Grandpa Morgan’s duppy fought them. It manifested in a shifting array of forms: a bull-calf with fiery eyes, chains jangling around its neck; a black dog with its hackles raised; a giant fish leaping and twisting in midair.
Members of the coven held fast to one another’s hands and chanted louder, their voices strong.
In the center of the circle, Sinclair opened the empty jar, the sprig of joe-pye weed tucked into the breast pocket of his polo shirt. He uttered a word—a word like the word his mother had uttered in the cemetery, all stern, tolling syllables that sounded as if it came from before the dawn of recorded time.
The duppy’s appearance dwindled into that of a stooped, elderly man with tired, bloodshot eyes, gazing at his grandson with a pleading expression.
Sinclair said the word again.
A cool, crisp autumn breeze sprang up, banishing the scent of decay and blowing the manifestation of the duppy into tatters. There was a . . . a sucking sensation, like what happens when contestants on
Iron Chef America
use the vacuum sealer.
With a deft, deliberate twist, Sinclair screwed the lid onto the pickle jar, capturing his grandfather’s spirit.
It was done.
Forty-seven
I
n the aftermath, I burst into hysterical laughter. I couldn’t help it.
“Daisy.” Stefan’s calm voice anchored me. “Are you harmed?”
“No.” I wasn’t entirely steady on my feet, but the sense of debilitating weakness was beginning to fade. “I’m okay. Is everyone else okay?”
Unfortunately, the answer was no. At least the Tall Man hadn’t succeeded in doing a lot of damage. His axe had nicked Lurine’s coils, and Stefan had a gash in his forearm. He assured me it was nothing, although blood was soaking through the bandanna he wrapped around it. Jen was shaken by her encounter with Clancy Brannigan but otherwise unharmed. Her sister, Bethany, was displaying the bullet she’d expelled from her chest—don’t ask me how, since I’m not up on the intricacies of vampiric healing abilities—with all the pride of a first grader with the coolest item at show-and-tell. While Stacey Brooks was either in a state of shock or pretending to be in order to justify clinging to Sinclair’s arm, she didn’t have a scratch on her.
But despite the best efforts of the ghoul squad, there were injuries among the spectators. No fatalities, thank God, but there were a lot of scrapes, bruises, and sprains, two nonfatal cardiac incidents, and one probable case of broken ribs.
And Cooper was ravening.
It was the panicked cries for help somewhere in the crowd that alerted us. I kindled a feeble shield and followed Stefan as he strode down the street, leaving the police and the arriving EMTs to deal with the injured.
Aside from Stefan, all the other Outcast had beat a prudent retreat when they’d reached the limits of their discipline. Not Cooper. He’d overestimated his abilities, and now he was confronting a trio of tourists: Mom, Dad, and a teenaged daughter who was standing slumped and vacant-eyed in the circle of her mother’s arms while her mother shouted for help and her father, looking terrified, took a protective stand in front of them.
“...scared, are ya, boyo?” Cooper was taunting the father. “That’s all right, then. I
like
scared, me.” He made a rude, deliberate slurping noise, his features contorting in ecstasy. “Yum, yum!” The tourist dad’s face turned slack and blank. “That’s right, let good old Cooper take care of you, make all your fears go away. Though there’s nothing quite as tasty as the terror of a sweet little bird like your daughter, innit?”
“For the love of God,
leave us alone
!” the mother cried in a shrill voice, wrapping her arms tighter around her daughter.
“Don’t you worry yourself, Ma,” Cooper replied jauntily. “God’s got nothing in the world to do with it. But I promise, it won’t hurt a bit.”
“Cooper!” Stefan said sharply. “Stand down!”
“Big man.” Cooper turned. There was a note of scorn in his voice. His pupils were fully dilated, swallowing all traces of his blue irises, and his eyes shone like dark moons in his narrow face. “Always trying to make us into summat we’re not. When are you going to learn? We’re not heroes, not the likes of us. We’re
Outcast
.”
Stefan locked gazes with him. “Nonetheless.”
“The lass was out of her head with terror, boss,” Cooper said, looking away with an effort. Reaching past the unresisting father, he chucked the teenaged girl under her chin. “Look at her now! Meek as a lamb.”
The mother screwed her eyes shut tight, shutting out the world. “Will somebody please
do
something?”
Cooper turned the black pits of his gaze back toward Stefan. “You heard her, big man. Do something. Why don’t you do the lady a kindness and take away her fear?”
Stefan hesitated.
He wanted it. I could sense that void of yearning opening, the emptiness longing to be filled, the beast straining to slip its leash. He glanced sideways at me, pupils zooming to leave an icy blue rim around the edges.
Cooper followed his gaze. “Oh, but it’s
her
you want, innit, boss?” He leered at me and licked his lips. “Can’t say as I blame you.”
“Goddammit, Cooper!” For the second time that night, a wave of fury rose in me—fury mixed with helplessness. This time it made my shield blaze, and I found I’d drawn
dauda-dagr
without thinking. Light danced along the runes etched on its length, along its razor-sharp edges. My eyes stung with tears, my hand trembling. “I thought we were friends. Don’t make me threaten you!”
“The angel of feckin’ death.” Something stark and bleak surfaced behind Cooper’s black, black eyes. “You know there’s a part of me that wants you to do it, don’t you, sweet Daisy?”
“I don’t—”
Stefan threw a punch, a solid roundhouse that connected with Cooper’s jaw just below his ear and sent him sagging to the pavement.
I let out a sigh of relief.
“Do you need a hand here, Daisy?” Cody said behind me. His tone was terse, and although he’d addressed me, I had a feeling it was meant for Stefan.
So did Stefan, since he replied for both of us. “The situation is under control, Officer Fairfax,” he said, pulling a cell phone from the pocket of his black leather vest and sending a quick text. “I kept a number of my men in reserve in case it should be necessary to perform an extraction.”
Cody’s nostrils flared, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Such foresight.”
Stefan’s tone remained courteous, but his pupils glittered. “I do my best.”
The alpha male standoff might have gone on a while longer if the poor terrified tourist mom hadn’t interrupted it.
“Officer, please, help us!” she said frantically to Cody. “Look at them! Look at my daughter and my husband! What did that creature
do
to them?”
“He fed on their emotions, ma’am. Too deeply.” Cody examined the father and daughter, making sure there were no head injuries to account for their condition. They endured it without complaint, standing like slack-jawed mannequins. He glanced at Stefan, his lip curling. “Tell me they’re going to be all right, Ludovic.”
“They will recover,” Stefan said quietly. “It will take some days. A week, perhaps. But they will recover.”
“They’d better,” Cody said.
“They will.”
A trio of Outcast arrived on motorcycles, wending their way past the police barricades. Two of them grabbed the still-unconscious Cooper under the arms and slung him into a sidecar. Cooper stirred and murmured a little, eyelids fluttering, looking almost as young and harmless as the teenaged girl he’d drained. It was hard to reconcile the sight of him with the ravening ghoul he’d been just minutes ago.
“Hel’s liaison.” Stefan inclined his head to me. I could see the strain on his self-control reflected in his widening pupils. “It is best that I go with them.”
“Right.” I nodded. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you. And Stacey Brooks owes you her life.”
“You did well.” He straddled one of the bikes, two of his henchmen doubling up on another without a word spoken. A faint smile touched his lips. “We will speak later of the folly of using the pneuma
as a weapon before you were ready.”
I winced a little. “I know, I know.”
The motorcycles roared away into the night, taking the Outcast with them.
“I don’t understand how you can just let this happen!” the tourist mom burst out. “Let creatures like that walk the streets! We came here to be entertained, we came here to see ghosts, not, not . . .” She gestured at her daughter and husband. “Not this! God! Oh, God! What’s
wrong
with you people?”
My tail twitched. I wanted to tell the woman that she was an idiot for assuming that the eldritch community, a haunted eldritch community, for Christ’s sake, was safe, that it was the paranormal equivalent of Dollywood, everything sanitized for their protection. But it wasn’t her fault, not really. She’d done exactly what the PVB had encouraged tourists from all across the country to do.
Cody shot me a quick glance. He might not have been able to read my emotions like one of the Outcast, but he knew my temper. “One of those creatures saved a young woman’s life tonight, ma’am,” he said gently. “Are you staying in the area? Miss Johanssen and I would be happy to accompany you and your family to your car, or I can have an officer take you to your hotel if you’re not feeling up to driving.”
The tourist mom blinked away tears, sniffling. “We’re staying at the Ridgeway Motor Lodge. I can drive. I just want this all to be over.”
Cody and I escorted the three of them to their car, which was parked in the little lot behind the coffee shop. It was disconcerting to see how empty and lifeless the father and daughter were after having been drained of their emotions. I’d had a run-in with a ravening ghoul of my own, but it hadn’t been anywhere near this severe. I’d been lucky; or maybe my super-size emotions had saved me. God knows, I’d spent enough time wrestling with them, but I’d never thought before about how much of what animates us as human beings—or semi-human beings—depends on our feelings.
Without them, we were dead inside.
The tourist dad sat placidly in the front passenger seat, gazing at nothing, his hands resting idly on a camera with a big, fancy lens that dangled from a strap around his neck. Behind him, his daughter slumped in the backseat.
“You’re sure they’ll recover?” the tourist mom whispered. “You’re
sure
?”
“Positive.” I put all the conviction I could muster into the word, which was a fair amount. I didn’t think Stefan would mislead her, not with his well-developed sense of honor. “And if you’d like to stay here in Pemkowet while they recover, the PVB will be happy to cover the cost of lodging.”
Okay, I was going out on a limb with that one, but as far as I was concerned, Amanda fucking Brooks owed me. If she’d canceled the Halloween festivities like Cody and I had asked her to do, none of this would have happened.
Of course, there was no telling what would have happened instead.
At any rate, the tourist mom was having none of it. A look of horror crossed her face. “No,” she said hastily, getting behind the wheel of her Audi. “No, thank you. I think we’ve seen quite enough of this town.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
Cody and I watched them drive away. “Too bad,” he murmured.
“It could have been a lot worse without the Outcast.” I was feeling a little defensive of the ghoul squad. “It was a mob scene, Cody. We’re lucky none of the spectators was killed.”
“I know.” He stroked my hair. “I’m not arguing, Daise. I’m sure they’ll be fine, eventually. They shouldn’t have been here in the first place. It’s just . . .” He shrugged. “I should have known.”
I was confused. “Known what?”
“The Tall Man’s remains.” Cody bared his teeth in a half snarl. “That lunatic Clancy Brannigan had to haul them into his house somehow. He must have used that old pickup truck in his garage. But there should have been a scent trail. I should have smelled it the first time we visited the place.”
“How did he hide it?” I asked.
Cody gave me a look, green flaring behind his eyes. “He didn’t. The rain did. The thunderstorm. Remember?”
Oh, I remembered. “You couldn’t have known. Cody, we didn’t even suspect Boo Radley! We just went there to notify him.”
“Right,” he said brusquely. “And if we’d done it
before
the storm, I would have picked up the Tall Man’s scent.”
There wasn’t a lot I could say to that. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Cody said. “You didn’t know any better. I did. But . . .”
The word trailed away, dangling a host of unsaid things. We hadn’t gone out to investigate immediately because I’d found Cody in a feral state, still moonstruck from the night before. I’d startled him. He’d yanked me down, and I’d liked it. I’d kissed him. I’d initiated a bout of savagely intense lovemaking. Afterward we’d lain together in a nest of woolen blankets and Cody had listened to me explain what had happened in the cemetery, stroking my back from the nape of my neck to the tip of my tail while lightning cracked the sky, thunder rumbled in the marrow of our bones, and the rain poured down, washing away the scent trail.
It had been one of the nicest moments I’d ever known.
“I don’t want to regret it, Cody.” There was a tremor in my voice. “I really don’t.”
“I know.” He slung an arm around my shoulders and kissed my temple. “Come on, Daise. Time to go back.”
By the time we returned to Main Street, things had quieted. Most of the crowd had dispersed. Somewhere in the aftermath, Lurine had shifted back into human form and vanished discreetly along with them. The EMTs were tending to the injured.
Clancy Brannigan was in custody in the back of a police cruiser. The Easties had clambered down the fire escape from atop the Birchwood Grill and were getting a stern lecture from the chief. They were doing their best to look abashed, but I was pretty sure they were delighted with themselves, and I couldn’t blame them.
The Tall Man’s bones still lay in a heap in the middle of the street, moldering under gleaming steel plate.