Tabby waited, bracing herself for the inevitable.
A stale wind whipped up through the void in her mind, and then the austere, wrinkled face of a man appeared. She sucked in her breath. No matter how much she anticipated the moment of contact, it always felt like an ambush, like the air was being stolen right from her lungs.
What do you want from me, girl? Don’t you know who I am? I don’t tolerate strangers meddling in my business.
So much for death being the great equalizer. Tabby forced herself to focus on the hard ground beneath her shoes, the faint scent of salt water from the harbor. She could not allow herself to get lost in the void. I come on behalf of your son, Caleb. He—
The spirit let out an impatient snort. Caleb? That boy is not fit to handle his own allowance, never mind the business my father built up from nothing.
Even though he was only in her mind, she could smell the rot on him, feel the cold air he brought wrap itself around her. More than anything, Tabby wanted to slam the door shut, build up her wall, and never have to see this awful man again. But she had come this far and Caleb needed her, so she pressed on.
You’re wrong not to have faith in your son, but if you really care so little for him, then perhaps you will at least think of the success of Bishop & Son Shipping and answer me what I ask.
This seemed to capture his attention. His colorless eyes regarded her skeptically and it was all she could do to force herself to return his gaze in equal measure, willing him not to break contact. Very well, he finally said. I will tell you what you need to know.
When the interview was over and the smell of death had receded, Tabby leaned over with her head between her knees and heaved. At least she had what Caleb needed now. At least it hadn’t been for nothing.
When her legs felt steady again and she could breathe, she stood up, ready to slip into the warm safety of her bed. But just as she was turning to leave the cemetery, the faint tinkling of a bell sounded in the still night air.
Quickly, she slipped back inside the gates and ducked behind a gravestone. There was just enough moonlight that she could make out a man dressed in dark clothes and carrying some kind of tool, a pickax, maybe. He was speaking to someone in a hoarse whisper, but a tree obscured her view. Tabby edged closer, using gravestones as shields until she had a clear line of sight to the crypts where the man stood.
There was the second man, his bobbing cap just visible in the recessed entrance of the crypt. The bell that had been installed on the door jangled in protest as they hefted the door aside. Few crypts were equipped with such a bell, and aside from particularly windy days, Tabby had never actually heard one of them ring. But now it rang in vain.
After the spate of robberies ten years ago, Eli had mended the fence and installed new locks on the gates, and, coupled with the diminishing amount of burials in the old cemetery, it had seemed as if the days of grave robberies were nothing more than a dark memory.
But now she watched in horror, paralyzed, as the wrenching sound of metal splintered through wood. The first man paced nearby, every now and then throwing a glance over his shoulder. This would break Eli. He took so much pride in keeping the cemetery safe, a sacred space.
The man in the crypt had disappeared from sight, but now he appeared again, hefting a pale bundle to the man above. Between the two of them, they carried the shrouded body to the far wall and clumsily hoisted it up and over to where a cart was presumably waiting on the other side.
Mouth dry as cotton, she crouched there for what seemed like hours, until her legs were numb. When the creaking of wheels had finally faded into the night, she clambered to her feet and crept over to the row of crypts.
The sourness in her stomach returned, and she felt as if she might faint, despite the anger pumping through her veins. It was a foggy night, and the moon had long since disappeared behind a heavy veil of clouds, but she didn’t need to read the