Melissa Marr - Graveminder

Rebekkah offered her a small smile. “I can’t stay there yet, but I would if I could. You can. There is no time there, no past or present. Every year exists all at once. No food here tastes as good. I don’t know why, but I swear to you that what I saw there is not a world to run from.”

“I’d be dead,” Daisha said.

Rebekkah smiled gently. “You already are.”

“I’m afraid.” Daisha felt a lot less like a monster when Rebekkah looked at her, but she also didn’t want to end. The idea of going to Heaven or Hell or wherever that abyss led wasn’t comforting.

“I know.” Rebekkah stepped up beside her and held out a hand. “I wish you were alive, but I can’t do anything about that. I can take you to a world that feels like this world, but where you aren’t condemned to eat flesh or blood.”

Silently Daisha took Rebekkah’s hand, and together they walked downstairs. In the storage room, Byron and the old man stood waiting. A cabinet had been slid back open, and a bright tunnel yawned open in front of them.

Daisha was terrified.

“How do we do this with two of them?” Byron asked.

“Lead us in,” Rebekkah said. “I will hold them, and you will lead us.”

Daisha’s grip on Rebekkah’s hand tightened. “If he’s not sure, why should we go?”

The smile Rebekkah offered curbed Daisha’s unease. “He worries over me. He usually holds my hand when we walk there, but it’ll be fine. You are going where you need to go, and”—she glanced back at the Undertaker—“so am I.”

She reached out to the old man and took his hand. The man looked confused, but he cooperated.

Rebekkah’s gaze took in all three of them as she said, “Trust me.”

“I do, but I think we need to trust your Undertaker, too.” Daisha released Rebekkah’s hand. Then she clasped the old man and the Graveminder’s entwined hands, so both she and the dead man were holding on to Rebekkah’s hand.

With a relieved sigh, the Undertaker stepped into the tunnel. He lifted a light from the wall, and then he reached back to take the Graveminder’s free hand. “Come.”

The Graveminder accepted his hand, and together they entered the tunnel.

THE VOICES OF THE DEAD WHISPERED COMFORTING WORDS TO REBEKkah as she walked toward their land. The old man had extended his arm to the side, so Daisha was able to walk between and behind them.

Tomorrow she’ll be on to her new ... life. Is it a life when she’s dead?

The words didn’t matter, though. What mattered was that things were going to be set to rights. The Hungry Dead were being led to the place where they belonged, and then Rebekkah would look after the graves of the Claysville dead. She would give them words, drink, and food. She would see to their resting places so that they had no need to awaken. Her town was safe.

They stepped from the tunnel into the land of the dead. This time, Charles was there to greet them.

Not us— me .

Byron looked to the side, and Rebekkah surmised that Alicia was waiting as well.

Both the old man and Daisha released her hand. Frantically Rebekkah grasped at Daisha’s hand, but the dead girl pulled away. She didn’t vanish as Troy had.

“You met her after she was already dead,” Charles said. “She’s not your dead.”

Daisha stepped protectively in front of Rebekkah. “Who’s the old guy?”

“I am Mr. D, child, and I’ll thank you not to call me old.” Charles pointed at her with a dark wood cane.

The old man bowed to Rebekkah. “Your escort was appreciated, Miss Barrow.” He walked off down the street with a jaunty poise that reminded Rebekkah of the gait of a much younger man.

“What about Daisha?” Rebekkah asked.

With a stern look at the girl standing between them, Charles said, “I suspect she’ll be quite fine, but unless I misread the presence of the elder Miss Barrow”—he glanced to where, invisible to Rebekkah, Alicia apparently stood—“the girl will be offered a chance to be swept into the unsavory enterprises of those who enjoy frustrating me.”

Daisha grinned at something Rebekkah couldn’t hear. “Yeah?”

She hugged Rebekkah suddenly, and as she leaned in, she whispered, “Thank you.”

Rebekkah didn’t let go right away. “You’ll be careful?”

“I’ll be here when you come. You can check on me if you want,” Daisha said.

“Alicia and I have some business to take care of,” Byron started. “We can all walk Daisha over and—”

“I need to talk to Charles,” Rebekkah interrupted. “He owes me some answers.”

“Well then.” Charles tucked Rebekkah’s hand into the crook of his elbow. With his cane, he pointed to a small wooden building only steps from where they stood. “We’ll be at the café.”

Byron caught Charles’ gaze. “Don’t get her shot this time.”

Charles didn’t look away. “Those gentlemen have come to understand the error of their ways.”

Byron looked at Rebekkah, and when she nodded, he walked off with Daisha—and presumably with Alicia, too.

Rebekkah followed Charles across a wood plank walkway, reminiscent of a frontier town. Her footsteps echoed as she walked. “No swinging doors?”

He quirked a brow at her. “That would be overkill, wouldn’t it?”

Without wanting to, she laughed. “You’re never caught off guard, are you?”

Instead of replying, Charles opened the rough planked door and stepped to the side to let her enter. Inside, there were no people. Plain tables were arranged haphazardly throughout the room. At the far end was a small stage with a piano and bench. Thick but worn deep blue velvet drapes were pulled to the sides in front of the stage.

Charles pulled out a chair at the table where a very out-of-place silver tea service waited. Next to it was a tray of sandwiches and cakes. At either side of the table there were folded linen napkins. Despite the contrast with the surroundings, the tea and food seemed perfectly right.

And what I need.

The comfort of hiding away in the darkened building was unexpected but undeniable. The urge to weep was less unexpected. Rebekkah couldn’t say whether it was exhaustion or sorrow or relief, but she simply couldn’t help herself.

Charles didn’t remark on the tears that flowed down her cheeks as he poured their tea. “You asked about names. When my name is known, it is soon forgotten. The word doesn’t stay long in mortal minds.” He leaned back and looked at her. “Not my name, not the place’s name. Knowing it, knowing me, is inevitable. Everyone ‘dances with Mr. D,’ but some mortals—like you—are already half in love with death. It is who you are, and I’ll not make it harder on you by telling you things you don’t need to know. Ask me again when you die. Then I’ll tell you everything, anything, nothing.”

She wondered if it was worth the effort of denying that she was in love with death. Deciding it wasn’t, she said only, “I’m not going to get your real name, then?”

“I’m fond of being called Charles.” He took her hand.

She didn’t pull away. “How much of this did you know? Daisha? Cissy? Maylene’s murder? What about Alicia?”

“I know the dead when they slip out of my reach, and when they are in my reach. I knew of Daisha’s death and her awakening.”

“But Cissy—”

“Wasn’t dead. Her actions weren’t within my sight.” He turned her hand over and peered into her palm as if he could read secrets in it. “I knew of Maylene’s death before you did, but that was because I know of deaths, not because it was something I could stop. I loved her, as I love you and as I loved Alicia and the others who’ve been Graveminders. You’re mine.” His voice was gentle, but the fervent look in his eyes was unnerving. “You look after my children. You care for them, bring them home where they are safe.”