Bless Their Shallow Graves

By Meg Collett

The Righteous Series concludes with Bless Their Shallow Graves ...

A monster prowls the woods of Shiner’s Ridge. No one in Righteous is safe.

To stop the Skinned Man before he destroys the Seam and unleashes a plague of evil on Righteous, Loey must uncover the history of the town’s three founders. The closer she gets to the truth, however, the more enemies rise up against her, including an old childhood friend. Under the influence of the evil from across the Seam, he will do anything to end his own suffering, including putting Loey in the ground for good.

Dale freed Barty, but the man from her mirror is not the man in her bed. This man is a stranger in her dead husband’s clothes. More than her heart is on the line when she’s forced to choose between the man she’s desperate to love and the townsfolk whose blood Barty is craving.

To untangle the knots of the past, Loey and Dale must confront the monsters of their present. Saving Righteous from a ravenous evil will demand they sacrifice more than they can afford to lose. If they fail, there won’t be anyone left to salt the graves of the dead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meg Collett
• Release date: Jul 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463889923

Book preview

Chapter 1

Tuesday, September 17 - 2:19 A.M.

A FEATHER SWIRLED ACROSS THE TALL grass before it snagged on a tree branch and fell still. A splatter of blood marred its white tip.

Dewey whined.

The moon spilled light across the countryside, such that Loey could make out the pines where her property met the ridge. The woods grew dense beyond that line. Turned mean. Became alive. Up in those woods that swept away from her farm, a monster prowled. The Skinned Man was loose, and she stood here paralyzed in fear, with her hands stained in chicken blood. She knew she should rush after her great-great-grandfather, blind and brave, into those mean, breathing woods, but she didn’t. Tabi, Dale, and Barty had all said she should wait on Jeronimo and have a plan before she went after the monster bent on destroying her little town, and she’d agreed—but only because she knew if she went into those woods this very, very early morning, she wouldn’t make it out alive.

The breeze swept her hair over her shoulder, reminding her how this had all started that afternoon of the tornado, with its green sky, circling clouds, and the funnel’s hook right above her beloved church.

A devil’s coming, she’d thought that day.

She’d been wrong. The devil had been here all along.

A devil of another sort approached from behind her. Footsteps crunched beneath long, loose strides. He smelled of leather and spice and sulfur. His scent would’ve been nice if not for the sulfur. It made her sick now.

Barty stopped beside her, his eyes also on the ridge, and he seemed to sag into his bones.

I’ll never catch him, Loey whispered. Not before he escapes.

Barty’s eyes angled toward her. With the shadows cast across his face, he could have been Jeronimo ten years younger, if Jeronimo had ever been so youthful, so outwardly innocent-looking.

He can’t escape. Barty’s words caught Loey’s attention like the bloody feather in the grass had. Not with the Seam in place. Just like the world over there has boundaries, this world has limits for him too. We’re bound to the Seam. We can’t escape if it’s in place.

A breath unfurled from her lips. She swayed. At her feet, Dewey watched her with droopy eyes.

I don’t know what’s worse, she murmured. That I thought he’d be free to devour the world, or that he’s trapped here—with us.

I know which one’s worse.

Barty’s dark words did little to settle Loey’s unease. On the ridge, the pines moaned an eerie song of darkness and shadow. A monster’s call.

I miss J.

Me too.

The breeze blew, and the only sound was the trees’ singing.

Then Barty spoke. He has to destroy the Seam. That’s the only way he can get free of this place.

What will separate our worlds then?

Nothing.

All those ghosts and cawing creatures. The black, gritty dust. That seeping evil. All of it unleashed on Righteous.

It keeps getting worse. Why won’t it stop already?

You’re the Tender, Loey. You’re the only one who can stop him.

That was her worst fear, because she doubted, down deep in her soul, that when it came time to kill the monster, she’d succeed. She’d never been brave enough to look the devil in the eye and plunge the knife in his heart. It had always come down to someone else to save her, protect her, avenge her. And she’d let them, because she’d always been so, so scared.

That magic is inside you, Barty continued like he was reading her thoughts. His words dragged her gaze toward him. He knows that. The two things standin’ between him and freedom are you and that Seam. He’ll do whatever he must to destroy it, and he’ll rip that magic clean out of your chest too.

Loey’s stomach turned. She couldn’t look at Barty no more, and she was too scared to look up at the ridge, so she stared at the bloody feather instead. It ruffled in the breeze, trying to tear itself free.

You’re tied to this town, just like he is. Neither of you will be free while this Seam stands. Maybe you shouldn’t stand in his way when he tries to destroy it.

This time, it was he who wouldn’t look at her. She didn’t know him well enough to guess if he was serious, and she didn’t ask. It felt too personal to ask, to question his honor.

Asking, also, would force her to take a stand, and she didn’t want to call up her own sense of honor. She didn’t know which side of the fence she’d land on.

After a long while, Barty spoke again quietly, as if afraid the wind might carry his words up the ridge. Knox was a good man. It ain’t his fault what he got turned into that night. He didn’t choose to become this monster. All he wants is freedom. He’ll do anything to get away. Can’t say I blame him either.

The feather blew free and tumbled away. Dewey snored in long rumbles. The moon perched itself high over the ridge. Far away, deep in the woods up there, something screamed into the night. Loey shivered.

It sounded like a call to arms. Like a battle cry.

It sounded like a warning.

Chapter 2

Tuesday, September 17 - 2:21 A.M.

FRANKIE ROSE HAD NEVER MINDED being dead, until she’d made the mistake of taking a bite of a life that wasn’t hers.

Bartholomew had been willing to share, or he had been in the beginning. Lonely as he was, he’d coaxed her to try it, but she should’ve known it wouldn’t end in her favor. Nothing about Barty James ever ended in her favor. But he had a way of persuading her until his idea felt like it had been hers all along.

A mistake, that first bite.

It had brought all the memories and emotions of her past life back. It had also brought into focus her missed future—all the years she wouldn’t be living and their wasted dreams—and the longing, which was the worst of it, because, in that single bite, she’d realized what she’d been missing on this side of death: herself. That bite had reminded her what it felt like to be a solid being.

The effects hadn’t lasted long. In their absence, she’d only wanted another taste.

One bite had led to the next until she had to steal them. Until she had to hurt Barty to win back slices of life. She’d nearly killed him on that last bite. Had nearly taken all his life. With its stolen heat in her body, she’d grown more solid, once again bound by flesh, her blood flush with heat and rage and passion and so much longing.

It had faded too quickly, though. Now she was just air and unsalted regret.

Floating apart from Jeronimo, watching him push himself upright on the ground of her world, the bad part of her demanded she steal more, but to steal from JJ, when he had so little to give, would surely kill him.

She hadn’t minded the prospect of killing Barty. Killing JJ, however, was another matter altogether. Things would have to get real bad before she considered that notion, and they weren’t that bad.

Yet.

Frankie?

She soared at the sound of her name carried on his voice. Soared right over to him, bobbing, her edges boundless and indifferent to such simplicity elating her. How tiny her life had become. How inconsequential. It made her feel like such a … woman.

She’d always hated feeling like that.

You there? He looked right through her, unable to see her.

She quivered and screamed and thrashed against the effervescence of her being.

Frankie.

I’m here, Frankie wanted to scream. I’m not a memory. I’m right beside you.

Jeronimo rubbed at the dried blood beneath his nose. His clothes sported more blood than entirely proper. He’d been near death when he’d fallen to the ground only minutes prior and the girl Frankie knew he loved had been forced to leave him behind. Now he looked better, as if this world across the Seam were feeding him bites of stolen life. He still looked horrible, but he was alive. It was the first time she’d seen him since the night he’d held the knife and she’d begged him to end her pain and he’d cried and she’d promised she would love him, even if he didn’t get her body back to town in time to salt it.

He’d vowed he would. Told her she deserved Heaven, if it existed. Some promises weren’t meant to be kept.

Far back, toward the glittering mirror mountains, the ghosts began to scream.

Jeronimo’s gaze snapped over the plains, his eyes scrunched beneath the undulating light of the silken sky.

Bad news, she wanted to tell him. They’re coming.

He grunted as if he’d heard her. He stumbled into a lurching walk, picking up speed in the opposite direction from the mountains in a feeble attempt to outrun hungry ghosts.

She floated beside his shoulder, ready. Hungry ghosts couldn’t be outrun, and she was the hungriest of them all.

Chapter 3

PRESENT

DALE STARED UP AT THE man she loved and told herself to suck it up and be a grown-ass woman about it.

It was simply sex, after all.

There was nothing about the act that should cause her such bottom-dropping-out-from-under-her fear. But hadn’t this very act cost her everything? If she closed her eyes, she could still picture that CVS parking lot and her mother’s icy stiffness when she’d commanded Dale to go inside and buy Plan B.

Sex had cost her her mother’s love, and she didn’t know if she’d ever get it back. What would she lose this time?

Early morning air wafted through the open windows. Her first actual time with Barty should have been perfect. He was above her, their bodies naked atop her tussled sheets, but terror scrambled her heart.

Dale?

She’d gotten distracted again. She dragged her hair out of her face and rasped, Nothing. Keep going. I’m fine. It’s fine.

Wrinkles marred Barty’s perfect face—a face caught in perpetual youth. He braced a hand beside her head and leaned back to give her space. The distance allowed the morning air to come between them. She wrapped her arms over her bare chest to ward off the chill.

We don’t have to do this, he said, and his eyes were kinder than she deserved for acting like such a wimp.

Do it, she snarled, mostly to herself. Just do it.

I won’t just do it.

When it became clear he wouldn’t, which only made her question what kind of man he was, because, in her experience, all men just did it without qualms, she apologized, even though she knew she shouldn’t.

Barty took her chin between his fingers and placed a delicate kiss on her lips before saying in a sleep-stained, contented voice, Don’t be. I understand.

Thank you. She was piteously grateful to him, her mirror man. A tiny bit of her murmured she shouldn’t be thankful for that either.

The man who … Barty’s expression darkened, and Dale’s stomach twisted. The one who hurt you. He’s getting released from prison soon?

She nodded, forcing him to release her chin. But he won’t come back to Righteous. He’d have to be stupid to come back here.

Men aren’t known for their smarts, Dale.

You don’t have to tell me that—

A muffled bang sounded from the kitchen.

Dale jerked upright in bed, and Barty almost tumbled off the end, head over bare tail. Did you hear that?

His hair stuck up at electrocuted angles as he righted himself on the bed. Hear what?

It could’ve been the dog, but Dewey snored away at the foot of her bed. The fried cat snoozed on her windowsill. Loey’s precious animals slept peacefully, safe and sound, in Dale’s house, just where she’d sent them after it had become clear it was no longer safe at her farm.

Nowhere was safe anymore.

Dale’s heart rammed backward against her spine. "Oh fuck."

What is it?

He was sex-dumb, a condition that afflicted all men with an erect penis. Dale didn’t waste her time on him. She was already moving to her bedside table while she pulled on a shirt from last night. Knocking aside the handheld mirror, she yanked out her gun, swiftly thumbing off the safety as she cocked it. She’d reached the bedroom door, stalking on bare feet, when Barty finally realized something was wrong.

Another crash came from the kitchen.

It’s him, she thought. The Skinned Man is back.

Someone cursed. The walls muffled their voice. She had never heard the Skinned Man—Knox—speak, much less curse. She didn’t even know if he was capable of coherent speech.

Dale, wait.

Ignoring Barty as he scrambled to find his new boxers, she padded down the hall. She grasped the railing and peered over the landing into her living room.

Cross stood there, swaying with a Budlight in his hand. He glared up at her.

There you are, he slurred. We gotta talk. Right now. I mean it.

Dale’s arm sagged to her side. Her gun tumbled free from her fingers and thudded onto the carpet. Cross was here. He wanted to talk. Tears stung her eyes from sheer happiness. She didn’t care how bad he looked or sounded or where he’d been or who with; he was here, and he wanted to talk.

Cross, she managed. I’m so glad—

Who is it? Barty walked down the hall, pulling up his jeans—the jeans she’d lent him from Travis’s closet because all he owned were scraps of clothing from 1956.

In the bedroom, Dewey’s snores cut off mid-bugle. A second later, he bounded from the room, passing Barty in a blur of fur. Dale grabbed his collar right as he barreled past her.

Who are you talking to? Cross shouted from the living room. Who’s here? Is that Loey?

Dewey let out a gleeful bark at the sound of Uncle Cross’s oh-so-familiar slurred speech.

Dale tugged on Dewey’s collar, but the massive dog jerked free, leaving her careening and cursing in his drooling, shedding wake. He bounded down the stairs and launched himself at Cross. He slurped his tongue straight up her brother’s face.

Are you okay? Barty stood beside her in all his half-naked glory. He peered down at Cross with suspicion. What’s happening?

What the hell— Cross stumbled beneath the dog’s weight.

It wasn’t the dog’s enthusiastic greeting he was admonishing, but the presence of the tall sentinel beside Dale. The man who had come from her bedroom, wearing her dead husband’s jeans. Wearing Cross’s dead boyfriend’s jeans. A storm darkened Cross’s face. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together as to what she and Barty had been up to.

Dale looked between the two men in her life, her heart dropping straight through the pit in her stomach.

No, she told Cross, shaking her head, gently at first then harder, trying to convince him through her whiplash. This isn’t what it looks like. He’s Travis’s college friend—

"Freaking slut. You’ll never stop, will you? You just don’t know when enough’s enough. You take and take and take until you’ve ruined everything, because … because … His throat was thick with tears. Their mother had spun a story about domestic violence gone wrong to explain what Cross had seen the night Travis died, but he still blamed Dale. Apparently still hated her too. Because you’re the worst person in the world, and I hate you," he finished.

The words were petty. They shouldn’t have hurt, considering he smelled like the inside of a cheap bottle of coconut rum. The words packed the same caliber as childish insults, but damn if they didn’t wreck straight through Dale like she was made of papier-mâché.

What’s happening? Barty asked. Why’s he yellin’?

Dale started down the steps, but Cross reared back as if her closing the distance were an assault against him. Dewey’s tail thumped against the floor with happy oblivion.

Don’t do this. If you would just let me explain—

I loved him. Actually loved him. Not like you pretended to. I know you manipulated him to stay with you. Used our family’s money as leverage to keep him from me, he sneered, eyes sweeping to Barty. Better watch out, bud. You’re next. She’ll sink her claws into you and get you killed too.

Dale stopped halfway down the stairs. Please, Cross.

Cross stumbled to the front door, and Dale watched him go. Before he opened it, possibly to leave forever, he looked back at her. In a voice that hardly slurred, he said, You should’ve died. Not him. You deserved it.

The door slammed behind him.

Dale sucked in her cheeks and held her breath, imagining her body hollow. Airless. An empty, clean void.

On the landing, Barty stared at her. What the hell is happenin’?

Tears threatening, she rushed by him and headed straight into the bathroom.

She swung the bathroom door shut and immediately crossed to her mirror. Old habit, really. He wasn’t in there anymore. He was real and standing in her hallway. So why was she in here and not in his arms? She searched her reflection for an answer.

Her fingertips traced the scarred halos that ringed her collarbone. They swelled outward toward her shoulder. Divots stamped into her skin, flesh missing, stuck in the teeth of the Skinned Man. Her skin was ice cold in the center of the largest scar, inside