Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet (12 page)

“But—”

The boy stirred again. I glanced at him. At his blond hair as it fell over his handsome
face. At his long lashes and his strong jaw. He was going to be a lady killer, no
doubt about it.

With a smile of appreciation, I looked back at Reyes, but he was gone. I turned in
a circle, scanned the area, walked around Misery, searching. He was definitely gone,
vanished as soundlessly as smoke.

No way.

7

Happiness isn’t good enough.

I demand euphoria!

—T-SHIRT

Clearly Reyes didn’t want to answer any of my questions. Then again, we were on hallowed
ground. Maybe he couldn’t step foot on sacred soil? But could he really dematerialize
his physical body? The mere concept left me flummoxed.

I crawled into the Jeep beside the boy and pushed his hair out of his face. He woke
up with a jolt and pushed away from me, half in confusion and half in fear.

“It’s okay,” I said, showing my palms in surrender. “You’re okay, but I need to get
you inside.”

His gaze darted around wildly, squinting every time he looked at me as though looking
into a bright light, and I realized, with no small amount of shock, that he was like
Pari. He could see my light, and it was obviously disturbing him. I reached into the
front and brought out my sunglasses.

“This will help.” When he didn’t take them from me, I unfolded them and leaned in
to slip them on his face, taking care to move slowly. He let me but kept his muscles
taut, wary. “Is that better?”

He examined his surroundings, then returned his wary expression to mine.

“Oh, right. This is my Jeep, Misery, and I’m Charley.” The moment I said it, I wished
I could take it back. Why would I introduce my vehicle to a kid who was, as far as
he was concerned, being held captive in it? That would be like introducing Jonah to
the whale after the fact and expecting them to get along.

“Misery didn’t have anything to do with this, I promise.”

“Why am I here?” he asked, and I realized why he wasn’t answering my questions. He
didn’t use his voice. He used his hands.

“Are you Deaf?” I signed back to him.

He seemed surprised. “Yes.”

“Well, then, I’m Charley,” I signed, taking a couple of seconds to finger-spell my
name. I was suddenly very grateful I’d been born knowing every language ever spoken
in the history of the world, including the vast and varied array of signed languages.

“Who else?” he asked, and I furrowed my brows in confusion. “You introduced someone
else.”

“Yeah,” I said sheepishly. “I introduced my Jeep.” I indicated her with a sweep of
my hand. “Her name is Misery.”

“You named your car?”

“Yes. And please don’t ask what else I’ve named. You’re too young.”

The barest hint of a smile crossed his mouth. “My name is Quentin,” he said, finger-spelling
his full name; then he raised his left arm and placed a
Q
on the outside of his wrist with his right hand, indicating his name sign.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, and as per custom, he reciprocated the sentiment, even
though I doubt he meant it. “I brought you here for your safety. Do you remember what
happened to you?”

He glanced to the side. “Some things.”

Crap. He would totally need counseling.

I waited for him to turn back to me, and said, “It could happen again.” When he stilled
and a ripple of fear wafted toward me, I said, “I’m so sorry. I need to get you inside
this building. You’ll be safe there.”

He leaned forward to take a look.

“Do you have family here in Albuquerque?”

“
A-B-Q?”
he asked, not recognizing the abbreviation, so I finger-spelled the whole thing.
No easy feat.

“Yes, you are in Albuquerque, New Mexico.”

The shock on his face needed no interpretation.

I put my hand on his shoulder for a minute, let him absorb that latest bit of intel,
then asked, “Where are you from?”

After a moment of recovery, he said, “Washington, D.C.”

“Oh, you’re a long way from home. Do you remember how you got here?”

He turned away from me to hide the tears that had pooled in his eyes. I took that
as a no. He must’ve been possessed before leaving D.C.

“I can contact your family. I’ll let them know you’re okay.”

He covered his face with a hand, and a blanket of sorrow fell over my heart. I put
a palm on his shoulder again. Rubbed. Soothed. He didn’t have to say anything for
me to realize he had no family. I wondered if he was homeless.

His sorrow had me struggling for air. To be so lost. So alone.

“Are you going to come in anytime soon, because it’s getting really late.”

I jumped in surprise to see Sister Mary Elizabeth standing outside Misery.

Awe swelled inside my chest. “Did the angels tell you we were coming?”

“No, I saw you pull up.”

“Oh.” That was kind of anticlimactic.

“And the angels never tell me anything. I just kind of overhear their conversations.”

“Right. I forgot.”

I coaxed Quentin out of Misery and introduced him to Sister Mary Elizabeth and the
three other sisters who’d come out to greet us. They huddled around him like mother
hens, checking a scrape on his face and a large cut on his wrist. A couple of them
even knew ASL, to my utter delight. He’d be fine. For now, at least.

They herded us into the convent, made us soup—which tasted much better than the vomit
that still lingered in my mouth—and hot chocolate, and then proceeded to ask me a
million questions about what it was like to be the grim reaper and what it was like
when people passed through me until the mother superior came in and broke up our party.
Sister Mary Elizabeth had told them all about me, so it was only natural they’d be
curious. I couldn’t help but notice how they skirted the issue of Reyes. They knew
who he was, what he was, and how we were connected.

I turned to Quentin. He’d been having a riveting conversation with Sister Ann about
how Xbox had the best graphics and the best live streaming. Sister Ann knew her game
systems, and she had completely disarmed the shy youth.

He put the sunglasses back on so he could understand me.

“You’re going to stay here awhile—is that okay?” I asked him.

“Can I stay with you?”

“No, you need to be on holy ground to be safe. My apartment is more, well, unholy.”

He nodded and looked around him, pretending not to be affected by the prospect of
staying in a house with a bunch of nuns, though he did seem kind of relieved.

“If you need anything, text me.” I handed him my card. “Wait, do you have a phone?”

He patted his jacket and jeans pocket, then pulled out a phone with a huge smile.
Then it faded as he tapped on keys. “Dead,” he signed with one hand.

“I can get you a charger,” Sister Mary Elizabeth signed, her enthusiasm endless.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully. Then he asked me, “What’s your name sign?”

I bowed my head in mortal shame. “I don’t have one. None of my Deaf friends will give
me one. Every time I ask, they say they’re still thinking about it. It’s like they’re
avoiding the issue.”

“Why?”

“I think it’s because I have so many good qualities, they can’t decide which one to
focus on for a name sign.”

He chuckled softly. “Hearing people are crazy,” he said, his signs vague, as though
pretending I wouldn’t understand him.

“Oh, yeah?” I asked, puffing up my chest. “Well, Deaf people talk with their mouths
full.” I burst out laughing at the oldest joke in the Deaf handbook.

Quentin rolled his eyes, and I took the opportunity to go in for a hug. At first he
stilled; then he almost draped himself over me, hugging me back like his life depended
on it. We stayed in that embrace until Quentin loosened his hold. I kissed his dirty
cheek as we pulled apart, and he bowed his head in that sweet, shy way of his.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Wait,” he said, suddenly worried. “Do nuns eat bacon? I really like bacon.”

Sister Mary Elizabeth tapped his arm to get his attention, then signed, “I love bacon.
I’ll make some for breakfast, okay?”

He nodded, then let the sisters, thrilled with the prospect of protecting him, usher
him out to show him the living quarters where he could bathe and get a fresh change
of clothes. He seemed relaxed and grateful, which made me relaxed and grateful. And
I could tell the mother superior had taken a shine to him. Something deep inside her
stirred when her eyes met his, something warm and maternal, and I wondered what memory
surfaced when she looked at him.

After everyone left, I pinned Sister Mary Elizabeth to her chair with my infamous
fluster stare. She didn’t seem to get flustered, though, if her bright, slightly ADD
gaze was any indication. A gaze I could totally relate to.

“I know what you’re going to ask me,” she said in that rushed way of hers.

“Good, then I don’t have to ask. What have you heard?”

Sister Mary’s superpower lay in her ability to hear the angels. Literally. Like a
supernatural wiretap without the wires. It was how she knew about me and about Reyes
and about Artemis. She’d been listening to supreme beings talk about us for years.
I could only wonder what they had to say. I wasn’t that interesting.

She bowed her head and stared into her tea. It was unlike her. She was about to give
me some very bad news.

“They’ve discovered a way to track you.”

Oh, well, that didn’t seem too bad in the grand scheme of things. “Who? The demons?”

“Yes, the fallen. They’ve devised a new plan.”

“They’re possessing people,” I said in disgust. “Is that their big plan? To take over
humans’ lives? To destroy them? They possessed that boy for no reason.”

“They had a reason.” She ran a fingertip through some spilt sugar granules. “They’re
only possessing people who are sensitive to the spiritual realm. Who are clairvoyant.”

I looked to where they’d led Quentin. “So, Quentin is clairvoyant?”

“Yes. Quite.”

“Cool, but what does that have to do with me? Doesn’t clairvoyance mean you can see
into the future?”

“Not necessarily. It encompasses all persons with clear vision. Those who can see
into the spiritual realm. Some people are born with the ability. Some come by it through
other means, like near-death experiences.”

I thought of Pari. She could see ghosts ever since she’d had a near-death experience
as a child. “But, why target them? What do they have to gain?”

“Because they can often see auras.”

“Okay,” I said, still not catching on.

“And if they can see auras”—she put a hand on my arm—“they can see you.”

I did a mental slap to the head. Sometimes I was so thick. “Of course. That explains
why they chose Quentin. He can see the light around me.”

I’d have to check in on Pari, make sure she hadn’t been possessed since I saw her
last.

“That’s how they can track you. And according to the latest conversations, the demons
are closing in. That’s why they sent you a guardian. Why they sent you Artemis. They
knew this was going to happen.”

Damn. I figured there had to be some ghastly reason full of gloom and doom. Artemis
couldn’t have just been a belated housewarming gift. “Can they hurt her?” I asked,
suddenly concerned. “Can the demons hurt Artemis?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard.” She cleared her throat and took my cup. “Would you
like some more tea?”

“Sure, thank you,” I said absently.

The mother superior walked back in and sat down as Sister Mary Elizabeth gathered
our cups and stood to make more tea.

She planted her best disdainful expression on me.

I smiled. Inspected the craftsmanship of the cabinetry. Thrummed my fingers on the
table. Checked my watch. Or checked my wrist where a watch would have been had I not
forgotten it.

“You know,” she said after a long moment of reflection, “it took me a long time to—”
She struggled to find the right words. “—to believe in Sister Mary Elizabeth’s abilities.”

Oh, cool. This wasn’t going to be about me and my shoe box full of sins. Because we
could be here awhile if that were the case. “I understand,” I said, trying to be understanding.
“It takes people a long time to believe in mine, too. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Actually, there is. She was sent to us by God, and I questioned it. I questioned
his gift. That is something I’ll have to answer for when the time comes.”

That seemed kind of harsh. “I don’t think using logic and human instinct is a sin.”

Her smile was more congenial than affirming. “From what she has told us, there is
a great and terrible war on the horizon.”

“That’s right,” Sister Mary Elizabeth said, nodding in enthusiastic confirmation as
she sat back down, handing me a fresh cup of tea. “And it will be brought forth by
an impostor.”

“An impostor?” I asked.

The mother superior placed a hand on Sister Mary Elizabeth’s arm to stay her.

“No way,” I said, looking back and forth between the two of them. “You have information
that I could use, and you won’t hand it over?”

“It is not our place,” the mother superior said. “This information is sacred. It was
given to us so that we may pray.”

“I can pray,” I said, insulted. “Just tell me what to pray about. I’ll totally put
it on my to-do list.”

The woman’s iron demeanor relaxed a little as a smile twitched at the corner of her
mouth. “Prayer must be lived, not checked off a laundry list of duties.”

Crap. She was right. “But we’re talking about my life here.”

“And the lives and salvation of everyone on Earth. You are destined to play a part.
You simply must decide which part to play.”

“Riddles?” I asked, unimpressed. “You’re giving me riddles?”

Sister Mary Elizabeth’s eyes were wide with innocent ardency as she watched our exchange.
She looked like a kid watching her favorite Saturday-morning cartoon.