“Unkind,” I drawled the word and he flinched as though I’d hit him.

He clenched his hands together in front of him. “I know better than anyone what it feels like to be put in a box and thought of as useless. Please. I don’t want you to go. If you’re willing to help me still.”

The sound of a motor cut through the air. Feish was quick on the draw, I had to give her that. I stared at Eric. “Convince me before the boat gets here.”

He went to his knees in front of me, adjusting his shirt, then clutched his hands at his chest as if he were begging. “Look, I think something’s happening, and not just with me. Savannah isn’t what it used to be. It used to be safe for us in the shadow world, one of the safest cities, and now it’s not. I think someone wants me dead, maybe as part of a spell? That’s my best guess, but I don’t know. They’ve watched me for almost the whole last year. I had the Hollows help me try to track them down, but there was never anyone there. So, they labeled me as paranoid, and you’re the first person to come out and actually believe me. And I was a jerk to you.”

The motor was getting closer.

“Why do you think it’s a spell?” I asked, choosing to ignore the part where he said he was a jerk. He needed me; he’d say anything. The part that made me sit up and take notice was that he thought it was for a spell. This was Gran’s specialty.

His eyes darted around me as the boat drew closer and he spoke faster. “One day, about six months ago, I woke up in the bush with a dart in my side and a bunch of my fur clipped off.” He cringed. “That’s when I moved into my house on a more permanent basis.”

A lot of spells needed fur, or spit, or just a little blood. “So, if they have your fur, then maybe they don’t need you—”

“The next dart took me out two months later, and that time I had puncture wounds up and down my arms, I looked like a junkie. Whoever they are, they’re progressively getting more aggressive. If my fur and my blood wasn’t enough, there’s only one other thing that they might want for a spell.”

His eyes pleaded with me to understand, and I did. Only too well.

Death magic was not unknown to me, or to Savannah for that matter. Hoodoo and voodoo were not unheard of here, sister religions that could literally go either way. Sometimes toward the white magic, but more often than not toward the blacker magic that stained souls and stole lives. Getting caught out in a cemetery in Savannah near midnight was a dangerous activity, especially when you could see the shadows and all they hid within them.

Gran had made no bones about avoiding the cemeteries at that time, and in fact the one time she’d caught me out past midnight, I’d regretted it for days. I put a hand to my butt as if I could feel the sting of her switch even now. I loved her to pieces, but she’d not been a gran you could cross and hope for cookies the next day. She was old school granny who had more spells up her sleeve than anyone I knew.

If only I could ask for her advice.

But then, maybe I could. Her ghost was just an hour away. I didn’t know how much she’d remember as a ghost, but it was worth trying.

The boat cued up behind us.

“Breena? So quick?” Feish said.

I held up a hand. “Give me just a minute.”

Eric’s eyes wobbled with tears. “I’m really sorry. Please help me.”

The sounds of the waterway stilled as the engine died, and the birds that had been chirping a moment ago went suddenly quiet. Just like every horror movie I’d ever seen, right before the bad guys did something bad. My guts twisted and I found myself tackling Eric to the ground in a move that was stupid. Even as we went down, I thought the two of them would laugh at me.

Except something thunked into the boat behind us and Feish squawked. I rolled to see a dart with a red piece of fluff sticking out its butt end jammed deep into the wood frame of the boat.

“Get in the boat! And stay down!” I grabbed Eric by the arm and half hauled him from the ground and into the boat while a wide-eyed Feish stared at me like I’d sprouted horns. Maybe I had.

I leaned into the boat, pushing it out into deeper water, feeling the strain on my old muscles, and my old lungs, and my old bones.

Yes, that’s sarcasm.

I was waist deep getting the boat out as far as I could and my bag suddenly dragged me down, as if it were strangling me. I yelped and clung to the boat as I was slowly pulled under the water.

I reached down to my bag. Something had the bottom of it and was pulling me back toward shore. A gator wouldn’t take me to shore, that was some small measure of comfort.

A rattle of chains rumbled under the water, that I heard only because it was so close. The chains I’d pulled from the ground slithered into the water as they slowly wrapped around the hands of a figure as it appeared in front of me, shark teeth and slitted eyes naming it as a demon.

I stumbled back, deeper into the water, and a set of hands grabbed my shoulders and yanked me up and over the edge of the boat with a flop. “Go, Feish, go!” I yelled, unable to take my eyes off the demon.

Oh, my God. I’d just yelled a card game at her. Even that was distant to watching the demon slowly turn in the water and then race outward, toward the bush. The sound of a gun, a man’s scream and then we were too far away.

Did Joe just get taken by the demon? They weren’t on the same side?

The boat engine revved and then we were flying away from the edge of the water. I peered up over the lip of the boat and scanned the tree line, but there was nothing. Or at least no one I could see with my old eyes. I snorted to myself and sat all the way up.

“Where are we going?” Feish glanced over at me, her eyes still a little wide.

“River Street.”

“You can’t take him to Boss!”

“No”—I shook my head— “I’m not taking him to Crash.” I had one person I knew I could trust no matter what and she was dead. But I knew where to find her.

I just had to convince one reluctant realtor to let us in. That or we were about to do a break and enter.

The realtor’s card was still in my purse—bottomless magic purses for the win—and I pulled it out, dialed the number and waited for Monica to pick up. She didn’t. I smiled to myself.

B&E it was then, FTW, as the young ones say.

17

Eric and I stood in front of my gran’s house, side by side. I slid my arm through the crook of his elbow for good measure, startling him so badly he jumped. I clamped down on my grip. “Here’s what’s going to happen, my large, hairy friend.”

He looked down at me and I stared up at him, still pissed about all the things he’d said. He swallowed hard. “What?”

“You’re going to follow me up the steps, and then you’re going to cover me while I pick the lock, and then we’re going inside.” I tugged on his arm and we started up the path together, not really fitting on the narrow cobblestone walkway together.

“I think we should go back to my house,” he said. “It’s warm there, and the things don’t come too close.”

“If I’m right, the things were not shooting at you.” No, I was pretty sure Joe had done the shooting. A Hollows member, or whatever the hell we were called once we were trained. Which would explain why no one had ever found the stalker when they’d gone to watch over Eric.

“Was it Joe who was watching you before me?” I asked.

“Yes, how did you know?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“I’m a good guesser, but I don’t think he’ll be watching you again,” I said as we reached the top of the stairs and the door. That scream had me thinking that Joe wouldn’t be watching anyone ever again. Guns and bullets don’t work on demons, I knew that much. He’d have needed a silver knife. Like mine. I shivered, grateful I had the knives Crash had sold me. Without them . . . well, let’s not think about that. “Okay, cover me.”

He stood there with his arms spread wide and I just shook my head. “Never mind. Turn around and watch the street. See if anyone notices us here.” Which was totally possible. My gran’s house was on a side street, sure, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t foot traffic. Her place was right next to the Sorrel Weed house which was a popular tourist stop with its history of blood, death, and ghosts.

“People are looking,” he whispered.

“Wave at them, look friendly,” I said as I set to picking the old tumblers. My gran always kept the lock greased, which was about to work in my favor as I picked one tumbler after another in quick succession. The lock clicked open and I stood, reached back for Eric, and dragged him inside with me. “Stay away from the windows,” I said as I turned and locked the door behind us. “Better yet, sit there.” I pointed at the bench in the entryway, kind of built into the wall. “You should be able to see someone come to the door, but they won’t immediately be able to see you.”

“You’re better at this than I thought,” he said. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

I wanted to tell him to stuff it, but instead just went up the stairs, each one creaking under me as much as an announcement of my presence as my voice. “Gran?”

A whiff of her perfume tugged me forward and I hurried toward what had been her bedroom. She paced the room, a bit more transparent than she’d been the other day, but that could be the shaft of sunlight that slid through the arched window behind her.

“Gran, I need your help.” I sat on the edge of the bed, a small puff of dust rolling up.

“And I need yours.” Her voice wasn’t as strong as before either. I frowned, wanting to reach out for her, but I refrained as she looked me up and down. “What have you been doing, playing in the swamp?”

I looked down at my clothing, splattered with mud and bits of moss and other foliage. “Yes.” Her eyebrows went up and her body faded a little more even as I watched. “Gran, what’s happening to you?”