The fight with Taz ended the way all fights with Taz end. I was leaking from places one should not leak, sweaty in places one should not sweat, and grinning at the person responsible through pink teeth. I didn’t have to limp far for Linus to doodle sigils on my throbbing face. He had stayed to watch again.

Humiliation got pummeled out of me with each lesson until I was grateful for a medic on the sidelines.

Once I stopped resembling a cautionary tale, I grabbed a shower and loaded a crossbody bag with tools for work and supplies for a rendezvous with Timmy then rushed off to meet Amelie in her yard.

“I hope she bought you dinner first.” She clucked her tongue. “Why does this matter so much to you?” A sigh moved through her. “The magic I get, but the fighting?”

“Magic requires time and preparation,” I explained. “A fist comes preloaded.”

“Sometimes you sound so much like Boaz, it’s like speaking to his much shorter twin.” She leaned against her car and patted the door in an invitation to join her. “Go on. Get it over with. I can tell you’re about to pop. Tell me about your first date. Just not the kissy, touchy, feely parts.”

“Honestly?” I had to laugh. “Anything that could go wrong did. It’s a good thing I don’t believe in signs, or I would think Hecate wanted us to change our names and relocate to opposite sides of the country.”

She winced sympathetically. “That bad, huh?”

“There were good parts.” I let my tone convey that I was willing to elaborate. “Really good parts.”

“No details required. I don’t want to know about his parts.” She covered her eyes with one hand and her nearest ear with the other. “Please. Keep those to yourself. I just ate, and I really don’t want to be sick.”

“You’re always asking me to tell you everything.” The car rocked when I leaned against it. “Now that I have something to share, you’re going soft on me?”

“Before it was hypothetical.” She scowled when I pried her arms away from her head. “Now it’s literal. You have more than dreamy-eyed sighs to offer. You’ve got legit dirt on how my brother…” She made gagging noises. “This is so gross. So gross. Worse than pineapple on my ham pizza. It didn’t seem all that disgusting until he walked in wearing a goofy smile.” A shudder rippled through her. “He’s never looked like that after a date. He looked… I don’t know. Happy?”

Our date made Boaz happy? A dopey smile wreathed my face.

“Ugh.” Amelie made heaving sounds. “That’s the look.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t make you listen to how your brother pressed his lips to—”

Amelie slapped a hand over my mouth. “No.”

“—and he pulled my—”

Adjusting her grip, she also pinched my nose closed. “Really, no.”

I held my breath until sparks lit my vision, but she didn’t back down. I was forced to go in for the kill, which is to say I pulled out the churros and dangled them in front of her nose, trading their lives for mine. She couldn’t grab them fast enough, and her eyes crossed with pleasure when she inhaled from the top of the bag. We collapsed on the poured-concrete drive, leaned against her car, and got high on sugar together.

“I really hope this doesn’t blow up in all our faces,” she said around a bite of dough.

“Me too.”

“Just know I’m on your side if this goes south.” She gathered my hands in hers. “He might be my brother by blood, but you’re my sister by choice. Plus, once you gain back the weight you lost, we’ll be the same size again, and I can borrow your clothes.”

“I have holey jeans and ratty T-shirts. You’ve got plenty of those.”

“You’re Dame Woolworth,” she reminded me. “You’re going to have to buy some nicer clothes. Camouflage is the only safe way to move unseen within the Society. Those are the outfits I’m going to pilfer from your closet.”

“I haven’t spent any of my money,” I admitted. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“Wait until you start swiping that debit card.” She leaned her head against my shoulder. “It’s hard to dismiss boxes and garment bags as imaginary, and should you ever doubt, all you have to do is reach out and pet them.”

“I hate shopping.” I pursed my lips. “Maud always bought my fancy clothes.”

“No, she didn’t.” Amelie was laughing softly. “She hated shopping too. She always palmed the job off on her sister. Literally every stitch of clothing you wore to any Society event you attended was handpicked by Clarice Lawson.”

I jerked so hard, I jostled Amelie and sent her crashing into my lap. “How do you know?”

“Please.” She snorted and made herself comfortable, resting her head across my thighs while she stargazed. “Her driver would pull in, she would lower the window and snap her fingers at Boaz and say, ‘You there. Boy. Run these parcels in to my sister, won’t you?’”

My jaw came unhinged as I tried to picture her gall in ordering around another person’s child.

“She would tip him twenty bucks and remind him the tree marked the property line and he should stay on his side of it.” Amelie linked her fingers at her navel, and they jumped with her laughter. “That’s probably why he started peeing on her tires whenever she came over if the driver stepped away to smoke.”

“Are you serious?”

“As the grave.”

Absently, I raked my fingers through her hair. “Boaz hates the High Society, doesn’t he?”

“Yep.”

“He’s never going to get over it, is he?”

“Nope.”

I thumped her in the forehead. “How is this going to work?”

She swatted my hand and sat upright before I tried it again. “He doesn’t see you as one of them.”

I didn’t see myself that way, either. “But I am.”

A door shut behind us, and footsteps rounded the vehicle. “What are you doing out here?”

Matron Pritchard wore an ensemble any librarian would envy. Crisp white blouse, emerald A-line skirt with matching cardigan and sensible shoes. She crossed her thin arms over her narrow chest, toyed with the strand of white pearls at her throat, and waited for an answer.

“We have to work tonight,” Amelie said in a prim voice. “We wanted to chat before we part ways.”

“You have a cellular phone,” Mrs. Pritchard replied. “I know. I pay the bill each month. Perhaps next time you could use that instead of cluttering the driveway. It’s unseemly to sit out here alone.”

The hand Amelie had braced on the concrete tightened into a fist. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Pritchard left without looking at me or speaking to me. Business as usual.

Tonight was a night for revelations, it seemed. “You hate the Low Society, don’t you?”

“Yep.”

“You’re never going to get over it, are you?”

“Nope.”

Telling her I don’t see you as one of them wouldn’t be a comfort in the same way the reverse was true for me. That line had kicked off way too many old fights, and we hadn’t had a real one since my return. I wanted that trend to continue.

“I’m going ghost hunting tonight.” Not the smoothest segue, but it was the best I had to offer.

“Timmy?” She embraced the topic change with a winged eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“I brought supplies.” I patted my bag. “I’m going to protect myself.”

“How’s the girl?” She grunted as she stood. “Merida?”

“Close.” I joined her and dusted off my pants. “Marit. And she’s fine. Or she was fine when her dad left me a voicemail yesterday.” I intercepted her questioning look. “No, I didn’t visit her at the hospital. She’s a daddy’s girl, and he blames me for what happened. I think he was trying to use the ghost to spook me off since he pegged me as Cricket’s spy. Now Marit is calling me her hero, and he’s stuck with me. That doesn’t mean I want to rub his nose in it.”

“Good call.” She shook her head. “Assuming you want to keep the job.”

“Of course I do.”

“Of course you do,” she repeated, then she cleared her throat. “Do you need any help?”

“Something tells me dining room security is going to be airtight on the Cora Ann. I doubt Mr. Voorhees lets me or anyone else back in there until the investigation is concluded.” I had a plan, but I wasn’t sure it would work on water. “Maybe take me to see the Whitaker Street lamppost after? I want to scout the area.”

“Oh.” Her disappointment was palpable. “Sure. We can do Whitaker.” Her good mood returned in a blink. “That reminds me. We’ve got another dead zone. The sign at The Movie Rack has gone out.”

“Wow.” I counted back in my head. “That place has been closed for like ten years.”

The consignment shop that moved into the space never replaced the overhead sign. They just propped their own in the windows and let that be advertisement enough. The strip mall manager killed the power to the sign, at their request, but that didn’t stop it from blinking on at dusk. He claimed it shared a breaker with the ones for the laundromat on its left and the Mexican restaurant on its right, and that’s why he couldn’t deactivate one without the others going dark too.

“Yep.” She toyed with the handle on her door before shooting a glance over her shoulder at the house. “Hey, I gotta go. Mom is in rare form tonight. That means you gotta go too.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice. There was a reason our trio always hung out at Woolly. Two, actually. Amelie called them Mom and Dad.

“We meet after work to search for hotspots gone cold.” I stuck out my hand. “Do we have an accord?”

“We do indeed.” She shook on it. “We can grab takeout from the Waffle Iron while we’re there.”

“I like the way you think.” One of their pecan waffles would more than make up for the pancakes I missed out on earlier.

“Only because it’s also the way you think.” She twirled a finger in the air. “Poh-tay-toe, pah-tah-toe.”

“Toh-may-toe, tah-mah-toe?”

“Exactly!” She blew me a kiss and slid behind the wheel. “This is why we’re best friends.”

“Well, that and no one else would have us.” I waved. “See you later.”

A curtain rustled in the window nearest me, and it took a full second to remember the Pritchard house wasn’t Woolly to be sending me messages.

“I’ll be on my way,” I told whichever of Boaz’s parents watched me through the split in the fabric.

Paranoia and I were on good terms. Friendly even. But the Pritchards had never treated me like an out-and-out leper. Socially, they couldn’t afford to even after I was released from Atramentous. No, they didn’t get aggressive in their dislike of me until I got reinstated. What did that mean? And should I ask Amelie or let it slide?

Undecided, I headed for the garage and did a quick check for kittens. Finding none, I pulled on my protective gear and drove Jolene to the Cora Ann.

The mood was somber onboard, and no one greeted me as I searched for Mr. Voorhees.

Sneaking in to meet Timmy might be easier than I thought.

“Ah, Grier,” Captain Murray boomed to my right. “I worried we scared you away.”

“Not at all.” I picked my way to him across a pile of dry rotted boards. “How is Marit?”

“She’ll make a full recovery.” He placed his hand on his heart like any other outcome pained him. “She’s such a bright girl. Sean and I have been friends for years, and she dated my son for a while. Marit is very important to me. She’s the closest thing I have to a daughter.” His eyes shimmered. “Thank you for saving her.”

“I’m glad I was there.” Though I had probably been the cause of the attack in the first place. Necromantic energy had a way of riling up spirits.

“Tonight you’ll be working with Arnold’s crew on the downstairs parlor.” He indicated a barrel-chested man covered in tattoos. “Come find me if you need anything. Sean won’t be back the rest of the week, so until then you will report to me.”

“I’ll do that.” Tightening my grip on my bag, I crossed to Arnold. “Reporting for duty.”

“Start peeling paper,” he grunted, indicating an interior room. “Bag it as you go. Keep it tidy, yeah?”

Segregated from the rest of the crew, I plucked and tugged and pulled until I finished an entire wall and my fingers pruned from the solvent. The isolation didn’t bother me, I was used to that, but conversation would have made the task go faster. Maybe the others thought I was bad luck or cursed. The stigma didn’t bother me, either. I was other, and I couldn’t blame them for their suspicion.

I was admiring my handiwork when Arnold ducked his head in and grunted in my direction. “You’re on break.”

“Already?” I checked the time on my phone. “I’ve only been here an hour.”

“Twenty-five minutes.” He tapped his watch. “Starting now.”

After wiping my hands dry on my pants, I set a timer for twenty minutes on my cell then returned it to my pocket. I rooted through my bag for a brush and a bottle of Maud’s ink. Linus’s pen was handier, but it was a tool meant for flat surfaces. This job called for ink that would flow over rusted metal and warped boards without breaking any lines, assuming I got to that part.

The first step in my plan was to test the obfuscation sigil, so I pulled up my shirt and painted an intersecting row of them across my abdomen where I could hide them easily. The crew would freak if it didn’t work and I showed up bloodied again. Humans could only withstand so much trauma without breaking.

With that done, I took a slow lap around the deck. No one looked up or otherwise acknowledged me.

That wasn’t totally unexpected, since I suspected they believed I cavorted with knife-wielding ghosts, so I made a point to kick boards and boxes of nails as I went to see if the clatter got their attention. It did, and I almost popped my arm out of its socket patting myself on the back.

Certain of my relative invisibility, I crept up to the second deck. Not a single body wandered this level. A bonus for me, since that meant I could talk to Timmy without being overheard. I lifted my shirt and painted on protective sigils in a tidy line beneath the others, and then I attempted to commune with the dead.

“My name is Grier Woolworth, and I’m a necromancer.”

I gave him time to absorb that, to wonder at what it meant.

“What do you want?” I walked the length of the room. “Why are you angry?”

The lights remained sure, the temperature steady, and no projectiles launched themselves at me.

“Who are you?” I made another circuit, this one slower. “How can I help?”

Still nothing indicative of a haunting.

I painted a sigil across my palm to heighten my perception and swept my hand in slow arcs like a treasure hunter swings a metal detector in search of coins. A prickle across my knuckles had me turning, and a small boy appeared before me. Other than his faint blue sheen, he appeared solid enough. “Oh. Hello.”

His lips moved on silent words.

“I can’t hear you.”

His eyes, black and empty, blinked imploringly at me.

Out of ideas, I used the amplification sigil once more on my arm, hoping a signal boost might help.

“The night eternal comes,” he said, his voice static like an untuned station on a radio.

On reflex, I glanced out the window at the moon. “What does that mean?”

“He comes.” Fat tears as black as tar rolled down his pale cheeks. “The devourer.”

“That sounds…bad.” I held still so as not to provoke him. “How can I help?”

“You can’t,” he sobbed. “No one can.”

“Will you harm me if I try anyway?” His narrow brow crinkled, and I hesitated. “You hurt my friend Marit, remember?”

“You’re…different,” he whispered. “I thought you were like him.”

“Him?” I kept my voice low. “The devourer?”

Wrong thing to say.

“He’s coming. He’s coming. He’s coming.”

Timmy vanished in a gust of cool air that carried with it a lost boy’s wails.

No matter how many times I reworked my amplification sigils, there was no calling him back.

The timer on my phone buzzed in warning, and I hit the stairs. I ducked into the bathroom, washed off the blood, and rinsed out my brush then returned to the parlor and secreted away my supplies.

Four hours after I arrived, Arnold cut me loose for the night. No one mentioned I was a part-time hire, but the incident with Marit seemed to have landed me on probation. With hours to kill until Amelie got off work, I decided to drive out to Tybee and pay the visit I owed Odette.

The petite black woman who completed the troika that had been Maud, Mom, and Odette, stood in the driveway leading up to a bungalow that reminded me of peppermint still in the wrapper. A pastel dress that might have been teal in another life flapped around her ankles, torn by the same breeze clacking the coral beads threading the long braids of her white hair. Her bare feet burrowed in the sand, and her arms opened to me before Jolene came to a full stop.

“Ma coccinelle.” She adjusted her thick glasses on her pert nose. “I had a feeling in these old bones I would see you tonight.”

“I got off work early.” I crossed to her and let her gather me close. “I have a date with Amelie later. Do you mind if I hang out until then?”

“Pah.” She kissed both my cheeks. “You need no excuse.”

Grinning, I followed her inside, kicked off my shoes, and took a seat on her bone-white couch. “I’ve had an interesting couple of days.”

“Do tell.” She made herself tea, the hot kind, but I declined. I preferred mine with ice cubes and enough sugar to congeal it. “What adventures have you had since last we spoke?”

With my legs curled under me, I unburdened myself in fits and starts. I told her everything from Linus and the grimoire to Taz and my self-defense lessons to Detective Russo and her suspicions to Timmy and his fears. Woolly would be so proud. I could feel the warmth of her approval already. She was right, as usual, that sharing my secrets with someone made carrying them lighter.

“This ghost child.” She stirred her drink with a carved-bone spoon. “He won’t trouble you much longer.”

A pang of guilt arrowed through me. He had been so afraid. “Why do you say that?”

“He spoke to you.” She sipped and sighed with pleasure. “Self-awareness in a poltergeist is rare. Usually, they’re a brute force. They spew whatever hatred has kept their souls tethered and act out whatever revenge they see fit, but they have no higher reasoning. They are loops, as all ghosts are, but they are more powerful and can exist within several loop variations. Each sequence of events, such as throwing silverware, will fade as he dissipates, until all that’s left is a wisp of a boy seen from the corner of an eye.”

Poor Timmy. “What do you think he meant about the devourer?”

“All necromancers augment their power. Some more than others. There are many ways to accomplish this. Using ink purchased from stronger bloodlines or sigils crafted by better practitioners. Bonding with a wraith or multiple familiars.” She hummed. “Staring at the sky is not enough for some practitioners. No, they reach up, pluck the brightest stars from the heavens, and burn as they fall back to Earth. They seek more power than they can wield, and in so doing become wielded themselves.”

A shiver tightened my skin. “I don’t understand.”

“Are you familiar with what happens when the last rights aren’t performed on a powerful necromancer after death?”

The Culmination was the sacred ritual the Grande Dame had used to excuse the blood on my hands the night I was hauled to the Lyceum to face justice. Witnesses claimed I showed up drenched in Maud’s blood, as tradition demanded, which supported Detective Russo’s account. But shock and time and drugs had corroded the truth of my memories until I had no idea what to believe. Except that I was innocent. I had to be. I could never have hurt Maud. Not only because I loved her, but because she was Maud. No one was more powerful, especially not in her own home.

“Their spirits become shades.” I had fretted over such a wretched fate for Maud, but the silver box on my mantle was proof someone had laid her soul to rest. A similar case held Mom’s, yet another treasure lost to the basement. “Shades are the necromantic equivalent of ghosts.”

Ghosts belonged only to humans. Shades only to necromancers. Terms like poltergeist and wraith were classifications within those groups.

“Just so,” she agreed. “Shades are imbued with the magic of their former life, and that makes them dangerous. That’s why we perform the Culmination, to snuff out that spark and send the soul to its eternal rest. When it is not performed, the soul, that seed of potential, is left to drift. Unlike ghosts, who fade once their energy has been expended, shades can absorb other magics. Their hunger, over time, bloats them on power until they grow strong enough to possess the living.”

Humans could be possessed. Necromancers, not so much. Our innate magic gave us a natural barrier, Low and High Society alike. “Are we talking voluntary possession here?”

“The necromancer must be open to such an arrangement, yes.”

“So, the voluntary joining of a necromancer to a shade creates this...” I rolled my hand, “…thing? This devourer?”

A nod sent the beads in her hair clacking. “The dybbuk.”

Though I could guess the answer, I asked her all the same. “What are the odds of one roaming the streets of Savannah?”

“The Society chose this city as its American seat of power for a reason.” She removed her glasses then gazed into her teacup as though scrying for the answer. “The atmosphere is rich with old magic, the ground steeped in old blood, and the old grudges between classes carry more weight here.”

Meaning there was a large candidate pool and the means to fatten them up before approaching potential victims.

“What you’re telling me is a possessed necromancer is prowling the streets of Savannah, preying on its supernatural energies.” I wondered if he got off on calling himself Ambrose. “Ghosts only?” That would explain why the Society wasn’t in an uproar. “Is that as high up the food chain as they reach for victims?”

“Oh, no, bébé.” Without the magnification of her thick lenses, her squinted eyes appeared lost among her wrinkles. “The more powerful ones will hunt rogue vampires too. That’s where the hunter legend originates.”

“Huh.” That was news to me, which, honestly, ought to be my motto. “Are they dangerous to necromancers?”

“Only if a necromancer opens their heart to greed.”

Well, that was a yes. Necromancer was synonymous with greed.

While I turned over what I had learned in my head, I revisited one final topic while I had time.

“What should I do about Russo?” I wiggled my toes against the cushion. “I mentioned her to Linus.” There was no way to avoid it since Cletus had been present during our confrontations. “The Society will bury her if they think she’s a threat, but if she knows how Maud really—”

“Hush.” She flapped her hands. “Do not give voice to treason. Not here.” Her eyes darted around the room. “I am watched as often as I watch. Remember that.” Lifting her teacup, she took a sip and grimaced as she swallowed, the contents having gone cold. “Boaz is with the Elite, yes?”

“Yes.” The hot rush of blood in my cheeks tattled on all the things I hadn’t told Odette, namely about my date with one Boaz Pritchard. The odds were too good she had glimpsed a possible future for us, for him, from the corner of her eye while delving into someone else’s life. This thing with him might go nowhere, or it might go everywhere. Wherever it went, I wanted it on our terms. “Do you think I should report her?”

“Yes.” Odette didn’t mince her words. “There are three types of humans. The type content to believe there are no monsters under the bed, the type who are content to pretend there are monsters under the bed as long as they aren’t real, and the type who will grab a flashlight and climb under the bed to hunt down the monster and make sure it can’t scare them again.”

Thanks to my years working as a Haint, I had seen all types, and I had to agree with her analysis. “You think Russo is carrying a flashlight.”

“I do.” She hesitated a moment. “You should also ask yourself if this Cricket is a pretender or a hunter.”

“I would have lumped her in with the hardcore nonbelievers until Russo.” I unfolded my legs. “I’m still not sure what to think. I had no idea she cared I had gone missing. She’s not the touchy-feely type. But, if she sought out Russo a second time, years later, there must be a connection.”

No bones about it. Someday soon, I would have to confront Cricket and get her side of the story.

“Talk to Boaz,” she urged. “He has access to resources you don’t.”

“I’ll do that.” I got to my feet. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

“You heard my heart singing for the ocean, did you?” She laughed, delighted. “These walls can no longer contain me. I must have sand between my toes and the spray misting my cheeks to feel alive.”

Happy to listen to her prattle on about her conversations with the sea, I walked beside her until it was time for me to go. I left her standing ankle-deep in frothy water, smiling up at the moon, blowing kisses to the gulls who cried out overhead in welcome.

* * *

Amelie was beat. I didn’t have to ask how her night had gone, it was etched into every line on her face when she showed up at the Cora Ann. I took pity on her and drove us on our rounds in her car instead of forcing her on Jolene, but the plush seats and the ability to recline weren’t helping. I had to pinch her every few minutes to keep her awake.

“Why are you so tired?” She had plenty of reasons. I just wasn’t sure which to blame.

“Finals, remember?” She flung her arm across her eyes. “My life is studying and tears.”

“I hear you.” For once, I knew exactly how she felt.

She glanced toward me. “How are things going with Linus?”

“They’re going. We’re making progress.”

She snorted. “Give me all the juicy details, why don’t you?”

“There’s nothing to tell. He works me until my brain starts smoking, then he sends me packing with homework.” I belted out a sigh. “He’s also started watching my training exercises with Taz.”

“I wasn’t aware it was a spectator sport.” She sounded far too interested in joining him.

“It’s not,” I grumbled before she got any ideas. “I’m so ready to be self-sufficient.”

Her gaze touched on the side mirror. “Where’s your tail tonight?”

“He’s around.” I hadn’t spotted Cletus since I left Woolly, but he was never far.

She grinned at me. “Is he cute?”

“Uh, no.” Sorry, Cletus. “He’s bony and…no. Not cute.”

“Oh, well. You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“You should ask Boaz to set you up with one of his friends.”

“Have you met my brother? Oh, that’s right. You’re the kook currently dating him.” She winked at me to show she was joking. Mostly. “I don’t want to date my brother, and all his friends are carbon copies of him. They’re all chest-beating knuckle-draggers.”

“Does that mean you think I enjoy being clubbed senseless and dragged into caves?”

“I do worry about brain damage.” She patted my head. “How many times can you fall for the old want to view my cave etchings line?”

“It’s not the etchings,” I purred. “It’s the way he looks in his saber tooth cat fur thong.”

Amelie rolled down her window and made retching noises that might not have been faked.

When we turned onto Whitaker Street, I spotted the absence immediately. I parked under the light, racing the dawn, and we examined the lamppost. I painted an amplification sigil on my palm, and when that got me nothing, I tried a more complex design on my forehead. Nothing I tried earned me the slightest tingle. There was no energy here other than the manmade, electrical kind.

“I don’t understand how the residual energy can hang around for years,” Amelie said, “and then poof.”

I chewed on my bottom lip for too long, and she caught me at it, forcing me into a confession. “I don’t think this was random.”

“What do you mean?” She darted a glance up and down the street like poof might be catching.

While I filled her in on my visit to Odette, I pulled out wet wipes and started cleaning off my hand and scrubbing my forehead. I watched for Cletus, but he was too well hidden for me to pick him from the evaporating shadows.

“I think you’re right,” she said when I finished. “I’m not supposed to say anything.” She gestured for me to get back in the car and waited until we had both settled in to talk. “Mom got a message from Clan Peterkin two days ago. Her youngest brother’s wife was High Society, but she gave up the title for my uncle. She’s a classically trained practitioner, and she’s continued to practice even though she commands a much lower price these days. She performed a resuscitation for the Peterkins about three years ago. It was textbook. They got a new vampire, we got gold. Everyone was pleased.”

“I’m sensing a but here.”

“All made vampires come with a fifty-year guarantee from the matron of the practitioner’s family, and the Peterkins called to demand a full refund from Mom.”

I twisted in my seat to face her. “What happened?”

“They found his corpse in his bed. He was a husk, they said, drained of the magic animating him.”

“It does happen,” I allowed. “How certain are you of your aunt’s talent?”

“She’s no Woolworth,” Amelie said, a trace of bitterness tucked between the words. “But she’s competent. She was well-regarded until she married down.”

And there was the rub. Any shine on her family’s name from having a practitioner in its ranks was dimmed by her association with them. “What will your mother do?”

“Fight.” There was no hesitation. “Even if the family was at fault, she would fight for our reputation.”

“Hmm.” I considered the problem. “How did the dybbuk get to the vamp without his clan noticing?”

The defensive cant to her shoulders eased, and apology was written all over her face. “I don’t know.” She twisted her hands into a complicated knot. “That was about the time Mom remembered she wasn’t home alone and that her daughter studied very quietly. That’s probably why she came down so hard on you tonight. We’d already been fighting before you got there.”

Eager to draw her out of her misery, I cranked the engine. “Let’s check The Movie Rack.”

We did, and it was much the same. The spirit energy that had animated the sign for so long was gone as though it had never been. No wonder Timmy was frightened. Though, I had to wonder, if the dybbuk knew where to find him, and there was no mistaking he was a supercharged poltergeist, why hadn’t he been, well, devoured?

And did I really have to keep thinking dybbuk when I was ninety-nine percent certain the culprit was Ambrose?

“What now?” Amelie yawned until her eyes squinched closed. “Food?”

“Food,” I agreed. “You can stay here. I’ll run inside the Waffle Iron and grab the usual.”

“You are an angel,” she murmured, curling against the door. “Remember pecan waffles are how you get into heaven.”

Necromancers didn’t go to heaven. We were buried beneath yew trees under full moons and returned to Hecate. But pecan waffles sounded good, so I placed the order.

Amelie was out cold when I returned, so I parked in her driveway and divvied up the food.

“What about Jolene?” Her eyes kept drooping. “You can’t leave her out all day.”

“I’ll catch a cab and drive her home after I eat.” I walked Amelie to her house then nudged her inside before shutting the door and carrying my food to Woolly. “Hey, girl. Quiet night?”

The porch light flickered, the equivalent of a shrug.

“How are the wards treating you?” I kicked off my shoes and climbed on the porch to reach for them. A few stanzas of beautiful music flowed through my ears before scratching and dissolving into a muted whine. The discordant noise threatened to give me a headache. I hated that Woolly was stuck with it for the day. “I bet that’s uncomfortable, huh?”

A few more blinks signaled her agreement.

“I promise to finish the job tomorrow, even if I have to bail on Taz and call out of work.”

A warm glow bathed my face, her gratitude like sunlight on my cheeks.

“I’m going to sit out here and stuff my face,” I told her, plopping down in the swing. “After that, I need to catch a ride back to HQ to pick up Jolene.”

Woolly dimmed, her disappointment clear. She was still not a huge fan of me leaving, though she was better about letting me go.

“It’s all right,” I soothed her. “I won’t be gone long, and I promise to make no pit stops.”

A whistled note had me checking the trees for wind, but the branches were still, the predawn quiet.

I set my carryout container aside and munched on a rolled-up waffle as I went in search of the sound. I wasn’t surprised when it led me around the side of the porch that faced the carriage house. I wasn’t surprised when a flash of movement, the pop of a white button-down caught my eye. But I was surprised when the luminous creature stalking through my garden in another borrowed shirt sketched a courtly bow in my direction before he vanished as a sigh on a nonexistent wind.