The Man Who Hated Ned O'Leary (Dig Two Graves 2)

“You hear that? No ghosts. Just people fucking,” Cole whispered, rose, and ran to the door. For all this reassuring, he didn’t feel comfortable in this setting either and barely held back a shriek when something dark passed right in front of him.

But it was just a black cat.

One glance at a long set of hangers close to the entrance told him the owner held large gatherings of some kind, but only three coats were there at present, one of them an emerald green, with bits of golden thread and two brooches on the lapels. He ignored the elaborate woman’s cloak and took the other two, which were conservative enough to hide their identity, as long as no one looked at their faces for long enough. The matching men’s hats would help.

Ned accepted his disguise without question, and they dressed while the clock ticked in Cole’s mind, telling him that their window of opportunity was closing. Jan had warned Cole that the parade could only stall for so long, so if they missed their mark, they’d be on their own in a city wild with its search for the Wolfman.

The garments were small on both of them, especially since Ned put the coat on over his jacket, but that was the least of Cole’s problems when all of his focus was on a goal so simple and yet so difficult as crossing the street unseen.

The door to the outside world creaked without mercy, but the street greeted them with police whistles, as some kind of brawl had erupted over the dolls, and a woman lost her hat in the process. The yelling drew lots of attention, so despite the unpleasantly fast drumming in his chest, Cole walked outside, acting as if he were in no rush.

But inside him raged a storm that turned his veins into river rapids, and if Ned hadn’t held him by the arm, he’d have walked straight in front of a carriage.

He tipped his hat in apology before the driver could have roared in anger, but they sped up as soon as he passed, heading straight at the rusty iron gate locked with a heavy chain and padlock.

Weeds and bushes had grown over the path that a long time ago had surely run from the street, all the way to the house, but beyond the shock of tangled wood, leaves, and vines, the grand villa towered over the neighborhood like a rich old aunt who never said a thing yet disapproved of everyone in her family.

With a porch at the front, and a grand balcony above it, it had an oddly flat roof and tall, elaborately–shaped windows, as if rectangular ones weren’t fancy enough for a place so impressive. Yet now, despite past splendor, the mansion stood empty. And that made it their salvation.

Cole took a deep breath and faced Ned as they reached the gate. They might still be noticed, but the faster they scaled the fence, the sooner their presence would be forgotten. “You first,” he said and sank lower, making a little shelf by entangling all ten of his fingers.

He held his breath, waiting for Ned to argue in some misguided attempt at courtesy, but Ned didn’t waste time and climbed Cole’s hands, then pulled himself up the spikes of the fence.

“What are you two doing?” yelled someone from afar, and Cole’s heart stopped beating altogether.

“Come on,” Ned urged from the top of the fence, and Cole leaped up to grab his hand. The world around them slowed down, but the shriek of the police whistle jabbed at Cole’s back like a razor taking off a strip of skin.

All he could see was Ned’s face. And all he could feel was the ache in his muscles as he fought against gravity and climbed the fence with Ned’s help. One of the spikes dug into his thigh through the thick pants, but he ignored the discomfort it caused and jumped off the rusty perch, straight into a bush that broke his fall.

“It’s them!” A policeman yelled. “Marshall. Craig, It’s them!”

Chapter 28

Thorns and branches prodded and pulled at Cole’s clothing as he dropped the stolen coat and ran toward the imposing building, pushing away dense greenery while the noise in the street grew, turning into a chaotic buzz he no longer acknowledged. Speed was now the key to their survival, but as he forced his way through the garden that hadn’t seen any upkeep in at least a dozen years, it occurred to him that their plan had become worthless. It didn’t account for the possibility of them being spotted by the lawmen, and now that Craig and his men knew where to look, running into the building would equal suicide.

Out in the streets, they still had the chance to evade the manhunt, but how were they to remain hidden inside a house, even one as grand as this one, if enough men were on the lookout?