The flickering light came from a pair of candelabras placed on a solid wooden table at the far end of the room. To one side, thrown in like an afterthought, was a narrow bed. The arrangements of the little furniture in the room implied some sort of ritual space in the center.
Annie stood swaying over an open book on the table. She was muttering softly, and the sound sent an icy chill down Angel’s spine. What had she gotten herself into, going down into the basement of a crazy old woman mad with grief over the loss of her son these past forty years or more?
Out of the corner of her eye Angel saw something move in one of the jars, twitch once and be still. A trick of the light. It had to be.
The old woman took a shuffling step forward, deepening the shadows across her face. “All your life, everything in its place, everything rational. But now you have come for answers. The world is not as you have known it. There are other worlds. There are things.…” She paused, cocked her head as if listening. “Even now, they are looking for you.”
“Who?”
The woman shrugged. “The dead.…”