Grace of a Wolf - Chapter 244

Chapter 244: Grace: Please Don’t Let it be Zombies
Okay, so, finding the first Alpha’s grave is a little harder than I thought, because it’s not there anymore.

Seriously, it’s gone.

And before you ask how a grave wanders off and disappears, it’s pretty simple—it’s been dug up and run off to a new home, obviously not on its own. Or, if it was on its own, I’d rather not know about it. Ever.

I draw the line at zombies, okay? No walking dead, please.

Unsurprisingly, a tiny ache thuds behind my eyes as I stare into the disturbed earth, all ten feet deep of it.

It’s not uncommon for supes to be buried a little deeper than you would for a human burial. I know about this because Brax had organized my parents’ funeral. Funny enough, Dad was buried six feet deep, like normal. But Mom was buried ten feet.

Brax said they made a mistake because the grave diggers thought Mom was pack, saying shifters believe the inherent magic in their bodies need the deeper depth to avoid scavengers, and I never really thought about it again.

But I sure as fuck am thinking about it now as I look down a giant hole, complete with a dead rectangle where the tombstone once lay.

First off, why would human gravediggers think Mom’s pack when she’s buried in a very human cemetery?

Second off, Brax knew full well Mom was human and doesn’t seem to have held her in high regard. It’s obvious now he did it on purpose, but it seems a little strange.

There’s a mystery there. Or Brax considered her pack because they’d been mates. Wolves are notoriously possessive, after all…

It’s something to think about.

But first things first, I guess.

Jebediah Wulfric used to rest in peace here. I’ve seen his grave before, even if I’m not exactly intimately related to this place. Every kid in the pack has run through here at least once, usually as a test of bravery.

And as much as I’d like to think I’m mistaken and some other random person has been dug up, the surrounding headstones are all filled with Wulfric names and appropriate dates for the First Alpha’s generation.

Blowing out a breath, I squint at the cloudy sky. A swarm of fluffy white cotton balls have swallowed up all the blue and blocked the last bits of summer heat.

Even for someone like me, who doesn’t check in on the local weather much, can tell. Mainly because there’s a chill breeze and my skin is pimpling in the sudden cold, but also because it’s autumn and about that time.

O course, I wasn’t expecting the cold front to perfectly match my visit to a creepy graveyard where someone’s body was just taken away, but hey, can I even consider it strange compared to what I’ve been through lately?

Not really. In fact, it feels kind of expected at this point.

A sudden crumbling of dirt near the edge has me scrambling back a few steps, wary of my bad luck taking over and sending me to the bottom. Andrew’s here so it isn’t like I’d die forgotten and alone at the bottom of the grave, but falling into it makes the top ten list of things I’d rather not do right now.

“Okay, Jebediah Wulfric. Send me a sign. A note. I’ll take GPS coordinates if you have them, but just give me a little direction here, will you? I even brought you flowers.” I didn’t technically bring it. There were a few random flowers along the path, probably blown over from another grave, and I brought them along because they were pretty.

But those are details I have no intention of sharing with his ghost, especially when the asshole doesn’t bother giving me any sign at all. His grave’s been disturbed and I’m willing to hunt his body down and he’s not even listening, assuming ghosts exist.

Which they… might not, but Lyre doesn’t seem to think that’s the case, and considering I know now angels can have babies, paranormal hauntings don’t seem very far fetched these days.

Pulling out my phone with heavy reluctance, I type quickly.

[GRACE HARPER: He’s missing, what now?]

The reply comes so fast, I suspect it might even be automated.

[CAERIEL: Figure it out.]

Most helpful mentor ever. Shouldn’t he be teaching me and holding my hand?

Metaphorically, I mean. I have no intention of making skin contact with the man, but come on, throw me a goddamn bone here.

Had I known so much of my life would turn into trying to solve bizarre mysteries, I would have read a lot more Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in hopes of Sherlock’s IQ rubbing off on me.

Obviously, help isn’t coming. And no matter how much I look around this stupid gravesite, there aren’t any tracks to be seen. In fact, there’s no evidence heavy machinery’s come through here at all, which brings up the entire how the fuck did someone dig up ten feet of dirt plus a body line of questioning.

Maybe Andrew can find something. I’ve never been great at tracking, and I can’t smell for shit since I’m human. Caeriel’s useless, so it’s going to have to be Andrew.

Decision made, I spin on my heel to drag him over.

A streak of sunlight breaks through a bank of clouds overhead, light flooding the cemetery in a sudden burst of gold. I shield my eyes and for some reason turn back to the grave—no idea why.

And then I freeze.

Something’s glinting at the bottom of the hole, precisely in the center of it.

Something small, catching the light like a diamond, or a shard of glass, or metal, or… something stupidly important.

There’s a buzzing feeling going from the soles of my feet, up my legs, and into my chest as I continue to stare at it, even when the clouds cover up the brief moment of dazzling light. And why is there something magical and glinty in the smack dab middle of a dug-up grave?

Obviously because it’s a trap to pull in the unsuspecting.

Not today, Satan!

Back to my original plan: Bring Andrew over, because every Sherlock needs a Watson.

Yanking my gaze away from temptation, I bolt for the car, muttering under my breath, “Please don’t let it be zombies. Please don’t let it be zombies. Seriously, don’t let it be zombies.”