Wicked Appetite (Lizzy and Diesel 1)

Oyster Hill Road runs up Oyster Hill and heads west. The cemetery and church are at the crest of the hill. The surrounding land is rocky, not lending itself to development. The small, white, steepled church is two hundred years old. The cemetery is much older. Witches were forbidden from resting in hallowed ground, but legend has it several were secretly buried in Oyster Hill Cemetery in the dark of night by grief-stricken relatives. I figured chances were good one of them was in the More family plot.

Diesel wound his way up the hill and parked in the small lot next to the church. We were the only car parked. The church looked locked up tight. It was the middle of the day, but the sky was overcast, threatening rain.

Carl glanced up from his movie and saw the boneyard. “Eep!”

The cemetery was to the rear of the church. It covered a couple acres and was a jumble of centuries-old, weathered headstones hodgepodged in with new. The grass was trimmed. Not nearly golf course quality but not hardscrabble, either. A footpath led to an elaborate wrought-iron gate and continued on to the center of the cemetery. The gate was open, welcoming all who might enter. There was no fence attached to the gate. Just the gate. The three of us got out of the car and walked to the edge of the cemetery.

“How are we going to find Uncle Phil?” I asked Diesel.

“We’re going to wander around and look for him.”

“Oh joy.”

He tugged at my ponytail and took my hand. “Stick close to me, and I’ll keep the zombies away.”

His hand was warm over mine, and the heat radiated up my arm and spread to my chest and headed south.

“Jeez,” I whispered.

Diesel looked down at me. “Are you feeling the heat?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Let me know when you decide,” Diesel said.

He led me through the gate and along the path, with Carl following close on our heels. We walked past the Hagard family first. Some of their stones were too old to read, the carving worn away by rain and time. Emily Hagard was missed by her sons. She died in 1817. Lily Hagard had an angel carved into her headstone. Lily was stillborn. The Ramsey family was farther up the hill. Again, some of the stones were rounded and worn smooth. Bernard Ramsey and his wife, Catherine, had an elaborate eight-foot-tall angel carved into granite looking out for them. Across the footpath, Elijah Beemer was also protected by a large winged angel.

“Lots of angels here,” I said. “I like the concept of angels, but I have a hard time with the wings. Can you imagine growing something like that out of your back? You’d have to sleep standing up.”

The More family plot was about twenty feet past Elijah Beemer’s angel, almost at the top of the hill, almost dead center of the cemetery. There were a lot of Mores crammed into the small space. Christian More, Marion More, Andrew More, Ana More, Harry More, and more Mores. Philip James More had the newest headstone. Cave Cave Deus Videt was carved into the granite.

“Do you know what the inscription means?” I asked Diesel.

“It’s Latin. Beware, Beware, God Sees. It’s from the Hieronymus Bosch painting The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things. Bosch completed the paint-on-wood panels in 1485.”

“What are the four last things?”

“Death, Last Judgment, Heaven, and Hell.”

A chill ran through me. Cave Cave Deus Videt was a grim departing message. “Phil took his role as guardian of the sins seriously.”

“Yes. And obviously there was no one next in line he felt he could trust with the power.”

“Why didn’t he turn it over to your Marshalls?”

Diesel shrugged. “He might not have known about the BUM. For that matter, I’m not sure he was an Unmentionable. The More family could have been guarding the Stone since the Middle Ages or before.”

I looked around. “So some of the other people buried here might have been guardians.”

“It’s possible,” Diesel said, reading the inscriptions on nearby gravestones, pausing at a stone that resembled Phil’s. “Harry More died in 1965, and he has the Latin warning on his stone. He could have been the one to pass the Stone to Phil.”

“Here’s another,” I said. “Alicia More Riddley died in 1901. The warning is on her marker. Plus, there’s a very old stone next to hers that looks like it has the warning. The date of death was 1603 or 1608. The inscription is only partially visible.”

“Interesting stuff, but it doesn’t help me,” Diesel said. “I was hoping Phil would talk to us.” He nudged me forward. “Stand on his grave and see if you get anything.”