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Suddenly, she didn’t think she liked ghosts very much.

In good news, the storm was getting worse. Rain was coming down in sheets, and the night occasionally flashed with blinding lightning that was quickly accompanied by a deafening boom of thunder. It would make it easier to hide, and the flashlights the soldiers were using were going to be pretty useless if she kept her distance.

In bad news, the storm was getting worse. Rain was coming down in sheets, which meant the ground was turning slick and treacherous. She didn’t dare use her own flashlight, and only the dim light pollution of the city around her was lighting her way. The lightning was more disorienting than it was useful. More than once, she slipped and fell, or scraped her hand on a rock. More than once she kicked a shorter tombstone, tripping over it, and only by sheer luck did she make it without cracking her head open on another one.

Her hands were probably bleeding. She was certainly scraped to hell. Her phone was probably trash now, soaked through in her pocket. But one thing inspired her to keep following the ghost that still traipsed easily through the yard as if nothing were happening.

The sound of gunfire and shouting, still close on her heels.

The spirit led her to a large, imposing tomb. Its steeply pitched roof looked intact, until the ghost walked around to the back of it and pointed a single, ghastly finger up at where a fallen tree branch had landed on the slate. It covered what must have been a hole.

“But—”

The ghost disappeared.

Yeah, she decided she didn’t like ghosts very much at all.

With a long, beleaguered sigh, she wiped the water from her face. She wasn’t sure why she bothered—it was replaced a second later with more. She tried to push her hair out of her face when something snatched her around the midsection again.

That time she swallowed her scream as the ground left her feet. She’d yell at him later about handling her like a ragdoll when he wasn’t trying to save her life. She clung to him as best she could hold on to a monster made of ethereal smoke.

Gideon lifted the branch with one hand and contorted himself to lower her inside before following her, replacing the tree above them.

There was only one window in the tomb—a large, broken stained glass window in the back that must have once let the sunlight in, but now vines had nearly overgrown it. It let just the smallest amount of light in, but it did next to nothing to help her see.

There was a large stone sarcophagus in the center of the room. Its smooth marble slab top had no names etched on it. The owner of this place must have put their name just about everywhere else and figured it would be obvious who was laid to rest here. If there were other markers along the walls, she couldn’t see them.

Warm, human arms circled her and pulled her in close. “Stay quiet,” he whispered. “They will not give up easily.”

She nodded. She couldn’t see much of him except a shock of white hair. Lightning crashed outside, and she jerked in surprise. It must have hit somewhere near the graveyard. He tightened his hold of her. “Not scared,” she whispered back. “Just startled.”

“Any excuse is one I’ll use.”

At least it gave them some cover from the rain. It was still pouring, but the part of the roof that was intact was still serving its purpose quite well. She felt like she had jumped into a swimming pool. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she hit the button and sighed. It lit up. But it was a shattered mess.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Not the point.” She shoved it back into her pocket then peeled off her soaked coat and let it fall with a wet flop on the stone floor. That felt a little better. “What do we do now?”

Gideon moved to sit on the ground with his back against the sarcophagus. “Now? We wait.”