I shrugged and hurried after Robert, who hadn’t slowed his swaying walk down the road. He slid through the iron slats of the gate and kept on walking. We’d left the gates open, and I slipped back through.

Feish stopped at the gate. “I wait here.”

There was no time to argue. “Robert, can we go faster?”

Ten minutes gone. Twenty left.

Robert’s swaying sped up and I jogged to keep up as he wove his way through the massive graveyard, beelining it for the edge that led along the water. The unnamed graveyard that was the Hollows hideout was directly across from us—across the water, that is.

As quickly as he’d started this trek through Bonaventure, he slowed and came to a stop. Crash put a hand on my hip and tugged me to one side. I grabbed at him to keep from falling, which was my excuse for finding myself pressed up against him, hands on his chest. Just a flash of touch, but it was enough to remind me that while he might be a bad guy, a damn criminal, my stupid hormones didn’t care.

All they wanted was to have me mount up and ride that pony off into the sunset.

I tried to push away from him. One of his hands tightened on my hip, the other lifted to his lips.

Only when I stopped struggling did I hear the low chanting. How the hell had we not noticed before?

“Did you know they were here?” I whispered.

He shook his head. “They’re cloaked.”

Like freaking Star Wars. Or maybe that’s Star Trek? I got them mixed up.

I held still and listened to the words roll over me. Not Latin, they were . . . tribal was the only word I could come up with.

“Hoodoo,” Crash whispered. “Grave magic.”

I turned so my back was against him and I could look across the graveyard sprawled out in front of me. There was a tiny speck of light, so small that I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t been looking for it.

Then again, I might have, seeing as Robert was now going straight for it.

“Robert,” I whispered as loud as I dared, and he paused in his forward movement. Crash tried to hold me still, but I elbowed him and dropped down to my hands and knees, crawling across the graveyard, using the tombs as cover. A slapping sound made me look over my shoulder.

Crash was on his hands and knees, following suit. Most undignified, and it stupidly made me like him more.

Undignified, he looked more real.

Idiot hormones.

I looked toward the light, to where Robert waited, silhouetted. Three figures stood with their hands above their heads, raised to the sky. In a simultaneous sweeping motion, they brought their fingers down and brushed them across the ground. The air crackled all around us and it was the strangest sensation.