Unchained

Chapter 12

Saturday, April 4, 11:00 a.m.

101.5 FM

“This is Oscar Ottwell with your CSUP news. Our top story is yesterday’s attack by an out-of-town vampire at the North Central Branch of the public library. Leaders of the supernatural community anticipate repercussions following this unprovoked and very public incident. We’d like to remind our listeners that if you have any knowledge of strange vampires in your area, please call CSUP immediately. We’ll notify the proper authorities on your behalf.”

“Of course we’ll look after Eden,” Holly said. “Honestly, we’ve got it covered. Us and the four hellhounds in the front yard. When Alessandro found out about the vamp attack, he went nuts with the security.”

Ashe looked at her sister, who was standing in the doorway of the Carver family home. Holly was small and dark-haired like their mother, more of a sprite than an Amazon. She stepped back, letting them inside.

Ashe felt the house welcome her as she ushered Eden in, Reynard on her heels. Witch-built houses were sentient and self-repairing, living off the magical energy that hummed around a healthy family of spell casters. The birth of a new baby had made the place almost jolly. She could feel it in the air, crackling with the same vibrant energy as a Solstice tree heaped with presents.

“Hey, there,” Holly said, looking Reynard up and down. “I have to say the twenty-first century suits you.”

He gave a graceful bow. “And, if I may be so bold, motherhood becomes you.”

“Why, thank you, Captain.” In truth, Holly looked like she needed a good night’s sleep.

“Hi, Aunt Holly,” Eden said. “Mom says I have to stay here today.”

“Howdy, sport.” Holly wrapped an arm around Eden’s shoulders. “We torture you because we love you.”

Eden looked disgusted and pleased at once. “Why did I have to bring homework?”

“Because adults are cruel and perverse,” Ashe said, shooing Eden through the door. “C’mon. I have to pick up the stuff for the ghostbusting job.”

Holly led them into the living room, which was filled with brass lamps and bookcases. Exactly the same as Ashe remembered it from childhood, except for the addition of Caravelli’s expensive sound system. They sat grouped around a coffee table made of glossy mahogany and littered with baby toys.

“I really appreciate this, Hol,” Ashe said. “I know how busy you are.”

“Family comes first,” Holly replied. “And anything I can do to help you kick the bad guys out of Fairview, consider it done.”

Eden thumped her schoolbag to the floor and sank onto the couch, folding her arms in a mild sulk. Her dark curls fell around her face, hiding her expression. Ashe left her alone to ponder her woe.

Through the window, she could see the hellhounds patrolling the grounds. Two had shifted to their animal forms—big black dogs with red eyes and pointed ears. Holly’s big tabby cat was sitting on the porch, nervously swishing his tail.

“Under the circumstances, I can cancel this ghostbusting job,” Holly said, casting an anxious glance at Reynard. “You’ve got more pressing problems.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “It should be quick, and these days I don’t have many opportunities to perform a service to a lady. Allow me the pleasure of assisting your sister. It will do me good.”

Holly colored a little. “If you’re sure.”

“Completely.”

Beneath the pretty words, Ashe heard a real yearning. Reynard was free, however briefly. As he had said to Ashe, helping was one of the few choices he could make for himself. Well, she’d let him help this time, but then it would be all urn search, all the time. He might be okay with gambling with his life this way, but she wasn’t.

Holly picked up a tiny stuffed whale from the coffee table, squishing it between her fingers. “Alessandro filled me in last night after your phone call. He spent the rest of the night talking to the other vampires in town, but none of the locals seem to know about out-of-towners or anyone who might hire a sniper.”

“That’s pretty much what I expected,” Ashe replied.

“Alessandro’s put in a call to Queen Omara, just to give her a heads-up. He kind of had to.” Holly grimaced. “I really hope she doesn’t decide to pay a visit. Once she’s involved, the two vampire courts will be at war.”

Ashe could see the strain on Holly’s face. War meant casualties, and Alessandro would be in the thick of it. “Who are these vamps? Are they all with the King of the East?”

“And how did this collector find a thief inside the Castle?” Reynard put in. “There are connections here we do not see quite yet.”

“There are collector demons,” Holly offered tentatively. “Gathering stuff is a sickness with them, kind of like hoarders with superpowers. They’re notorious for double-crossing whomever they’re working with if they’re offered the right trinket.”

“Who would hire someone like that?” Ashe countered. “Wouldn’t they check references?”

“And forgive me for saying this, Captain, but would someone want a vessel containing your life essence?” Holly’s forehead furrowed with concern.

Reynard leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He had that closed look again. “I don’t really know. I assume for some work of the dark arts. Magic stole my life to bind me to my Castle duties. It stands to reason the same magic could install it elsewhere.”

“It’s not the Castle itself that binds you?”

“No.” His voice was heavy. “No more than any of the other inhabitants. The guardsmen’s power itself has a separate origin. One that chains us much more firmly.”

“So if the changes in the Castle’s magic haven’t affected the old guards, do you feel any different when you leave its domain? Do you get hungry or thirsty?” Holly asked.

“It happens more slowly with us than for the other residents. If there is too great a separation between body and soul, the spells that keep the guardsmen alive begin to weaken. That’s when we begin to feel ordinary appetites.”

What did that make those exquisite kisses in the gym? Ashe wondered. Most likely a really bad sign.

Holly tapped her chin with the stuffed whale. “So how did the guardsmen get started?”

“I’m afraid that was far before my time. I think they’ve been there as long as the Castle.”

Eden tugged Ashe’s sleeve, finished sulking and clearly bored by the adult conversation. She looked up, her hot-chocolate gaze at its most appealing. “Where’s Robin? Can I see her?”

The interruption scattered Ashe’s thoughts. She’d been on the cusp of making a connection, but it was gone now. She looked at her sister. “Is that okay?”

“Robin’s in the downstairs nursery, asleep. Eden, can you be very, very quiet?” Holly asked.

“Sure,” Eden replied, as if that was a completely unnecessary question.

Ashe stood, glad of the excuse to take a quick peek at her niece. “Come on, kiddo.”

The room was down a short hall decorated with wainscoting and an old-fashioned striped wallpaper. Eden followed Ashe, her hands in her pockets. “I hate the idea of the hellhounds outside. The kids around here already think I’m a terrorist spy. If they find out my aunt’s got a dog army guarding her house, my life is over.”

Ashe tried to digest that, but failed. “Y’know, they turn into hot guys in leather at least half the time. That’s pretty cool.”

“Human is cool, Mom. Everyone knows that.”

“Since when?”

“Since forever. They used to burn witches, you know.”

Ashe stopped and took her daughter by the shoulders. She was actually shocked. “Don’t you ever turn your back on your family or what they are.”

Eden’s face turned serious. “The kids at school . . .”

“Are complete idiots.” Ashe let her go. “You know that, right?”

“I don’t want to go there. I want to go back to Saint Flo’s.” Eden gave her hostile eyes. “I bet I could hitchhike.”

“The ocean would be a problem.” Ashe bit her tongue, wanting to say more, but Eden was only a child.

“Yeah, but I have to go to this school that hates me, so what am I supposed to do?” Eden was close to shouting, the anger sharp and real.

“We’ll figure something out. I promise.”

“When?”

Ashe made a decision. Her daughter was on the verge of getting her magic. Life was going to be hard enough for Eden, getting used to all that, and she’d run away once already. “You and I will have a talk before next weekend. Maybe there’s a different school we can try.”

The girl’s face melted with relief.

Bingo. Ashe put her arm around her daughter, and they walked into the downstairs nursery. It used to be Grandma’s room when she had lived in the house, and her Victorian tastes showed in the flowered wallpaper and pink Chinese carpet. Holly had made it into a second room for the baby, closer than the nursery two floors above.

“This room feels different,” Eden said softly, remembering not to wake the baby. “Super quiet.”

“It’s the house watching over Robin. It will keep away anyone who means harm to one of us.”

“One of us?”

“One of the family.”

“Cool.”

“You bet it is.” Ashe kissed the top of Eden’s curly head. “Here you’ve got the house, the hellhounds, Aunt Holly, and Uncle Alessandro to look after you. This is the safest place in Fairview.”

“Did my grandma and grandpa live here?” Eden asked.

Ashe’s stomach tightened; she felt the ghosts of her past circling around. “This used to be their house. Holly and I grew up here.”

Eden looked up at Ashe. “Are there any pictures of them?”

“Aunt Holly would know where they are. Now, let’s look at Robin.”

Ashe crossed to where the baby’s crib stood in the middle of the room. Robin had been born healthy but a little too soon, and was still tiny. A pink fuzzy sleeper engulfed her limbs, making her the same shape as a gingerbread cookie. Her hair was wheat blond like her father’s, but there wasn’t much of it yet. A single downy tuft crowned the top of her head like the curl on an ice-cream cone.

“She’s so funny-looking!” Eden whispered.

“Shh. Don’t say that in front of Aunt Holly.” Ashe felt her heart lighten. “All babies look like that.”

Robin was going to be beautiful. Ashe thought she could see something of both parents in Robin: the bow of Holly’s mouth, Caravelli’s straight nose. It would be fascinating to see who this miracle child turned out to be, what powers she would wield.

Ashe gripped the crib rail, aching to reach down and touch the baby’s petal-soft skin, but afraid to wake her. She had wanted more kids. At least now there was another child around. Being an auntie had its perks.

Eden gave an eager smile. “I bet I get to hold her later.”

“If you’re really lucky, you can change her diaper.”

Eden made a face at that.

Reynard and Holly came in. Despite his graceful movements, the captain seemed too large for the feminine room. He looked down into the crib and his face went soft. “Hello, darling girl.”

The way he said it, with that accent, had Ashe melting where she stood. “Have babies changed much?”

Reynard looked up, his gray eyes filled with something she couldn’t name. Sorrow, but deeper, as if the bad boy and the gentleman had stepped aside, and the real Reynard looked out at her for the first time.

“No,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. “Not at all. My niece and nephew were just the same.”

Lore wasn’t going to be around until the next morning, so Ashe and Reynard had plenty of time to keep Holly’s ghostbusting appointment. Ashe was glad it was going to be a quick job. She had far more interesting worries, not the least of which was the man sitting next to her. They were well into day two of the Great Urn Search, and she still didn’t have a lead and wasn’t sure where to begin looking. She was a slayer, not a detective.

“Pursuing any of the supernatural problems at hand will shed light on the others,” Reynard had maintained as he’d wrestled with the mysteries of the SUV’s seat belt. She hoped he was right.

Her tussle with Reynard this morning had nailed home the fact that, whatever her brain was thinking, her body wanted to know him a whole lot better. Her self-control circuits were seriously overheating.

She could feel herself sizing up Reynard for long-term potential. Which, of course, didn’t exist. Obviously, her libido wasn’t very bright. She was almost grateful when they reached their destination. She needed those last few brain cells for the task at hand.

She found a parking spot, sacrificed to the meter gods, and looked around.

The bookshop at Fort and Main was in an old two-story house. The front yard was separated from the street by a picket fence. Along the walk, a few hyacinths were just coming into bloom. The rest of the garden looked overdue for a good weeding. Ashe and Reynard walked to the porch. The paint was peeling around the windows and porch rail, and last fall’s dead leaves drifted in the nooks and crannies of the steps.

A wooden sign carefully lettered with BOOK BURROW hung above the door. The name had nagged at Ashe since she first heard it, but she couldn’t place why it was familiar.

“This place is neglected,” Reynard commented.

“If it’s a new owner, maybe he hasn’t had time to clean up yet,” Ashe replied. “I remember this store. Old Mr. Cowan used to own it. It was called Cowan’s Books back then. He used to save the Nancy Drews for me. He had an uncanny memory for which ones I still hadn’t read.”

“Nancy Drews?” Reynard asked.

Ashe walked up the porch stairs. “Mystery stories. I had the whole set when I was ten years old.” She paused, trying to sense anything odd about the house. It wasn’t sentient, just a house, but a faint sadness curled in the air like smoke. Maybe whatever was haunting the place missed old Mr. Cowan. She turned the brass knob and went in, setting off a door chime.

Reynard followed, looking around. The floor creaked beneath his boots. “It smells like mildew.”

“Maybe the roof leaks.” Ashe fought claustrophobia. There had always been lots of bookcases, but they had multiplied. Now they lined both sides of the hallway, leaning precariously where the old floor buckled and heaved. Stacks of boxes jostled for space in the corners. “I don’t remember it being this crowded. There’s got to be twice as much stock.”

Cardboard signs were tacked to the wall, each with an arrow and subject area. Cooking, this way. Military history, that way. Novels, upstairs. While Ashe scanned them, a faint sound came from the left, no more than a footfall on the thin carpet. She whipped around, far jumpier than she needed to be. There was nothing there—no monster pouncing from the shadows. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

The noise had come from the room she remembered held the cash desk, where Holly’s client was probably waiting. She listened again. Nothing hit her senses as a threat.

Then why am I so jumpy?

Get moving. The best thing to do was follow that noise.

She had to go carefully so that she didn’t knock something over. The store’s new name was apt: It was like burrowing through a tunnel of books. Reynard had to turn slightly, his broad shoulders brushing the shelves. High above, a stained-glass window shed a thin light over the mess.

The main room was much as she remembered it. The walls formed a hexagon, glass- fronted shelves reaching to a twelve- foot ceiling. The topmost books could be accessed by a library ladder that wheeled around the room. A bay window faced the street. Reynard paused to peer into a glass case. A stuffed marmot snarled from inside the dusty prison. “Why would anyone want this?”

“Yeah, especially when there’s a perfectly good two-headed squirrel over there. C’mon.”

He still hesitated, distracted by a collection of miniature sailing ships.

“Reynard?”

He pointed to the ship in the middle. “I sailed to India on one like that.” He straightened. “It was a bit bigger, though.”

Ashe envisioned Reynard on the high seas, and felt a pang of confusion. Imagining him in the past seemed right and wrong at the same time.

“Do you see anyone here?” she asked.

“No.”

The service desk was where she remembered it, at the back of the room. A huge, antique cash register, covered in brass scrollwork, perched on the mahogany counter.

“Hello?” she called. The sound seemed to die as soon as it left her lips. Bad acoustics, with all those books around. “Hello?”

“I’ll go look in the other rooms,” Reynard said, his brows drawing together.

“Just remember he’s a bookshop owner, not a demon.”

He looked down his nose. “Do you think I’ve forgotten how to deal with common humans?”

“You looked kind of serious there for a moment. I’m just saying . . .”

“I’ll mind my manners, madam,” he said a touch frostily, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. He walked back the way they had come, a slight swagger creeping into his step. It did nice things for his blue jeans.

Ashe’s heart gave a little gallop. “You do that, Galahad.”

Job. There’s a job, remember? She tried to tune into the house again, let her own energy fan outward until it touched the spirit of the place. Old places gathered memories, moods. It wasn’t active magic, just the silt of years past.

Heavy. Tired. Sad.

It came through faintly. The presence of the books muffled the feeling, absorbing the house’s energy as effectively as they did sound and light. Ashe could feel each volume, too, rows and rows of presences, individual auras rich with the trace of every reader who had thumbed their pages. A few books carried more than that, some pulsing with magic. Interesting, but not why she was there.

She pushed past the walls, reaching outward. Reynard was hunting through the rooms to the right. Mice tiptoed behind the baseboards, stopping, sniffing. Above, far above, someone waited. Not a human someone.

That presence sent a chill trickling down her body. She definitely had a ghostbusting job to do. Why isn’t the owner here?

There was an open door behind the service desk. Through it, she could see a flight of stairs to the floor above. These were plain and steep, originally a servants’ stairway. The main stairs were by the front door.

Ashe rounded the desk, ducked through the doorway marked PRIVATE. She’d never been back here before. She gave a curious look around. The room was cluttered with empty packing boxes. Mud smeared the old linoleum, leaving a crunchy film of dirt.

The place had the sour, close smell of neglect. No wonder it had ghosts. They loved undisturbed spaces.

Reynard joined her. “An eclectic collection. If only I had time to do some reading.”

“You find the owner?”

“No. There is a shed behind this building, though.” He leaned against the wall, the muscles of his arms and chest working the black T-shirt he wore. He could have modeled for Workrite’s next catalog. All he needed was a hard hat and a sign that said REAL MEN USE HAND TOOLS.

A bead of sweat trickled down Ashe’s spine, making her shiver. Nerves and lust warred with each other. Ashe looked up the stairs. She could see more bookshelves. The second floor had always been the fiction section. The Nancy Drew books used to be kept by the narrow window that looked out on Fort Street. What would Nancy do? Would she ever jump her guy and forget the case?

No, by now Nancy would have found the owner hiding in a secret passage, tied up the villain, and driven away in her cute blue roadster without mussing a single Titian-red hair. Preppy bitch.

Ashe could feel the inhuman presence above, waiting with arachnid patience. It was starting to piss her off, and she had a pocket full of Holly’s charms. “I’m going to check upstairs.”

Reynard nodded. “I’ll investigate the shed and meet you up there shortly.”

“Okay.”

Reynard slipped away, quiet as a cat.

Ashe pulled a stake out of the side pocket of her pants—not that it would kill a ghost, but it made her feel better. She rolled her neck to relax the knot between her shoulder blades, and began mounting the steps. A-hunting we will go.

There was no handrail and the floor humped at the top of the steps, making for iffy footing. On the other hand, the second story was relatively uncluttered. She moved quietly through the romances to the mystery section, scanning the shelves and bookcases that lined each of the four upstairs rooms. The only light came from dirty sash windows, cords broken and frames painted shut. She saw Reynard outside, emerging from the shed. It didn’t look like he’d found anyone.

She kept moving, looking for signs of the ghost, but the second floor was far less spooky. In fact, not much had changed in this part of the store since she’d been a kid. There were still a handful of the old, yellow-spined Nancys where she thought they’d be. The sash window by that shelf—the only one that opened—was still the same, looking onto the metal fire escape that zigzagged down the side of the house. Mr. Cowan had let her sit out there and read sometimes. He’d been a sweet old guy.

She made a circuit of the upstairs, finding nothing. Ashe began to relax. On a nostalgic whim, she slipped a copy of The Sign of the Twisted Candles from the shelf. That had been the first one she’d ever read. She wondered if her old books were around and if Eden would like them.

“Have you found what you’re looking for?”

Ashe raised the stake as she jerked around, ready to strike. The book fell to the floor with a thunk.

A man stood there, his hands in the pockets of his chinos. “You must be the ghostbuster I called.”

“Yeah,” Ashe replied, feeling foolish.

He was a few inches shorter than she was, a few years older. He had curly dark hair, big brown eyes, and a day or two’s growth of beard. He smiled, showing white teeth and a set of dimples calculated to melt the female heart.

“I’m Tony,” he said. “Welcome to my mess.”

“You have a lot of stock.”

“I got a shipment from a huge estate sale, and I’m still trying to find a place to put everything.”

He gave off an easygoing, relaxed air. “I’m sorry I wasn’t downstairs to meet you. I’ve been lugging boxes up the stairs all day. I guess I didn’t hear the bell.”

Ashe slowly lowered the stake and crouched to pick up the book. “I’m Ashe Carver. My partner’s downstairs. You gotta ghost?”

Tony’s gaze wandered from the Nancy Drew to the stake, obviously trying to put the two together. “Yeah. In the attic. I was going to use that space for storage, but no way. Not until it’s cleaned out.”

Then the ghost was definitely the creepazoid presence she felt.

He gave her a curious look. “I thought your name was Holly?”

“That’s my sister. The agency’s a family business.” Not like she could say she was the second-stringer. Ashe looked around. “Where’s the attic entrance?”

“This way. Appropriately enough, it’s in the room with the thrillers.”

He started for the door, casting a look back over his shoulder to make sure Ashe was coming. She set Twisted Candles back on the shelf and followed Tony.

“So who is this ghost? The store’s been around for years. I’ve never heard of any spirit activity, and I used to come here all the time as a kid.”

“A child died in this house a hundred years ago. Don’t know her name. For some reason she’s acting up all of a sudden.”

“What does she do?”

“She sings. Bangs around. Makes noise.”

Ashe looked at him.

He shrugged. “It’s worse than it sounds. She knows just how to get to you.”

“Did something happen around the time the ghost first appeared? It’s rare for a quiet spirit to become active.”

“The old owner died. Maybe she misses him.”

The attic stairs were behind a door. The door was one of the bookcases that swung out on creaky hinges, forming the obligatory secret passage. Ashe had walked right by it twice. Nancy would have found it. Perky teen detective one, professional slayer zero.

Tony held open the door with the air of a nervous butler. “You don’t need me for this, do you?”

“Probably better you stay down here.”

He looked wobbly from relief.

“Are there lights?”

“Just this.”

He reached through the doorway and pulled a chain. It made a chink noise, and a single bulb lit a flight of painted stairs. Ashe slid the stake back in her pocket and pulled a Maglite from her belt.

“Send my partner up when he comes in, okay? He’ll be here in a sec.”

“You got it,” Tony said. “You’re set? Can I get you anything?”

“I’m set.”

“Good luck.” He looked worried.

Ashe ignored his expression and headed up the stairs. She’d wiped out whole vampire nests. This should be a piece of cake. She flicked on the flashlight and started up the steps.

Even though it was only April and starting to cloud up, the attic was hot and stuffy. It was unfinished—just a raw wood floor and a few piles of junk here and there. Someone had been busy with rolls of pink insulation, but had run out of supplies or ambition about three-quarters of the way across the roof. There were a couple of vents with screens to keep out the birds, but no windows. In some ways the lack of sunlight was good. Ghosts were easier to see in the dark.

Then she felt it. Fingertips against her cheek, so light they tickled. Annoyance flared. “Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

Wind huffed along the floor, stirring dust. Ashe heard a scampering of bare feet, quick and light as a child’s. A faint gurgle of laughter. Yes, it sounded like a girl.

Oh, great. She looked around for the obligatory china-faced doll, or the rocking horse that teetered back and forth all by itself. Ghosts loved their clichés.

There was a big captain’s chair shoved in the corner. Dollars to doughnuts, that was where the spook would appear. Ashe pulled a piece of chalk out of her pocket and drew a circle around the attic floor, making sure to touch each wall. Then she took out her packet of charms. Holly had used a Ziploc sandwich bag to keep the herbs fresh. Ashe pulled it open, getting a heady whiff of mint and something bitter. All she needed to do was position a few of these around the attic, light a spell candle, and she was finished. Prefab despooking even a broken witch could manage.

She felt the ghost’s breath on her cheek, as intimate as if she were peering over Ashe’s shoulder—which was probably true. The temperature in the place was beginning to drop. Ashe’s fingers fumbled as she pulled the first charm out of the bag. It was a cheesecloth bundle the size of a walnut. She wasn’t sure what was inside. This was Grandma and Holly’s special recipe.

She felt for her inner compass, found east, and placed the charm against that wall. The Carvers used a simple, respectful spell to release a ghost, to sever its earthly bonds and send it where it needed to go. “Goddess of word and thought, I invoke you; cut this knot.”

She felt the bloom of power as her words activated the power Holly had packed into the charm. But that wasn’t all she felt. The cold deepened, chilling her till she shook. The ghost was fighting back. Some just didn’t want to go.

Give me a vampire any old day. She found the south wall and tipped a charm out of the plastic bag, letting it roll into place. Her fingers were suddenly too numb to fumble with the cheesecloth balls. She blew on her fingers, warming them enough to set the charm right side up. “Goddess of sun and heat, I invoke you to this feat.”

Her words came out in little clouds. Her nose was dripping. The lightbulb over the stairs—the only light in the attic besides her flashlight—went out with a fizzle. She heard the footsteps again, and the sound of a child softly crying. Sobbing. The heartbroken, wretched grief that only a young child can fully express. Ashe stopped in her tracks, the sound leaching the strength from her limbs.

How could anyone stand that weeping? It was the sheer despair of an abandoned child. Ashe felt that sadness through her whole body, clawing deep in her guts. Eden had cried like that when her father died. Had she cried the same way when Ashe left her at St. Flo’s? Goddess! Goddess, forgive me.

Ashe felt tears freezing on her cheeks. Don’t go there. That’s how the ghosts get you, through your own fears. She had to hang on, be stronger.

West wall. It was so dark she could barely see, but somehow she got one more charm out of the bag and into place.

“Goddess of womb and heart, pull these earthly bonds apart,” Ashe murmured through chattering teeth. She hoped divine spirits could read minds, because her words were barely words at all, just frozen chunks of breath.

A voice lisped next to her ear, “He wants me to go away because I can see what he is. I’m trying to stop him. Help me! He’s very, very bad.”

Ashe whipped around, stumbling because her feet were numb.

It had been a little girl.

Stop him? Stop whom?

The temperature spiked, the air suddenly stuffy and warm again. Ashe stood, shaking as her body tried to bring heat back to her bones. The stairway light flickered back on.

Something felt very, very wrong.

Ashe rushed to the north wall, nearly throwing down the last charm in her haste. “Goddess of earth and arctic wave, send this spirit from its grave.”

She felt the circle of charms close, containing the space where serious magic would begin. The last items in the bag were a book of matches—Holly never trusted anyone else to remember them—and a candle carved with an intricate pattern. Ashe tipped them out, stuffed the bag in her pocket, and picked a nice, central spot. Getting the candle right in the middle guaranteed even coverage as the spell worked. Right above her, the roof beams met, the angles of the house pointing to its apex. Perfect.

The candle was short and fat, so it stood on its own. Ashe set it down and opened the matchbook.

And felt something watching her from the dark northeast corner, just outside the circle. Her shoulders hunched, instinctively protecting the back of her neck from the snapping jaws of predators. The shadow was banned from the circle, looking in, but the charms were light-duty magic. This was heavy-duty nasty. She knew the vibe. Crap.

This might be more than one ghost. Maybe the little-girl ghost had a friend. Or maybe the vile, nasty thing had moved in, and that had disturbed the little girl’s spirit.

Keeping a tight grip on her nerves, she pulled out a match and lit the candle. “Release, release, release! I command you to your peace.”

The flame stretched tall and thin, blue-white at the tip. The magic was working. Ashe breathed in the scent of the beeswax, using it to reinforce what mental shields she still had. She could smell cinnamon for opening the psychic portals, and birch, spruce, and thyme for cleansing. Oh, and lavender. Grandma used that for everything.

She closed her mind, shutting out the darkness that seemed to ooze thicker around the chalk line. It was silent, and she didn’t want that to change. Chatting with the spirits wasn’t always smart.

“You were only supposed to cast out the girl.”

So much for silence. The voice wasn’t the little girl’s. This sounded like it had bubbled up from a pit of rotting carcasses.

“Are you the spirit that haunts this place?” Ashe asked, keeping her tone firm. Better not to act terrified. That was a turn-on to some of these bastards, and, technically, she should stay while the candle burned down and only then release the circle of charms. But the exit was looking pretty good at the moment.

“Noooooooo,” replied the whatever-the-hell-it-was. “She’s run away. It’s time to put out your spell. Now. Right now.”

“Does it bother you?”

“It’s time to go, witchling.”

“Whatever.” What the hell was this thing? Nothing good, if it reacted to the magic. Any number of critters could feel the shove of a banishing spell, but not all of them had to obey it. The heavy hitters just got a big old headache—assuming they had heads.

Goddess.

She wasn’t sure the circle was going to hold. She dug in another pocket for a second stash of charms, the famous witch grenades. Holly had tucked in an extra bottle of scented oil in case the spell needed a booster. Grateful, Ashe fished it out and set it next to the candle. Then she remembered that the girl ghost had said something.

“Are you the one the spirit is trying to stop?”

Whatever it was rustled, as if it had wings made of old, cracked leather. “She is an annoyance.”

The candle flared bright as it burned down to the first circle of carved sigils, releasing their power into the field of energy formed by the circle. She could feel the cleansing magic humming against her skin.

“Ah, you sting me, little witch. It bites like gnats.” The voice was nasty, sneering and sarcastic. The creature seemed to hump and bulge, shadow on shadow. It might have a snotty attitude, but it was hurting.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to stop!”

And then it seemed to fan its wings, huge and tipped with claws like a great, prehistoric bird. It spread larger, thinner, a film of feathery darkness against the outside of the circle. It was suffocating, like hot, humid air. Moldy. Robbing everything of life.

Ashe felt its power then. Hunger. Angry emptiness. A yearning for . . . she wasn’t sure what. It was like nothing in the world would quite satisfy her. She could consume it all, and the pit inside her would still be there.

Goddess. This was no ghost. She was in way above her pay grade.

She heard footsteps on the stairs. Reynard! He wasn’t expecting any of this. “Stop! Stay back!”

Ashe jumped to her feet, accidentally stepping on the glass bottle of oil. She felt it break beneath her boot heel, splurting the spicy liquid everywhere. She didn’t have time to worry about it. Ashe drew her knife and ran to the edge of the circle nearest the attic stairs. Using the blade, she drew an arc in the air, making a doorway at the edge of the circle big enough to step through. Darkness spilled across the circle’s chalk line like ink. Shit! She crossed through and then sealed the circle again as fast as she could, chanting the spell all over again.

She could see the dome of magic over the circle flicker, struggle to re- form beneath the clinging shadows of the bird-beast. If I were Holly, I’d just blast it away. But she wasn’t. Her magic was barely enough to remind the circle to work. And now she was outside with the Thing.

It was oozing off the side of the dome, flowing toward her like malevolent syrup.

“What’s going on?” Reynard asked, coming up behind her.

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s a demon.” She pulled one of the bombs out of her pocket. Like the charms, they were bundles of herbs and minerals wrapped in cheesecloth, but these carried different magic. She pressed it to her lips, then lobbed it at the flowing darkness.

It disappeared as if the dark had swallowed it.

With a new baby, Holly’s magic wasn’t reliable. They’d thought the bombs would be okay. Apparently not.

Crap.

“Down the stairs,” Ashe said. “Now.”

The stair light went out, leaving them in total darkness but for the spell candle.

Reynard grabbed her hand. “The dark won’t slow me down. Stay close.”

Ashe followed, letting him lead while she fumbled for her flashlight. “Where’s Tony?”

“Who?”

“The owner.”

Their feet clattered on the stairs, Ashe stumbling blindly behind Reynard. Finally, she managed to thumb her flashlight to life.

“Didn’t see him. Door to the stairs was open.”

“Then where is he?”

She felt something cold touch her arm. Wild despair filled her. She felt pain seize her heart, squeezing it under her ribs.

Reynard pulled them through the door and into the forest of novels. He slammed the doorway shut. Ashe grabbed a shelf for support and wiped her face with her sleeve.

“Goddess, what do we do now?”

Reynard grabbed her elbow. “Run.”

Blackness seeped under the door.

“Dammit!” Ashe backed out of the room, fishing in her pocket for a second bomb. She threw it, watching to see what happened. This time the bomb flared, but wavelets of darkness arched over it, pulling it under like a wrecked ship.

Maybe the charms were fine, but the demon was just that much stronger.

We’re screwed.

Ashe turned and ran. The floor bucked under their feet, sending Reynard to his knees. He scrambled up, but the tall shelves weren’t anchored to the walls. He shielded his face as a cascade of paperbacks tumbled out of a lurching bookcase.

Ashe looked behind them to see the darkness slithering along the floor. Before them was an alley of nineteenth-century fiction, each volume a weighty tome. Brain damage if one of those suckers beans us.

Inspiration struck. She grabbed Reynard’s hand. “Fire escape.”

But when she looked out the window at the metal stairs where she’d read Nancy’s detective adventures, it was now dripping with demon slime.

She’d seen that particular shade of goo, with those particular flecks, once before. And how many demons could there be in Fairview at one time? She remembered where she’d seen the store’s name before: printed on a white file label on her lawyer’s desk.

Bannerman, I’m going to kill you.