Irwin grabbed a knife from the block on the counter and stepped over to Libby’s noggin. He lifted a long dark curl that musta come loose in the struggle, bringing the knife up to cut it free.

  At that exact moment, no doubt because Libby didn’t wanna lose none of her hair (her prized possession), one of her dainty little feet, in its lilac kitten heel, came up to brace against Irwin’s chest. And in the next split second. She kicked him clear across the room. It reminded me of something I woulda seen in Finn’s Saturday morning cartoons.

  The knife clattered to the floor as Judas Irwin, the ‘Curtain Back Killer’, flew into the living room and slammed into the wall hard with a crack. He collapsed to the ground in a shower of drywall dust and floppy limbs, and didn’t move.

  Steamboat shrieked.

  Then she jerked forward, as if to run to Irwin’s aid, but then thought better of it. Her noggin snapped around to stare wide-eyed into the kitchen where Libby was sitting up, patting her clothes into place.

  “How was that?” Libby got to work, fixing her hair, a hopeful smile on her face. “Did I do it right?” Then she seemed to notice the chaos in her kitchen, and her smile faltered. “Drat! Look at this mess!”

  Steamboat’s mouth worked silently for a second, like she was struggling to catch up to a scene that had gone wildly off-script. When it finally registered that something had gone horribly wrong, she spun around to dive back toward the mirror.

  Only to come up short when she spotted Agent Riggs, who’d stepped out of the closet to stand with his piece drawn between her and her exit.

  Taliyah threw back the curtain and stepped fully into the living room. She was already raising her weapon and aiming it at Steamboat when she barked, “Freeze! Get down on the ground!”

  Steamboat was moving before Taliyah could finish her sentence. But she didn’t go for her mirror or even the front door. Instead, she ran into the kitchen, past a startled Libby, who was already tending to the mess of gravy splattered on everything, to the open kitchen window.

  Steamboat might not have been much of a witch, but she had enough athleticism to dive headfirst out the window without breaking stride.

  Taliyah swore, but she and Agent Riggs converged on Irwin, who was starting to groan and stir from his heaped position on the floor.

  The ring on my thumb flared with cold, and I jumped to my feet without intending to.

  Let me take care of this, Darla.

  Cain shoved me to the back of my own body before I could even make a peep. Then we bolted for the window, past Taliyah, who was covering Agent Riggs while he moved to secure Irwin with a pair of cuffs.

  Libby scooted out of our way, complaining about having to start the gravy over again.

  But I couldn’t respond. I was too busy playing back seat driver in my own body.

  I thought Cain would go out the same way Steamboat had, and I braced myself for the face-plant I was sure we were going to take. But Cain didn’t throw us head first out the window. He jumped, and caught the top of the window frame at the last second, and then in a move straight out of an Olympic gymnast routine, he swung my gams out the window and dropped down outside.

  We landed in a crouch, and rolled to take the impact, ending up back on my peds.

  I had one moment to be impressed. I hadn’t known my body could even move like that.

  But then that moment was over and we took off like a shot in the dark woods, chasing after one wicked witch turned tarot card reader.

  Chapter Seventeen

  With Cain at the hilt of my body, the two of us tore through the woods, hot on Steamboat’s heels.

  The moon was waxing overhead, nearly full, and spilling its silver light over the ground, bright enough that I wasn’t worried about us crashing into a tree.

  Under Cain’s influence, my body fell into a ground devouring sprint. We flew past trees, tree trunks, hopping over gnarled roots and avoiding any bushes in our way. I prayed the hex wouldn’t rear its head and make me stumble and break an ankle. Cain had insisted I wear my running shoes, and I could admit he’d been right in doing so. Regardless, I was sure I’d be feeling the exertion the next day.

  Up ahead, I could see the pale pink blur of Steamboat’s floaty blouse. The long trailing sleeves fluttered like moth wings, snagging on tree bark and low branches. She had a good lead on us, and desperation pushed her forward with surprising speed.

  Fortunately, Cain knew something about chasing suspects down.

  Instead of bolting straight after her, he ran at odd angles, zigzagging around trees. It took me a minute to realize he was taking hills at an angle to keep us from slowing down, and then running flat-out on the down-slope to let momentum drive us to new speeds.

  Speeds I never thought Darla Fenton and now Darla Rowe would ever be able to reach. I was like a gazelle let loose in the Saharan desert.

  Slowly but surely, the gap between Steamboat and me dwindled.

  Sweat beaded on my brow and soaked my shirt. Leaves slapped against my skin, and a few branches smarted against my skin very painfully. Cain raised my arm to protect my face but did so without ever slowing down. My shoulder brushed a tree trunk, rough bark scraping over fabric and snagging. My breath was coming heavier, but Cain kept it steady, almost rhythmic. He didn’t let us start gasping, like I would have if I’d had to run for more than two blocks.

  Steamboat kept looking over her shoulder, trying to decipher how much of a lead she still maintained. Her face was chalk pale in the moonlight. Branches tore at her hair and clothes, slowing her, and she threw a hand back toward us, like she was flinging a spell.

  An ominous creaking sound echoed through the woods, bouncing off the trunks of the trees. It started low, as more of a groan, then rose higher and higher in pitch. Suddenly, the branches of the canopy overhead began crashing together, wood snapping and leaves hissing as they scraped one another.

  I saw a dark shape suddenly looming from above, just in front of us, and shouted, “Watch out!”

  The tree crashed down, blocking the path forward and only missed us by a couple of feet.

  If I’d been in charge of my body, I would have skidded to a stop right then and there. Even though I woulda been disappointed about losing Steamboat, I wouldn’t have continued on—not after that close call. Libby might have already been dead and thus, unable to die again but we didn’t know what the case was for me. And from where I stood, I didn’t wanna test it out anytime soon.

  But Cain didn’t even break stride.

  My heart was beating up in my throat, pulse so heavy, it was hard to inhale. My pipes had never worked like they was working now. Yet, Cain never hesitated. I wasn’t sure if he felt the complete and total exhaustion overtaking me or maybe he did feel it and just didn’t care? Either way, he planted one hand on the trunk of the fallen tree and vaulted it. My stilts kicked over sideways in a smooth, rolling motion, and we landed on my feet. The whole thing barely slowed us down.

  Cain’s focus had narrowed down to a pinprick.

  In that moment, there was nothing but the ground beneath my peds and the pale pink smudge of the suspect ahead of us in the dark. His thoughts were quiet as he ran on pure instinct, but I caught murmurs, flashes of intent. Steamboat had come to his town, had hurt the people under his jurisdiction for something as petty as power, and he would make damn sure she faced justice for it. And she’d gone after someone I held dear to me.

  Strangely enough, I didn’t think that was my own thought. I was fairly sure it was Cain’s.

  With Cain in control of my body, I found my awareness creeping outward. Without the distraction of needing to pay attention to where I was going and what my peds were doing, my senses stretched out beyond me, seeking… for what? I didn’t know.

  The thing about any old growth forest is that they’re no strangers to death. And I’m not just talking about the cycle of eat-or-be-eaten that every living creature is part of. There were human deaths among the roots and leaves of the woods, whether those deaths were natural, accidental, or intentional.

  A lot of people didn’t respect the woods like they should have. So many went out into the forest and were so ill prepared, they never returned. Instead, they ended up becoming spirits, bound to forever wander the twilight world below the leafy canopy.

  Shoved into the back of my own mind, my senses high, my power spreading out between the trees like ghostly arms, I could feel all of them—all of the unfortunates who had succumbed in the forest, to nature’s unrepentant call.

  There, a lost hiker curled up beneath an outcropping of stone. “I just need to rest for a minute. The road is just past the next tree, I’m sure of it. I just need to sit down and catch my breath. I’ll find my way home soon. Eventually.”

  Over a hill, down past a gully, beneath a layer of leaves and mulch, someone was turned around in a snowstorm. “An armful of wood—that’s all I need. The house is so cold. Just a bit of fuel to make it through the storm, and then we’ll be home free.”

  Underneath the earth, in an unmarked grave, hidden by a new growth of ferns, a spirit howled in rage at the ultimate betrayal. “How could she? How dare she!”

  I felt them all: the lonely, the lost, and the forgotten.

  I’d been one of them for a long time, left behind as the world moved on without me, unable and unwilling to let go. I knew the feel of them, the weight of their pain, their sorrows. The loss and regret chaining them to the earth was a burden so much heavier than any steel could ever be.

  My power passed over them, brushed against them as gently as mist.

  Please, I called to them. Please help me.

  Slowly but surely, their attention shifted, pulling away from their own memories and grudges, from their own pain and anger. I called to the spirits of the north woods, and they listened.

  Help me stop her.

  I pictured Steamboat as clearly as I could, the way she’d looked when she’d stepped through the mirror into the front hallway. The little smirk that had twisted her kisser, the bone-deep selfishness that made her ready and willing to take the life of another person, just to wring a few extra drops of power for herself. She was petty and evil. I sent all that information to the unquiet spirits of the woods, and I asked for their help.

  Their anger was like the forest; old, slow moving, but enormous. Almost limitless.

  They came.

  One or two at first, and then a torrent of them.

  The furious, the desolated, and the resentful, they came to my call, rolling through the trees like an avalanche.

  They blocked the path ahead, a wall of hollow eyes and sunken cheeks, standing side by side and glowing eerily in the otherwise darkness of the night.

  Dead hands reached out, lifeless kissers opened to wail their regrets. They stood in Steamboat’s way, and forced her to see them, to acknowledge that they were once people. That they mattered.

  She lurched to a stop in front of the ghostly wall of spirits with a shriek.

  Her noggin darted franticly this way and that, looking for a way out, a way past them that didn’t involve running straight through them, but they stretched off to either side, surrounding her, slowly closing her in.

  Before she could pick another direction to bolt in, Cain and I were on her.

  He took her down with a tooth-rattling tackle that I was sure was going to leave some bruises.

  Hey, cowboy, I grumbled. Maybe go a little gentler with the goods? I need to be able to walk tomorrow.

  Cain ignored me, securing Steamboat’s hands behind her back while she kicked and fought and snarled at me.

  “You!” she shrieked when she realized who was on top of her.

  “Yeah, me,” I answered and the words were my own. “You aren’t ever going to hurt another dame, Summer Solis.”

  Amen to that, Cain answered.

  Since Steamboat was on the receiving end of Cain’s less than gentle treatment, she’d probably be feeling even worse from the tackle over the next few days. That cheered me up a little.

  But I was still so tired, my energy flagging. I wasn’t sure what exactly I’d done to summon all the spirits here, but whatever it was, it had tired me out and then some. I was Pooped with a capital P.

  Even with the ring, I was struggling to hold Cain and me together.

  With the last drops of power I had left in me, I brushed over the spirits standing in silent witness as they continued to flutter around me, glowing as if fueled by the moonlight.

  Thank you, I whispered to them. Thank you for helping me and thank you for stopping her.

  They soaked up my attention, murmuring back to me in soft voices, and then slipped away.

  Departed, but not forgotten.

  Never again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As far as the human news media was concerned, there had been a major screw up at the maximum-security prison where Judas Irwin was being held.

  Somehow, a convicted serial killer had been able to slip outta the pen, continue killing innocent dames, and then return back inside in order to avoid suspicion and cast doubt on his guilt for the original murders. But no one quite knew how he was managing it and when he started on about bewitched mirrors and witch accomplices, everyone just said he’d lost his marbles.

  It was only through the tireless efforts of a few brave coppers and a federal agent that Irwin’s last target escaped, becoming the only one in a long line of the killer’s victims to survive.

  Libby was very proud of the part she’d played, minus the death of her gravy.

  On the spooky side of things, Steamboat Solis was taken into custody by the supernatural authorities (the council), but then they’d given her over to Wanda’s coven so Steamboat could be tried by her own kind. Only witches could really understand the full horror of what she’d been doing.

  And covens weren’t kind to witches who broke the rules.

  I was sure, in the end, justice would be served.

  And maybe I’d be able to go back to the homes of the victims and whisper to the echoes of their memory so they could rest easy, knowing there wouldn’t be any more victims, knowing that all of this was now a thing of the past. I hoped it would give them some measure of peace.

  I stepped out the door of the Haven Hollow Police Station, listening to the soft chiming notes of the doorbell as I tipped my head back and closed my peepers. Gentle sunlight fell across my face, warming my skin, and I let myself bask in it for just a moment.

  Passion was what made ghosties stick around on earth. Love, grief, rage, and bitter regret, but it was the small things I’d missed the most. Simple things, like summer sunlight, champagne bubbles on my tongue, or giggling at a joke shared among friends. Those were the moments I cherished, the ones I’d thought I’d never have again.

  Eventually, I had to open my peepers and step outta the way of the door. Even in Haven Hollow that kind of behavior would raise some eyebrows, and I didn’t want some well-intentioned samaritan coming over to see if I was okay.

  I’d spent most of the morning recounting to Taliyah all the places I’d sensed human remains out in the woods. I wanted to do it while it was still fresh in my memory, so there was less risk I’d miss someone. Maybe having their bodies finally found and laid to rest in proper graves would help ease their spirits. They’d helped me when I needed it, and I wanted to return the favor.

  I leaned against the side of the building, the brick rough against my shoulders. I was loitering around, waiting for Cain. I’d left him (and his ring) inside the station for a bit. There wasn’t anything he could do to help with paperwork or phone calls, obviously and without me, he couldn’t even talk to Taliyah, but I think they were both comforted by the other’s presence all the same. Just knowing they were both there together, in the same room, even if they never said a word to each other.

  The Morgans didn’t strike me as a family that had long, emotional talks, but they loved each other and that much was obvious.

  Cain had unbent enough to grudgingly allow me to wear a sundress with big red poppies all over it that morning, so I figured I could give him a few minutes to linger in the place that meant so much to him when he was alive.

  A motorcar door slammed in the parking lot, and I looked up in time to see Special Agent Riggs crossing the pavement toward me.

  He looked good in his charcoal-gray suit and crisp white shirt, with his blond hair ruffled lightly by the wind. Even so, I wasn’t looking forward to speaking with him again.

  After giving my case report to Blaise Howard, I’d asked Mr. Howard to pass word through his old contacts to Jonathon Moses and ask for a favor. That favor arrived in the form of Fox Aspen and boy did Fox come through for us. He immediately set to smoothing away the memories of anything supernatural that Agent Riggs had witnessed, leaving behind just enough that Riggs didn’t ask too many questions about how the Judas Irwin case had wrapped up.

  Meeting Fox had been a hoot.

  Talk about a charmer! And that gorgeous auburn hair and golden eyes… Taliyah was a lucky gal, though she didn’t know it yet.

  Still, even if Fox weren’t tall, broad shouldered, and so handsome, I was surprised my peepers didn’t bug outta my noggin, he still would have won me over. He’d pulled me aside and, with a wink and a mischievous grin that nearly had me melting into a puddle of goo, he’d explained that he’d left enough of Agent Riggs’ memory intact to imply that my spotting the handprint on the mirror had blown the whole case wide open.

  So, when Agent Riggs strode up to me, it was with a friendly smile, not a sneer of contempt.

  “Miss Darla, the Psychic,” he greeted me when he was close enough. “What are you doing, standing around out here?”

  I straightened away from the wall, and tucked my hair behind one of my ears. “Just waiting for someone.”

  “Oh?” He flashed more of his teeth and a hint of a dimple in his chin. “Anyone I know?”

  I shook my head. “Afraid not, Agent Riggs.”