Reborn (Shadow Falls: After Dark #1)(52)

All of a sudden, Della noticed Holiday’s black dress. Unlike Della, the fae never wore black. Bright colors were her trademark.

“Is there a problem?” Holiday asked, noting Della staring.

“No, I just … you’re dressed in black.”

Holiday nodded. “I’m going to a funeral.”

So am I. “Whose?” Della asked.

Holiday’s brow wrinkled as if concerned. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

And just like that, Della instinctively knew. “You’re going to Lorraine Baker’s funeral, aren’t you?”

Holiday leaned against her desk and nodded. “She’s stopped in for a visit, but isn’t communicating yet. I thought if I went to the funeral, I might be able to help her.”

“Help her do what?” Della asked. “What does she want from you?”

“I don’t know. They usually want something. But in some cases, especially in unexpected deaths, the spirit just needs to be consoled and told that it’s okay to cross over.”

“Or maybe she knows something about the killer. Maybe she wants you to help catch this creep.”

“That’s a possibility, too,” Holiday said.

Della hesitated one second. “I want to go,” she said.

Holiday pulled her hair around her shoulder and twisted it. “I don’t know if that’s protocol for an agent to—”

“I don’t give a flip about protocol. Look, here’s the truth. I was going,” Della said. “I was just going to sneak out and then I decided to try to reason with Burnett to let me go. That’s what I wanted to talk to him about. I stumbled across the article about her online last night, and I … I want to go.”

“I know it was upsetting for you to see the crime scene, but—”

“I need to do this, Holiday. I don’t know why, but I just need to say I’m sorry. Please don’t try to stop me.”

Empathy filled Holiday’s green eyes. “Sorry? How is this your fault, Della?”

“It’s not, but … it was a vampire and … I want to make it right.” Even as she said it, she knew she couldn’t make it right. There was no bringing back Lorraine. But something inside her said attending that funeral was the best she could do.

The grief was so thick in the air, Della could hardly breathe. In spite of the fact that Della didn’t know the victim, the heavy feeling of loss lodged in her chest.

Men in dark suits kept moving bouquets and wreaths around the casket. The smell of too-sweet flowers clogged the air. While they were still colorful cut from their vines, the scent of their upcoming death made Della question the custom of floral arrangements.

She and Holiday had arrived ten minutes earlier and sat in the last pew in the back of the church, taking the last seats. The crowd kept getting bigger. People shifted closer until everyone practically sat shoulder-to-shoulder. Della fought the need to cry out for more room. But she knew the crowding sensation was as much internal as physical.

Too many emotions—emotions from all her issues. Though right now, the one foremost on her mind was the one in the casket. The guilt she somehow felt for the couple’s death … guilt for just being vampire.

The echo of the crowd seemed to vibrate the ceilings. Obviously, Lorraine had a lot of friends and loved ones.

Della sat listening to the sorrowful mourners. Some people cried. Other just sighed—sympathy lacing that low sound. Others talked about her, little things. She loved chocolate mint ice cream. She hated algebra. She sort of snorted when she laughed really loud. They said things as if saying them would somehow keep Lorraine alive.

“Is she here?” Della leaned into Holiday’s shoulder and asked. She should have felt frightened at the thought of a ghost around, but oddly she didn’t. If Holiday could get any clues to the girl’s death, Della could find the bastard who did this. She really wanted to find him.

“I haven’t seen or felt her,” Holiday whispered back. “But there’s another spirit here. I think it might be the same one that’s hanging around Kylie. It keeps flashing past. Definitely vampire.”

Della closed her eyes for a second, not wanting to believe the spirit was her own uncle or aunt, but it did make sense.

“And I was really hoping Lorraine would be here,” Holiday whispered.

“If she does show up, make sure you ask her about her killer.” Della let her gaze shift around the room, and it landed on the casket centered in front of the pews, surrounded by people.

“She looks good,” a woman at the front told the other woman accompanying her. “You can’t even tell she was in such a bad accident.”

Good? She’s dead! Della wanted to scream out.

Then a vision of Lorraine, bloody and mauled, flashed in Della’s mind. The vision kept showing the girl’s fingers drenched in more blood. Della blinked and inwardly flinched.

“Are you okay?” Holiday asked, no doubt reading Della’s wayward emotions.

“Fine,” she lied.

Holiday rested her hand on top of Della’s. Some of the weightiness crowding her lungs lightened.

The pieces of dialogue echoed around the church.

So sad. She was just starting her life. Did you know she got a puppy?

Della closed her eyes. Why had she felt driven to be here? How was paying respect going to help the poor dead girl or her fiancé? How would it help Della find their killer?