A spell to wake the dead, p.11
A Spell to Wake the Dead, page 11
“You were supposed to give them all to the police,” I say.
Nora shrugs. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I kept one, but this spell only lasts a few minutes, so can we talk about this later?”
“Fine,” I say, but now I’m wondering what other things she’s hiding from me.
Elliot’s still staring at his blank phone, muttering about how all of this is literally impossible, and I nudge his shoulder.
“Are you ready?”
He blinks at me for a minute. “Yeah. Let’s keep the umbrella in case there are backup cameras.”
“Okay,” I say, but I bet even backup batteries are no match for Nora’s fun new spell that includes an actual human tooth.
Tucked under the umbrella, we creep into a room at the back. The candlelight glints on two long metal tables, empty and body-size. Behind them, there’s a deep sink and a counter full of instruments and tools to dig out the secrets of the dead. We move toward a row of four wide metal drawers on the opposite side of the room. Only one is labeled.
Jane Doe
7842-96283-49
“That’s her,” whispers Nora. “Open it.”
Just get it over with, I think, but I can’t make my hand open the drawer.
“Let me.” Nora passes me her candle, and I shrink closer to Elliot, who draws the umbrella lower over us. I try to let his calming energy soak into me, but it’s useless. I cannot bear to see that bony, pale body again. That sunken face that’s been haunting me for days. Those half-closed eyes.
A gust of cold wafts out as Nora tugs the handle, and all I can think of is May’s rotten breath on my skin, her open, toothless mouth.
“Shit,” Elliot says as Nora pulls the drawer all the way open.
It’s empty.
CHAPTER 21
Not totally empty.
Something small and metallic glints in the back corner of the body-size drawer that May is supposed to be in but isn’t. Nora snatches it up and holds it close to the candle.
The key is shaped like a horseshoe crab, with a rounded body tapering to a long, thin tail. Carved in the center of the body is a skeleton’s face with empty eyes and a grinning set of teeth. The craftsmanship is ornate and macabre and oddly compelling.
“Can I hold it?” I ask.
The key is heavier than I expected, and a cool sense of calm washes over me.
“My headache is going away,” I say, blinking at the loss of pain and pressure. “I wonder if it’s the key or—” I glance at the spell jar Nora’s holding.
“Crap, it’s wearing off.” She slams the drawer shut as something in the room starts to hum. The systems are coming back online. We’re going to get caught. As much as I’d like to give up on this investigation and hand it all over to the police, this isn’t the way I want it to happen.
“This way.” Elliot drags us under the umbrella, and we hurry toward the emergency exit, tripping over each other’s feet. More things are humming now, and there’s a faint clicking sound coming from the other room. A light flickers as Elliot shoves the door open and we rush outside. Abandoning any effort to stay under the umbrella, we charge across the parking lot and into the woods.
None of us speaks until we’re back in the car and speeding away with no police in sight.
“That key belonged to May. I’m sure of it. She’s, like, ecstatic right now.” Nora laughs like she’s delighted too, and I press my lips together to keep from saying something snarky and resentful. It’s not that I want a psychic link with a dead woman, especially one who’d scream at me inside my head. I just don’t like my best friend having secrets and connections with someone else, on a totally different level than I’m even capable of. I feel like I’m slowly losing her.
“I swear I’ve seen that horseshoe-crab skull somewhere before,” says Elliot.
“What the hell happened to May’s body?” says Nora.
“Maybe someone claimed it?” I say. “Or maybe they moved her to a different facility.”
“And what about her sister at Scargo Lake?” she says. “Wouldn’t the police have brought her there too?”
“None of the other drawers were labeled,” says Elliot.
“Maybe they didn’t have time to bring her in yet,” I say, but Nora shakes her head.
“You can’t just leave a body lying around wherever. It has to be refrigerated.”
“What do you think?” I glance over my shoulder, but Elliot is busy swiping through his phone.
“…definitely seen that skull somewhere…” he’s muttering.
“Something fishy is going on,” says Nora.
After everything that’s just happened, I can’t help but burst out laughing.
“Oh, you think?”
“Yeah, just a tiiiny bit fishy.” She’s laughing now too. “A little…horseshoe-crabby, actually.”
“What have we gotten ourselves into?” I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. “We just snuck into an actual morgue.”
“And that wasn’t even the weirdest part of our day,” says Nora. “But in all seriousness, I think someone took May’s body. And I bet I know who: Detective Huld.”
“You think Huld took the body?” I ask. “Why would she do that?”
“Because she’s in the Hand of Nephthys.”
The top of my head starts to tingle. In the back seat, Elliot bursts out laughing, then stops when he realizes Nora and I aren’t.
“Come on, don’t you think that’s kind of far-fetched?” he says.
Nora just shrugs. “This entire situation is pretty damn far-fetched. Maybe Eva Huld legitimately is a police officer, but that doesn’t mean she’s not also in the Hand of Nephthys. It’d be a pretty good cover. Nobody would suspect her, and she could sabotage any investigations into the group’s murder victims.”
“And she’d have access to the morgue,” I say, slowly putting the pieces together. As wild as this theory is, I can’t deny that something is off about Detective Huld. Nora’s theory would explain why she’s been asking so many pointless questions about us practicing witchcraft. Why she’s so obsessed with learning how we found the body, rather than how May got murdered in the first place. If she were part of the group who murdered May, she’d already know the answer to that, and she’d be on a damage control mission.
“We just got access to the morgue,” says Elliot. “It wasn’t hard.”
“Yeah, but she could take the body without raising any suspicions,” I say. “She could make up an excuse about transporting it somewhere.”
“Exactly,” says Nora. “That’s why we have to keep searching. We need to collect so much evidence that not even Huld can cover it up, and then we’ll show the other cops before she gets a chance to step in. If we can find evidence of her being in the Hand of Nephthys, that’s even better.”
“We should have taken a picture of that empty drawer,” I say.
“Yes!” Elliot yells, and I peer in the mirror, curious about his sudden attitude change. He zooms in on something on his phone, then holds it up. “Found it.”
“Found what?” I can’t focus on the reflected image and the road at the same time.
“The horseshoe crab with the skull face.” He hands his phone to Nora. “I knew I saw it somewhere.”
“Where is this?” she asks.
“Woodside Cemetery,” he says. “It’s carved on the door of one of the mausoleums.”
Nora and I glance at each other.
“What time do you need to be home?” she asks.
“Eleven.” My dashboard clock reads ten forty-one. “We don’t have time to go to the cemetery now.”
Plus, I’ve had enough of creeping around in dark places that belong to the dead. My nerves are shot, and my skull feels like a cracked egg after Nora’s spell.
“Can we ditch school tomorrow morning?” Nora asks.
“I have a history test first period,” says Elliot.
“Okay, then we’ll go to the cemetery before school starts,” she says.
“I still don’t understand how you shut my phone off earlier,” says Elliot. “The battery’s at six percent now.”
“Guess you need to stop underestimating my abilities,” Nora says, and my stomach sours, because I’m certain there was more than just Nora’s abilities at work tonight.
“Sooner or later, you’re going to have to believe us about everything,” she adds.
Slipping my hand into my coat pocket, I run my thumb over the skull face of the key. Somebody—possibly Detective Huld—is trying to cover up evidence. But they got sloppy and they dropped this key, or May left it for us somehow. We still have no concrete proof that May and her sister are the victims of the Hand of Nephthys, but I have a strong suspicion that this key might just change everything, connect it all, if we can just figure out what it leads to. As wild and improbable and eerie as everything is, it feels like we’re on the brink of discovering something massive. We have to keep going.
I’m not sure we have a choice, anyway.
* * *
~ ~ ~
After washing up and brushing my teeth, I crawl into bed with my phone and open the Mystical Mysteries forum. There’s one new post. Someone has responded to Nora’s question about joining the Hand of Nephthys.
Anon09: Nobody “joins” the HoN. It’s not a club. If you prove you’re worthy, they find you.
Shivering, I tug the blankets up under my chin. Seconds later, I get a text.
Nora: Did you see the forum???
Me: Just saw it now, seems ominous
Nora: Ominous like how
Me: From a victim standpoint, they FIND you?? No thanks
Nora: Tina already told us that, remember?
But now I’m wondering about the changes we’ve been seeing in May. The screaming, the manipulation, the nasty little elements of her personality slowly slipping out.
Me: Do you think it’s possible May and her sister went looking for them? Like trying to join?
Nora: ooooohhhh and maybe that’s what they mean by nobody finds the HoN, because they kill you if you get too close
Me: Or May and her sister failed some initiation test and the penalty was death
Nora: Could be
I wonder how you prove yourself
Maybe you could do it
Me: What
Nora: That vision you had, maybe it’s the kind of thing they’re looking for
Maybe you’re **special** Mazzy
Me: No
Nora: I wish it had been me
Me: You have a literal psychic link with a dead lady
If anybody’s *special* it’s you
Nora: I guess
Me: Anyway, it’s not a compliment to be chosen by a murderous cult
Nora: We should try the ritual again
Me: I’m so tired I can’t even think about that
Let’s talk about it tomorrow
Nora: ok
Me: Do not do that ritual by yourself
Promise me
Several minutes go by with no response, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s already setting up her altar, if she’s calling May’s spirit into her room as I sit here waiting, but then dots appear on my screen.
Nora: I promise
CHAPTER 22
The sky is barely starting to lighten when we get to the cemetery, just a smear of orange along the horizon under charcoal clouds. Elliot leads the way, his dark coat flapping behind him as we file through the open gate and skirt along the fence that runs parallel to the road.
“Do you remember that night we came here and played Ghost in the Graveyard?” he asks. “With Allie and Cam and those kids from Barnstable?”
“How could I forget?” That was one of the creepiest nights of my life—until this week, anyway. It was late, and Elliot’s friend Cam banned everyone from using flashlights. Nora swore she heard a voice whispering underneath a crooked old gravestone, and one of the girls from Barnstable said she could hear it too. Then we started the game, and Elliot went missing and Cam fell into an open grave. Luckily, the hole was still empty, waiting for someone who was going to be buried the next day. Nora said it served Cam right for not letting us use our flashlights.
“We never figured out where you hid,” she says to Elliot. “I thought we’d lost you to the spirit world forever.”
“I was over there.” Elliot points to the far side of the cemetery, where we’re heading. “Taking pictures of that door.”
The hill looks like a normal part of the landscape until we get to the other side and the perspective changes. A stone door cut into its side turns the grassy mound into a tomb. Elliot was right. Carved into the center of the door is the same horseshoe crab with a skull face, and underneath there’s a tarnished silver doorknob and a keyhole.
I slip my hand into my pocket where the key rests, cold and smooth and full of secrets I’m not sure I want to know. Something is coming. Something big is on the other side of that door. I feel it in my bones. Elliot and Nora step aside to let me approach the mausoleum, and this is my last chance to turn around and go back to the car, to not use this key. I swear there’s a low humming sound coming from the other side of the door, and the key is faintly buzzing like those teeth we found on the beach.
It’s still so dark, and the cemetery is blanketed in shadows. Somewhere in the trees, an owl hoots three times, and then an answering call floats over the graves. My scalp is crawling, my palms are damp, my heartbeat is throbbing in my ears as I step forward and pull out the key.
“Do it,” whispers Nora.
A wave of foreboding hits me as I push the key into the lock. I almost hope it won’t fit, but it does; the lock clicks and the door creaks open. A puff of dust stings my eyes.
“Whoa,” says Elliot, peering into the pitch-dark space. I should turn on my flashlight, but I can’t quite make myself move. Nora nudges me aside and shines hers into the depths of the tomb. The bright beam darts over a cobwebby ceiling and two walls of stone drawers for keeping bodies. On the floor in the back lie six wooden coffins. There are no lids.
“I hate absolutely everything about this,” I say.
“Me too,” says Elliot.
Even though the space doesn’t smell like bodies or rot, it smells off. Like the time I had Covid and everything tasted like ashes. This place reeks of cinders, with a faint, sickening floral undertone. I’m certain terrible things have happened here. The awfulness hangs thick in the air.
Nora steps inside, and I’m too late to pull her back. She heads straight for the coffins, and a fresh wave of nausea hits me as she bends low, shining her flashlight inside one.
“They’re empty,” she says, and that should relieve me, but I’m so deep in fight or flight mode that all I can do is nod and try not to throw up on my shoes. After all the things we’ve seen in the past few days, I don’t know why I’m having such a sudden, visceral reaction to an empty tomb. Maybe it’s a delayed reaction, or maybe it’s the cumulative effect of everything that’s happened, but this place has pushed me over the edge. My skin is coated in cold sweat, and my ears are ringing so loudly I can barely make out what Elliot is saying. He leans in close.
“Do you need to get some air?”
It’s even harder to think straight with his face this close to mine, but I’m mostly just afraid of vomiting on him. I swallow hard and press my hands to my eyes, letting the cold soak in.
“We’re already outside,” I manage. “This is…all the air there is.”
We both laugh, and I can breathe a little now. Everything is still swimming, but maybe I’m not going to throw up.
“Guys,” says Nora from inside the mausoleum. “Come look at this.”
Elliot’s jaw tightens. “Can you just describe it to us while we wait out here?”
“No,” she says. “You have to see it. May is really happy about this. She’s, like, vibrating with elation.”
“Great,” I mutter. The things that make May happy are getting more and more hideous.
“Let’s get this over with,” says Elliot, and then somehow, his fingers are intertwined with mine. His hand is warm and dry, and I should be freaking out that we’re actually, finally, holding hands, but it has the opposite effect. I feel calmer. Safer. He bumps his shoulder against mine and smiles grimly.
All of the outside sounds—the wind, the owls, the distant traffic—go silent as we step inside the tomb. The ashy, sweet scent fills my nose and mouth, and I tighten my grip on Elliot’s hand. His flashlight beam dances around the tight space and lands on Nora crouching in the back.
“Look.” She hefts open a trapdoor, revealing a square hole in the concrete. Metal rungs lead down into blackness. “Where do you think this goes?”
A rusty creaking sound cuts through the silence, and we all freeze. Swearing, Elliot drops my hand and dashes for the door. He catches it just before it slams shut, then shoves it all the way open and sags against the frame.
I cannot begin to think about what almost just happened. And I cannot spend another second in this tomb. I run for the door and throw myself out into the cold gray of the cemetery. Sweat coats every inch of my skin.
Elliot stoops to pick something up from the ground. “Was this here before?”
He holds up a weathered old Polaroid. In it, a woman with her back to the camera is walking into a shop with big plate-glass windows. To her right is a wicker chair, and to her left, an umbrella stand holding tall staffs that look like driftwood walking sticks. Dark hair tumbles down her back, and she’s wearing a long, loose dress.
“Mazzy.” Nora’s voice is low and shaky.
Our eyes meet, and I don’t have to say anything, because we both somehow know. It’s the same exact feeling I got when I saw Henry’s drawing.
