Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (19)
“I think the door must be jammed—”
Marcelene walked slowly toward me. Her gaze was set on mine, not paying attention to the door. “It seems you have more ghosts chasing you then we have stories.”
“What do you mean by that?” I didn’t know why, but I tried the door again. It wouldn’t move. It wasn’t locked, but it was immovable. I came in just fine . . .
“I love my granddaughter and don’t want to see her or her family in danger. We don’t get many newcomers, and I know a girl as young as you is either running from something or someone.”
I swallowed, nervous now. “You’re not totally wrong about that. But I promise you, the last thing I want is for anyone to get caught up in my shit.”
She hummed as she stopped a foot away and leaned against a table of tarot decks. “We’re wary of outsiders here in Ash Grove. Always have been.”
My chest tightened. I wasn’t in danger, I didn’t think, but this conversation while I wiggled the door handle was unnerving to say the least. “I understand, ma’am—”
“But . . . ,” she interrupted, walking over and reaching towards my neck. I froze. “If you choose to stay and your intentions are pure . . . you’ll find that the town protects its own. It’s possible to find some level of peace. But no harm should befall my Yesenia, understood? Not from you or . . . him.” She spat the last word like a curse at the same moment she tore a sales tag from my collar with a pop. I jumped and decided not to ask questions.
“Um . . . thank you,” I squeaked as her gray-violet eyes surveyed me. As if she’d decided something in her mind, she jerked a short nod.
“October in Ash Grove is like none other.” She smiled. “Enjoy.”
I thanked her again, and this time when I turned the knob, the door swayed open with ease.
The walk across town was decidedly less tense than my conversation with Yesenia’s abuela. Her words rattled in my mind like bolts in a tin can, each word bringing on only another set of questions. Her wanting to protect her family was understandable, and I did look like a shady character. She was spot on about me running from something. But I guessed that wasn’t too difficult to decipher. The town would protect me? That choice of words unnerved me for some reason I couldn’t quite describe. And then finally, the way she spat him. Him who? My stepfather, maybe? How would she know? Or maybe she assumed a man was chasing me. But something about the way she said it . . . made me believe she knew him. Whoever he was, she must have been mistaken. I hadn’t gotten very close to anyone here, especially no man. Not that I wouldn’t like too, however . . .
I stopped outside the jagged and looming stone church in the center of town. Ames’s old vintage Mustang sat parked off the street, the sharp wrought iron fencing behind it creating a giant cage of orange and black amongst the . . . gravestones. Jesus, this town was creepy. Two additional vintage model cars were parked alongside the Mustang, and I wondered if they were support group attendees too. I was about to find out. I opened the gate with a squeak and a raven cawed. My gaze locked eyes with the bird sitting on a low branch in the middle of the church’s courtyard. “Are you the same crow from earlier?” I asked, stepping over a pumpkin. “Are you following me?” I almost tripped over another pumpkin. “Join the club, bird,” I scoffed, stomping up the narrow stone steps. With a glance over my shoulder, I saw the crow remained fixated on me. Shaking off the eerie cloud that had seemed to form over my head since this morning, I clicked open the huge, blood-red door. The murmur of voices inside laid my path before me. I wove through a broad corridor, past crimson crucifixes and paintings of blood-stained lambs. Lamb’s Blood Church. The name was almost as off-putting as the vibe. Churches had always freaked me out, though. My mother dragged me to Catholic mass every Christmas Eve and Easter. Most kids fell asleep in the pews. I sat fidgeting with my fingernails, counting down the prayers until time to leave. Thirty-five prayers on Christmas Eve, forty-one prayers on Easter, if you were wondering.
The male voices grew louder, though their tone was hushed. “It shouldn’t have been so easy to get in,” a low voice, I think it was Dr. Cove, said. “We know one can be followed in, but until now only by those with good intentions.”
“Unless someone, or something, brought him in. That’s a loophole, too,” a raspier man responded.
Ames huffed with the sound of a chair scuffing the floor. “Impossible. They’re all accounted for, plus Cat is always on watch.”
Cat? Was that his girlfriend? My heart dropped. Yes, the conversation itself should have concerned me more than the mention of another woman, but the thought of my fantasy-world being destroyed so quickly was painful.
“But you’re sure he’s here?” a familiar voice asked, but I wasn’t sure how I knew it. “I haven’t picked up anything.”
“He’s under the radar somehow, and fuck if that isn’t pissing me off.” Ames cursed before the chair scuffed again. I crept closer to the room’s entrance . . .
Suddenly, the ancient creaky door swung open. I startled, putting a hand to my chest. Ames cocked his head to the side for a moment, his blue eyes catching the dusty streams of light. For a moment, he looked like he could be an image etched along the beautiful stained glass of the sanctuary. A dark angel. Lucifer in a black beanie and glasses. “You came.” He smiled, gesturing me inside. “Welcome.”