Grave Dance

The world slowed for a moment at his words, and I felt the blood drain from my face as if all my strength slipped out of me and into the leather seat. “I think you were misinformed about what I do.”

“You didn’t open that hole just a dozen blocks away, right here in the Quarter?”

I wanted to say “no,” but that was a bald-faced lie, and my lips wouldn’t even form the word, let alone let me speak it. Guess I’m more fae than I thought. Scowling, I went for another tactic—misdirection. “Mr. Bell, have you ever heard of any witch, even a wyrd witch, who could do such a thing? The news implied my involvement in that tear because it made a good story. Now, I think we’ve taken enough of each other’s time.”

As the last word left my mouth, a loud click sounded. Bell jumped, his head snapping toward the lock button—which he hadn’t pressed, but I was already moving. I shoved the door open and stumbled out of the limo in the same movement.

The thugs were directly outside, and they turned as I emerged. Act casual or run like hell? I didn’t have to decide. Bell yelled, “Miss Craft!” from inside the limo, and the thugs tensed, prepared to pounce.

I ran.

The thugs started to give chase, but a resounding “Let her go” came from inside the limo. The sound of following footsteps ceased, but I didn’t slow until I could touch the shiny blue paint of my car. Chest burning and my breath coming in heavy gasps, I dug through my purse, searching for my keys.

I didn’t give myself time to catch my breath until I was inside my car with the doors locked. Then I closed my eyes and leaned back against the headrest as I tried to convince my heart it wasn’t a world-class gymnast and my ribs that they weren’t its trampoline.

“You did great,” I told Roy once I could speak normally.

He beamed and sat up straighter in his seat. “I did, didn’t I? He’ll be trying to figure that one out for a while.”

Yeah, poltergeist intervention probably isn’t high on most people’s list of possibilities. I cranked my car and threw her in gear, but then I had to slam on the brakes before I could pull out of the parallel parking spot. The limo pulled to a stop beside me, and a window rolled down in the back.

“I wanted to follow up, Miss Craft,” Bell said from inside the limo, and I wasn’t sure what kind of charm or spell he used, but his voice projected perfectly. “Do consider my offer. I’m willing to make it very lucrative for you. Now drive safely—the roads can be dangerous.”

A chill crawled down my spine, as if a ghost had trailed an icy finger along my skin, but the only ghost in the car was Roy, and he was out of arm’s reach. Was Bell threatening me? I glanced at him. His posture was relaxed, a smile still dangling on his wide face, but his words felt threatening.

He lifted his hand as he spoke to someone inside the limo, and the window rolled back up, the reflective tinting showing me as a distorted image of myself—and I didn’t like how freaked out that image looked.

“Roy, do me a favor,” I whispered as the limo rolled away. “Snoop on Bell. Make sure he plans to leave me alone.”

Roy nodded. “Will do.” He vanished, stepping further into the land of the dead, where he could travel faster.

Ghosts. Terrible backup. Excellent spies.

I called John as I drove but reached his voice mail. I didn’t tell him about Bell. After all, Bell hadn’t hurt me, taken me anywhere, or prevented me from leaving—eventually. His lawyers would eat me alive if I tried to press charges. When Roy returned and I found out what Bell planned, I might change my mind, but for now I left a message letting John know I might be able to raise a shade from one of the feet. I wasn’t sure he could still get me into the morgue, since the FIB was now involved with the case, but I knew he’d call if he could swing the time for a ritual.

When I got home, I stopped first at the main portion of the house. I needed to update Caleb on my progress—or lack thereof—and check in on Holly. Caleb didn’t act surprised that the kelpie wasn’t terribly helpful, but his concern bled across his features as I told him about the FIB’s arrival. Holly was antsy, ready to take on the world and none too happy about everyone babying her. I made it a short visit.

PC greeted me at the door when I reached my apartment. He bounced—I’d never realized dogs were so bouncy until PC—the movement making the patch of white hair on the top of his head flop.

“Hey, buddy,” I said, picking him up before he hurt himself. He lathered a kiss on my chin and then squirmed, ready to be put back down. “All right, all right.” I plopped him on his feet and he immediately charged the door, whining.

“Can I get something to eat first?”

He looked at me with shiny black eyes and whined again.

“Nature calls, I guess.” Food would have to wait on tiny doggy bladders.

I grabbed PC’s leash, and after hooking him up, opened the door and let him charge out in front of me. I’m pretty sure the six-pound hairless dog thought he was a sled dog—he sure pulled like one. Halfway down the stairs, we passed our resident gargoyle.

I’d never seen the gargoyle move, but it traveled around the yard. I assumed by its current position it was either headed up to the bowl of cream I kept on the porch or had just drained it and was coming down. I’d have to check on my way back inside.

“Evening, Fred,” I said as I squeezed around its hulking stone wings. I didn’t expect an answer.

I got one anyway.

“They come,” its gravelly voice said inside my head.

I froze.

“Who comes?” I asked, ignoring PC’s attempt to pull me down the last few steps. “When?”

The gargoyle remained silent. Great. I looked around, squinting, and trying to force my grave-sight-damaged night vision to see through shadows in the dusk-filled night. Nothing.

Gargoyles—or at least this particular gargoyle; I’d never spoken to any other—were psychic but didn’t always differentiate the present from the future. Last month the gargoyle had told me it missed cream when I was away. Then I’d lost three days while passing through a door to Faerie.

“Who?” I asked one more time. Bell’s men? Fae? Hell, reporters?

I received no answer. PC whined again, but I hesitated another moment, listening for sounds that were out of place in the quiet neighborhood. Then I leaned down and eased the dagger out of my boot. I hadn’t heard anything, but that didn’t mean nothing was out there. Of course, the gargoyle’s words didn’t mean anything dangerous was out in the night. I couldn’t jump at shadows because an undefined “they” were coming. Who knew how long it would be before “they” arrived?

I stuck to the path of charmed stepping-stones that led from the stairs of my loft to the front yard. They twinkled under my feet as PC zigzagged across the path, pausing at every odd piece of grass to hike his leg. As we rounded the front of the house, he stopped, one foot in the air, his ears cocked.

What do you hear? I didn’t ask the question aloud. If something was out there, I didn’t want to announce my presence. Clutching the dagger, I searched the growing darkness, but I couldn’t see much of anything aside from the twinkle of streetlights. I’d removed the glamour-detecting charm when I visited Caleb, and I was now seriously wishing I’d remembered to clip it back onto my bracelet. Okay, so I was jumping at shadows, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

I dropped my shields. My eyes might have been bad, but I didn’t need them to see on a psychic level. The yard snapped into focus in shades of gray and swirls of color. In the center of the driveway, leaning heavily against Caleb’s car, was a man, his soul shimmering a brilliant silver. He stepped forward, and then he stumbled, doubling over.

I squinted, trying to pick out details under the glow of his soul. The Aetheric twisted away from him, as if an aura separated him from the magical plane—which meant he was fae. At my feet PC sniffed the air, then yipped and wagged his tail in greeting. As I made out the sharp features, the wide chest slimming down to trim hips, and the long, brilliantly white hair, I realized why.

“Falin?”

Chapter 11

Falin Andrews—the infuriating but irresistible man who had invited himself into my life, chiseled himself a place in my world, and then disappeared without a word.

Giddy excitement at his return attacked my stomach even as anger at the way he’d left burned my cheeks. Then he stumbled again, falling against Caleb’s car. The side mirror snapped off with a crack and thumped against the door, swinging from a few wires. It was better off than Falin. He crashed to his knees on the pavement and neither my excitement nor my anger mattered.

I ran into the front yard, dragging PC with me by my death grip on his leash. The little dog yipped happily as he followed at my heels, but I barely heard him over the rushing in my ears.

Still on his knees, Falin swayed, his eyes half closing. One of his hands—gloved as always—gripped his side, where something dark spread along his shirt. The other hand groped outward, his fingers sliding over the side panel of Caleb’s car. He’s hurt. Bad. I was still yards from the driveway. I needed to call an ambulance, to get help. But I had a dagger in one hand and PC’s leash in the other.

I dropped both.

I patted my pockets as I ran, hoping I had my phone. I didn’t. Crap.

Falin swayed again. His hand fell from the car. He’s going to black out.

“Falin,” I yelled, trying to get his attention, to keep him focused. I was almost there. Just a short sprint left.

Falin looked up. His hair clung to one side of his face, the pale locks dark and sticky. “Your eyes are glowing,” he whispered.

Then his eyes rolled back in his head.

I lunged forward, grabbing his shoulders as he collapsed. It was a messy move to start with, and his added weight overbalanced me, sending me sprawling. My ass hit the pavement as Falin’s back slammed into my stomach, and the air whooshed out of me. But I caught him, his head hitting my chest instead of cracking against the pavement. Of course, judging by the blood matting his long hair, someone might have already cracked his skull.