But who would be in there at this hour?
My thoughts immediately went to what happened at the market, the report about the attempted break-in at the school, and Daniel’s speculation that Jude was revisiting the places of his past misdeeds. First Maryanne’s house, James’s window, Day’s Market, and then the school. Wouldn’t the logical next place be the parish—the final place he’d go? The place where he’d ultimately turned into a werewolf, the place where he’d attacked me, infected me, and where he’d tried to kill Daniel?
I didn’t want to believe that Jude was trying to cause damage and terror on purpose. But if this was his final stop on his tour of his past crimes, then this could be my only chance to find him—especially since my only other lead hadn’t panned out.
I slowed my pace even more as I approached the parish, and I tried to will my heart to stop pounding so loudly. I listened as closely as I could over my disobedient heartbeat, concentrating on far-off noises: the sound of a car on the empty evening streets, a song whistled by another person somewhere down the block, the chirp of the crosswalk meter.
I followed another sound, a rustling noise, like boxes or objects being moved around, down the alley between the parish and the school. At first I thought the noise came from my father’s office. I hesitated for a moment outside the door in the alley, but then I realized the sound came from somewhere deeper inside the parish. I slipped around the side of the building to another door in the back. It was the entrance to the small caretaker’s apartment that had been unoccupied since Don Mooney died. Dad hadn’t rented out the apartment again, and it had been left untouched since the day we heard about Don’s death.
My ears picked up a rattling from behind the door. It sounded like a stuck drawer being forced open. Suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about rescuing Jude anymore. I was thinking about the destruction caused at Day’s Market. All the anger I’d felt today filled me again. Someone might be trying to do the same to your father’s parish, said that voice in my head. Starting in your friend’s old home. I wasn’t going to let someone get away with that—even if that someone was my own brother.
That rumbling anger surged through me. Clutched at my heart like a clawed hand. Before I could stop myself, I burst through the doorway into the room.
A tall man whirled around in front of Don’s desk. Something silver flashed in his hand. My feet and arms were not my own as I flew at him. A look of shock crossed his face as I knocked the knife from his hand and hit him in the chest with the butt of my hand. He flew back and slammed against the wall, and then landed on top of the desk. I jumped on top of him and grabbed him by the throat.
“How dare you,” I snarled. “How dare you try to steal my friend’s things?” I raised my fist above the man’s face, ready to smash it into his nose if he so much as made a false move.
But the man didn’t struggle. He just stared up at me. My breaths heaved in my chest, and my hand trembled with rage as I held my fist above his head. But I couldn’t help staring back into his steel-blue eyes—eyes that seemed familiar, like I’d gazed into them before. The man seemed young, mid-twenties maybe, but something about his eyes seemed absolutely ancient—like he’d seen enough of the world to fill a dozen lifetimes.
My fingers twitched against his throat. I could feel his pulse in my hand, steady and sure. Something foreign and hateful inside my head told me to squeeze. Punish this man for invading this place.
But did I really want to do that?
A smile slid across the stranger’s lips. It seemed as ancient as his eyes. “Hello, Grace,” he said, sounding somewhat strangled.