Pieces of the desk suddenly became missiles that pelted the three of us. Bones spun around to take their brunt, shielding Tyler, while I jumped to cover the dog. A pained yelp let me know at least one had nailed Dexter before I got to him. Tyler’s gurgles became wrenching coughs.
“Boy, did you make a colossal fucking mistake,” I snarled, grabbing a piece of the ruined desk. Then I stood up, still blocking the dog from any more objects the ghost could lob at him. He’d materialized enough for me to see white hair swirling around a craggy, wrinkled face. The ghost hadn’t been young when he died, but the shoulders underneath his dark tunic weren’t bowed from age. They were squared in arrogance, and the green eyes boring into mine held nothing but contempt.
“Hure,” the ghost muttered before thrusting his hand into my neck and squeezing like he was about to choke me. I felt a stronger than normal pins-and-needles sensation but didn’t flinch. If this schmuck thought to terrify me with a cheap parlor trick like that, wait until he saw my first abracadabra.
“Heinrich Kramer?” I asked almost as an afterthought. Didn’t matter if it wasn’t him, he would regret what he did, but I wanted to know whose ass I was about to kick.
About the Author
JEANIENE FROST is the New York Times, USA Today, and internationally bestselling author of the Night Huntress series and the Night Huntress World novels. To date, foreign rights for her novels have sold to nineteen different countries. Jeaniene lives in North Carolina with her husband, Matthew, who long ago accepted that she rarely cooks and always sleeps in on the weekends. Aside from writing, Jeaniene enjoys reading, poetry, watching movies with her husband, exploring old cemeteries, spelunking, and traveling—by car. Airplanes, children, and cookbooks frighten her.