Black Wings, Gray Skies (Black Hat Bureau 4)

13

As fate would have it, we had to wait for a ghost tour to finish at the cemetery before we could break in. There was probably a metaphor in there if you squinted hard enough, but I was too antsy after Aedan’s texts to find it. This case deserved my full attention, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Samford, to the black witch, to the grimoire.

“I’ve never understood the fascination.” Asa stared through the ornate bars. “It’s macabre.”

“Maybe so, but it’s a win/win if everyone plays their cards right.”

“What do you mean?” He walked with me to the front gate. “I can’t imagine the churches are thrilled.”

“A lot of tour companies in cities like this pay for exclusive access after dark. That money goes into preserving the cemetery, or graveyard, and restoration projects for tombstones, mausoleums, and statuary.”

“What’s the difference between them?”

“Graveyards and cemeteries?” I waited for his nod. “Graveyards are attached to churches.”

That was the simple answer.

“Hence the yard.”

“Hence the yard,” I agreed with a grin. “A cemetery is public burial ground not affiliated with a church.”

I was starting to feel like a guide myself. How fun would that be? To preach haunted history for a living?

“So,” I kept going, “tourists get their ghoul on, tour companies get to make a little extra for having the right access, and churches and cemeteries get help paying for maintenance they can’t afford to keep up their curb appeal for future residents.”

“How do you know about this?”

“When I was a newbie agent, Clay took me on a lot of ghost tours. It was a fun way to learn our region.” Most agents were assigned to an area. Only specialists or consultants got sent to the greatest need. “It was also a good way to learn the hotspots in town while surrounded by the safety of a dozen humans.”

Any paranormal creature would think twice before making a move in front of so many eyewitnesses.

Basically, it was the perfect setup for Clay to teach me the ropes, protect me, and entertain me.

That was how I learned about the symbiosis of ghost tour companies, tourists, and churches.

Though the same logic extended to historic homes, landmarks, and other cash-strapped organizations.

“The coast is clear.” I grinned at Asa. “Let’s get our boo on.”

Given how busy the streets remained after dark, and the routine nature of tours in the area, I wasn’t too concerned with giving us away to any boo hags lurking inside the mausoleum. I imagined, after a while, muffled by the thick marble walls, the outside chatter got to be white noise.

A touch of my wand to the lock popped it open, and we eased inside the gate, shutting it behind us.

From this point on, we would remain as quiet as the graves surrounding us as we crept toward our goal.

The Thurman mausoleum was easy to spot, as it was the largest and most central one in the cemetery.

Stained marble, abundant moss, and rusted metal gave the place an air of neglect.

There were, however, footprints on the steps leading up to the wrought iron door.

Asa came up beside me, and I unlatched the ornate lever holding the tomb shut without so much as a scrape. It swung open under my hand, and, to my utter shock, the tunnel ahead was brightly lit.

No cheap camping lanterns here. They had electricity. Wired in a long time ago, based on the fixtures.

A prickle of unease raised the hairs down my arms as Jilo’s intel replayed on a loop in my head.

This didn’t fit the story she pitched us.