Dark Rites. Heather Graham
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that makes for good friends,” Hanson said.
“Great. Thank you. Where do I find her?”
“It’s summer session, so I’d say that she’ll be in the courtyard in about fifteen minutes. She always takes a tea break after first class in the summer—she loves the sun. Students know they can find her there,” Hanson said.
Griffin left Hanson’s office and headed out to the street.
The sun was out; the day was perfect. It was Monday morning, and Boston was alive with activity.
There was a crime rate in Boston—no way out of it. But he loved his city.
Yes, it had once been a bastion of ungodly religious intolerance, but from that harsh and cruel base, some of the greatest minds in the history of the country had risen to the Age of Enlightenment and then the birth of a new kind of freedom and a brave, new country.
He’d also been with the FBI long enough to know that while men and women could rise to the greatest of accomplishments, compassion, intelligence and more, there were those who could twist anything into something dark.
And he could feel it.
It seemed all the more reinforced by Vickie’s nightmare last night. It wasn’t just a dream.
He didn’t know how it worked. He didn’t know if it was the gut thing that men and women in law enforcement all seemed to develop, or maybe it was something more.
And perhaps that something more defined the members of the Krewe—whatever gift or sense it was that allowed them to speak with the dead.
However it worked, he knew: the attacks weren’t over.
They were just a tease of something more sinister.
And somehow, Alex’s disappearance was part of it.
* * *
Devin arrived at Vickie’s apartment as she was still dressing and gulping down a cup of coffee.
Griffin had headed off to speak with Professor Hanson; Rocky was going to speak with the police who had been on guard duty over Alex following his attack.
She and Devin were off to follow in Alex’s last footsteps.
Since they were headed to the café by Faneuil Hall, she wasn’t sure why she was drinking coffee, except that, of course, it was part of her general morning ritual.
“Coffee?” she asked Devin.
“I can wait,” Devin told her. “I already made some at Griffin’s place. But we’re going to go talk to the waitress who knew Alex and mentioned him last night, right? That means I can get a coffee there. Except we don’t know the waitress’s name, and it’s really unlikely that she works nights and mornings.”
“I’m hoping that the manager who is on duty now will at least know who she is—and possibly call her for us. If not... Devin, Griffin told me that you still write your series of children’s books featuring Auntie Mina, but that you went through the academy, joined the FBI and became Krewe of Hunters, too. You can throw some weight around, right?” Vickie asked.
Devin laughed. “I can show my badge. And yes, most of the time, people become cooperative. We’re only trying to reach one of their employees for help. I doubt we’ll need to throw any weight around.”
“Let’s hope not!”
They opted to walk to the café; it was far easier to go the distance than it was to try to find parking any closer to their destination.
“So, I haven’t met your haunting residents yet,” Devin said lightly.
Vickie glanced at her uneasily. Knowing—and conversing with!—others who saw and spoke to the dead was still a new situation for her.
“Dylan—and now Darlene,” Vickie murmured.
Devin flashed her a warm smile. “For me, it’s my auntie Mina. I love her dearly—I loved her when she was alive, and...now, too! She’s great. I use her as my main character in my children’s books. Sometimes we find her hitching a ride to head down to Virginia with us, and sometimes she chooses to stay in the cottage on the outskirts of Salem.”
“Devin, I understand about the Krewe—and the rest of the world, really. There are actually many people out there with a sixth sense, the ability to talk to the dead, find spirits, see ghosts. But last night I had a nightmare. It was horrible. I was looking for Alex because he was calling me. I wasn’t in the city—I was out in the woods somewhere. And there was water. A river or a lake. I could hear Alex crying out to me, but when I came to a clearing, I saw an inverted cross with a woman hanging from it. Her throat had been slit—and the river and the lake were blood. It was terrible. But the freakiest part is that this morning, when I got into the shower, I thought that the water started to run red—like blood. And there was dirt on my feet. Real dirt, as if I had walked through a forest. Then...it was all gone, just like that.”
“What did Griffin say?” Devin asked her.
“That I’d had a nightmare. But—”
“You think Alex is really calling out to you.”
“Yes. Griffin didn’t deny that there are all kinds of possibilities out there. I mean, if we can see the dead, maybe we can hear the living? I’ve heard of twins who each react when something has happened to only one, or cases of a mother knowing when a son or daughter in the military has been injured on foreign soil.”
“So, if the dream means anything, we’re not going to find Alex anywhere in the city. But in the dream, the person dead on the cross was a woman, right? Definitely not Alex?”
“Definitely not Alex.”
“Let’s see what we find out today.”
“I keep thinking about the words written on the victims’ chests,” Vickie said. “And that they date back to one of the first men we might consider a fanatic—twisting religion to what he wanted it to be. Ezekiel Martin. And Jehovah.”
“Maybe Jehovah is where we need to be, then,” Devin said.
They’d reached the coffee shop. Devin opened the door and Vickie entered first. Naturally, there was a line at the register and she headed for it.
“Busy time of morning,” Devin said.
“Yep. I’m usually here later in the afternoon,” Vickie told her.
They reached the register and the young woman taking orders. Vickie opened her mouth and the young woman said, “Medium latte, extra shot of espresso?”
Vickie laughed. “Yes, thank you. That would be terrific.”
“And you, miss?” the cashier asked Devin. “Are you together? Same check?”
“Coffee with a little cream,” Devin said. “And yes, we’re together. We’re actually looking for someone.” She nodded at Vickie to go ahead.
“A waitress who works here later—night shift, I believe. She’s very pretty and has dark hair. She’s about five feet six inches. Nice, polite, very efficient,” Vickie said.
“Audrey Benson,” the girl behind the cash register said. “I’m afraid she doesn’t come on until about two in the afternoon. She works the late shift.”
“It’s really important that we speak with her. We don’t want you doing anything that wouldn’t be right, but if you could call her...?” Vickie suggested.
“It’s a little busy!” the girl whispered to her.
“Is there a manager on?” Devin asked.
“You’re looking at her. And I am really sorry, but—”
Devin reached into her shoulder bag and produced her badge.
“It’s really important,” she said.