All of them were on edge. Even if he couldn’t feel Gwen’s thoughts, Oliver could see the pensive set of her mouth and the way she narrowed her eyes at nothing as she did when her research wasn’t adding up. While Felipe’s face had become an impassive mask, every once in a while, Oliver felt a pang of dread as if he had run his heart across cold steel. He wasn’t certain what had upset Felipe more, thepossibility of dealing with a rogue necromancer or the way Mr. Allen talked about the forest. He assumed the latter. Felipe hadn’t wanted to visit the murder town for a reason, and that forest was as good a reason as any to stay away. It could have been hyperbole and superstition, but why chance it? The first pair of investigators either aimlessly wandered around the Pine Barrens until they succumbed to the elements, or they had been killed by something the day they trespassed into the woods. Either way, they had probably met a bad end.
At the top of the hill, Mr. Allen stopped at the cemetery’s iron fence. Through the bars, Oliver could see an expansive lawn with graves and tombs as far as the eye could see. In the center further up the hill, stood a ramshackle building that might have once been a church, but only feet behind it, the trees of the forest loomed. The oaks and pines at the periphery of the forest leaned forward, dusting the taller graves with their shaggy boughs. Their shadow fell over the dead, but what gave Oliver pause was the way the trees moved with an unseen wind. They shivered and danced, reaching forward with a renewed fervor as Mr. Allen tugged a bar loose from the fence and motioned for the three of them to slip inside. The older man gave the trees a wary look half a second before a shiver passed down Oliver’s spine. Oliver looked around for the source of the sensation, but all he could find was the smell of sweet grass instead of dry leaves. Rubbing his itchy nose, Oliver passed through the gap and held Felipe’s Kodak while he helped Mr. Allen through the gap in the ironwork.
“Stay close, try to be quiet, and remember what I said about the woods,” Mr. Allen instructed, setting the bar back in place.
“So are we supposed to stay away from all the trees or is there a specific part that’s considered the Dysterwood?” Oliver asked, eyeing the trees as their susurrus murmurings finally ceased.
“The Dysterwood encircles the whole town apart from the far end of the river and the sliver of road by the inn, and even there, it’s growing closer. It wasn’t always this close, but it’s gotten greedy and is encroaching on town more and more. Over here, it used to start a ways back, beyond the farthest grave. As you can see, it’s climbing the hill,eating up everything in its path.” Mr. Allen tutted and shook his head. “Nothing to do about it now. Come this way, folks. We put the bodies in the church for safekeeping.”
Oliver and Felipe exchanged a silent look as Mr. Allen strode forward with Gwen at his side as she peppered him with questions about the types of trees. Oliver could understand why the other investigators brushed him off. As they silently crossed the lawn, Oliver hung back a step, scanning the names and dates on the tombstones for anyone with the name Joanna. Maybe if he could find her grave, he would be able to find his father’s surname without having to ask. By the time they reached the church, he had found one Joanna, but the spelling was wrong as were the dates. Oliver pushed down his disappointment; he could always come back and look later.
Up close, the old church looked even worse for wear. While the windows were somehow still intact, the cupola appeared singed and shattered, and paint peeled off the sides of the building like birch bark to reveal the rotting boards beneath. Oliver sniffed the air and recoiled. There was definitely something dead in there. At a sharp poke of anxiety flashing across the tether, Oliver turned to find Felipe looking peaked already. Digging around in his gladstone, Oliver pulled out a thick handkerchief and handed it to Felipe, who immediately stopped to wrap it around his nose and mouth.
“How about I take a look at the bodies by myself first,” Oliver whispered to Felipe as Mr. Allen stopped to dig around in his pockets. “I’ll call you in when I know for sure what I need photographs of, and while I’m examining the bodies, you and Gwen can talk to Mr. Allen about the dead and the people they attacked.”
“If you’re sure, then, I’ll—”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Gwen hiss-whispered. “You are not relegating me to question duty, Oliver Barlow. Remember, you need my vampire expertise, and I need corpse experience for my book. They’re the most important part. Besides, if I’m with you, I can take notes, and then you won’t get your notebook corpsy.”
“I was trying to save you from the smell.” When she gave him ahard look, Oliver sighed. Better Gwen than Felipe. “Fine, but if you feel like you’re going to vomit, please do it outside.”
Rolling her eyes, Gwen shook her head and strode toward the church. Oliver made to follow when Felipe caught his arm and pulled him closer. Oliver forced his hand to stay at his side, resisting the urge to rest it on Felipe’s hip while he spoke like he did at home.
“I’ll stay and talk to Mr. Allen about the victims, but I don’t like you going in unprotected.”
“I promise I’ll be careful.”
“I know.” Leaning close enough that Oliver could feel the flutter of fabric and lashes on his cheek, Felipe added, “Three tugs for an emergency. Two tugs if you need me. One for I love you.”
The press of his lips on his cheek was so quick Oliver might have missed it as Felipe stepped away if it weren’t for the single tug on the tether. Oliver’s cheeks heated as he gave it a tug in return and ducked his head as he dug through his gladstone for the parcel of cheese he had brought with him. He knew convincing Felipe to go back to the inn or visit the tavern when they just began their investigation would be impossible. So far, Felipe’s hands were steady and his face unmarred by dark circles, but it was only a matter of time before they appeared if he didn’t stop to eat.
“Here, I brought this for you. Eat a little while I’m in there.” When Felipe looked like he wanted to argue, Oliver shoved it into his hands. “I don’t think it will be edible for long if it stays in my bag.”
Felipe said nothing as he pocketed the waxed paper full of cheese, but Oliver smiled at the sluice of warmth across the tether. When he turned back to the church, Mr. Allen stood waiting and watching them from the door.
“Everything settled, then? Good,” he said as he pulled out a heavy, iron skeleton key that was as old and weathered as the church. “The others wouldn’t want me to let you in here, but Luther forgets I have a key as well. My father was the sheriff and the groundskeeper here for many years. He had keys to everything.”
When Felipe reached for his gun, Mr. Allen waved it away.
“You’re safe in daylight but keep an eye out for a balding man in a frock coat. He’s far more of a danger to you than the dead are right now, but don’t pull a gun on him, or I’ll never hear the end of it.” As Mr. Allen slipped the key into the lock and tugged on the door handle, he grimaced. “I would brace myself if I were you. I haven’t opened the building in almost a fortnight, and the bodies weren’t all in the best shape to begin with.”
When the old church doors swung open, Oliver wondered, not for the first time, what he had gotten them into.
Chapter Nine
The Dead
The stench of rotting corpse rolled out of the church in an eye-searing wave. Oliver clamped his lips shut and tried not to breathe more than he had to. He had expected Gwen to scramble away, but in an instant, her shawl unfurled from her shoulders and wrapped itself tightly around her face to muffle the stench of putrefaction. As Felipe blenched, looking as green as the corpses probably did, a wave of stomach-clenching revulsion shot through Oliver. For a moment, Oliver feared his partner might vomit into the grass, but instead, he closed his eyes and held the handkerchief closer to his mouth.
“I’m fine,” Felipe croaked. “Go ahead without me.”
Oliver wasn’t sure he wanted to. Cautiously stepping into the darkened church, the half-rotten boards squeaked in protest beneath his feet. Under the ever present stench of decaying flesh was mold and mildew. Oliver quickly donned a cotton surgical mask from his bag. “Gwen, can you please open the windows for me?”
Plumes of dust erupted from the tall pairs of windows on eitherside of the church as they ground open inch by inch. At the first rush of clean air, Oliver’s throat unclenched, and he motioned for Gwen to follow him inside. The meager sunlight filtering through the open windows revealed the sources of the smell immediately. Laid out in front of the altar were five bodies. The shrouds covering them had once been white, but between the moisture coming in through the roof and out of the bodies, they had turned several shades of sickly brown. Setting his gladstone on the nearest pew, Oliver donned a pair of cotton gloves and handed Gwen his autopsy notebook. He was about to get started when he thought better of it and grabbed his longest pair of forceps. With only a water pump, he wasn’t touching anything he didn’t have to.
“We’re going to need to burn our clothes after this,” Gwen grumbled as she swept the dust off the altar with an invisible hand.
“I tried to warn you,” Oliver said, giving her a pointed look before turning back to the open door. “Mr. Allen, before I get started with my examinations, can you tell Miss Jones who the deceased are and in what order they died.”
