Lucien flashed them a mollifying smile before ambling down the hill. The last thing Felipe wanted to do was have dinner with the mayor and his wife, and from the look on Oliver’s face, he was certain they were of the same mind. When Lucien shut the cemetery gate behind him, Mr. Allen let out a full-body sigh that embodied everything that Felipe felt.
“Dr. Miller had the death reported as an accidental drowning, though I don’t think he did more than glance at Horace Ridder’s body before he signed off on dumping him into the old church with the others,” the innkeeper said.
“Do you think the younger Mr. Stills will be of any help?” Felipe asked, watching Lucien’s auburn head retreat down the street.
“I don’t know. Lucien probably means well, but he is a politician’s son. I think he’s concerned about his mother, and probably about himself, but I wouldn’t stake my plan on his help coming to fruition. Willard is a wildcard on a good day, and I certainly wouldn’t trust the family as a whole if I were you.” When the trees hissed and rocked behind them, Mr. Allen dropped his voice. “Do you see why the problem festered now? Horace Ridder did nothing about the dead while he was alive, and it’s only gotten worse now that he’s dead. We have no sheriff anymore, no one else cares enough to ask why this is happening, and I have no authority to do anything about it, especially not with Luther and the others stonewalling me. You three are my last hope. I don’t think they’ll send anyone else.”
“We’ll do everything in our power to figure it out; we promise,” Gwen replied softly as she handed Felipe his notepad. “The mayor will have to do far more than yell to scare us off.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Mr. Allen said wearily, rubbing the scar by his eye. “When you all are finished with the bodies, I think we should head back to the inn. That way you all can get cleaned up, and we can discuss dinner.”
“If you’d like to get a head start, we can meet you back there. Ionly need to take a few photographs,” Felipe offered.
“After what happened with the first pair of inspectors, I’m not letting you three out of my sight if I can help it. Take your time. I’ll wait here until you’re done.”
As Felipe reached for the Kodak, Oliver caught his arm. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself. A tick of anxiety passed between them as Oliver looked between Felipe and the innkeeper. When Felipe turned to Gwen, she gave him a confused shrug. Motioning for Felipe and Gwen to follow him, Oliver walked toward the church only to avoid the entrance in favor of standing in the shadows of a mausoleum.
“I don’t want either of you to go back in there,” Oliver blurted, eyeing the church suspiciously.
“Why? What happened after I left?” Gwen asked.
“I sensed magic on Horace Ridder’s body, but it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like a normal person’s magic. I—” He shook his head and bit his lip. “I don’t trust it. There’s something in there.”
“What do you meanthere’s something in there? Like a creature or a ghost?” Felipe replied, studying Oliver’s face.
“I don’t know. I don’t know, but it tried to lash out at me.” Oliver’s face blanched in time with a sluice of cold fear that mixed with Felipe’s own. “Please don’t go in there. I don’t want either of you to get hurt. I know we should take photographs for evidence, but we can’t. Not now at least. Not until we know more. I don’t trust it after that.”
Felipe wasn’t sure whatitwas or if he wanted to know. Oliver’s anxiety sent Felipe’s pulse racing, and he wished he could rub Oliver’s arms and calm him down the way he would at the Paranormal Society. Even if Oliver grew anxious about things Felipe rarely thought about, he trusted his danger senses. If he felt something was off about Horace Ridder’s corpse, he believed him. Thus far, his instincts had never been wrong.
“Did you feel it on any of the other bodies, Ol?”
Oliver shook his head. “I didn’t check. Once was enough.”
He started to shake out his hands but caught himself and quickly folded them beneath his arms. Reaching across the tether, Felipe focused on Oliver’s heart and held it with his mind. Oliver was better at this, but Felipe pictured the tension leaving Oliver’s body the way it did when he held him close. Oliver’s hand fluttered toward his chest before he let it drop when he found Felipe watching him. He gave the tether one slow, deliberate tug, and Oliver released a tremulous breath. When Felipe looked at Gwen, she was studying them with a scholar’s eye.
“Let’s close up the church and go back to the inn.”
“Are you sure? I know we should be—”
“No, it’s fine. Before we do anything else, we need to share what we know. Then, we can make a plan, but the sun will be setting soon. We aren’t investigating a strange place in the dark if I can help it,” Felipe said emphatically enough that he hoped Oliver would believe it.
The Felipe Galvan who spent months chasing bandits cross-country didn’t let darkness deter him. A fleeting part of him wished the old Felipe had the night vision he had now; he could have been unstoppable. But he wasn’t with Monroe or the other grizzled investigators who were as dysfunctional as he was. Oliver and Gwen needed to eat and rest, and while Oliver fussed about how much and what kind of food Felipe needed to not feel ill, he underestimated how much his ability to cope with life’s inconsistencies was tied to regular meals.
“Good, I can’t wait to get out of this smelly, bug-infested dress,” Gwen replied before reaching for the nearest church window.
As Gwen went from window to window with Oliver at her side, Felipe turned over what Oliver said. In the past, he had mentioned that there were rumors some necromancers could use their powers across long distances, but in Felipe’s years with the Paranormal Society, he had never encountered one. The farthest he and Oliver could be apart was roughly half a mile. The smokestack from the ironworks looked at least a mile or two away, so whoever manipulated the dead would probably have to follow them around to maintain contact. It wasfarfetched that a necromancer in a murder town in the middle of the woods would have a relic to amplify how far their powers could reach, but it would be the best answer, all things considered.
Scratching at the bite on the back of his calf, Felipe’s eyes trailed to the shadows of the Dysterwood. The world around Felipe dimmed as the trees grew taller until all he could see were the leaves beckoning.Rest, the trees crooned, a soothing whisper in the darkness. The ground was soft and the woods quiet. All he needed to do was come closer. A few steps, and he could finally rest. In the distance, a figure in red stepped between the pines and beckoned. If only he could get—
Felipe jolted as Oliver’s hand landed on his shoulder. “What are you looking at?”
Only eight feet stood between him and the woods. Felipe’s pulse pounded in his ears. He hadn’t been that close only a moment ago. Pushing through the fog clogging his senses, Felipe rubbed his eyes and blinked hard until his vision cleared. The trees had shrunk back to their usual size and no whispers lured him to their shadowy boughs; it was an ordinary forest and nothing more.
“I thought I saw something, but it was probably my eyes playing tricks on me.”
Oliver gave him a concerned look. “If you’re sure. Just don’t get too close. Even if the tales of the woods are exaggerated, let’s not chance it.”
Nodding, Felipe followed Oliver and Gwen back to where Mr. Allen perched on a headstone. When Felipe dared to glance back at the Dysterwood, he found it silent as a tomb, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling something still watched them just out of sight.
