Grave Night by A. Vers

Author:A. Vers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: A. Vers
Published: 2018-08-31T00:00:00+00:00

THE DRIVER LEAVES ME at the brick entrance of the graveyard, a hefty tip included in the regular fee as he drives off. I walk into the dim shadows of the cemetery prior, leaving the metal gates wide open behind me so Sam will know where I am.

I lean against one brick wall between grave markers and wait.

It’s quiet. Just me and the dead. Though I have to admit, tonight ... neither of us are good company. A strong breeze flows through the crypts, tugging at my hair and clothes and bringing with it the pungent scent of ozone on an impending storm. I look up.

The sky is half shrouded in clouds; dark rolling masses that build along the horizon, covering the stars and moon. It’s oddly ominous as that last bit of light is consumed by the dark. I shiver.

“Too hot for you to be cold, cher.”

My head whips around.

Standing between two crypts is the rude, smoking man from the bar last night.

His dark eyes track over me as he leans on the cane in his grasp. Another dark suit covers his tall frame in clean, black silk. Even his loafers are polished and without a speck of dirt or dust to obscure the shining leather. “Still,” he says. “It’s a nice enough night.”

I look at him. “Oh sure. If you say so.”

He remains nonplussed in the face of my sarcasm. Guess I’m losing my edge.

One long hand reaches into his suit jacket and he pulls out a cigar case. The front is emblazoned in a rather bright, white skull. I raise a brow as he tugs a cigar out and places it between his lips.

Taking in my expression, he smiles and the cigar bobs. “Is it rude to smoke out here too?” he asks. A lit match flares, and he gestures around us. “I don’t think they mind over much, cher.”

I remain silent.

He takes the first drag and smoke pours from his lips. “Ah. That’s better.” He pulls a flask from his slack’s pocket. When he unscrews it, he offers it to me. “Wet your whistle?”

I snort. “Sure. Because I routinely drink liquid offered by strangers while standing in the middle of a graveyard.”

“Then you are a very trusting sort.”

I give him the look that statement deserves. “And you’re insane if you believe that.”

He takes a long draught from the flask, places the lid back on, and takes another puff of his cigar. Through it all, the appraising darkness of his gaze never leaves me. I fight not to shudder.

“What is your name, cher?”

My brows raise. “Why?”

He smiles, but it’s more like a baring of white teeth. “Name.”

Tossing my hair back, I glower. “Sabine.”

He nods, like it means something to him. “Daughter of James and Marionette LeBas. Born July 17th, 1994.”

I stand up straight, staring across the distance between us. “How do you know that?”

The end of his cigar flares bright red, illuminating a suddenly bone-thin face. “I know much about you, Sabine. I know who you are. What you are.

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