Grave Danger by Alice James

Author:Alice James
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Solaris
Published: 2023-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Dovedale is reckoned the most beautiful spot in the Peak District. Thousands come on sunny, summer afternoons to walk through the ancient ash woods and gawp at the crazy rock formations that tower over them. In the winter, the place is deserted and some of the steeper walks can be dangerous. The side roads are narrow and precipitous. I certainly didn’t want to drive up in the dark, so I took Friday afternoon off and picked up the four-wheel drive from Will and Henry’s house at lunchtime. I left them the rust-mobile in its stead, though I didn’t think either of them would drive it. It wasn’t nearly cool enough for Wills, with its asymmetric pattern of rust spots and only three hub caps, and I doubted Henry would even fit.

It was a good trade for a long, icy journey. Even in the snow, the car ate up the road, and I’d forgotten just how much more pleasant driving could be in a car with power steering and functional heating. I stopped at a tiny supermarket in Ashbourne for zombie snacks and, at the in-house café, I filled a thermos with coffee. I also filled the tank to bursting. It would be dark once I finished my tasks. If I ended up sleeping in the car, I wanted the heating to last the night. I’d packed a rug, too; I think ahead.

The drive would have taken me just under two hours in the summer. In the snow, I thought maybe three. I was a touch ambitious, and the sun was just thinking about setting when I pulled my car up to the church lychgate and turned off the engine. The air was biting as I got out; I was deeply grateful for fur-lined boots, leather gloves, thick canvas jeans and about eleven jumpers under my coat. Once again, I regretted not buying a new hat to replace the one I’d given Kathy and tied my silk scarf a little more firmly around my neck.

The Church of the Holy Trinity and St Etheldreda stood about half a mile outside the little village of Doveridge. It was on the east side of the Dove, meaning it sat just inside Derbyshire rather than Staffordshire. When it was built, there was another village here, which I think in the Domesday Book was called Ilam Ridge. Now there was just the church. A neat little cemetery housed a mix of old and new graves. It was a jobbing necromancer’s delight.

There were enough footprints and car tracks in the snow to hint at a regular Sunday service, but I doubted there would be other visitors and certainly not on a Friday night as the sun was setting. It wasn’t hard to find Minnie’s grave—they don’t bury many people any more at these tiny little churches—and I just looked for the only one with fresh flowers poking out of the snow. But to my surprise, there were two, set right next to each other.

‘Minnie, our loving angel,’ the leftmost tombstone read.

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