“Because it’s half-cocked and crazy,” he bellowed. “You’re going to lure this guy here hoping to call him out or catch him somehow, but you don’t really know what you’re getting into. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
Cordelia turned to him. “You’re right,” she said. “You’re absolutely right. It is half-cocked. But it’s not crazy. We need to know who this person is. There’s a good chance he won’t be able to resist sneaking around once he’s here. If we have the cameras set up, we won’t have to do a single thing but turn the tapes over tothe police. Even if he doesn’t, once we’re armed with the knowledge of who he is, we can strategize, lay a trap. Then we can go to the police when we have something concrete. But if we go to them now, we’re no better off than we are now—perhapsworseoff. Please,” she said, meeting his eyes so he would see the earnestness of her plea. “Help us.”
Without Gordon, she knew, none of this would work.
He sighed, bit his bottom lip for a moment, and then drew a deep breath. “Okay. As long as all we’re doing is trying to identify this person, take a little video, nothing more. What do I have to do beyond the cameras?”
“Not much,” Eustace said. “Just deliver the invitations.”
Cordelia nodded emphatically. “That,andconvince everyone in Bellwick who hates us to come.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTHEOFFENSIVE
CORDELIA HUGGED HERmother’s urn to her chest. The wooden corners dug into her skin as she stood before the iron gates of the crypt, sad, bitter, and more than a little afraid. They should have done this sooner. Maybe if they had…
There was no point thinking about that now.
The memory of the ashes drawn out on the table and the patch of skin tapped a nervous drumbeat down her back. She’d been so certain before that the ghosts of the estate were after her. That the blood rune was their doing. That every mishap to befall them since their arrival was because her ancestors were vengeful, angry spirits seeking her end to satiate their need for retribution. On her mother. On her. But she’d been wrong.
She felt more confused than ever. If her ancestors didn’t want to hurt her, what did they want? Why all the dreams and sightings, the strange gestures and voiceless messages? How did the disparate stories of the Bone women tie together? What ending did they seek?
And who was this man that let himself into their house, that waved their mother’s own flesh before them, creeping in the shadows, the property a suit he wore better than they did? What did he want?
“I really have no desire to go back in there,” Eustace complained beside her, staring into the maw of their family grave. They’d come before dark, at least.
Cordelia sighed. There was still so much she and Eustace didn’t understand, but they had a plan. The plan gave them focus, direction,hope—and these were things Cordelia thrived on.
“You can stay out here if you want,” she told her sister.
“Alone?” Eustace looked pale. “No thanks. I’ll take my chances in there with you.”
Cordelia nodded. Horrific as the morning was, Cordelia was grateful they could returnallof their mother to her family’s resting place.
“Are we sure this is the right thing?” Eustace asked one last time.
Cordelia reached for the gate and pulled it open. “Does it really matter?”
Their mother had done everything in her power to stay away from Bone Hill and to keep them from it too. And yet, here they all were. Augusta’s words echoed in her memory as they entered the crypt—She cannot outrun the power of our family line, our family name.What that power was in its entirety, where it came from, they were still uncovering.
A shaft of sunlight penetrated the center of the mausoleum, illuminating stones that knew little but darkness. Cordelia found an empty shelf along the rear wall and sat Maggie’s urn there. She stepped back and looked around. Next to her, Eustace was studying the personal effects left for some of the graves.
“Something keeps bothering me,” Eustace said, fingering an intricate hair comb.
“What?”
“In Aunt Augusta’s letter to us, she uses the runes in a simplified way—an alphabetic way. Except for one.” She faced Cordelia. “It’s in the line about Mom’s luck running out. There, sheused a single rune for the wordluckinstead of spelling it out,” Eustace explained.
Cordelia wandered around the crypt, studying the little plaques, reading their names—Gloriana Astor Bone—always so proud, so unusual. “Shorthand, perhaps?”
“Maybe,” Eustace conceded. “But why only that one? It’s like she wanted us to notice it. And then I got to thinking, it can also meancharmorcoinortoken. When I decoded the rest of the sentence,luckseemed to make the most sense. But if we use a different word, it shifts the meaning somewhat—before Mom’scharmruns out.”
Cordelia paused and looked at her. Eustace had her attention. “Like a good-luck charm. You mean an object?”
Eustace nodded. “Maybe she found something that made it possible for her to leave, for us to live somewhere else.”
Cordelia glanced around at the personal items littering the crypt. “Or maybe she took something. Something she kept close. Maybe even something from here.”
“But wouldn’t we have seen it?” Eustace asked. “That’s the only thing I don’t get. How could we miss something like that?”
