The Whispering Dead (Gravekeeper #1) - Darcy Coates Page 0,4

a “normal amount” of rats entailed, but she wasn’t in a position to be choosy. “Sounds perfect!”

“Finish your stew, then, and I’ll take you to it.”

Keira shoveled the warm stew into her mouth while Adage went back into the kitchen. She could hear him digging through drawers, and he returned holding a large, rusty ring with a single key hanging from it.

“Ready.” Keira put the bowl aside and snagged her still-wet jacket off the chair. The idea that her presence might be a threat to the older man had embedded itself. Something in her stomach said that the strange men would search the area quickly, and they wouldn’t give up easily.

Adage led her back to the hallway wardrobe and pulled out a pair of heavy coats and two umbrellas. “People leave them at the church,” he explained as he handed one of each to Keira. “I usually keep them until they’re claimed, but these have been waiting for their owners for the better part of a year, so I think it’s safe to borrow them. Ready?”

Keira felt a little ridiculous pulling the raincoat over her already-wet clothes, but she did so anyway. “Ready.”

The parsonage’s thick walls had done a good job of blocking out noise, but the storm’s intensity assaulted them as soon as the door was open. A heavy sheet of rain came across the threshold, buffeting them and making a mockery of their supposedly waterproof coats. Keira scanned the surrounding area as she waited for her companion to close the door. She looked for motion or for hulking, watching shapes, but the deluge made it impossible to see more than a dozen meters.

“This way.” Adage had to bellow to be heard through the rain.

Keira followed in his shadow, careful not to let the distance between them grow too great for fear of losing him. The spongy ground sucked at her boots, and the wind made them both stagger as they trudged across the field to reenter the graveyard she’d passed through less than an hour before. The gravestones, dark from rain, loomed out of thin mist. It seemed disorganized, an assortment of traditional headstones battling for space around elaborate sculptures of angels and tall, cowled figures. Keira couldn’t stop herself from staring at each passing face, searching for awareness in their eyes or a twitch of motion in their hands. The fog twisted and swirled about the grave markers, dancing in the rain. Chills ran over Keira as fingerlike tendrils brushed her cheeks.

“Just up ahead,” the pastor called, and Keira saw a small building near the edge of the forest. She thought she must have passed close to it when dashing to the parsonage.

The cottage didn’t seem large enough to hold more than two or three rooms. Dark, uneven slats covered a sharply peaked roof, and vines grew up one wall. The windows were cold and empty, and an atmosphere of neglect surrounded the hut. It struck Keira as a lonely building, hidden as far from civilization as possible, with a forest on one side and a garden of graves on the other.

Adage huddled close to the door as he fit the key into the lock and struggled to twist it. The door ground on its hinges as it opened, and they both shuffled into the relative comfort of a dry room.

“Like I said, an exciting night.” Adage closed the door and shed his coat. Keira couldn’t help but feel impressed that he’d maintained the note of warm optimism. “Let’s see…it should still have power… Ah.”

He’d found the switch, and golden light filled the space. Keira shrugged out of her coat as she stared around the cottage. Instead of dividing the tiny building into even tinier rooms, the bedroom, kitchen, dining, and lounge areas had all been combined. A door at the back led to what she guessed was a bathroom, but otherwise, the entire house was just one room.

She could have crossed the space in ten paces, but it had a comfortable, welcoming atmosphere. The single bed wedged against the left wall was covered in a colorful patchwork quilt, and a small kitchen offered the comfort of a kettle and stovetop.

“We’ll get a fire going so that you don’t freeze to death,” Adage said, weaving around the overstuffed lounge chair to reach the dark hearth. “There’s no heater, I’m afraid, but there should still be some spare blankets in the cupboard over there if you need them.”

“I’ll be okay from here.” Keira followed the pastor to the