The Buried (The Apostles) Read Online Free PDF Page A

through the air, her ponytails flying behind her. “Higher. Push me higher!”
    “You’re already so high, Gracie, you can almost touch the stars.”
    “To the stars! Push me to the stars!”
    “And what will you do when you reach them?” Momma asked around a laugh.
    Gracie scrunched her face in deep concentration. Then she let out a happy squeal. “I shall pluck them from the sky and make a bright, shiny necklace for you, so you’ll never be afraid of the dark again.”
    Her mother’s smile slipped away. She clutched the rope, drawing Gracie to her chest as she darted a glance over each shoulder. “They’re everywhere, Gracie. The bad people are on the streets, in our neighborhood, beneath our home.” Her mother’s delicate fingers clawed into Gracie’s shoulders. “They’re watching me, following me, touching me while I sleep. Make them go away, please, please make them go away.”
    Early on, Gracie learned it was the things unseen—the shapes shifting in the shadows and monsters under the bed—that scared Momma. She hopped off the swing, took Momma’s hand, and turned on the porch lights, the light over the garage, and the bright tennis court lights. She settled both hands on Momma’s cheeks. “The bad people aren’t here, Momma, not tonight. It’s just me, and I’ll protect you.”
    With Momma smiling again, they ran back to the giant oak. When they reached the tire swing, Gracie balled her hands on her hips. “Someone broke my swing!” One frayed end of the rope dangled from the tree while the other was curled like a water moccasin on the ground next to the tire.
    “Probably those Dickens boys two streets over. Little heathens.” Momma patted Gracie’s head. “But don’t worry, Gracie, Daddy can fix it.”
    Gracie rolled her eyes at Momma’s silliness. “I don’t need any help, Momma. I can do it myself.” With a huff, Gracie headed for the garage and a new rope.
    That’s when she heard a soft voice say, “Quiet as a cat. Into the black.”
    *  *  *
    Something hard and heavy and foul-smelling slammed onto Grace’s chest. Her nose wrinkled. Dog. Wet dog.
    Her eyelids flew open and she pushed Allegheny Blue off her chest. Beneath her, the porch swing lurched. She blinked. The sun had peeked over the horizon and early morning rays glinted off Blue’s sopping fur and the pool of water seeping across her porch.
    “Nooooo!” Darting from the swing, she fished out her key and threw open the door. A wave of water rolled over her ankles. She splashed her way to the kitchen where water shot from one of the exposed pipes running up her kitchen wall. She grabbed the wrench on the windowsill and cranked the valve underneath the sink. The geyser tapered to a trickle and finally stopped, but the damage was done.
    The plumber had warned her the first time that she needed to have the plastic pipe replaced with copper tubing, but she didn’t have the money for new plumbing. Hell, she didn’t have two spare copper pennies to rub together.
    She squeezed the water out of her hair. This morning was not starting out well, but then again—she ran a flattened palm down the back of her neck—last night hadn’t ended well.
    Quick as a cat. Into the black.
    She’d heard those strange words after hearing the ringing phone in the swamp. Then they invaded her dreams. She grabbed a dishtowel and swabbed the water from her face and hands. Dreams. Not reality. The conversation with her mother on the tire swing and the broken rope had been real, but she didn’t remember anyone whispering anything about a cat and black.
    She dropped the towel onto Blue and toweled his head and neck. This whole thing with Lia Grant was getting to her. She scrubbed his chest and back and all four legs. Which meant she needed to get back on the hunt.
    Within twenty minutes, Grace fed Blue and got him settled on the front porch, set up fans to air out the shack, and put in a call to the sheriff’s station. Still no sign of