Dime Store Magic (46 page)
PLEASANT VIEW CEMETERY DID, SURPRISINGLY, HAVE A pleasant view, though I doubted any of the residents appreciated it.
Pleasant View was less than a hundred years old, but already quadruple the size of its East Falls counterpart, owing to a century-old municipal bylaw prohibiting any "newcomers" from buying a plot within town.
The argument was that the East Falls cemetery couldn't expand, so to ensure that people could be buried beside their ancestors, you had to already have a family plot there. This is East Falls's version of a country club. Seriously. At my first town picnic, three people found a way to work into conversation his or her eventual inclusion in this elite society. "Have you seen our local cemetery? Quite beautiful, isn't it? My family has a plot there, you know."
"See that oak tree by the swing set? There's one just like it on our family plot in the cemetery."
"I'm Emma Walcott. My family owns the mausoleum in the town cemetery. Pass the dip, please."
Though it already holds more graves than East Falls, the Pleasant View site is so large that the burials are spaced out, some tucked in valleys, some nestled in wooded groves, some amidst meadows of wildflowers.
Legend has it that an unnamed philanthropist donated the land and decreed that nature be left as unspoiled as possible. Members of the East Falls elite say the old guy gave away the property to save on taxes and the county was too cheap to clear it. They're just jealous because they're gonna spend eternity surrounded by a hospital, a funeral home, and a 7-Eleven.
The parking lot for Pleasant View was empty, as one might expect at eleven-thirty on a Tuesday night. Eschewing the lot, I pulled over along the side road.
"How are we going to find her?" Savannah said, squinting into the darkness beyond the car.
"At the front gates, there's a map showing where everyone's buried."
"That's handy."
"Handy and necessary," I said. "Some of these graves are almost hidden in the trees. The only problem is that they may not have added Ms.
Mott yet, in which case we'll have to do some searching."
As we neared the map, a horrible thought struck me. What if Mott hadn't been buried today? The newspaper article listed the funeral for this morning, but that was before her corpse got up and started slugging people. To my relief, Katrina Mott's grave had been penciled in on the map.
"Would you like me to collect the dirt?" Cortez asked.
I shook my head. "There's no risk of being seen here, so I'll do it. You two can wait back at the car."
"Uh-uh," Savannah said. "It's my dirt. I'm helping you get it."
"I'll stand watch within the cemetery," Cortez said.
"You don't have to," I said. "It's dark, secluded. No one can see us."
"Humor me."
Katrina Mott's grave was near the middle, nestled in a U-shaped cluster of cedars. Sounded easy enough to find, and it probably was… during the day. At night, though, all trees look alike, and my ability to judge distances was severely compromised by the fact I could only see five feet in either direction. If there was a moon overhead, it went into hiding the moment we entered the cemetery.
After stumbling over two graves, I cast a minor illumination spell. A tiny glowing ball appeared in my palm. I tossed it and it hovered before me, lighting my way.
"Now that is definitely handy," Cortez said.
"You don't know this one?" I said.
He shook his head. "You'll have to teach me."
"She's teaching it to me first," Savannah said. "After all,
I'm
the witch."
Cortez was about to answer, then stopped and looked around. "There,"
he said. "Ms. Mott is buried over that hill."
"How do you know that?" Savannah asked.
His lips twitched in a tiny smile. "Magic."
"He memorized the map," I said. "It went gully, hill, three oaks, then another hill. There's the oaks. Now let's get moving. We've only got ten minutes."
"It doesn't need to be precisely on the stroke of twelve," Cortez said.
"That, I fear, is a romantic, yet illogical embellishment. Illogical because—"
"Because the 'stroke of twelve,' according to someone's watch, probably won't be dead-on." I glanced at the graves near my feet. "Sorry, folks. No pun intended."
"So what does it mean, then?" Savannah asked.
"Simply that you must gather the dirt in the dead of night—" He looked around. "That is to say, roughly at midnight, give or take an hour or so."
"Well, I'm not hanging around," I said. "If I can grab it now, I'm doing that and getting out of here."
"Go ahead," Cortez said. "I see some juniper over there. I'll gather that, then stand watch partway up the hill."
"Don't you think it's spooky out here?" Savannah asked as we tramped up the hill, having left Cortez behind.
"Peaceful, actually. Very peaceful."
"Do you think that's what it's like when you die? Peaceful?"
"Maybe."
"Kinda boring, don't you think?"
I smiled over at her. "Yes, I suppose so. Maybe just a little peace, then.
A break."
"Before what?'
I shrugged.
"Come on, Paige. What do you think happens? After all this."
"I'll tell you what I'd like to happen. I'd like to come back."
"Reincarnation?"
"Sure. Come back and do it all over again. All the good and all the bad.
That's what I'd want for my eternity."
"Do you believe what they say? That you keep coming back with the same people? All the people you cared about?"
"It would be nice, don't you think?"
She nodded. "Yeah, that would be nice."
We climbed in silence to the top of the hill. When we got there, Savannah paused.
"Do you hear that?"
I stopped. "What?"
"Voices. Like whispers."
"I hear the wind."
I started forward again, but she grabbed my arm.
"No, really, Paige. Listen. I hear whispering."
The wind rustled through the trees. I shivered.
"Okay," I said. "Now you're scaring me. So much for a peaceful walk."
She grinned. "Sorry. I guess it is just the wind. Hey, what if Leah's necromancer buddy followed us here? This place would be even worse than the funeral parlor, wouldn't it?"
"Thanks for bringing that up."
"Oh, I'm kidding. There's no one here. Look." She turned and gestured at the vista beyond the hill. "You can see all the way to the entrance.
Nobody's there. Anyway, Lucas is guarding the path. He's an okay sorcerer. Not great, but at least he could shout and warn us."
"Sure, but Leah would probably knock him unconscious before he finished whatever he was trying to shout."
Cortez's voice floated up on the still night air. "I can hear you perfectly well. This is a cemetery. There isn't much in the way of noise interference."
"Sorry," I called down.
"Did you hear me, too?" Savannah asked.
"The part about me being an 'okay sorcerer'? 'Not great'? No, I believe I missed that."
"Sorry."
A sound floated up, something suspiciously like a chuckle. "Quiet down and get moving before we learn whether it really is possible to make enough noise to wake the dead."
"What are we putting the dirt in?" Savannah asked as we approached the trees surrounding Mott's grave.
I took a sandwich bag from my pocket.
"A Baggie?" she said.
"A Ziploc Baggie."
"You're putting grave dirt in a Ziploc? Shouldn't we have a fancy bottle or something?"
"I thought of bringing a jam jar, but it could break."
"A jam jar? What kind of witch are you?"
"A very practical one."
"What if the Baggie breaks?"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out another one. "Backup Baggie."
Savannah shook her head.
I pushed through the cedars. Three graves lay in the cup formed by the U. I didn't need to check the headstones to find Mott's. The fresh dirt had not yet been covered with sod. Perfect.
I took a small trowel from my coat pocket, bent over, and was blinded by a sudden glare of light. As I stumbled backward into Savannah, I dowsed my light ball. Yet the light was still there. Someone was shining a flashlight into our faces.
Savannah started an incantation, but I clapped my hand over her mouth before she could finish.
"See?" a woman's voice said. "It is her. I told you so."
The flashlight dropped and I found myself standing before four people, ranging in age from college-bound to mid-retirement.
"Wow," whispered the youngest, a woman with rings through her lower lip. "It's the witch from the newspapers."
"I'm not—" I cut off the denial. "What are you doing here?"
"Seems we should ask you the same thing," a twenty-something man in a ball cap said.
An older woman, the one who'd spoken first, shushed him. "She's here for the same reason we are."
"To find the treasure?" the man said.
She glared at him. "To communicate with the spirit world."
"Is it true you saw her rise from the dead?" the younger woman asked, pointing at Mott's grave "That is so cool. What was it like? Did she say anything?"
"Yeah," Savannah said. "She said, 'Bother me again and I'll rip your—
'"
I prodded her to silence. "Do you people know what you're doing? It's called disturbing a grave site. A—uh—" I slipped my trowel behind my back. "A very serious offense."
"Nice try," the young man said. "My brother's a cop. We can't get in trouble unless we dig her up. We aren't stupid."
"No," Savannah said. "You're just hanging around a cemetery looking for buried treasure. Hey, wait, I think I found something. Nope, just another rotting corpse."
"Mind your tongue, child," the older woman said. "While I disagree with the concept of using the spirits for material gain, necromancers in the ancient world often did exactly that. They believed that the dead could see all—the past, the present, and the future—thus allowing them to locate hidden treasures."
The elderly man beside her made a noise.
"Quite right," she said. "Bob wishes me to clarify that the dead are believed to be able to find
any
treasure, not just that which they themselves may have buried."