Ghost Light

Chapter 21

We crouched beside a stone wall, the gates of Ocean Overlook a mass of wrought iron protruding from the gray swirls of low fog. During our walk to the cemetery the fog had rolled in off the ocean to pool at our feet. I pulled myself upright and peered over the rock wall. Iron fencing was set deep into the stone, with sharp points aimed at the sky.

We wouldn’t be climbing over the wall. Ceff was already sweating profusely from the close proximity to so much iron. No, we needed to make a run for the front gates—if I could get them open without being seen.

I scanned the cemetery grounds for a caretaker or security guards. Fog flowed between headstones like specters, but I saw no sign of humans. No telltale flashlight beams cut the night. If there was a guard on duty, he wasn’t nearby.

“Looks clear,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” Jinx said. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out two small plastic containers, each the size of a contact lens case. “I almost forgot. Take these.”

“What are they?” I asked.

“Ear plugs,” she said. “I use them when I’m out clubbing. They should muffle the flute’s music.”

I smiled and tucked the earplugs into a jacket pocket. Jinx was brilliant. Ceff moved more slowly to take his and I was reminded that we were in a hurry. He couldn’t take much more iron exposure.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll have the gate open in just a sec.”

Ceff’s skin was pale, but he nodded and pulled the trident from his pant leg. He kept the handle collapsed and held it in a reverse grip, the tines of the weapon pointed toward his torso and slanted against his forearm. Jinx readied a bolt, but kept her crossbow between her body and the road. At a passing glance they looked unarmed.

The entrance to the cemetery was on a dead-end street and we hadn’t seen any traffic so far, but it was best not to take chances. We couldn’t risk anyone seeing our weapons. It wouldn’t do the children any good if we ended up spending the night at the police station.

I crept forward, shoulders tight. Ever since we’d left Sir Torn and the club behind, I’d had the itchy feeling that someone was watching me. When I was halfway to the gate, I spun on the ball of one foot and scanned the darkness behind me, but Jinx and Ceff were the only people in sight.

I let out a shaky breath and returned my attention to the cemetery. The gates were made of wrought iron crafted in an ornate pattern. They towered overhead at approximately seven feet at the highest point.

I pulled a bottle of clary sage from my pocket, unscrewed the cap, and squeezed a dropper full of the oil onto one of the gate hinges. The air filled with the sharp, herbal scent and I proceeded to oil the remaining hinges. Clary sage was the only oil I had on me at the moment. I hoped it would help to keep the metal silent when it came time to push the gate open.

The gates were held shut with a thick, stainless steel chain and large padlock. I unrolled the cloth containing my lock picking tools and glanced to my left and right. Satisfied that no one was coming, I began picking the padlock.

It would have been faster to cut through the chain, but I was fresh out of bolt cutters. Plus, if I got caught, trespassing was bad enough without adding vandalism to my rap sheet.

I inserted an L-shaped torsion wrench into the bottom of the keyhole. I applied tension to the lock cylinder, first clockwise and then counterclockwise. The cylinder turned a fraction of an inch counterclockwise. I applied gentle torque to the wrench in the counterclockwise direction and held it there with my left hand.

Next, I inserted a hook pick into the upper part of the keyhole. Working back to front, I pressed up with the pick, feeling each of the four pins. Starting with the pin which offered the most resistance, I pressed the pick upward setting the pin. I repeated the procedure, continuing with the final three pins. I removed the pick and turned the torsion wrench counterclockwise, holding my breath. The padlock clicked opened.

I slid the chain carefully from one of the gates and left it hanging in a loop. I’d lock up behind us when we finished. I took a deep breath and pushed the oiled gate halfway open. I needed to allow enough space for Ceff to enter without coming into contact with the iron. With one final glance at the grounds, I ducked back out onto the sidewalk and waved my friends forward.

My phone rang and my heart leapt into my throat. I rushed to answer it, chiding myself for not turning off the ringer.

“I’ve been researching the Danse Macabre,” Father Michael said in a rush. He sounded out of breath. “I think I know how the dance can be stopped. But Ivy? I spoke with Kaye and she believes the number of fae children taken is significant. The Piper may need a particular number of fae to begin the spell. Do you know how many children have already been abducted?”

“Just a sec,” I said. I jogged over to Jinx who was walking slowly toward the cemetery gate. Ceff was leaning heavily against her, the nearby iron taking its toll. “Jinx, Father Michael needs to know the number of kids who’ve gone missing.”

Jinx raised one painted eyebrow, but didn’t ask questions. She shifted Ceff to one side and pulled out her phone. She accessed her case files, tongue pressed against her cheek. Within seconds Jinx had the information we needed. I was glad that one of us was organized.

“Thirty-three,” she said.

“We have thirty-three kids reported missing,” I said into my phone.

I heard a quick intake of air on the other end.

“If The Piper already has thirty-three children, then you don’t have much time,” Father Michael said. “He has what he needs to complete the spell.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “When Kaye told me her theory, I looked more closely at medieval paintings and carvings of the Danse Macabre. The artwork often depicts thirty-three living dancers and thirty-three of the risen dead.”

Numbers, like names, hold power. I knew from spending time with Kaye that the number three was often used when casting spells. The number of children who had been taken made sense. I just wished I’d noticed that detail sooner.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Torn helped narrow our search to two Harborsmouth cemeteries. We’re at the gates of Ocean Overlook now. If the children aren’t here, we’ll head over to Far Point.”

“No, you don’t understand,” he said, voice shrill. “There’s no time. Kaye thinks that once The Piper has the thirty-three children needed to complete the spell, he will begin the dance at midnight.”

Midnight? I checked the time. Talk about the eleventh freakin’ hour. It was eleven forty-five. The priest was right—we were running out of time.

Far Point cemetery was too far away and both cemeteries were huge. It would be impossible to cover that much ground in fifteen, make that fourteen minutes, even if we split up.

I glanced at Ceff, his skin pale in the moonlight. He was our fastest runner, especially if he shifted to horse form, but he’d never make it through Far Point’s iron gates on his own.

I set my jaw and looked my companions in the eye. We had to stick together. It was our best chance of defeating Melusine and The Piper and bringing those kids home alive. I just hoped we had the right cemetery. I waved Jinx and Ceff through the gates while continuing my conversation with the priest, voice tight.

“What else can you tell me?” I asked.

“If you find the children…” Father Michael said.

“When,” I said, correcting him. I pushed the gate closed behind my friends. It would fool a casual passerby, but not someone working security. I just hoped that there were no guards on duty. “When we find the children.”

“If the Danse Macabre has already begun, you will need a way to disrupt the spell,” he said. “I found a holy verse which may cancel out the powers of the demon flute and halt the dance. Say the words, Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur, tuque, Princeps militiae coelestis, satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude. Amen.”

“No offense, Father,” I said. “But I suck at Latin. Can you send that to me in a text message?”

“Yes, of course,” he said.

“Thanks, give Galliel a hug for me,” I said. “I’ll see you both when this is over.”

“Ivy, the church grim is still here,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Omens aren’t set in stone. We can always change our fate. I’ll bring those kids home safe.”

“I will pray for you,” he said.

“Thanks, padre,” I said.

I ended the call and hurried to catch up with Jinx and Ceff. I wished I believed my words to the priest. I liked to think that we could change fate, if we tried hard enough, but death omens are tricky business. We’d need the priest’s prayers if we hoped to make it through the next fifteen minutes unscathed.