Graveminder (14 page)

Chapter 26

L
ATE THAT NIGHT, HE SAT AT HIS PARENTS’ KITCHEN TABLE TRYING TO
make sense of what had just happened. Byron heard a soft knock on the kitchen door. He stood and opened it.

“Father Ness.” He stepped aside to let the priest in.

“How are you?”

“Fine.” Byron pulled out a chair and gestured to it.

The priest sat. “And William?”

The question was spoken softly, but the answer wasn’t one Byron knew.
Do I say he’s stayed in the land of the dead? That I killed him?
Byron took his seat.

“I’ll be staying here for a while. Dad had to go ... he ...” Byron faltered.

“Died.” Father Ness patted his hand.

Byron stared at the priest. “You know.”

“Some of us are tasked with knowing. I can’t tell you this will get easier, but if it helps, we—myself and the other clergy—can do a memorial. William was a good man.” Father Ness had the look in his eyes that Byron had seen at innumerable funerals. It was only the second time it had been directed at him. The first time, when his mother died, it had been for both Byron and William. Grief shared was easier than grieving alone.

“He was a good man.” Byron walked away and pulled open the fridge. A six-pack sat inside. He grabbed two bottles, popped the tops off on the edge of the counter, and set one in front of Father Ness.

The priest lifted his bottle. “To William, may God protect and keep him.”

“To Dad.” Byron clinked his bottle against Father Ness’.

They drank in silence. The priest let him have his quiet and his memories for the space of one slowly swallowed beer. When Byron slid his empty bottle away, Father Ness pushed his mostly full beer aside, too.

“A service would be great. Not right now, though.” Byron had thought about the things he knew so far, and as much as he wanted to grieve, to hide and nurse the sense of loss, he couldn’t.

Neither can Bek.

“No one will ask after William,” Father Ness mentioned. “The inability to question things tied to the town contract is a typical consequence of being born here. People accept any anomalies that spring from the contract. Once you’re settled, the town council will help you better understand the minutiae.”

“Town contract?”

Father Ness gave him a wry smile. “When the town founders settled here in Claysville, they made an agreement with an entity whom they—mistakenly—thought was a devil. When I moved here, fresh out of seminary and ready to tackle the evils of the world, the previous Mayor Whittaker explained everything to me in rather tedious detail. I have no doubt that Nicolas will follow in his father’s footsteps and tell you. The gist of it is that we’re safe from a lot of things, and children born here won’t be able to leave, but sometimes the dead refuse to stay dead.”

“ ‘They’ made a pact and ‘sometimes’ the dead don’t ‘stay dead’? You say it like it’s no big deal. You just
accept
all of this?” Byron wrapped his hand around the empty bottle, holding it as if to reassure himself of
something
’s solidarity. “How do I know I’m even
sane
? I walked through a gate in—”

“Don’t tell me,” Father Ness interrupted. “The diocese sent me here because of my openness to the less
modern
parts of the Catholic faith. However, unless there is due cause, only two people are meant to know where the gateway is. I am not one of them. There are things the members of the council know and things we should
never
be told.”

Byron tossed the bottle into the sink. It broke in the stainless-steel basin. Brown glass shards bounced up and across the counter. “I hate this.”

“I know, but what you do keeps us safe. Your father did God’s work.”

“Really? Because what I saw over there sure didn’t look like heaven.”

“Please, Byron, what’s over there isn’t something I should know. I wish I could ease your burden on this, but it’s not my place. I
can
be here to help you through your grief ... or your anger.” Father Ness didn’t look any less sympathetic and understanding than he had before. If anything, he looked more sympathetic. “Either way, you can call me or any of the spiritual leaders at any hour.”

“For?”

“Talking. Whatever you need.
You
do God’s work now.” Father Ness stood. He laid his hand on Byron’s shoulder and squeezed. “We can’t carry the burden, but you are not alone.”

Byron felt his anger flee at the kindness the priest offered. It wasn’t Father Ness’ fault that Byron was in this situation. The priest didn’t deserve anger or disdain. “Thank you.”

Father Ness nodded.

“They know, too? Lady Penelope, Reverend McLendon, and Rabbi Wolffe?” Byron asked.

“They do.” Father Ness nodded. “We’ve known that you and Rebekkah would replace the previous generation one day. It’s unfortunate that it should happen under such circumstances, but we have faith that you will handle this challenge—as did Maylene and William.”

Byron stared at him blankly.
This challenge?
He was being asked to stop a murderous dead girl, tell the woman he’d loved for years that she was going to spend her life “minding” the dead with him as her companion, and figure out how to cope with his father’s death. He wasn’t quite sure which of those
challenges
was the most daunting.

“I’m not even sure how to get started,” Byron said weakly.

“Start with some sleep. In the morning, go see Rebekkah. The details of the living will work out as they do, but the dead are walking. We all need the Graveminder to set things right, and she needs an Undertaker to open the gate.”

Byron caught Father Ness’ arm before the priest could step away. “I didn’t learn as much as I want to know, and I need answers now. Tell me what you know.”

Father Ness paused, but he nodded after a moment. “The terms of the contract aren’t as clear as we’d like, but over the years we’ve gleaned some things. Those born here can’t
stay
gone; many can’t leave at all. They are stricken with illness if they try.” The priest gave Byron a sad smile. “Rebekkah can’t leave Claysville now. Neither can you—unless you must pursue the dead
or
retrieve the body of a town member.”

“Rebekkah can’t leave,” Byron repeated. “She has no idea. Maylene’s dead, and she’s got to deal with all this, and she’s trapped, and ... I have to tell her.”

“Go to her,” Father Ness urged. “Tell her what she needs to know, so you can put the dead to rest. We count on you to keep each other—and us—safe.”

Then the priest let himself out, and Byron was left trying to make sense of more things than he could process. If his father was right, a teenage girl was killing people in his town. If his own sanity was intact—a thing he wasn’t entirely sure of—he’d stepped into a land where the dead walked, and he’d signed a contract he hadn’t read. If his father, the priest, and a dead man could be believed, Rebekkah was caught up in the same contract, and his job was to not only break this news to her but also keep her safe—and take her to meet the dead.

No problem.

He sat in the same kitchen where his mother had once offered him after-school cookies and advice.
How had they kept it a secret?
He thought back to the years before his mother had died, to the years after Ella had died, to the past months when he felt compelled to return home. In pieces, it all fit. There had been whispered conversations and late-night visitors for as long as he could remember, and after Ella’s death, Maylene had been at the house more and more often. Understanding the lies and secrets didn’t alleviate the anger that threatened to spill out.

“Mam? What were you and Dad talking about with Ella’s grandmother?”

“Nothing that you need to hear right now,” she assured him. She’d paused then. “You know that Rebekkah’s going to need you even more, don’t you?”

“I’ll always be there for Bek. She knows that.” Byron felt tears on his cheeks. It was okay to cry for Ella, for Rebekkah, for all of them, here with his mother. Ann Montgomery wouldn’t ever think him weak for grieving.

“She’s lost more than anyone knows.” Ann pulled him into her arms. The scent of vanilla and something else that he didn’t know other than the fact that it was
home
filled the air. “She’ll need you.”

“I was friends with Bek before—not just because she is ...
was
Ella’s sister. That won’t change.” Byron pulled away from his mother’s embrace. “I’m not a jerk.”

“Oh, I know, baby.” She’d cupped his face in her hands. “I know who you are. I couldn’t be prouder of you. I just ... it’s confusing sometimes being ...” She’d stopped herself then and hugged him.

At the time Byron thought she’d meant “being a teenager” or “being a guy” or even “being a girl’s friend.” He hadn’t known that she meant being the Undertaker to a Graveminder. He hadn’t thought she meant having your future mapped out for you without your consent. She’d known, then, known since he was born.

Once, he’d thought he and Ella had ended up dating because his parents had been close with her grandmother. They’d been thrown together so often that he wasn’t even sure when they’d
started
dating. They’d slipped from being best friends to being girlfriend and boyfriend without any real discussion. They were meant for each other, a perfect fit.
How had she felt when she learned the truth?
He wished, not for the first or even the fiftieth time, that Ella had talked to him then.

The second line rang.

“Byron?” his mother called.

“Got it.” He’d grabbed the phone.

Because the family telephone was used primarily for business purposes, his parents had gotten a second line for his birthday a couple of years ago. At the time, he didn’t see the big deal, but over the past year, it had become increasingly important. When he wasn’t with Ella, he was on the phone with her.

“Hi.”

“Hey, I was just getting ready to leave to meet y—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I can’t see you anymore.”

“What?” He sat down. “Ella ...” The sentences were twisting in his head too fast to speak. “I don’t ...
why?
If it’s what I said about Bek, what happened, it was just a kiss, we didn’t mean to. I love you, and—”

“I know.” She made a sound that was half a laugh. “Actually, that’s one of the few things that made me think about
not
breaking up with you. It’s good that you had those thoughts about my sister. It means you’re human, normal, not just programmed, right?”

“Programmed?”

“We
can
think for ourselves. You aren’t just doing things you were forced to do. Neither am I.” She was sniffling now. “That’s good. Having a choice about what you do, who you are, what you love, who you ...” Her words drifted off, and Byron felt suddenly sick.

“Did someone hurt you?” He hated speaking the words, but he kept going. “Were you forced to do something? Talk to me, Ells.”

“I think I loved you before I even understood what love meant,” she whispered. “I really do, Byron. I love you with my whole heart, with my body, with everything.”

Byron leaned his head back against the wall. Ella had said those words to him more times than he could remember. She’d whispered them over and over their first time. She’d laughed and said them the other night. She said them so often, in so many places, that he hadn’t felt lame when she’d said them in front of his friends.

“It’s not enough. I wish it was, but it’s not. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what ... I’m sorry for how it’ll change things for you and for Bek.” Ella’s voice was steadier now. “I’m making my choice, though. Now.”

“You’re scaring me,” he admitted. “I’m going to come over, and we’ll talk and—”

“I won’t be here.” She took a gulping breath. “I need to go ... somewhere. Oh, I wish you could come, that you could see it. You can someday. Just not now ... and I can’t wait. It’s not fair to see it and be told I can’t have it for years ... or maybe at all. I need to go.”

“Wait!” He shoved his feet in his shoes and cursed his inability to keep her on the phone while he ran to her house. “I’ll go wherever you want me to, Ells.”

“I love you. Promise you’ll take care of Rebekkah for me.” She paused and sniffled again. “Promise it. She needs love.”