Watcher in the Darkness, Book 3: Imprisoned

Chapter 16

The first rays of dawn sliced through the gloom, marking the end of what had to be the longest night of my life. It was yet another night without sleep, and my head hadn't stopped hurting for even a second. My senses had been wide open for hours, yet I sensed nothing except the dank graveyard and the radiant song of the city.

Since before my release, Michael had been insisting that a revenant must return to its grave every sunrise, or else lose its powers. This seemed to be the only point the ancient texts could agree on. I'd argued that if a revenant was lurking around the vampire cemetery every day, someone would've noticed. Whatever. I followed the lead, if only to shut him up, but of course it was bullshit. History is written by humans, and humans only catch about half of what's going on around them.

I climbed out of Justine's coffin then replaced the lid. Once it was secure, I took the crumpled city map out of my back pocket, then flattened it against the glass. The location where I'd seen Karen's neighbor reanimate was marked by a red X. No less than two dozen similar marks were spread out around the map, one for every obituary Michael had in his office. Each mark represented a person that had died of the same disease that had nearly killed Karen, the disease Justine was spreading.

And it was my fault. I might as well have drained those people myself. At least I would have gotten a hot meal out of it.

This was the last, and least, thing I could do for Michael. By the time the morning was over, I would really, really owe him.

I stared at the red marks for a long time. There was no obvious rhyme or reason to them. The locations were as random as Justine's choice of victims. Businessmen uptown, suburbanites downtown, several homeless in the warehouse district, as well as a couple by the shipyard. One seventy-year-old woman died her bed, but she had been in perfect health three days earlier.

In movies or television shows, a detective will study a chart or map like the one spread out before me, then suddenly his brain will connect the dots and tie everything together. All at once, it will make sense. Not only has he figured out the killer's motives, he knows exactly where they'll strike next.

This wasn't one of those times. I wasn't a detective. I wasn't that smart, and god help me, I had nothing invested in stopping Justine. Even so, I would pass the map along to Michael. He'd probably take one look at it then know exactly where to find my ex. More power to him.

I took the time to fold the map then returned it to my back pocket. I would shove it under Michael's door when I was sure he was asleep, then go fulfill my destiny at the Sanctuary.

The five-gallon gas cans sloshed as I moved them from the corner of the tomb to right outside the door. I took a deep, cleansing breath through my nose, the overgrown cemetery a welcome change from the greasy stench of gasoline. I squinted up at the hulking silhouette of the Sanctuary and the butterflies in my stomach grew bat wings.

I couldn't tell if it was I was anxious or wet-my-pants-excited. It was a combination of both. I've never been very good at identifying my feelings. I really should've paid more attention when Michael talked in group.

Whatever.

My thoughts were interrupted by a deep growl near the stone wall to my left. I turned to discover the man-eating black wolf lurking in the shadows between two trees. I might not have noticed it at all if the hellhound hadn't alerted me to its presence. Goddamn demons and their lack of scent.

Its eyes were its most striking feature, so much so that I could see why lore had focused on that aspect of the beast. The parts of its eyes that were supposed to be white were bottomless black, while the parts of its eyes that were supposed to have color were as red as blood and burned like lava. A voice in the back on my head pointed out that I wasn't supposed to meet a hellhound's gaze more than twice or I would surely die, but that seemed to be a moot point.