Boundary Born (Boundary Magic Book 3) - Melissa F. Olson Page 0,94
Street, I decided that the most unnerving part of the whole situation was that no one could say for certain how many bodies were still buried beneath the two tourist attractions. Some said four thousand; others estimated more like eight. All anyone could say for sure was that there were unclaimed dead beneath the public spaces. And this, I was certain, was where Lysander was holed up. Surrounded by bodies, at least some of which had to be remnants.
I shivered, and for the first time I wished I’d made an effort to understand ghosts better. I’d spent so many months trying to avoid seeing them that I had a very limited understanding of how they worked. What kind of ghosts would inhabit a former cemetery? What could they do to me?
Just stick to the plan, I told myself. Use modern weapons to blow Lysander to bits, scatter his remains before sunrise.
What could go wrong?
The Gardens were closed, of course, but there were several spotlights highlighting the big scrolled sign of the entrance building. When I finally arrived, I drove slowly past the Botanic Gardens, craning my head to look for . . . I don’t know, a strobe light of the damned or something. But nothing looked disturbed, and there was no neon sign saying, “This way to the draugr.”
So where was Lysander?
I drove straight past the property and turned right onto East Eighth Avenue, home of a number of stunning, unbelievably ritzy mansions, which bordered the south side of the Gardens. I parked illegally on one of the side streets, said a silent apology to Kirsten because the rental would probably be towed, and climbed out of the car to get ready.
First I buckled the quick-draw holster around my hips, abandoning the fanny pack in the backseat. Then I strapped on all of my weapons—the combat knife, the revolver, the Ithaca on its sling, extra ammunition. If the car was going to get towed, I didn’t want to leave them inside. I also wanted all the firepower I could get.
When I was done, I actually felt relieved, like I’d put on appropriate-for-the-weather clothes and would now be prepared for rain. I tossed the long jacket on over everything, took a deep breath, and said a silent prayer to Sam or God or anyone else who might be listening. Then I took off for the Gardens.
I didn’t know a lot about breaking and entering, but I wouldn’t need to: the entrance to the Botanic Gardens was a brick building bracketed by fencing on either side. Presumably any valuables were locked up in the building, but nobody uses razor wire or electrified fencing to protect some plants. The fence itself was nothing but an eight-foot-high wall. I snapped the little leather strap that would secure the Smith & Wesson in my holster, took a running start, and grabbed the top of it. I did a pull-up, got my upper body onto the upper surface, and then it was a simple matter of swinging my legs over and dropping to the ground in a crouch. Something like cedar chips crunched under my feet as I landed and went still, looking around me.
Denver had more clouds than I’d seen during my walk with Kirsten, and I was immediately struck by the darkness, much more than I’d expected in the middle of a big city. Up ahead I could see tiny lights in a line, like little lanterns, but I was too far away for them to do me any good. I crept forward as quietly as possible, moving my feet whenever they bumped into plant life. The smell of mulch and pollen was heavy on the thin air, but the Gardens were nearly silent. No birds, no squirrels or rabbits rustling through the trees. Was that normal?
After several hesitant steps, I could make out the cobblestone path just ahead. There were small, solar-powered torches stuck into the ground every few feet along all the walkways, each one giving out just enough light to illuminate the space a few feet around it. I could see fairly well inside a fifteen-foot bubble around me, but everything outside it was completely opaque. Like walking into a heavy fog.
It also didn’t help that there were wisps of actual fog scattered around the grounds, moving along the sidewalks. No, wait. I squinted, my eyes trying to pick out the details of what I was seeing. The wisps of fog were tall and defined and . . . people-shaped.