Chapter 5
I reach for my phone, but Malcolm stills my hand.
“I called Nigel before I came inside.” He inhales deeply and rubs fingers across his chest. “I’m hoping he can get word to Prescott.”
Now that I’m here, inside, I sense what Malcolm already has. So much anger roils in the air that I’m almost afraid to breathe in the wrong way. Anything could spark supernatural outrage.
Even if we can catch this thing—a big if—containing it is another problem, possibly the bigger one. I think of that ghost Orson Yates sent to possess Nigel. The thing above our heads has that same feel. Currently, it’s content to molder the ceiling. Grayish-green patches spread along the surface. It looks like a stop-motion film of an acute and deadly disease.
“We have three necromancers here,” I say.
“I don’t
