The Whispering Dead (Gravekeeper #1) - Darcy Coates Page 0,3
cotton ball out of its bag and poured some of the clear liquid onto it. “This will probably hurt. Medical things always do, in my experience. That man wasn’t telling the truth, was he?”
Keira tried not to flinch as he pressed the cotton ball to her skin just below her hairline. “No. I don’t think so anyway. I don’t remember anything.”
“Amnesia?”
“I suppose so.”
“Hmm.” He dabbed a few times, then threw the cotton ball into the fire and began hunting for bandages. “Well, I’ve never met you before, which means you’re not from Blighty. It’s a tiny town, too small to avoid an acquaintance with anyone, which can sometimes be as much a curse as a blessing. You could be from Broadmeadow. It’s a twenty-minute drive away.”
Keira shrugged. “The name doesn’t ring any bells.”
Adage frowned as he began unraveling a roll of bandages. “I have no idea what I’m doing here, I’m afraid. Perhaps I should call the doctor.”
“No, you’re doing great.” The words tumbled out of her unbidden. The impulsive, reflexive part of her was certain she wanted to avoid hospitals and anything associated with them. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore. Just put a bandage on it, and it’ll be fine.”
“Mm.” Adage didn’t sound convinced, but he leaned forward to wrap the cloth around her head. “I can’t say I’m disappointed. Dr. Kelsey is a bit of a… Well, we’re told to love our enemies, in which case I can safely say that I love no one more than Dr. Kelsey.” He finished wrapping the bandage like a bandanna. “How does that feel?”
“It’s great.” It was growing soggy from her wet hair and felt loose, but Keira wasn’t about to complain.
“Then I suppose we’d better figure out what we’re going to do with you.” Adage closed the first aid kit and nudged the bowl in Keira’s hands, encouraging her to continue eating. “Do you have any memories at all? A surname or a friend’s name, perhaps?”
Keira probed her mind. She made it as far back as waking up in the clearing, but everything beyond that was blank. C’mon, brain. You have one job. “Sorry.”
He shrugged as though the situation were no more complicated than choosing what to order for dinner. “In that case, you can spend the night here if you promise not to steal anything or murder me in my sleep. We’ll make you up a bed on one of the couches. Tomorrow, if you still can’t remember, I’ll ask around town.”
Keira looked from the bowl of stew at the warm fire, then at the pastor. Simple thanks seemed wholly inadequate in return for the unquestioning generosity he’d shown her, but it was all she had to offer. “Thank you so much.”
He waved away the gratitude as he crossed the room. “Really, tonight has become quite thrilling. It’s a nice change from the usual pace. Let me have a look for some spare blankets.”
Thunder cracked outside. The night was dark, but faint lights from the town created a mosaic on the wet glass. Anxiety tightened in her chest.
She had no actual memories of her life, but her subconscious kept feeding her tiny clues. Rain is good, it said. It will wash away your footprints. Being found is bad; you don’t want to know what those men are capable of.
She turned back to the pastor, who was hunting through a wardrobe and muttering as dead moths fell out from between the blankets. If they find me here, they’ll kill him.
Her appetite vanished and she dropped the spoon back into the bowl. Adage had shown her more kindness than she could have hoped for; she would never forgive herself if he were hurt—or worse—because of it. “Uh, do you have somewhere else I could stay? A barn or something a bit more remote?”
He looked over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Those men might come back. I’d feel safer if I was somewhere better hidden.” It was as close to the truth as she could get without letting him guess how dark her thoughts had become. He seemed to buy it, though, and pursed his lips in thought.
“The church has awful insulation. You’ll freeze to death if I put you there… Oh, I know. We have a groundskeeper’s cottage behind the graveyard. It’s been empty since Peterson passed on last year, bless him, but it has a bed and a fireplace, and there shouldn’t be more than the normal amount of rats. Would that do?”