Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book Two) by Rob Blackwell Page B

not cooped up inside writing stories. Suddenly everything in comparison to being Prince of Sanheim seemed petty. They had their abilities back—she wanted to embrace them.
    That wasn’t all of it.
    While Quinn was itching to transform himself into the Headless Horseman again, Kate was lost. She wasn’t even sure how she had done what she had last year, didn’t understand how she had taken her mother’s form.
    In short, her powers were coming back and she still didn’t know what she was.
    “It was fun,” Quinn said.
    He turned from driving to smile at her. She wanted to smile back, but she was frustrated. Here he had all the answers about his own powers and she had only questions. She turned away from him and watched the trees rolling by. Soon he would be out there in the forest, racing along the roads. And she would be… what? Sitting at home? Riding with him?
    As they drove, they passed a small church with a graveyard. For just a moment, she glimpsed something standing among the stones—it looked like a person. But what was someone doing out there this late at night?
    “Turn around,” she said.
    As he started to object, she opened up her mind, let him see everything she had been thinking. She still didn’t know what she was looking for, didn’t understand why she wanted to go to the cemetery. But suddenly she wanted to very much.
    Quinn completed the u-turn and headed back to the cemetery. He took a left and parked at the far end of the parking lot. Kate was out before the car came to a complete stop. She practically ran into the cemetery.
    There was no one there and she knew there never had been. So what had she seen?
    She heard Quinn come up behind her, but he knew better than to say anything. The cemetery was small—only a couple dozen gravestones with a forest around it. It was her second time today in a graveyard, but she had no desire to make love to Quinn this time. Instead, she moved from stone to stone, searching for something.
    She had seen something, she knew she had. More than that, she could feel someone here, watching them. She was cold suddenly, despite the warm, still evening.  
    “Who’s here?” she asked. “Who are you?”
    She heard a whisper then, something so faint she could barely hear it. She felt a touch on her arm and she turned to find nothing there. But something was trying to communicate with her.
    She read the names on the graves, their dates and inscriptions.
    “Beloved Father.”
    “Blessed Mother.”
    “May God Grant Her Peace.”
    She moved past each one, moving frantically now. She knew it was here, knew some key would explain it to her.
    Finally, in the back row, she found it. A grave with a small statue of a little girl looking solemnly toward the forest. The girl had angel’s wings, but Kate knew better, understood without being told.
    She lightly touched the statue and a breeze blew all around her. There was the sound of leaves rustling and underneath, a woman crying.
    Kate read the inscription at the base of the statue. It was only a girl’s name, Carrie Alyers, 1910-1915.
    “This was your daughter, wasn’t it?” Kate said.
    She could see a woman now, the same one she must have glimpsed as they drove past. The woman was young. She had black hair tied up in a low bun and was dressed in black from head to toe. Her face was awash in sorrow and despair. Kate watched her as the woman stared back.
    “You see me?” the woman asked.
    “Yes,” Kate responded.
    “Are you dead?”
    “No, but… I am the harbinger of death,” she said, and shivered as she uttered the words that Lord Halloween had first written more than a decade ago.
    The woman nodded as if it made perfect sense.
    “Can you help me?” she asked.
    “I’ll try,” Kate said.
    “They buried me with my husband,” the woman said. “I asked to be buried with my baby, but they… They buried her here.”
    “Tell me your name.”
    “Christiana Mitchell,” the woman replied.
    “Where are you