The Whispering Dead (Gravekeeper #1) - Darcy Coates Page 0,71

than she would have thought. Most of the trees were too narrow to fully shield a human form, and the shrubs weren’t thick enough to hide behind.

Dane remained eerily silent. She’d half expected him to call to her, but he hadn’t said a word. Even his breathing was inaudible; the flashlight was her only way of gauging how far behind he was. And it wasn’t very far at all.

The gun fired. Chips of wood flew off one of the trees to Keira’s right. She could no longer afford to move carefully and broke into a run.

Her foot hurt more than she could have imagined, but it carried her weight. She tore through the trees, head down and lungs aching. Although she moved as quickly as her body would allow her, she no longer had a speed advantage over her pursuer. His footsteps were close—and gaining with every pace.

The trees cleared ahead. The open area would give him an easy shot at her, but there was no alternative. She burst out of the forest and into a field of weeds. The plants grew high around her thighs, snagging her legs and slowing her further. She compensated by leaning forward and lengthening each step. That was a risk with a sprained ankle, but her desire to keep her body bullet free won out.

A tall, dark shape appeared ahead. A house? Will Dane follow me if I force my way inside? Wait…no. Not a house. The mill.

The vast brick building seemed deeply threatening with rain pouring down its sides. It was her best hope, though, and Keira redirected her path toward it. Gunfire came from behind her—three shots—then fell silent.

She reached the building and ran along its brick wall, praying Dane didn’t know where to find the secret entrance. Her ankle nearly collapsed again as she took the corner too quickly. The rain was getting in her eyes, making it hard to see, so she pressed against the bricks for a second to wipe her vision clear. No pounding footsteps chased her, and she thought she knew why. The field surrounding the mill offered no cover. Dane would see her if she tried to run back to the forest. Most likely, he believed he could trap her at the mill and take his time hunting her.

He’s not wrong.

Her options were few—and becoming fewer with every passing breath. Keira followed the mill’s side toward the stack of crates and barrels leading to the broken window. The wood groaned as she climbed it but held her weight as she wiggled her torso through the narrow opening. Inside, the mill was perfectly black. She could guess how far away the floor was, but there wasn’t much she could do to prepare for the impact as she fell into the pile of rotting wool.

She lay on the floor for a moment, trying to slow her heart, breathing deeply despite the wretched smell. The mill’s emotional imprint weighed on her like a second gravity, but she pressed it back before it could overwhelm her. Everything was silent. She looked toward the window. For a moment, she could barely see the frame’s outline, but then a flicker of light appeared through it, quickly growing nearer.

He’s coming.

Keira rolled off the wool. She reached for the muscle behind her eyes, pulled on it, and whispered, “I need somewhere to hide. Please…can you help me?”

The room remained black. Keira strained further, trying to see the spirits she knew surrounded her, but the transparent beings seemed to be just as vulnerable to the blotting effects of night as everything else in the world.

Then something cold brushed her hand. It was so light that she would have assumed it was a breeze, except the air inside the mill was still. Keira’s breath hitched. She extended her arm and felt the cold again, leading away from her and to her left.

She stumbled to her feet and hopped after it, letting the chill guide her deeper into the building. From her memory of how the space had been laid out, the spirit seemed to be leading her toward the offices at the back wall.

Then the cold moved down. Keira lowered her hand to follow it and touched the dusty wood floor. She frowned, not understanding, then her fingers found a tiny half-moon hole in the boards.

“Oh,” she whispered as realization hit her. She dug her finger into the hole and pulled. The hidden trapdoor was stiff from decades of disuse, but it came away from the