Moon Cursed by Lori Handeland

felt it in his touch. But even more amazing than that intent was her desire to let him.
    She should have pushed harder—for his name, for an explanation of how he had known hers. But it had seemed beyond tacky to do so with a dead girl at her feet. They had more pressing issues than names.
    An icy, damp finger seemed to brush her cheek, and Kris glanced toward the loch. A thick haze had formed, hanging above the water, blocking any hint of the opposite shore. The wind pushed the fog in her direction; vapor settled on her skin and in her hair. She saw—
    “Through a glass darkly.” She’d always liked that phrase but hadn’t really understood it until now. Peering at the dead girl through the mist was like peering into a murky mirror.
    “First Corinthians.”
    The voice was firm and commanding. The voice of God.
    If God had a thick German accent.
    The tall, slim outline of a man wavered in the depths of the haze as the voice continued: “‘For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.’”
    The old man who’d been staring at her in the pub stepped from the gloom. He bowed slightly, an Old World gesture that seemed completely at home in this old world.
    “Chapter thirteen, verse twelve,” he finished. “Very apropos. Soon, you will no longer know only in part.”
    “Know what?” Kris asked. “How did you get here?”
    “I walked, Miss Daniels. The same as you.”
    He knew her name, too. Had it been written in the sky when she wasn’t looking?
    “You followed me?”
    “Why would I do that?”
    Kris glanced at the dead girl, suddenly remembering that the old guy had disappeared from the bar before she had. He hadn’t followed her; he’d beaten her here. What had he been doing before she arrived?
    Kris took a step backward, preparing to run, and he snatched her elbow with surprisingly quick and freakishly strong, bony fingers. “You do not want to do that,” he murmured.
    She tugged on her arm. He didn’t let go, instead reaching his free hand beneath his voluminous coat and withdrawing a gun.
    “I do not have the patience or the time to argue with you.”
    He released her but kept the gun right where it was, pointed at her sternum. His coat had caught on what appeared to be a bandolier of bullets strung across his chest. Kris could just make out another pistol stuffed into the loose waistband of his pants.
    Who was this guy?
    “The authorities will be back directly,” he continued, “and I’d prefer not to be here when they arrive.”
    Rubbing her elbow, which would probably bear the imprint of his claw-like digits come the morning, Kris glanced at the corpse, then at the gun, then at him. “I bet you would.”
    His bushy white brows lifted. “You think I killed her?” He shook his head. “She drowned, poor thing.”
    “Drowning doesn’t preclude your killing her.”
    His lips curved. “True. However, I did not.”
    “I’m just supposed to believe you?”
    He shrugged. “It is up to you. But you will learn that many have drowned here of late. I’m afraid more will follow.”
    Kris frowned at the loch. “Is there some kind of undertow? A heavy kelp growth tangling in swimmers’ legs or boat propellers?”
    “No boats have sunk; none are even missing. This is not a place for swimming, and the drownings, they are not accidental.”
    The man was very good at saying murder without actually saying it.
    “Why haven’t I heard about this?” Kris asked.
    “Tourist town,” he said. “They do not like to broadcast such things.”
    Kris could see where a serial killer might put a damper on the revenue.
    “This girl is only the second to be found.” He jerked his head at the water, which had become completely obscured by the mist. “But there are more out there. Many more.”
    “If you didn’t kill them, then how do you know that?”
    “When people start to disappear, I am the man they