Darynda Jones - Third Grave Dead Ahead

“You know, I feel a lot better about almost being indirectly responsible for your death.”

“I’m so glad. Who’s the dead chick?”

I looked over at Wednesday as she stood beside my bed. She had completely changed with the entrance of Artemis. She still held the knife as though her life depended upon it, but she smiled and ran her hand down the Rottweiler’s sleek back before looking up at me. Right at me. Like into my eyes. It caught me off guard, as did her crossing. Before I could even ask for a name, she stepped forward and crossed through me.

“Wow,” I heard Garrett say, but I’d closed my eyes and riffled through her memories for information. Her name was Mary. She died when she was six of the fever. She had no idea what year it was, but from the clothes and décor of her memories, I guessed it to be somewhere in the very late 1800s. She’d wanted a pony for her birthday, but her family couldn’t afford one. Instead, her father made her a doll and she threw it in the river behind her house in anger. Regretting it, she instantly jumped into the icy water to retrieve it and died three days later as a result.

Her family had tucked the doll in her coffin with her, never knowing what she’d done. But when she heard the angels talking about me, she exchanged the doll for a knife and decided to be my guardian until the real one showed up. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she wasn’t very good. After all, it’s the thought that counts.

“That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Garrett said, his face a picture of awe when I refocused on him. “It was like a thousand sparklers followed by a sunburst. Absolutely beautiful.”

I dragged in a deep, cleansing breath then planted my face in Artemis’s neck and said, “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your body?” When he didn’t answer, I looked up at him.

He was watching me, gauging my emotions. “Is that what you want?”

“It’s where you belong.”

His head tilted and he was at my doorway before I could blink. “You need to figure out what you’re capable of.”

I frowned. “That’s getting really old.”

“I heard Farrow. He wants you to figure that shit out because of some war. I thought he was exaggerating. I’ve heard things, and I was wrong.”

“I’m working on it,” I said, getting tired. I wanted nothing more than to bury myself against Artemis and sleep.

“Hon, if this war is half as bad as Farrow thinks it will be, you really need to figure these things out.”

Great. Another Riddler. Just what I needed. “So, what do you know about it?”

“I know that they’re coming. And Charles—” He planted a warning gaze on me. “—they’re mad.”

Before I could ask for a little elaboration, he disappeared into thin air. Hopefully he’d stay in his body this time.

I scooted closer to Artemis. The coolness wafting off her felt good. She wagged her little tail and burrowed her nose under my neck. I glanced one last time at the door where Garrett had been before I let sleep overtake me.

Men.

Winner of the 2009 Golden Heart for Best Paranormal Romance for her manuscript First Grave on the Right, Darynda Jones can’t remember a time when she wasn’t putting pen to paper. Darynda lives in the Land of Enchantment, also known as New Mexico, with her husband of more than twenty-five years and two beautiful sons, aka the Mighty, Mighty Jones Boys. Visit www.daryndajones.com.