Catacomb by Madeleine Roux Page A

shortly.
    “Look,” Dan said, “I feel terrible about your shop, and I agree, it’s really sick that your family’s graves got robbed, but I’m sorry to say, those aren’t exactly our problems. Maybe it’s best to think of it like Abby said. Micah is at peace now. That’s the important thing.”
    He put out his hand, waiting for Oliver to take it. The taller boy shrugged, but accepted the gesture of goodwill. Goodwill and good-bye.
    “I really do hope you can get your . . . stuff . . . back,” Dan added. “But you already have a cool shop here. Things will turn around. Take my number, okay? In case this Micah thing doesn’t, you know, go away.”
    “Yeah,” Sabrina said lightly, dismissing them with a scornful roll of her eyes. “See you around.”
    Dan took that as their cue to leave. He and his friends huddled back into the front room of the shop, where the dark enveloped them along with the scent of candles and the low chant of the séance group. Dan shivered, and Jordan stepped on his heels, almost pushing him over in his rush to get clear of the shop.
    “Roger Berkley, can you hear us? Hear us, Roger, and respond. . . .”
    The trio skirted the table and the summoners sitting there. Dan made the mistake of glancing once more in their direction. An older, ginger-haired woman stared back at him. Her eyes were closed, but in the flicker of candlelight, the pale lids of her eyes seemed to glow white, like vacant holes.
    Then her eyes snapped open, wide and staring.
    “They found me,” she whispered fiercely, her eyes rolling back into her head. “Oh. They’ll find you, too.”
    Dan grabbed Jordan’s shoulder for balance, then turned and stumbled out of the store.
    The bell above the door chimed sweetly, and the cloying scent of the candles vanished, obliterated by the humid Louisiana air.
    Dan tried to peer back into the store, but he was shut out by the curtains. He moistened his lips, following in the wake of his friends, who had already begun to walk briskly down the sidewalk.
    “Holy Creepsville, USA,” Jordan whispered, giving an exaggerated shudder. He glanced back at Dan, his lip stud flashing under a sudden flood of lamplight. “Can you believe those weirdos? And that story?”
    “Did you hear that?” Dan replied.
    “I feel sorry for them.” Abby shook her head and waited for Dan to catch up, carefully taking him by the hand. “Not knowing about Micah, and you having to tell them. Dan, I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”
    “No, in the store . . .” He stopped, realizing that he was short of breath. His lungs ached. “Did you hear what that woman said to me?”
    “No. Dan, I don’t think she said anything.” Abby let go of his hand, giving Jordan a look that was becoming increasingly familiar and irritating.
    “I’m not hearing things,” Dan said, not giving a damn if he sounded defensive. “She spoke to me. I saw her eyes open and then she said: ‘They found me, they’ll find you, too.’”
    Jordan flinched. “Jesus. All the more reason to get the hell out of there and never go back.” He picked up where Abby left off, going to Dan’s side and hooking an arm around his back, coaxing him back toward Uncle Steve’s. “Look on the bright side—some chick being creepy at a séance is a big improvementover being stabbed, set on fire, or chased. For once, we found the people who were following us and they weren’t trying to kill us! Hope springs eternal.”

    Dan nodded, but the pit in his stomach only worsened. He couldn’t shake that woman’s voice in his head.
    They’ll find you, too.
    He let himself be led back to the house, silent. He didn’t have the heart to point out that Jordan was only half-right: they had found Oliver and Sabrina, yes, but neither of them had been the mysterious photographer. Someone else was still out there, following them. And Dan still had a lead to check.



“W hat is it, man? I’m exhausted.” And he was. Dan couldn’t