Keeper(28)

“I feel like she’s trying to tell me something,” I said. “But I have no idea what.”

“Well, all the more reason for us to check out that supermoon, right?”

I nodded. “Right. I was doing some research earlier and—”

The shrill clang of the bell cut me off. I groaned. That red glaring “C” from earlier flashed in my mind. “I guess it’s chemistry first. Paranormal investigation later.”

Maggie looped her arm through mine as we headed toward the science lab. “I’ll hold you to that, Styles.”

I laughed. “I’m counting on it.”



On Friday night when we pulled into the parking lot at the cemetery, the sky was dotted with stars. The moon was a big, shining orb in the sky, despite the thick layer of fog that had settled over the grounds. Drooping magnolia trees loomed eerily over the pathways and headstones, and Spanish moss hung from the low branches. Tendrils of ivy wound around the wrought iron gate that surrounded the premises, and everything looked gothic and full of mystery. The graveyard was spectacularly spooky—the perfect location for contacting a ghost.

“It looks like something right out of Edgar Allan Poe’s Tales of Mystery and Imagination,” I said, scrunching my nose.

“Doesn’t it, though?” Maggie beamed, peering eagerly out the window.

“It’s certainly creepy enough.”

“This is one of the oldest cemeteries in the state,” Maggie said. “I looked it up, and there are stones here that date back to the 1700s. My guess is if there’s anywhere we’ll find Josephine, it’s here. Now, come on. It’s time to track down a ghost!”

“It does look promising,” I said, trying to ignore the way my stomach was churning.

Maggie stopped right outside the main gate and slung off her backpack. She began pulling things from inside—flashlights, a mirror, several pieces of chalk, matches, salt, candles, a thick white crystal on a string—and arranging them neatly on the pavement.

“Whoa, Mary Poppins,” I said, staring at the supplies. “What’s all this?”

I’d done a lot of reading on supermoons, but nothing I read mentioned the arsenal Maggie was assembling.

She rolled her eyes. “Contacting the spirit world is complicated, Styles. I wasn’t sure what we’d need. I had to come prepared.”

“Right. I guess I didn’t know that,” I deadpanned. “Séances for Dummies wasn’t exactly high on my reading list.”

Maggie glared at me for a minute before turning her attention back to her supplies. She pulled a composition book from her bag and flipped to a page covered in her messy scrawl. “Just give me a few minutes to make sure I’ve got it all in order.”

Kicking loose pieces of gravel with my shoes, I walked toward a dilapidated picnic table off to the side of the main gate. The magnolia trees were blowing in the wind, casting strange shadows on the slabs of wood. I sat with my hand in a sliver of moonlight, watching the shadows dance across my skin. My stomach was in knots, and my hands and feet tingled with nervous energy. I began to run the facts through my mind—everything I’d gleaned about supermoons and then every little detail I recalled from the visions of Josephine.

“You’re doing this to find the answers,” I reminded myself. “Don’t be a chicken shit, Lainey.” I shook my shoulders out and took a deep breath. Whatever Josephine had to tell me, I needed to be ready.

I jumped off the table and turned to head back toward Maggie when I noticed that a figure was making its way toward me. My heart reacted before my brain did, jolting in my chest. The cemetery didn’t get a whole lot of foot traffic during the day, and I doubted the evening hours were any different.

Panic lanced through me, and my mind immediately began imagining a scene from Law and Order. I almost yelled for Maggie, but the words caught in my throat.

There was something familiar about the strong set of his shoulders—I was sure it was a guy—and the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Tension stretched across his back, and I watched as he reached up and entwined both his hands behind his neck—a gesture I’d seen Gareth make on several occasions when he was thinking hard about something.

As he came closer, I got a better look at his face.

“Ty?”

He stopped and trained his eyes on me. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt over a pair of worn jeans and looking more like James Dean than anyone had a right to. My heart began to race. I gulped. “Hey,” I managed to squeak out.

Ty took a few steps closer to the table and nodded. “Hey,” he replied, his expression changing into a smile. He sat down on the picnic table. “What are you doing here?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same question.”

Ty shrugged. “I like to go for walks in the evening. Helps me clear my mind.”

“And a cemetery is your idea of a good place for a leisurely stroll?”

A strange expression crossed Ty’s face. I couldn’t place it, and it was quickly replaced by his usual half smile. “Why not?”

A beam of light cut through the darkness, landing on Ty’s face. He squinted and raised a hand.

“Oh, it’s you,” Maggie said, walking over, her flashlight still aimed at his face. “What are you doing here, Pretty Face?”