“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. Bel , 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. Bel 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 The thugs were directly outside, and they turned as I emerged. Act casual or run like hell? I didn’t have to decide. Bel yel ed, “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 fol owing 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 normal y.
He beamed and sat up straighter in his seat. “I did, didn’t I? He’l be trying to figure that one out for a while.”
Y eah, 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 pul out of the paral el parking spot. The limo pul ed to a stop beside me, and a window rol ed down in the back.
“I wanted to fol ow up, Miss Craft,” Bel said from inside the limo, and I wasn’t sure what kind of charm or spel he used, but his voice projected perfectly. “Do consider my offer. I’m wil ing to make it very lucrative for you. Now drive safely—the roads can be dangerous.”
A chil 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 Bel threatening me? I glanced at him. His posture was relaxed, a smile stil 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 rol ed back up, the reflective tinting limo, and the window rol ed 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 rol ed away.
“Snoop on Bel . Make sure he plans to leave me alone.”
Roy nodded. “Wil do.” He vanished, stepping further into the land of the dead, where he could travel faster.
Ghosts. Terrible backup. Excel ent spies.
I caled John as I drove but reached his voice mail. I didn’t tel him about Bel . After al , Bel hadn’t hurt me, taken me anywhere, or prevented me from leaving—eventual y. His lawyers would eat me alive if I tried to press charges. When Roy returned and I found out what Bel 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 stil get me into the morgue, since the FIB was now involved with the case, but I knew he’d cal 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 Hol y. 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.
Hol y 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. “Al right, al right.” I plopped him on his feet and he immediately charged the door, whining.
“Can I get something to eat first?”
“Can I get something to eat first?”
He looked at me with shiny black eyes and whined again.
“Nature cal s, I guess.” Food would have to wait on tiny doggy bladders.