I settled in to wait, feeling a little drowsy in the sunshine streaming in through the windshield. I’d brought Dr. Shaw’s book with me and opened it to the bookmarked page. My eyes soon grew heavy, and I found myself reading the same passage over and over:
Among the early root workers that lived in the Sea Islands and along the Georgia-Carolina coast, divination was a highly prized skill, along with dream interpretation and the ability to recognize omens in nature. With the onslaught of urbanization, omen-reading became a lost art, but foretelling remained strong, among the favored methods, reading tea leaves and “throwing the bones.” Candles were almost always used in divination rituals and sometimes a glass of water for scrying.
I must have drifted off for a few minutes because my eyes flew open with a start. The book had fallen from my hands, and as I leaned over to pick it up, I checked the time. I’d only been asleep for ten minutes or so, but I decided to go ahead and walk over to Gerrity’s office. The nap had revived me, and I now felt calmer about the meeting.
The neighborhood was run-down, but despite recent events, I wasn’t overly concerned to be out alone. It was still daylight and traffic was heavy. Even so, I walked with my hands in the pockets of my jacket, fingers curled around phone and mace. I nodded to a few passersby on the street, but none of them seemed to notice me. That was a good thing, I decided. Blending in made me less vulnerable.
As I rounded the corner to Gerrity’s street, I saw a car double-parked in front of his building. It pulled away as I approached, and the back window lowered. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw the gleam of topaz eyes in the gloom. Startled, I turned to track the car. It made the corner and disappeared.
A tiny kernel of my earlier trepidation returned. I hadn’t actually seen anything, but my momentary panic proved just how on edge I was these days. I tried to shake off those lingering jitters as I entered the house.
The once elegant foyer was much as I remembered it from my visit a few months ago. A couple of plastic lawn chairs had been added to the decor, and, if possible, the rug looked even grimier, the Venetian blinds droopier. I didn’t think a mop or dust cloth had touched the place in months. It had the musty odor of an attic, and as I climbed the stairs, I couldn’t help noticing how eerily silent the building seemed. I suspected most of the tiny offices stood vacant these days, and those businesses that remained had probably closed their doors at five.
On the second floor, I headed all the way to the end of the hallway where Gerrity’s office was located. His door was closed, too, but it was just a few minutes before six, so it was possible he was already inside. I tapped on the door and waited for an answer. I heard what I thought was someone moving about, so I knocked a little harder, waited another minute or two and then tried the knob. It turned in my hand, and I opened the door, hovering on the threshold as I warily scanned the dim interior.
A lone candle burned on the floor, the flame flickering wildly from a chilly breeze that blew in through an open window. Not open, I realized almost at once. Smashed. I could see the glitter of glass fragments on the floor and something else…something that moved among the slivers, although I told myself it was merely reflected candlelight.
My gaze flashed to the desk where papers fluttered like bird wings beneath an upside-down tumbler.
Something obviously wasn’t right. I knew I should back away and run out of the building as fast as I could. Darius Goodwine’s fingerprints were all over that office. How else to explain the candle? The broken window? The smell of sulfur that lingered?
How else to explain the lethargy that suddenly gripped me?
I thought of those eyes gleaming from the backseat of the car, and suddenly I knew that I had been brought here for a reason. Not by Robert Fremont’s ghost but by a man capable of invading my dreams. From the very first, Darius Goodwine had been guiding everything. For what purpose, I didn’t yet know, but it had something to do with Devlin. And now with me.
My every instinct warned me to leave, but instead I took a tentative step inside the office. I even called out Gerrity’s name, though the space was so small, I didn’t see how he could be hidden from me.
I moved toward the desk, my movements almost dreamlike. A beetle had been trapped beneath the tumbler. As if sensing my presence, the frantic insect began to scurry about, trying to climb the glass walls of its prison only to crash back down upon the papers. It fell on its back, legs flailing helplessly, and I had a notion that, like the beetle on my shoe, here was yet another omen—perhaps even a warning—if only I knew how to read it.
I reached for the glass, intent on setting the insect free, and that was when I saw Tom Gerrity on the floor behind his desk.
At least…I thought it was Gerrity. The man’s face was obscured by a moving blackness.
I could see no blood or wound, but the beetles were there for a reason. They’d been attracted by death, and I watched in horror as they crawled in and out of the corpse’s eyes and mouth, feeding on the unthinkable.
A scream rose in my throat, but I couldn’t utter a sound. Neither could I make my fingers work to call 911. Instead, I stood frozen, something intangible paralyzing me as my gaze remained riveted on that teeming mass. Then I realized what held me immobile. A scent lingered in the air, so weak it might only have been my imagination. Not the sulfuric remnant of a struck match or even the sickly sweet odor of death, but something dark and musky.
I tried to place it, but already the breeze from the broken window had swept the fragrance away, and I was left with nothing more than a creeping dread that someone I knew had been in that office only moments before me.
Out in the hallway, a floorboard creaked beneath stealthy footsteps. I whirled, certain that at any moment Gerrity’s killer would open the door and find me standing over his body. That the murderer had probably long since fled the building didn’t occur to me. I’d plunged too far down the rabbit hole of panic to think rationally.
I needed to hide, but where? There were no closets, no bathroom. Only one door, only one way in and out except for that smashed window. Glass crunched beneath my feet as I glanced out. A ledge ran the length of the house, but from there it was a two-story drop to concrete.
Whirling, I scanned the office. The only possible place of concealment was beneath the desk, but that meant crawling over the body.
The footsteps were getting closer. I could hear the floor popping right outside the door.
Shuddering, I dropped on all fours and scrambled through the narrow opening, pressing myself up against the back of the desk. One of Gerrity’s arms was flung toward me, and it was all I could do to scrunch myself into a small enough ball to avoid touching it.
Hugging my knees, I tried to suppress the sound of my breathing as the door opened.
All was silent for a moment, and then I heard the crinkle of plastic, followed by footsteps rounding the desk. I could see nothing of the assailant, but Gerrity’s body shifted, and I realized he was being moved. The arm flopped up against me, dislodging a beetle that crawled up my leg, drawing an uncontrollable shiver.
As the hand moved away from me, I saw the gleam of a silver chain wrapped around the dead man’s fingers. A medallion dangled from the end, and I recognized it at once, my mind flashing back to the last time I’d seen it nestled against Devlin’s bare chest.
I blinked away the image as I put a finger on the medallion, pressing it to the floor, so that it remained behind as Gerrity’s killer dragged him onto the plastic.
Chapter Thirty-One
After the killer left with the body, I called Devlin from beneath Gerrity’s desk. Never mind that he’d warned me not to contact him. Never mind that I’d found his medallion clinging to a dead man’s fingers. He was the only one I wanted to see, the only one who could calm the hysteria bubbling inside me. The idea of his strong arms around me at that moment was irresistible.
When he didn’t answer, I left a mostly incoherent voice mail and hung up. It was cowardly of
me, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave my hiding place. The paralysis turned out to be a very good thing because the killer—or someone—returned to Gerrity’s office. Not once, but twice.
I huddled beneath the desk, quaking in fear and shuddering in horror as another beetle crept up my arm, inching ever closer to my face. Finally, I could stand it no longer and flicked it away. I heard the click as the shell hit the floor, and then, I could have sworn, the scurry of those tiny feet.
As the killer moved about the office, I tracked other sounds. The shuffle of papers. The metallic clang of file drawers being opened and closed. The occasional rasp of an impatient breath. And then the echo of retreating footsteps for the final time.
Still, I waited. I didn’t know how many minutes passed before I worked up enough courage to crawl from my hiding place. The body was gone, the beetles were gone and the candle had been snuffed. Nothing remained of the violence that had been done there, and for a moment I questioned whether I might have been dreaming. But the cramps in my legs and back felt very real.
Breathing deeply to quiet my nerves, I slipped across the room and listened at the door for footsteps or any sound at all that would alert me to danger. I wasn’t sure what terrified me the most—the idea of remaining hidden in that room or venturing out into the hallway, into the open.
I had no idea if Devlin had even gotten my message, and I flirted briefly with the notion of calling 911. But that little matter of the medallion plagued me. Devlin’s wasn’t unique. Anyone who belonged to the Order of the Coffin and the Claw would own a similar talisman. And yet…I somehow knew the one clutched in my hand belonged to Devlin. I just didn’t know—and was afraid to speculate—how it had come to be entwined around Tom Gerrity’s cold, lifeless fingers, as though he’d yanked it from Devlin’s neck before he died.
But I refused to entertain even a moment’s doubt. I knew Devlin’s character well enough by now. He had his secrets and, God knew, a dark enough past, but he was not a murderer. On that I would stake my life.
I eased into the hall and made my way to the stairs, pausing once again to listen. Was that a footfall? The soft thud of a door closing?
A floorboard creaked somewhere in the building. I couldn’t tell if the sound came from behind or in front of me, nor did I stop to find out. Adrenaline and panic drove me headlong down the stairs, and then I drew up short as a silhouette emerged from the gloom in the foyer. I wavered on the stairs, not knowing whether to go up or down or to try and make a dash for the door.
Then as the shadow came forward, I saw that it was Devlin. He stood at the bottom of the steps, dressed darkly as always, staring up at me. “Amelia?”
I flung myself at him, and he caught me awkwardly with one arm, letting me savor his warmth for a moment before holding me gently away from him. I didn’t want to go, and so I clung shamelessly to the lapel of his jacket. I wanted to stay nestled against that hard chest forever, drinking in the essence of him, that dark blend of mystery and magnetism that belonged only to him.
With an effort I pulled myself together. “Thank God you got my message,” I said on a breath.
His gaze shot past me up the stairs, and even in the dim light that managed to penetrate the grimy windows, I saw a telling puzzlement in his eyes as he searched the shadows above us.
I turned to follow his gaze with a shiver. “We should go.”
My urgency didn’t seem to penetrate because he took his time scouring first the landing and then my face before he drew me back into the shadowy corner from which he had materialized. His grasp was firm and comforting, but I wanted to be back in his arms, encased so tightly that our heartbeats sounded as one. Never had his presence affected me so strongly. Never had I needed him more than I did at that moment, but something wasn’t right about his demeanor. Outwardly, he seemed in perfect control, as stoic and elegant as ever, but I could sense his tension and a carefully suppressed agitation that made me think of the silver medallion stuffed in my pocket. Why I didn’t haul it out and present it to him then and there, I wasn’t quite certain.
He lowered his voice, but the echo of it vibrated through the murk, giving my pulse an extra kick of adrenaline. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, but…we have to get out of here.” My own voice was little more than a quivering rasp.
His hands slid up to grasp my forearms. “Tell me what happened. Quickly.”
“But he could still be up there,” I whispered frantically. “We have to go.”
He held me firmly in place. “Calm down and tell what happened.”
“Tom Gerrity’s dead,” I blurted.
His fingers dug into my flesh, and when I winced, he eased up at once. “How do you know?”
“I found the body a little while ago in his office. At least…I think it was Tom Gerrity. His face was covered with beetles.”
“Beetles? What are you talking about?”
“Insects. I know it sounds strange but I saw them.”
His gaze narrowed. “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming or hallucinating?”
“I was wide awake and perfectly lucid. And I’m telling you his body was covered in them.” A shudder went through me. “One was trapped beneath a glass, and I think it was left as a message or a warning. And I think Darius meant for me to find that body.”
“Darius? He was here?” The emotion that flashed across Devlin’s face made my blood run cold.
I said hesitantly, “I didn’t see him, but I dreamed about beetles last night and I saw one today on my shoe. And now this—” I broke off, glancing wildly around the foyer as though Darius might be lurking in the shadows. “It has to be a sign, doesn’t it?”
“A sign of what?”
“I don’t know. My own death maybe.”
Devlin gave me a little shake. “Don’t do that. You’re letting him get to you.”
“I know, but it was just so terrifying.”
Devlin still held me, but I could tell his mind had gone elsewhere. He was looking past me again as if trying to picture the scene I’d just described to him.
When he started toward the stairs, I grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”
“I need to have a look around.”
“You won’t find Gerrity. The body’s been moved. He was wrapped in plastic and dragged away.”
“How long were you up there?” Devlin’s voice held an edge of something I couldn’t quite name.
“Fifteen, twenty minutes. Maybe a little longer. I lost track of time.” It had still been daylight when I arrived, but now sunset had come and gone. We were on the cusp of twilight and any moment now, Devlin’s ghosts would come through. I searched behind him for that dreaded glimmer.
For the first time, a chink appeared in his armor. “Why did you come here in the first place?” he asked sharply.
I blinked at his tone. “Does that matter right now? I think we should just get out of here.”
“Yes, it matters. A man’s dead, according to you. The police will want to know what you were doing here.”
“But you are the police.”
“For now,” he muttered.
“What does that mean?”
“Just tell me why you’re here. The truth. It’s important.”
“I came to talk to Gerrity.”
“What about?”
I sighed. “It’s a long story. It has to do with blackmail—”
He looked down at me incredulously. “How in God’s name do you know about the blackmail?”
I drew back in shock, my gaze searching his face. “I overheard a conversation between Gerrity and Dr. Shaw. I’ll tell you everything I know about it, but…can we get out of here first?” I glanced around nervously. “If he’s not here now, he could come back at any time.”
“Are you sure the killer was male?”
“No, but whoever it was didn’t seem to have much trouble moving the body.”
Devlin’s hands came back up to tighten around my arms. “Did you see
anything? The killer’s shoes? Clothing? Anything at all?”
“I couldn’t see anything. I was hidden underneath the desk.”
“Thank God,” he said, still in that strange tone. “Where are you parked?”
I gave a vague wave. “A block over.”
“Go there now,” he said. “Get in your car, lock the doors and drive straight home. Don’t talk to anyone about this.”
“What are you going to do?”
His gaze moved back to the stairs. “I have things to take care of here.”
“Aren’t you going to call for backup?” I asked naively.
He hesitated. “If I need it.”
A minute ago I had been all but pleading with him to leave. Now I heard myself say plaintively, “Why can’t I stay here with you?”
“Because you said yourself it’s not safe.”
“But I’m a witness. You said the police would want to talk to me.”
“Not if I can help it.”
His tone alarmed me, and I felt the iciest chill slide down my spine, tapping the fear that had been niggling at me since I’d seen him at the bottom of the stairs. “Did you already know about Gerrity?”
He scowled down at me. “Why would you ask that?”
I bit my lip, trying to suppress a suspicion I didn’t want to blossom. “You got here so quickly and you seemed surprised to see me. And now you’re so anxious to send me away.” I clutched his arm. “You never got my message, did you? That’s not why you’re here.”
“Go home, Amelia.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” I whispered.
“Go home and wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He took a step back from me, and my hand fell away. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” His dark gaze burned into mine. “I need you away from here. I need you safe.”
The Prophet (Graveyard Queen) Page 21