Dinner was nice, the kind of effortless good time that has a girl thinking second-date thoughts before the first one is even finished. Boaz proved he was my soul mate, at least in one regard, by ordering a square of Mississippi mud cake off the menu served with homemade vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. That wasn’t the proof, though. No, that came when the waitress asked if we needed two spoons, and he told her he valued his life too much to poach from me.

I appreciated guys who respected my capacity for chocolate intake without flinching.

Dessert was, of course, the best part of the meal. And not only because I played nice and shared my cake with him. Or because he let me feed him and made appreciative noises in the back of his throat I’d probably dream about come dawn. There was an undefinable quality in Boaz that made you feel like if he wanted you, if he wanted to be with you, then you must be special too. That his seal of approval, once stamped on you, made you glow so bright others couldn’t help but squint.

“I owe you a dance.” Boaz licked the spoon clean then stuck it to the end of his nose where it hung while he waggled his eyebrows at me. “There’s a new club on River Street. Interested?” He puckered up like an asphyxiating guppy and leaned close. “Or do you want to cut to the making-out part?”

“Knock it off.” Shoving him back, I took the spoon and set it on the table. “Goober.”

“I’ll have you know I’m at my peak sexiness after dessert, when your body can’t differentiate between the sugar rush and me.”

I covered a snort with the back of my hand. “Oh, I can tell the difference.”

I had meant the comment to be flip, but it came out too soft, and he heard the ache.

His voice gentled, probing for open wounds. “How?”

“The sugar rush fades,” I answered honestly.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” His left arm slid behind my shoulders, and he hauled me up against his side while his right hand cupped my cheek. “Trust me?”

All I could do was nod and twine my fingers in the fabric of his shirt to hold on for the ride.

This was actually happening. My first real kiss. With the boy of my dreams.

His lips brushed mine, a gentle pressure that had me chasing his mouth for more of the delicious taste of him—chocolate and man with a hint of trouble. He let me pursue him, a chuckle in his throat, until I retreated on a frustrated sigh.

I’d spent a lifetime chasing him. It was past time he returned the favor.

“Get back here.” With a growl in his throat, he stalked me, pressing me against the wall at my back, unwilling to break contact. The hand on my cheek roved down my neck, my shoulder, my arm and eased under the table where it palmed my hip and rolled me against him. A heartbeat later, he cursed into my mouth and yanked back his hand. “Damn rules.”

I laughed at his frustration, and he thrust his tongue between my lips to tangle with mine. He surrounded me—his scent, his taste, his warmth—and my head spun faster than a merry-go-round. I drank in his groan when I nipped his bottom lip, and grinned when he murmured my name in a guttural tone I had never heard from him. That I wished no one had but me.

“The owner asked me to toss some ice water on you,” our waitress said blandly. “Can you two behave or do I need to go back and grab my pitcher?”

Ignoring her, he kissed me once more, twice, before resting his forehead against mine. “Why haven’t we done this before?”

The answers were all too grim for a moment like this, so I kept thoughts of heartbreak, of Atramentous, of Volkov, locked away so as not to tarnish this perfect memory.

“It wasn’t a bad first kiss.” I patted his cheek, not about to stroke his ego, then turned to the waitress. “We can behave—”

Boaz threaded the fingers of his left hand through my hair and hauled my lips crashing back to his while his right stroked my hip, tracing the top edge of my panties through the fabric of my dress. Penned between him and the wall, a trap I did not mind falling into at all, I forgot how to breathe.

At least until ice-cold liquid splashed us in the face, and I gasped against the water plugging my nose.

“Worth it.” The devil was in his smile, and this time he didn’t apologize for breaking the rules. He looked like he was debating when he could do this all over again and wondering if I’d let him. “You were saying?”

“I was saying—” What had I been saying?

“That was all the warning you get.” The waitress hooked a thumb over her shoulder, indicating a wrinkled gentleman gazing at us with jolly eyes and a sly grin. “I do what the boss says, and he says it’s time you got a room, Boaz Pritchard.”

The use of his full name snagged his attention, and he eyed the woman. “Do I know you?”

“You knew my little sister for about ten minutes.” Her gaze swept down him, clearly not impressed. “If that.” Her smile turned mean. “Though you might remember me from the baseball bat I took to your bike when I found you passed out on top of her in the kitchen, we haven’t been formally introduced.”

“Dana Higgins,” he said without missing a beat, and I could tell the woman was stunned he remembered his exes’ names at all. “We met our freshman year.”

“Sweetheart,” she sighed in my direction, determined not to award him points for having that much decency. “He’s only going to break your heart.”

“Oh, he already has,” I assured her. “Smashed it, really.” He recoiled so hard from me, he bumped his head on the back of the booth. I reached up to rub away the sting, enjoying the bristly feel of his scalp against my palm before I ruffled the longer strands on top. “But you know what? He’s worth it.” I held her gaze. “I bet your sister said the same thing.”

All the girls who contracted Boazitis understood it was a lifelong condition with no cure. They might yell and cuss and rail at him, they might even hate him for not loving them back, but none of that mattered in the end. Boaz had only to crook his finger, and they would all come running back for seconds. I was terrified, having had my first real taste, that I would be the same.

“She never had a lick of sense.” The woman slapped our ticket down on the table. “Guess you don’t either.”

I used a few napkins to blot my face dry. “Guess not.”

Boaz paid, arguing that since he had asked me out, it was his job to cover the tab. I left the tip, and I was generous. It took guts to stand up for your sister, let alone for a total stranger you worried might be in over her head. Plus, knowing Boaz, he probably deserved the ice water.

The owner patted Boaz on the shoulder when we passed him on our way to the door. “Come back any time, son.” He hooted. “I haven’t seen Lisa that riled up in years. Just call ahead so I can pass out ponchos to the customers in advance. We’ll charge extra for folks who sit in the splash zone.”

“Looks like you made a new friend.” I chuckled under my breath. “I expected him to start yelling for an encore at any moment.”

Boaz kept walking, making his way toward Willie. “Yeah.”

“Hey.” I grabbed his arm. “You okay?”

“What happened in there doesn’t bother you?” His stricken expression made me wonder what distressed him most. That the waitress had called him out or that I’d had a front-row seat. “I deserve what I got. I’m not contesting that. But you didn’t.”

“It was only water. Our clothes will dry.” I raked my fingers through my damp hair. The humidity was having a field day with my not-exactly-curls. “Besides, how many girls can say their first kiss was so steamy a concerned bystander doused them with ice water?”

Boaz looked torn between his trademark cocky smile and a vulnerability that pierced my heart like a crooked arrow. “You’re not upset?”

“Why would l be?” I took his hand and led him to Willie. “I know you, Boaz. The good, the bad, the ugly.”

He didn’t say another word, just handed me my helmet and put on his.

I climbed on behind him, certain this would be the end of our night, but he surprised me by aiming for River Street. I was still deciding if dancing would restore his mood when the fine hairs lifted down my arms. I tipped back my head, following a hunch, and spotted Cletus fluttering above me.

Oddly reassured, I held Boaz tighter and let the night wash over me until he found us a parking spot.

Music poured out into the street, soft and inviting, but we didn’t head toward the club.

The pensive edge of his mood hadn’t lifted, but he put on a decent act. “May I have this dance?”

“Yes, you may.” I accepted the hand he offered and let him lead me into a waltz that fit the bluesy music about as well as our soggy attire would fly in a ballroom. I stumbled once or twice, well out of practice, but his steps were sure, and he made a fine partner. “I hope you didn’t need that toe.”

“Technically, there are no toes on that foot. Squish all you want.”

That somehow made me feel worse that my two left feet had decided to tag team his prosthetic foot.

“How are you still so good at this?” I asked through a spin that ended with my back trapped against his chest. “I’m as rusty as barn nails.”

Not much use for gliding waltzes in Atramentous. Death was the only partner worth dancing with there.

Maud would be appalled to learn I had let all those years of lessons fester, but I had always hated balls. I had only ever gone so I could bail her out when the sycophants made her tired. But goddess, all the attention had been miserable.

As much as I picked on Boaz, we were warped mirrors of each other, always had been. All High Society boys had wanted to date me, and all High Society girls had wanted to befriend me. Not me, of course, but Maud’s ward. The daughter of her heart. The Woolworth heiress.

The Marchands were a fine High Society family, but I was no longer a Marchand. I was a Woolworth.

“Make no apologies for surviving.”

Maud had repeated that refrain the way some guardians told their wards bedtime stories. These days, in light of all I’d learned, I wondered what she’d really meant. There was a double meaning there, I was sure of it.

“I practiced with Amelie all morning.” A hint of smugness resurfaced. “I had to pay her thirty dollars, but it was worth it to impress you.”

“Thirty dollars?” I tsked. “That’s highway robbery.”

“Hey, I negotiated her down from fifty. I would have paid a hundred.”

“How very gallant of you.” Amelie must be rubbing her greedy little hands together with glee.

“Not really.” He whirled me away from him, until both our arms were fully extended, then stepped back into my space with purpose before we glided together again. “I owed her a hundred bucks for picking up some groceries for me the last time I was home. I forgot to pay her back, so it’s her money she’s bargaining with either way.”

I laughed out loud, and the bright sound lightened his expression. “You really are a terror. I’m not sure how holy you are, though.”

“You’ve called me that twice tonight.” This time when he trapped me against him, my back to his front, there was no wiggle room. The song had ended, and so had our dance. “Keep name-calling, and I’m going to think you don’t like me.”

“I like you just fine.” I reached up to ruffle his short hair into careless spikes. “Most of the time.”

His snort gusted warm air across my nape. “Do you carry a needle in your pocket to deflate the egos of all your dates, or am I special?”

“This was my first real date.” I kept an eye out for Cletus, a black smudge darker than the surrounding gloom, but I didn’t spot him again. “I came prepared for anything.”

“I don’t deserve so many of your firsts. You shouldn’t have saved yourself for me,” he murmured against my neck. “How can I live up to your expectations?”

“Who says I was saving myself for you?” Living in solitary confinement made romance a tad difficult.

“I’m not good at slow, Grier, and I suck at being gentle.” He plucked at my ear with his teeth. “You ought to kick me in the junk and run as far and as fast as you can from me.”

“I’ll reserve the right to junk-kick you.” I angled my head to the other side, inviting equal attention. “How about that?”

“Grier.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t move.” Boaz unspooled me from his arms, tucking me behind his broad back.

“What’s wrong?” I fisted his shirt, imagining vampires bleeding from the shadows. I knew it had been too quiet. It was almost a relief that they had finally acted. Now maybe we could get some answers. “What do you see?”

“A wraith,” he growled.

“Oh, he’s mine.” I rested my forehead against his back until my pulse slowed. “Come say hi, Cletus.”

The wraith descended in a swirl of ethereal robes that leaked inky darkness into the surrounding night.

“Cletus?” Boaz halved his scowl between us when I stepped around him. “What do you mean it’s yours?”

Unlike with Amelie, I had to tell him the truth. The whole truth. He had been in the Grande Dame’s chambers at the Lyceum with me. He knew Linus had dispatched his wraith to Woolly and what it had done there.

“He’s my bodyguard.” That sounded more adult than babysitter, and the last thing I wanted was Boaz jockeying for the title. “He protects me whenever I leave the house.”

“This is Linus’s pet.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” I flicked my hands at Cletus, and he fluttered away. “Linus gave him orders to guard me. He’ll raise the alarm if he can’t handle a situation on his own.”

“By raise the alarm, you mean zip back to his master’s side.”

“Well, he is the only one who can understand the wraith, so yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He kept an eye on the spot where Cletus had been seconds ago.

“To avoid this?” I would have thought that was obvious. “I was going to tell you, but I didn’t want to do it tonight.”

Wraiths and romance didn’t exactly go hand in hand.

“He’ll tell Linus everything we said and did, everywhere we went.” His fingers twitched like he wanted to scoop them through the air and sift Cletus from the night. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“I don’t want a wraith or anyone else to shadow me, but Cletus is less intrusive than a sentinel would be. Even an Elite. As much as I want to pretend nothing has changed, we both know that’s not true. There are powerful people with a marked interest in me.” I placed my palm over his spine. “I’m trying to be smart about this, but I don’t want to be under house arrest for the rest of my life, and I won’t be able to defend myself for a while yet. This is a good compromise.” I scratched his back with my nails until his shoulders relaxed a fraction. “I want to be as free as I can be, for as long as I can be.”

“There’s got to be another way,” he murmured to himself.

“Do you want to go for a walk before we head home?” The music had ended, and I wasn’t in the mood for dancing, not while calculation gleamed in his eyes. “We could buy churros from Esteban.”

“Churros?” He blinked a couple of times, and his focus returned to me in a snap. “You’ve got room for more sweets?” He reached down and lifted the hem of my dress a fraction of an inch, just enough to make me gasp and dance out of range. “Where do you hide it all?”

“Linus says I…” I clamped down on my tongue, but it was too late.

The fabric slid from his fingers, along with his mischievous grin. “What does Linus say?”

“That I’ve lost a lot of weight,” I answered softly. “That I need calories.”

He grunted once and extended his arm. “For once, we’re in agreement.”

We set out for my favorite booth in River Street Market Place, hand in hand, and soon I was leading the charge toward the scents of fried dough and sugar.

Esteban loomed over his fryer when we stepped through the canvas flaps acting as his doorway, and his smile grew bigger than my head, his teeth as bright white as the wispy hairs floating above his scalp. Everything about Esteban was supersized. When he abandoned his station to hug one of his best customers, I couldn’t shake the feeling of a redwood tree bending to greet me. His arms were like trunks all on their own, and I disappeared into the forest of chest hairs peeking from his V-neck shirt.

“Bomboncita,” he boomed in my ear. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.” He held me away from him and pinched my arm. “What happened? You didn’t juice cleanse, did you?”

“I wasn’t well” was the most diplomatic response. “I’ve come for your help in regaining my curves.”

“That I can do.” He startled when he noticed Boaz standing behind me. “Are you with my little candy?”

Huh. I’d always wondered what bomboncita meant, but I’d never asked because it sounded delicious—like a bonbon—and I didn’t want to be proven wrong.

“I am.” Boaz shook hands with the giant. “We’ll take two of all her favorites.”

Esteban slapped Boaz on the back hard enough to wind him. “I like this guy.”

“Me too.” I patted him on the shoulder. “This is Boaz. He’s Amelie’s big brother.”

“How is nena?” He returned to his post and rescued newborn churros from their sizzling oil bath. “She never visits anymore.”

“School and work keep her busy.” I would have to share some of this bounty with her when I got home. “I’ll tell her you asked after her.”

“Do that.” He took a thick churro in hand and started squeezing it full of whipped filling. “Give me a quarter of an hour, and I’ll have your order ready.”

“We’ll go for a walk,” I told him. “To get out of your hair.”

“Or perhaps to sink your fingers through his?” Esteban winked at me. “I heard the bike, but helmet hair flattens, not spikes. Your friend here looks electrified.”

“We’ll just be over…” Pointing toward the street, I cleared my throat and inched out the flaps, Boaz chuckling on my heels.

“The Cora Ann docks near here,” he mentioned after we’d passed a few darkened shops, all of them run by humans and closed long before midnight. “Is that how you and Esteban struck up a friendship?”

The high from inhaling so much airborne sugar must have gone to his head. The timeline didn’t fit, and he should have noticed, but he was distracted again.

“I only worked one day on the Cora Ann. Esteban’s had his shop here for years. Maud used to dump me on his doorstep with a couple of twenties when she had business in one of the specialty occult shops.”

While he lacked enough necromantic talent to rub between his fingers, he was pure magic in the kitchen. Personally, I embraced his chosen vocation. There were plenty of necromancers, but not nearly enough churro stands in Savannah.

“Hmm.”

Curiosity led us to where the steamboats loomed high over our heads. I spotted the Cora Ann, half-expecting yellow crime scene tape to barricade her gangway, but the quiet boat was no more or less spooky than her two sisters.

A cool brush of fabric against my arm had me turning to find Cletus hovering at my elbow. “What’s up?”

The wraith extended its arm, pointing toward the second story.

“That thing’s talking to you?” Boaz recoiled at the notion. “Or is Linus speaking through it?”

“Fully bonded wraiths can only do as their master bids them,” I repeated what I had been told. Using that logic, Cletus must be channeling Linus, and Linus must have a message or a task for me. “Guess his master must be bidding him.”

“What does he want?” Boaz scanned the darkened windows on the upper deck. “That’s where the dining room is, right? Where your coworker was attacked?”

“I have no idea. I suck at charades.” I tried reasoning with Cletus. “What is it you want me to see?”

His arm remained outstretched, steady, but I saw nothing to justify his marked interest.

“Time’s almost up,” Boaz announced. “We need to start back toward Esteban’s.”

“Sorry, fella.” I made one last attempt to spot what Cletus meant to show me. “We’ll have to work on our sign language for next time.”

We backtracked to pick up my second round of desserts, but Cletus lingered at the docks, drifting back and forth, rocking between the boat and me, as though stuck with two objectives he lacked the faculties to prioritize.

A shiver rippled down my arms. Sentience was measured in a lot of ways, but the ability to reason, to appear torn in his loyalties, made me wonder if Linus had told me the whole truth about Cletus or only what would help me sleep easier during the day.

The wraith caught up about the time we entered Esteban’s stall and claimed our churro order. Esteban had prepared two filled with rich caramel, two filled with hazelnut-chocolate cream, and two more regular orders that came with an assortment of dipping sauces, including my favorite couverture milk chocolate.

To Boaz’s amazement, I managed to polish off one of the caramel-filled churros on the way back to Willie. The rest I tucked safely in their glassine paper bag, which I cradled against my chest, and zipped them up in my jacket. The fit was tighter than usual, and I had to forgo breathing to prevent smooshing them flat, but it would be worth it if I wanted a late-day snack.

The trip home took no time at all, and Cletus stuck close to me the whole way. We parked Willie at the mouth of the garage, and I strained my ears for the mewing sounds of antsy kittens but heard nothing. Either they hadn’t realized they had company yet, or their mother had returned for them.

“I’ll handle the fuzzballs.” Boaz took my jacket and helmet, and he draped them over the seat. “Come on, Squirt.” His fingertips brushed the small of my back. “Let me walk you to your door and pretend I have manners.”

Woolly glowed in welcome, the electric buzz of her excitement giving me warm fuzzies.

“I had a good time tonight.” He attempted to resuscitate his flattened hair. “I’d ask you out again tomorrow, but I’m leaving around noon.”

You’ll be back in a week. The words sounded too desperate to speak, even in my own head. I turned on my heel, having already paid him his goodnight kiss plus interest, and palmed the doorknob. Better to cut my losses now than remain trapped in this awkward lull where plans for a second date ought to fit.

“I had fun too,” I tossed over my shoulder. “Night, Boaz.”

Strong arms slid around my waist and linked over my left hipbone. He gathered me against him, my back flush with his front, and exhaled like he couldn’t breathe without that contact. He leaned down until his lips brushed my ear. “Would you like to go out again when I come home?”

“I don’t know.” I suppressed a giddy thrill. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”

He bit my throat, a stinging reprimand. “Your social calendar is filling up that fast?”

“Amelie did make me promise to go out with her once a week. And Marit—the woman who was injured aboard the Cora Ann—invited me out for drinks. She was bummed when you called. She wants a single friend to club with, and now she thinks I’m unavailable.”

His breath skated across my carotid. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” Pure cane sugar flowed through my voice.

“Unavailable,” he growled.

“Do you want me to be?” I craned my neck around to see him better. “If I’m unavailable, where does that leave you?”

Blowing out a sigh, he rested his forehead on my shoulder. “You’re my punishment for every wrong thing I’ve ever done.”

“You say the sweetest things. Why Hallmark hasn’t scooped you up yet, I’ll never know.”

“Grier.” Head down, eyes hidden, he let himself be vulnerable. “You didn’t ask me.”

Expecting another cheeky response, I stood frozen, a riot of conflicting emotions pummeling my heart.

Ask Boaz to be faithful to me.

Ask Boaz to be faithful to me.

Ask Boaz to be faithful…

“I’m scared.” And here I’d thought not much frightened me these days, that the worst had already happened. But as long as you loved someone, you had more to lose. “Want to paint a yellow stripe down my spine later?”

“Depends.” He appeared to consider this. “Will you be naked? And can I supply my own brush?”

Grateful for the reprieve, I rolled my eyes. “Perv.”

For once, he was slow to claim his title, and the silence that followed worried me.

“The truth is I’m scared too.” His somber turn gave my heart freezer burn. “Dame Woolworth, and that is your title now, will make decisions going forward the old Grier could never imagine.” When I started to argue, he shushed me. “You will make choices to preserve your line, your home, your legacy, Squirt, and you might not have a choice in the matter.”

“That’s not me.” I spun in his arms to see him better. “That’s not who I am.”

But he had struck a chord, not with the mention of my line, of which I was the last, and not with the mention of my legacy, of which I wanted no part, but the mention of home. There wasn’t much I wouldn’t sacrifice to keep Woolly safe. Perhaps even myself.

“You do tend to spit on tradition.” He closed his hand over mine where it had come to rest on his chest. “It’s one of the things I admire about you.”

The mention of his admiration set off another round of flutters I worked to suppress. “I wouldn’t say spit so much as—”

“Oh, no.” He chuckled. “You hock big, juicy loogies in the faces of all those High Society dames, just like Maud.”

The comparison warmed me with an odd sort of pride. Maud had been her own woman, and that’s what I wanted to be, though I had no doubt the Grande Dame would attempt to thwart my independence at every turn, seeing as how I owed it to her in the first place.

“You like that in a girlfriend?” I was only half serious. “Are you also a fan of grasshoppers and llamas?”

“Spitting doesn’t bother me.” His lips curled when he said it, and my cheeks exploded in a blast of mortification at what he implied. He lapped up my embarrassment for several beats before squeezing my hand where it rested over his heart. He looked on me like I was sand gliding through his fingers. “I’m all in, Grier.” Gravel churned in his voice. “For as long as it lasts.”

With neither of us ever having been in a serious relationship, I hadn’t expected a romance with Boaz to be anything less than pistols at dawn, aimed at the heart, but his fatalistic outlook blew me away. The heiress I once was, the one well aware I might be called upon to marry for position or wealth or power, appreciated him giving me this time with him no strings attached. But the girl who had walked out of Atramentous with no title, no money, no future, wanted to give her word that she would be his for as long as he wanted her.

After all, the odds were good he would tire of me long before I was ready to give up on him. History was nothing if not repetitive. “Are you available?”

“For you?” His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “I’m wide open.”

There was zero chance I could resist asking with that lead-in. “For everyone else?”

“There is no one else.”

Eyes crushed shut against reality, I pressed my face into his chest and sank into him, willing myself to believe this was real.

I’m not dreaming, not dreaming, not dreaming. It was still so hard to be sure. Please, never wake me.

“I’ll be off the grid for the next twenty-four hours.” He tugged on my ear with his teeth. “Call me after?”

“Maybe.” The sting ignited a path leading straight to my core. “Maybe not.”

“Don’t sass me, Squirt.” His smile pressed into my skin. “I’m trying to be good here.”

I let my right arm dangle at my side, and my fingertips traced the seam of his jeans. “Define good.”

“Good means walking away while I still can, not throwing you over my shoulder and climbing up to your bedroom. Good means knowing my limits and refusing to let a little brat like you push me past them. Good means doing my job. Not holing up with you for as many days as we can go without needing groceries.”

“Who needs groceries?” Not I. Not him either. “That’s why takeout was invented.”

“Please,” he groaned against my throat. “Let me do this right for once in my life.”

“Okay.” I brought my arm up again, held him as tight as I could for as long as he let me, but his body was fighting his noble intentions. The hard length of him pressed against my soft stomach, and I eased back, more to allow him his honor than to preserve mine. “Be safe out there, Elite.” I hooked my finger through his belt loop and gave him a hard tug. “Come home in one piece or else.”

“I always come home, if not all in one piece.” Turning his attention on Woolly, he smoothed his palm down the wooden siding beneath the glowing porch light. “Take care of our girl until I get back, okay?”

The bulb flared in bright agreement. She was, as ever, his humble and eager servant.

Boaz ambled over to the garage, and I forced myself to stop watching. I hated it would be a week before I saw him again. Already tonight felt spun from dreams instead of memories.

I lingered on the porch, the churros cooling in my arms, and reconsidered my plan to share the bounty with Amelie. Following Boaz home, even if I technically beat him there, smacked of clingy girlfriend vibes, and it’s not like Amelie would want me to gush about the moves her brother put on me. Remembering the sketchbook waiting on the coffee table, I decided to share the treats with a different sort of friend. Sugar in exchange for questions about Cletus.

I passed through the living room, scooped up the sketchbook and tucked it under my arm. Remembering the avowal, I picked that up too. I paused to rub Keet’s earholes while he hung upside down with a single wing extended. “You’re such a little weirdo.”

He blinked one red eye at me then returned to his bat impersonation. Leaving him to practice his echo location, or whatever undead parakeets imagined while pretending to be something they were not, I exited the house through the back and entered the garden.

Cold fingers closed over my shoulder as my toes brushed grass.

“Hey, Cletus.” I waited for him to unclamp me, but he held tight. “What’s wrong now?”

Maybe the wraith really was broken.

“Let her go,” a dark voice purred from the shadows. “I won’t harm her. Promise.”

Dread, cold and sharp, turned to icy perspiration down my spine. “Who are you?”

Cletus, who was not the trusting sort, released me then coalesced before me, an undulating shield of malevolence.

“Grier Woolworth.” The man savored my name the way I had that first bite of caramel-filled dough.

“Who are you?” I demanded again over Cletus’s shoulder. “Why are you here?”

“Call me Ambrose.” His laughter serrated my ears, two bright stars honing their edges against one another. “My reasons and my purpose are my own. I do not answer to you, little goddess, and you would be wise to remember that.”

Cletus bumped against me, ushering me back up the steps onto the safety of the porch. His bony fingers lengthened to vicious blades he clacked together in warning, but the man kept circling, a shark scenting bloodied waters.

For a single heartbeat, through the tatters of Cletus’s cloak, I glimpsed him.

His skin was as pale as the first full moon in winter, his hair a ravaging flame around his head. His lips were so blue they were almost violet, his eyes full of shadows so deep no light had hope of penetrating them. Mist swirled around his ankles, black tendrils that resembled a wraith’s tattered cloak. Having that emptiness gaze back with calm detachment turned my knees to water.

He looked more like the stories I’d heard of ethereal fae princes, as sharp as razors and as lovely as death, than anything born of this world. He twitched his berry lips, and my heart gave a painful lurch.

Behind me, Woolly rang her doorbell in panicked bursts. I glanced over my shoulder as she waved her door back and forth in a hurrying gesture. Gathering my courage around me, I turned from Ambrose and ran. I didn’t stop until the wards snapped into place on my heels.

Hands shaking, I dialed Boaz and got dumped straight to voicemail. I queued up Linus next. No answer. Amelie left me hanging too. I jogged up the stairs and peered out my bedroom window. Ambrose stood on the lawn, his hands shoved into his pockets, head thrown back to see me better, the Romeo to my Juliet. He was electric in the night, alive in the way dreams are before you wake.

And he was wearing a French blue dress shirt.