“You don’t have to tell me that,” Doc said. “One bad experience with it was enough, but I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially not Fi. Who was I going to turn to for help? The witch responsible is dead.”

Barasa leaned against the exam table. Fi leaned over and sniffed him. He slanted his eyes at her, one brow raised in question.

“I just wanted to see if you smelled like a tiger.”

With a shake of his head, Barasa turned back to Doc. “The witch is dead, but the power of her spell remains? When’s the last time you saw the fire?”

“The night Sinjin died.”

Fi leaned over again, resting against Barasa’s shoulder. “He went up like a marshmallow on a camp fire.”

“Fi.” Doc shot her a look she knew well. It meant zip it.

“The men in my family tend to be shamans. I took it a little further, but I can tell you there’s a good chance her spell’s worn off and you aren’t even aware of it. Stop taking the ketamine immediately. Then let’s see—”

Fi yawned loudly. Any minute now she was going to pass out; she could feel it. She sat up and tapped Barasa on the shoulder. “Will you turn into a tiger now? I really need to go to sleep.”

Barasa sighed and handed Doc a prescription bottle. “For pain, if she needs them. By the time she wakes up, the ketamine should be out of your system. Both of you come back then.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Creek wasn’t sure what surprised him more—Annika’s willingness to sit with his grandmother or his willingness to let her. Martin was there, too, not that the old man was any protection against the basilisk’s power. Creek should have pushed harder for Mawmaw to see a doctor, but she’d insisted that was a waste of money over a few bruises. She could take care of herself.

Stubborn woman.

Well, he’d be done with his errand soon enough and then Annika could go back to KM headquarters or wherever it was she lived, and the rest of them could get on with their lives. And he could shower. And sleep. His body ached in a thousand different spots from Yahla pecking at him, but at least he’d been able to change into a clean, undamaged T-shirt at Mawmaw’s.

Couldn’t exactly visit the mayor in a holey shirt covered in blood. He rolled the V-Rod up to her gate. Especially when she was probably still in bed. He knew the mayor wasn’t a late sleeper, but the sun had only been up a few minutes. Even Lola probably didn’t start her day that early.

He killed the engine, pulled his helmet off, and stood where the security camera could see him. The intercom crackled to life. “What’s your business?”

“I’m Thomas Creek, special advisor to the mayor. I have an urgent, private matter to speak to her about.” Like how he’d been possessed by a mythological woman and how the curfew was a really bad idea. The intercom went silent and he dropped his head. How was he going to explain to Chrysabelle that he was partially responsible for Mal’s death? If she’d even see him. After his last visit there, he couldn’t blame her if she never spoke to him again.

He had to find a way to end his service to the KM. Annika wasn’t such a bad boss, but she only delivered his directives. Whoever was making the orders was also making his life hell. And he was about damn done with that.

The gates swung open. He hopped on the bike, started it up, and drove through. Maybe the mayor was awake after all. He parked in the drive in front of her house and walked to the door. He didn’t recognize the security guard. “Thomas Creek to see the mayor.”

The security guard tapped the radio at his hip. “They cleared you.” He knocked on the front door and a staff member opened it.

“Good morning, Mr. Creek.”

“Hilda. You’re up early.”

“So are you. The mayor isn’t awake yet, but I’ll get her. I’ve already told the kitchen staff to set breakfast out early. They’ll have coffee in the dining room if you want to wait in there.”

“Coffee sounds exactly like where I want to wait. Thank you.”

She pointed. “You know the way. I’ll have her in soon.”

He kept going as Hilda veered toward the mayor’s private wing. Lola might not be happy about being woken up early, but she really wasn’t going to be happy when he resigned and told her exactly what had happened. That curfew had to end.

He’d had one sip of coffee when Hilda came running in. “Help me, Mr. Creek. Something’s wrong with the mayor.” Her face crumpled. “I think she’s dead.”

“What?” He jumped out of his chair and ran down the hall to Lola’s bedroom. Her bed was empty. “Where is she?”

Hilda ran in behind him. “In the bathtub. I couldn’t wake her.”

He found her there in silk pajamas and wrapped in a comforter. She looked… different. Like she’d had a makeover. His fingers went to her throat. Ice cold and no pulse. “Damn it.” He leaned down and listened but even his heightened senses detected no breathing.

Hilda crossed herself and moaned. “Is she dead?”

Creek pushed one of Lola’s lids up. Her eye was silver. “Son of a—”

“What’s going on?”

Creek dropped her lid and stood to see who was talking. A young man in white pajama pants had wandered in behind Hilda. A few gold tattoos marked his skin and his blond hair showed dark roots. Double hell.

“Please, Mr. Creek. Is she dead?”