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“Are you campus security?”

“No. I’m the university provost, Gregory Penemue. I received a call about some sort of problem here.”

“Yes, sir.” To Jack’s frustration, the officer lowered his voice and ushered Penemue to one side. The two men’s expressions were grave as they spoke.

Another siren split the night and everyone turned, looking for the source. A minute later the ambulance turned the corner, cutting its siren and driving into the parking lot. More students gathered, and the neighbors across the street from campus stepped out onto their front porches.

Two paramedics left the ambulance carrying bags and hurried into the house.

“That’s not good,” Jack breathed. A similar murmur slithered its way through the assembled students. Several pulled out phones.

Penemue had his own phone to his ear and was speaking in a low, controlled voice.

“Do you want to stay?” Andy asked, turning. “We should give Edward a call if we’re going to be here much longer.”

“I don’t know.” Jack jammed his cold hands into his jacket pockets. He craved a cigarette, but his pack and lighter were back in the apartment. “Seems likely whatever happened here is linked to the bones and the angel, don’t you think?”

Andy nodded. Neither of them believed in coincidences when mal'akhim were involved. “Let me see what I can do.” He edged his way through the crowd to the ambulance driver and began speaking in a low voice. The driver shrugged and pointed to the police officer, who glanced at them and strode over.

Jack saw Penemue fold his phone and walk over to join the conversation. A familiar prickle ran down his back. He turned and searched the crowds for whatever had set off the protective sigils sewn into the lining of his jacket.

The angel stood on the other side of the parking lot, its black wings folded around its body. It turned its head as soon as Jack perceived it, and for a moment its blank eyes faced him. Jack shuddered and crossed himself, knowing as he did that the gesture would only make him easier for the angel to detect.

For a long moment the angel regarded him. The sigils in his jacket and the blessed medal of St. Jude around his neck set his teeth on edge with their auric clatter. Then the creature turned its attention back to the house, and the alarms lowered their intensity to a warning prickle.

Jack swallowed and studied the house and those around it with renewed intensity. Something here had caught an angel’s attention, and he didn’t think it would be good news.

Members of the mal'akhim, whether b'nei elohim or nephilim, could only see that which was closely allied or actively opposed. Most of what humans perceived about the world around them—indeed, most humans themselves—went unseen by the Host, neither good enough nor evil enough to elicit the Host’s attention or affect their substance. God might mark every sparrow’s fall, Andy had once told him, but the eyes of the mal'akhim were fixed on each other.

Jack knew he was a shadowy figure on the border of the Host’s perception, a mortal who had interacted just often enough with the powers of good and evil to make himself noticed. Andy would be more visible, a warrior on the side of God despite his retirement from active duty in the Catholic Church. But the angel didn’t seem interested in his friend, and although Andy was no doubt trying to trade on his position as a former priest to gain access to whoever had been injured or killed inside, that in itself wouldn’t be significant enough on a celestial scale to attract the attention of the b'nei elohim
.

Murder might be, though, if it were carried out in the name of Satan—or God. Jack had encountered both types of murders over the years. In fact, he’d done some killing in the name of God, himself.

Or could it be someone or something else? The police officers, a student, the paramedics, the provost, whoever was injured or dead inside? A book, a symbol, a consecrated or desecrated item or place?

He couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Andy said, returning. “It was Dunstan Graeme. The police won’t let anyone in. They’re waiting for the medical examiner and forensics team. Greg says the officer told him Dunstan was stabbed.”

“Dead?”

“We think so.”

“He has a wife.”

“They’re going to send someone to talk to her.” Andy touched Jack’s sleeve. “Sorry. I know you liked him.”

Jack felt a familiar sense of frustration. Andy had told him months ago, when he’d been describing his new job over the phone, that California Hills University was located in one of the nation’s safest cities. But no place was safe from evil.

“It has to be linked to the bones,” Jack growled. “Look at that angel by the Andersen Building.”

Andy glanced over his shoulder, the lines around his mouth deepening.

“If mal'akhim are involved, the police won’t be much use.”

“The Scandinavian Library has copies of all the old deeds and photographs about the university and information about the Gudruns and other Scandinavians who settled out here. Maybe Dunstan was killed because something in there explains the bones.”

“Or
did
,” said Andy. “Well, there’ll be police crawling all over the house for the rest of the night.”

“And it may stay closed off even after they leave.” Jack had been involved in police investigations before. “So....”

Andy nodded.  “Best get back to Edward. He must think we’re real ghouls, chasing sirens like this.”

Jack hesitated. He wanted to stay to see Dr. Graeme’s body removed, to pay his respects, but it could be hours before that happened, and the ME would cover the corpse, anyway.

He looked for the angel. It kept its motionless vigil.

“I guess we might as well,” he said. “No point trying to talk to our friend there with so many people around.  Not that talking to angels ever does any good, anyway.”

Andy smiled faintly. They turned and headed back to the visiting faculty housing court.

VI

Richard Grahn sat on the bench that had been constructed next to the CHU cross by the class of ’82, looking down at the lights that surrounded the north campus field. He’d already shot about fifty pictures, but the camera was still on its stand in case something exciting happened.

He’d hiked up to the cross shortly after sunset, as soon as he’d heard about the bones. This was the most exciting thing to happen on campus all semester, and even though the student newspaper’s reporters were being turned away by police, Richard knew he could use his telephoto lens to get photographs of the excavation. Maybe they’d even run in the county paper, not just the student rag. He’d have to call—

Something groaned behind him.

Richard turned, expecting to see one of his friends laughing at him. Instead, he saw a line of dark red light shoot down next to the cross and fall open like two bloody flaps of skin. The space between them revealed a long, winding corridor, its floor covered in bloody feathers. A huge man stepped through, accompanied by a fetid odor that made Richard gag and turn his face away.

When he looked back, the gap and the corridor had vanished and the stench was fading. The man was still standing there, though, regarding him with curiosity. Richard recognized him. There weren’t many black professors at Cal Hills, and this guy towered over them all.

“P-professor?” he stammered.

“How do you do? I’m Dr. Todd, from the religion department. I see I’m not the only one who’s curious about the dig.”

“No, sir.” He stared. Maybe he was just tired—imagining things. He looked around. The night was scented by nothing stronger than dust and sage. “Did you, uh, walk up here, too?”

“I thought this seemed like the best vantage point.” Todd stepped forward and stood next to him. Richard glanced down at the professor’s expensive leather shoes. There wasn’t much dust on them; not as much as he’d gotten on his own sneakers hiking up the narrow back trail. But the professor’s soles did look muddy, as though he’d stepped on something wet, and several small feathers clung to them. “Has anything interesting happened?”

“Not much.” Richard turned his attention back to the lights. “They put up those barriers and dug up a bunch more bones. They’re being really slow and careful, like
CSI
. They must be human bones. They wouldn’t make a fuss over animal bones, would they?”

“I expect not.”

Richard was pleased to have his guess confirmed. He’d definitely be able to sell his photos to the county paper.

“Is that a telephoto lens?” Todd asked.

“Yeah. I’ve been taking photos for the
Clarion
. Go ahead and look, but don’t mess up the focus.”

“Of course not.” Todd leaned over the camera, looking through the viewer. “Oh, yes, those are definitely human.”

“Do you think it’s, like, an old Indian burial ground?”

Todd laughed, a rich, baritone sound.

“You’ve been watching too many horror movies. If that’s a graveyard at all, it’s probably one of the old Scandinavian settlers’ plots.”

“Wouldn’t there be coffins?”

“Perhaps. The wood may have fallen apart, however, between the winter storms, the summer heat, and the odd earthquake or two.” The professor spoke absently as he moved the camera to look at another part of the dig. “I don’t know. They might have been buried naked, amen.”

Richard looked at him curiously. Amen? “Is being buried naked some kind of religious thing?”

“I would say it’s more likely to indicate an absence of religion,” Todd replied, moving the camera back to its original position and standing. “Even in the most primitive cultures, corpses are usually interred with some sort of covering.”

“Maybe the shrouds rotted?”

“It’s possible.”

“So, what are you thinking? If it’s not a graveyard, is it like a serial killer’s hiding place or something?” Richard made the suggestion half-seriously, half-jokingly, expecting the professor to brush it off. Instead, the tall man cocked his head, regarding the scene below them with a faint air of puzzlement.

“It’s possible,” he repeated.

“Whoa.” Richard jumped to his feet, checked the viewfinder, and snapped another photograph, just to do something with his hands. “So this could be a real mystery.”

“It’s definitely a mystery.” Todd was silent a moment. “Yes, I see them, amen.”

“See who?” Richard looked around for someone new on the scene.

“Watchers.” Todd’s voice suddenly went strange on the last syllable of the word. “Watchers....”

“Like us?”

“Be careful up here.” Todd made an abrupt turn and began to stride away. “There’s blood in the air.”

That was creepy. Richard yanked his jacket more closely around his shoulders.

“Uh, okay. I’ll be careful. You, too, professor.”

The big man was already lost in the night.

Richard looked down at where the professor been standing and picked up one of the feathers. There was blood and torn skin on the quill. Dr. Todd must have stepped on a dead bird on his way up the hill.

Deciding that was what he’d smelled, Richard dropped the feather and wiped his hand on his jeans, looking down at the dig again. Somebody new was walking up. He looked through the camera’s telephoto lens and refocused.

VII

“Another guy from the university,” Jackson said tersely, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Walt Clancy groaned and finished the last of his lukewarm cup of coffee.