Third Time's the Charm by K.J. Emrick & S. J. Wells

Author:K.J. Emrick & S. J. Wells [Emrick, K. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: South Coast Publishing

Chapter Eight

Woodlawn Cemetery is a sprawling field of stones and monuments, one hundred and forty acres in all. That sounds like a lot until you realize Detroit is more than a hundred square miles big. This place is just one tiny corner of the city. A busy corner of the city, but still.

This is where Parker told me the werewolves have their home here in Detroit. The cemetery itself is a historical landmark that dates back to the 1800s. A lot of it was here before the city even sprawled this far north. There’s old, weathered gray stones and newer shiny marble markers, spires marking family plots and mausoleum crypts for the wealthy. Even though the neighborhood itself is a little sketchy the place gets hundreds of visitors every month. Tourists mostly, looking for the graves of famous people, including Rosa Parks and Aretha Franklin. The Dodge family—yes, that Dodge family—has a section here with a freaking vault flanked by two huge stone sphinxes, standing watch over the graves of their dearly departed.

There’s another mausoleum in there with a family crest carved into the stone over the doors, an honest-to-God coat of arms, with the head of a wolf lifted up in a howl. In fact, it looks almost exactly like the emblem on the Garoul Necklace that Molly showed me. Now I have to wonder who might be buried in that crypt. Distant relatives of the Dachiana family, maybe.

Werewolves, buried right here in Detroit.

You can see the whole cemetery on Google Maps, standing there in all its glory behind the low wrought iron fence. What you can’t see on Google is the modest-sized mansion sitting just behind the edge of the cemetery boundary. I imagine when you have enough money to build an estate like this in the middle of an otherwise middle-income suburban area, then you also have the money to keep it off the internet, away from prying eyes.

Three stories high and nearly square all the way around, with those gabled windows you see in the movies on old creepy houses, the Dachiana estate sits huddled and brooding behind weeping willow trees. For all of that, it looks beautiful. The walls are painted in bright colors. The roof is multicolored shingles. There’s a freaking hedge of rosebushes out front with flowers on it even now in September. Funny thing is I’ve driven past this place probably a dozen times and never given it more than a passing thought. Nothing more than to wonder who lived there.

Well, now I know.

At the edge of the cemetery fence a stone wall sits twice as high, topped with black metal spikes and security cameras. Set into the stonework a little further down is a keystone arch with a gate of iron worked to resemble branches and leaves. A brick driveway leads off from Woodstock Drive through this gate and then meanders on to the house. Except, the gate is closed when I pull Roxy up to it.

In the driveway at my window there’s a metal pole with a speaker box on top and a white button.

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