“So what do we do now?” she asked, still gripping the neck of the absinthe bottle, her eyes wide.

He was going to track down Raphael, but he didn’t want to scare her. “First I want to go to Anne’s tomb. I don’t remember that writing being there, yet it showed in the picture. Which means there’s no doubt that Raphael wrote it. Only a demon could pull that trick. You don’t have to go with me. I’ll be fast. I just need to see for myself.”

He wanted absolute confirmation of the truth, wanted to know that for a hundred and fifty years the answer had never had anything to do with him. He wanted to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Raphael had killed Anne and Jessie and all those other women. Then he was going to find the bastard and figure out why. And punish him.

“No, I’ll go with you.” She took his hand. “We’re in this together. We’re together.”

Yes, they were. He crumpled up the papers into a ball and nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-four

Sara followed Gabriel into the cemetery in the dark, realizing suddenly why it was so easy for him to break a lock and gain entrance. He had strength, powers she didn’t understand. She also now knew that he didn’t have to fear mortals the way she did, that he could protect himself, and her, from common criminals like muggers. It was reassuring at the same time it was unnerving. She didn’t, couldn’t, comprehend the full scope of who and what he was.

“Walk next to me,” he said, slowing down and gesturing for her to fall in beside him. “I don’t sense anything, but I want you close to me.”

No complaints from her. She wasn’t afraid, but she wasn’t entirely comfortable either. The cemetery was quiet, the tombs rising stark and cold against the darkness, the crunch of the shells beneath her feet loud and obvious.

She was sure that if the writing had been on Anne’s tomb that day they had visited, when Gabriel had taken the shots, they would have noticed it. In her mind, she could picture the day perfectly, the tomb crisp and clean, bright white, freshly painted, the heat crushing her as she leaned on the fleur-de-lis fence, staring at the blank spot where the nameplate had fallen off. She would have noticed graffiti.

Gabriel had a flashlight, and when they stopped at Anne’s tomb, he shone it all over the front surface. Sara didn’t see anything at all. No writing.