The Ghost and The Graveyard (The Monk's Hill Witch) (12 page)

And that’s when things got weird.

More Than I Wanted To Know

W
hen he’d recovered, Rick retrieved a towel from his bedroom and cleaned me up. The connection faded gradually, and my logical mind brought me back to the reality of what had just happened.

“I…I’ve never done anything like that before,” I said. Heat crawled up my neck and settled in my cheeks.

His eyes widened and he blew a puff of air out his nose, tipping his head to the side. “You are very good at it,
mi cielo
.”

“That was, I mean, it wasn’t… You were in my head! What was that?”

“I think dinner is ready. Let me make you a plate.”

He walked into the kitchen, but the more time I had to think about it, the louder every alarm in my head blared. “Rick, did you drug me?”

“No! I would never do such a thing,” he snapped.

“Then tell me what that was!” I yelled. Something in me knew this wasn’t normal. I had wanted it to happen. I’d enjoyed it. I didn’t regret it. But something had lowered my inhibitions. What happened was almost beyond my control.

“I was hoping this conversation could wait a little longer,” he said.

“So, you do have something to tell me! A secret.”

“You know?”

“Logan told me.”

“Who is Logan?”

“Never mind. Say it. What is it that you are supposed to tell me?”

“It is about you, Grateful. About who you are and where you come from.”

“What?” I narrowed my eyes, feeling my entire face tense.

“Please, sit down.” He waved his hand toward a chair at the table.

“I’m listening,” I said, taking a seat. I was fully dressed. He was naked from the waist down.

Rick reached for his glass, draining the thick red liquid in two swallows. “Remember when I told you about Reverend Monk and the people of Red Grove? About how they were starving to death?”

“I remember.” What did this have to do with the fact that he just mind-fucked me?

“Things were miserable. Children were dying. The congregation had prayed and prayed but no help came. Reverend Monk decided the drought was the work of a witch, and it so happened that there
was
a witch in Red Grove.”

I rested my chin in my palm. “You mean a person who practices Wicca, right? There are a few nurses on my floor who are Wiccan.”

“No. I mean a queen of the damned. A natural sorceress so strong that no practice could define her.”

“Oh, come on.” I rolled my eyes.

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“You’re saying there was a real, spell-casting witch in Red Grove? Don’t insult my intelligence.”

I tried to stand, but he stretched across the table and pressed me back into my seat. “Calling her a witch is an understatement. Her name was Isabella Lockhart, and she was more powerful than any to walk this earth. She was a sorceress of the dead and, although Monk didn’t know it, she had been protecting the town of Red Grove for years from the demons that lived in these woods.”

I pursed my lips. “So, did Monk burn her at the stake or what?” I asked flatly.

“Monk would have never caught Isabella and even if he did, plain fire wouldn’t have been enough to kill her. But Monk had a secret. One night he took a long walk in the forest behind the chapel, on the land that is now Monk’s Hill cemetery. He was praying for a way to keep his parishioners alive. Some source of food to help them through the winter. Reverend Monk would later tell his people that he met an angel in those woods. But it was not an angel. It was a demon. The demon gave Monk a book,
The Book of Flesh and Bone
. Inside the book, spells were written, spells to bind death to life, spells to raise the dead.

“He brought it back to his church and told everyone that God had sent him a book of prayers. Every parishioner agreed to help pray for a way to end their suffering. They built the fence you see around the cemetery, in the shape of a pentagram with the church at the center. Then at midnight on October thirty-first, sixteen ninety-two, the townspeople, at the direction of Monk, marched with their torches to the home of Isabella Lockhart, chanting the prayers in the book. Prayers that were actually spells. They bound her to her human form, preventing her from shifting or becoming a mist to escape. The spells left her vulnerable to the angry crowd.”

Rick folded his hands across the table, looking like he might cry. I knew he loved history, but the passion he infused into the legend was unsettling. It was making my uncomfortable. I wanted him to get to the point.

“They burned her alive, Grateful, at the center of what is now the cemetery, right in front of the church.”

My hand went to my throat. I heard my breath rush into my lungs on a gasp. “I thought you said fire couldn’t kill her?” I didn’t know why I was getting so wrapped up in the obviously made-up story, but the thought of someone being burned alive yards from where I was sitting left me riveted.

“Earthly fire could not. A sorceress as strong as Isabella could not be killed by natural means. But with the book’s words repeated on the lips of the parishioners, the assault was supernatural. She was burned in demon fire.”

“So the witch was killed. Let me guess, it didn’t fix the drought.”

A dark chuckle crossed his lips. “No. But it was not the drought that killed them all.”

“Huh?”

“
The Book of Flesh and Bone
demands a high price. All who chanted the spell died—and by their blood leaching into the ground and the death of the witch, the magic opened a gateway to hell. The earth shook and cracked open. All of the undead Isabella had protected the townsfolk from for so many years emerged from the cracked ground and returned to the dark forest.”

“Undead? What, like vampires?” I laughed. I wasn’t sure where Rick was going with this. I suspected he was messing with me, trying to distract me from what was happening between us.

“Vampires, zombies, ghouls—all types of unholy beasts. Monk never told his people about the true source of the book and never warned them of the consequences. His people never asked. They didn’t want to know. Innocent blood was spilled with an evil spell that robbed the town of the one person who could control the supernatural element here, cursing this land forever.”

“Cursed? Is this the big secret? I’m living on cursed land?”

“Before she died, Isabella cast one last spell. Long before the day she burned, she had planted the seed, the foundation to execute the magic. There was a man, a lover. They were betrothed to be married.” Rick stood and started unbuttoning his shirt. He turned his back to me. “He knew she was different but didn’t suspect how different.”

He tossed his shirt aside. The beautiful muscles of his back peaked and grooved under perfect brown skin, a work of art. I was suddenly very aware that he was naked.

I shook my head. He still hadn’t explained what had happened tonight. “What does this story have to do with me?”

Rick began again, but his voice sounded heavy, and he spoke toward the kitchen as if he didn’t want to meet my eyes. “The night they burned her, the man tried to stop them, but he was outnumbered. They made him watch while she burned. He would have gladly taken her place.” He swallowed hard.

I stiffened. The way he told it sounded like he was there. It was creepy.

“The flames ate her body. He thought she was dead. But then her charred hand lifted from her side and pointed at him. With her last breath she uttered the words, ‘Akmut ghut rae mud ed tyn.’ A ray of light burst from her hand and cut into the man’s chest, directly over his heart.”

I swallowed and tucked my hair behind my ears. “What did it mean?”

“‘Akmut ghut rae mud ed tyn’ means roughly ‘caretaker of the light, always.’” Slowly, he pivoted to face me and traced a finger over the scythe-shaped scar on his chest.

Pain sliced through my head, and I rubbed my temple. Goosebumps marched up my arms.

“At first, the man didn’t understand what had happened to him, but he learned. Isabella had stored a piece of her soul inside his body, along with her magic. He sealed the cemetery and imprisoned the demons within its gates. And today he keeps the balance, policing the supernatural with her and in her absence.”

“This is stupid. We were up there yesterday and the cemetery was completely normal, not a demon in sight.”

He ignored my comment and continued. “What the demon didn’t know was that by killing Isabella the way he did, he bound her eternally to this place. The Monk’s Hill witch, as she came to call herself, oversees this hellmouth. No soul goes in or out without her knowledge. She is judge, jury, and executioner, but she is not immortal. So when she dies, her caretaker holds a piece of her soul until she returns. And she always returns to me. All I have to do is wait.”

“To you? What are you talking about?”

His gray eyes settled on my face. “I am the caretaker, Grateful.” His finger tapped the scar on his chest. “And you are the Monk’s Hill witch. Your soul has returned to me again, as it does each time you die. Your work awaits you. All you have to do is accept your role and it will be done.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I assure you, I’m not trying to amuse.”

The room spun. The walls were falling in. My head pounded like it would split open. I stood up and backed toward the door. “You’re insane.”

“Think about it. Have you any other explanation for our connection? The physical and mental link we have is because we’ve already spent lifetimes together. We’ve been married. We could be married again.”

“Married? I’ve known you for four days!” I held the sides of my pounding head. “Besides, you took me to Monk’s Hill. There were no vampires. We had lunch in front of the chapel. Everything was normal.”

“They come at night. The sun seals the hellmouth, but after sunset, it opens again.”

“I won’t listen to this.” I backed toward the door and placed my hand on the knob.

“Grateful, please—”

I couldn’t take any more. I had to get out of there. Out the door and into the night I ran, but I did not go home. I ran straight across the street to the source of the lie, the cemetery.

Rick disappeared and then reappeared behind me on the road. At least, that’s what I saw, but then my brain was foggy and confused. People didn’t just blink in and out of existence. I reached the gate and was surprised when it opened. During our date, Rick had seemed obsessed about keeping it locked. Maybe he’d wanted me to enter. I cast the notion aside.

He was behind me the instant I crossed the threshold, closing and locking the gate from the inside. Great, now I was trapped inside the graveyard with a lunatic. This might not have been my wisest decision. I sprinted away from him the best I could in my high-heeled boots, up the stone path toward Monk’s Chapel.

Under the light of the full moon, the white walls seemed to glow. I ran toward the church, breath coming in huffs, my legs burning from the effort. The night was quiet except for the stones under my feet and the persistent song of crickets. When I reached the chapel, I pressed my back up to the door and faced the graveyard. Nothing. I would prove that Rick was lying. Then he’d have to drop this ludicrous story and tell me the truth.

The hedges to my right rustled and two large yellow eyes blinked in my direction. Surely, it was a just a raccoon. But I couldn’t explain when it turned and the moon reflected off silver scales. A loud snap to my right attracted my attention away from whatever slithered in the bushes. The looming silhouette of a man moved toward me, too far away for me to make out his face.

“Rick, is that you?” I called, but if it was Rick, he didn’t answer.

“Excuse me, is there something I can help you with?” said a smooth voice from beside me. I whirled. A pale man with slicked-back red hair and luminescent blue eyes smiled at me.

“What are you doing in here?” I asked him.

“Waiting.”

“For what?” He was in the middle of a cemetery at night. What could he be waiting for? I hugged my purse tighter to my chest.

“Something to eat.”

“There’s a soup kitchen downtown,” I blurted, but even as the words came out I had the awful feeling there was something very wrong with this man. I was a nurse. I assessed people for a living. His skin was too pale, his eyes too large in his head, and his chest wasn’t moving. Whatever was in front of me was not breathing.

“I won’t be needing a soup kitchen,” he said and peeled his lips back from razor-sharp incisors. He held out his hand. “Why don’t you join me?”

Did he assume I couldn’t see his fangs or just believe I’d be too frightened to run? I backed up a few steps from his hand and turned to bolt. Too bad the dark silhouette had come up behind me. I smacked into the chest of something out of my worst nightmare. Rotting flesh, swimming milky eyeballs, decomposing clothes, and a smell that I only recognized from my time working in the morgue. I was face to face with the walking dead.

I screamed, dodging left. The zombie’s sluggish grasp brushed the top of my hair. Laughing, the vampire stepped toward me, slowly, deliberately. Silver scales and flashing claws rushed from the bushes, cutting off the vamp. He hissed at the competition for my flesh and swiped the creature aside. I used the distraction to scurry down the pebble pathway toward the gate. Over my shoulder, I watched the silver creature escape the vamp and then close the space I’d gained between us. It was freaking fast! The gate was too far off. I’d never outrun it. Worse, other things rose from the tombstones ahead, turning dead eyes in my direction. My heart fluttered in panic. Ice water filled my veins.