pretty accurate. ”

  “Wait a second, you were there?” Isobel grabbed the seat in front of her and leaned forward as Gwen made yet another turn.

  “Of course I was there,” Gwen said. “What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? Crocheting mittens? It’s called doing reconnaissance. Why aren’t you wearing your seat belt?”

  “Jeez, Gwen! You could have texted me. I mean, I’ve been going crazy thinking you might be stranded on the side of the road somewhere or lost or, I don’t know, kidnapped!”

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  Gwen rounded the next curve, then slowed to a stop as the traffic light switched from yellow to red. Around them, the glowing window fronts of bars and businesses grew fewer and farther between. The number of pedestrians plodding along began to dwindle as well.

  “While you seem to underestimate my abilities concerning self-preservation,” Gwen said, making a point to press down on her door’s locking mechanism, “I think you also over estimate my creativity. So sorry if I couldn’t think of a good New York–related activity that might accurately compare to scouting a creepy fan-freak-filled cemetery. Did you know there was a guy in there actually dressed as a raven? At least I think it was a guy. Not to mention that I was a little busy trying to explain how I’d found my way into the catacombs when they did the five-man sweep to clear the grounds before locking the place up!”

  “Wait,” Isobel said. “Did you say catacombs?”

  “Yeah,” Gwen said, “I did. But it’s not underground like you’d think. Not really. Turns out the whole church was built on top of a huge portion of the graveyard. I found them by slipping in through one of the gated doors on the side of the church. ”

  Isobel yanked off her shoes as she listened. She dug to the bottom of her backpack, took out the hiking boots, and pulled them on. Next, she rifled through the pile of clothes and took out the black hoodie she’d borrowed from Danny’s closet. She drew it on over her head and tugged it down, grateful for the fleece lining. Finally she went to unroll Varen’s jacket.

  “I thought the door led to a cellar where we could hide,” Gwen went on, “but guess again. Now, I can’t say it’s the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton, but at least it cuts down on the wind. I figured it’s as good a place as any to lie low. At least until midnight. ”

  Isobel brought Varen’s jacket carefully into her lap and smoothed her hands across the silhouette of the upside-down bird. She let her fingers trail the rolled edge of the patch of white cloth safety-pinned to the thicker green material.

  An image of the long black coat she’d seen Varen wearing in her dream of the bookstore flashed in her mind. It was not lost on her that in addition to being reversed, the bird on that coat had been white.

  Slowly Isobel lifted the green mechanic’s jacket from her lap. She threaded her arms through the stiff material and allowed it to settle onto her shoulders, heavier somehow than she remembered.

  “We’re here,” she heard Gwen say.

  Isobel glanced toward her window, noticing immediately how it was quieter in this area, the road narrower, the atmosphere darker, with fewer lampposts to offer relief amid the accumulating shadows.

  The Cadillac slowed to a crawl as they rolled past a set of tall iron-gate doors. Isobel slid into the opposite passenger’s seat for a better view. Through the window, she saw that the metal bars of the gate were knotted together in the center by a snakelike coil of silver chains. Through the iron rungs, Isobel glimpsed a smattering of what looked like squat stone houses. Tombs, she thought. There were traditional gravestones, too. Slanted and flat-faced, they stood crooked amid patches of grass.

  The stones slid out of sight behind a wall as the car continued to move forward.

  Gwen steered the Cadillac around the next corner, making a right onto Fayette Street. Here the brick wall gave way to pure iron, each tall bar tipped in a wicked spike. Isobel squinted through the window as Gwen rolled to a complete stop beside the front gates of the cemetery. There she idled, and the car hummed a soft and steady note while the exhaust fumes gathered behind them. The wind blew the steaming billows toward the gate, creating the illusion of fog.

  “I’d tell you it’s more pleasant in the daytime but I don’t like to lie,” Gwen said.

  Through the row of black iron bars, the large stone monument that marked Poe’s grave stood like a sentinel, a guardian of the gate, each of its four sides illuminated by small display lights embedded in the brick walkway.

  Above them, the enormous church, Westminster Hall, loomed like a disapproving sentry. Its bell tower, topped with four hornlike spires, stretched to meet with the black cloud-filled sky.

  The car began to roll forward again, and Isobel had to stoop low in order to crane her neck and take in the full extent of the church’s Gothic facade through the front windshield.

  Gwen angled the Cadillac toward the curb, sliding it behind a row of cars parked next to the church’s front entrance—a pair of windowless double doors. She switched off the engine and yanked the keys from the ignition. Immediately the heat snapped off. The coldness that waited for them outside crept closer, pressing in on the thin barrier of their windows.

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  Isobel turned to peer through the rear windshield toward the front gate, focusing on the simple brass lock that held the metal doors in place. “How are we going to get in?” she asked in a whisper.

  Isobel heard Gwen’s seat squeak, and she glanced back at her just in time to see Gwen lean over and pop the latch on her glove compartment. The little pocket door swung out, sending a rush of maps onto the floor mat, along with a little black case.

  “Same way everybody else does,” Gwen answered, plucking the case from the scattered stack of maps.

  26

  Cemetery Sighs

  “Are you kidding me?” Isobel whispered. “Gwen, someone’s going to see us!”

  “Would you just hold the flashlight still?” Switching angles, Gwen lowered herself onto her knees in front of the gate. She peered up at the padlock and, taking one of the two metal tools she’d pulled from the black case, slipped its flat, spatula-looking end sideways into the keyhole. Holding the lock steady with one hand, she pressed her thumb against the long, sticklike handle of the spatula tool, adding tension. Next she took the second tool, its tip a thin, sharp point, and shoved it into the toothy slot, wiggling it back and forth. The faint sound of metal scraping against metal echoed through the cemetery.

>   Isobel stood directly over Gwen, hoping to shield her actions from the sight line of any passing cars. Or security patrol vehicles. Or officers on foot.

  In one hand, Isobel held the black leather zip-up case inside which lay a full assortment of long metal tools. In her other hand, she squeezed the tiny flashlight attached to Gwen’s mad tangle of keys so that a dim ray shot out from the miniature bulb, casting just enough of a glow to illuminate the lock.

  Turning her head from side to side, she glanced either way down the sidewalk and then behind them, across the street.

  “Would you quit moving?” Gwen snapped.

  “I’m trying to keep a lookout. ”

  “Well, stop it!” she hissed. “I told you. The entire gang who watches from inside the church left for dinner thirty minutes ago. Why do you think I waited so long to come get you? The way I see it, we’ve got an hour and a half easy. Maybe longer if they spring for martinis. And the Poe Toaster fan club shouldn’t start showing up until after nine at the earliest. ”

  “Yeah, but there are people crossing the street over there. And how do we know the church doesn’t have cameras?”

  “It doesn’t,” Gwen said. “I checked. ”

  Isobel dropped into a crouch next to Gwen, laying the leather case open against the patch of sidewalk in front of the gates. “How long does this take?”

  Gwen turned to glare at her. “Maybe you’d like to find a place where we can dig ourselves under? Say hello to Edgar on our way up. Or how about this?” She pulled the picking tool free from the padlock and pointed its spindly end at Isobel. “You can try shimmying up and over while I go in the normal way, because I’m not hiking my tuchus over any walls. ”

  “Okay, okay!” Isobel said. “Just . . . can we hurry up?”

  “Can I get my light back?”

  Keys clanking, Isobel aimed the tiny flashlight at the lock.

  “Hmm,” Gwen said. She tapped the metal tool against her lips before holding it out to Isobel the way a surgeon might offer a used scalpel to her nurse. “Hand me the ligature director, would you? It’s the one that looks like a claw. ”

  Isobel snatched the spiked tool from Gwen. She tucked it into a random spot in the open case and turned the flashlight toward the others. She scanned the row of neatly aligned sharp metal objects, each secured with its own elastic band. It seemed as if at least half of them had ends hooked like claws. “Which one is it?” she whispered. “I can’t tell. And what are you even doing with a lock-picking tool kit anyway?”