On her left and partway down the cobblestone street was the witches’ shop, Bell, Book, and Broomstick. Riley said it sold items for both the wannabees and the genuine practitioners. Her master had often spoken of her friend, Ayden, who had fought in the great battle at Oakland Cemetery. Katia had met a couple witches in Lawrence, but they didn’t seem to be the kind to wield a sword and lop off the heads of Hellspawn. Or at least they’d never acted like it.

  Sitting next to the entrance to the shop was a cat, a calico whose fur was a riot of apricot, gold, rust, and black. Two emerald-green eyes studied her as she approached. This feline had a distinct white outline. Not a demon, but something else. But then this was Little Five Points.

  The shop’s door opened and a woman bustled out, a shopping bag hanging from an arm. She didn’t appear to notice the cat just a foot or so away which confirmed Katia’s suspicions that the feline was unique.

  “Thank you so much,” the lady said, addressing someone who appeared in the doorway now. “I really want that lizard out of my house and this will do the trick.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The woman in the shop’s doorway watched her go with a bemused expression. She had her auburn hair in a loose bun, no doubt because of the heat. She wore a multi-patterned blue top and a long, pale blue cotton skirt. The top was low enough to reveal a large tattoo on her neck and chest. It appeared to show the inside of a cave, but why one would want that on their skin made no sense.

  “Is it a real lizard?” Katia asked, curious.

  The woman studied her for a time. “She sees it, so it is real to her.”

  That was an interesting idea. “Are you Ayden Marshall?” A nod returned. “I’m Katia Breman. I work with Master Blackthorne.”

  “Riley has spoken of you. Often, in fact.” Another meow, which caused them both to look down. “Yes?” A long meow, then the cat stretched and headed toward Katia.

  She knelt as it approached. “Your cat is so pretty. What is its name?”

  There was a brief hesitation. “Her name is Esme, short for Esmerelda. Not everyone can see her.”

  “Then I’m just lucky, I guess.”

  The feline halted a short distance from Katia, still eyeing her.

  “Is it okay if I pet you?” she asked.

  A chirp was the response and then the creature turned tail and marched back toward the witch.

  “Sure, ignore me,” Katia said, laughing as she stood. “Typical cat.”

  “Are you here to see the Summoner Advocate?” Ayden asked, gesturing down the street toward Mort’s house.

  “I am.”

  “Good. Tell him if he has any questions to call me.”

  Then the witch was back inside the shop with the door closing behind her. The cat remained outside, licking a paw, then vigorously applying it to an ear.

  “Bye, Esme, it was nice to meet you,” Katia said as she continued toward Mort’s place. It was only when she was some distance away that she muttered, “Ghost cats. Now I’ve seen everything.”

  She’d been inside Mortimer Alexander’s home once before, the day she’d arrived in Atlanta. During that visit there had been a mild tug of magic as she’d entered the house. This time the tug was more like a body slam and sucked the breath out of her.

  Mort noticed her reaction and winced. “Sorry. I ramped up my wards. I’m a bit on edge, for obvious reasons.”

  “No sweat,” she said, then took a very deep breath to let the sensation pass. “Better than a guard dog.”

  He didn’t reply but bolted the door behind her and then led Katia down the hallway to his terrace. It felt cool there despite being open to the backyard. A high-tech ceiling fan stirred the air from above but that shouldn’t have made much of a difference.

  “Have a seat,” Mort said, gesturing to one of the wicker chairs.

  Like the last time the chair was comfortable, and she settled into it with a sigh. But unlike the last time there wasn’t any food on the side table. Nor any drinks. Mort was all about hospitality so that showed how wired he was.

  “How bad is it?” she asked, pulling her water bottle out of her trapping bag.

  “Bad.” Then he noticed her drink. “Sorry. I should have had something laid out for you.”

  She waved him off. “We’ve got bigger stuff to worry about, so no problem.” Mort sank into the chair nearest hers. “Well, before we get into all that, I have contact information for someone who can teach you how to handle your ability to channel magic. Her name is Claúdia Santos and she lives in Savannah. That’s about four hours south of here on the interstate.”

  “This lady is okay with helping me?”

  “To be honest, she’s reluctant. She doesn’t like people knowing she’s a chaîne.”

  His tone implied there was more. “And?”

  The summoner leaned back in his chair. “Offloading a magical spell is dangerous. If you do it wrong it can kill you, or make you wish you were dead. The process needs to be very precise. You were lucky because Riley and his lordship helped you.”

  “So doing this without the training is a dumb idea?” she asked.

  “If you have a choice between being bespelled, or trying to ditch the spell, do it. Just know that the process robs your body of essential minerals. If those minerals get too low you can have a stroke, a heart attack, or a seizure.”

  Katia blinked at that. “Oh good. That’s lovely news,” her sarcasm ringing through every word.

  Did she have a choice? No. Just because she might never grave sit again didn’t mean someone wouldn’t throw a spell on her for whatever reason. If she had this ability why not learn how to use it?

  “Yes, I’d like to talk to this lady. If she’s not good with helping me, that’s fine. It’s her call. I probably won’t ever need to offload another spell anyway.”

  “One never knows,” Mort replied.

  Then his warning clicked into place. “To teach me how to do this means someone has to throw spells at me, right?” The summoner nodded. “That’s why this lady’s uneasy.”

  “She’s more than uneasy. Her last pupil didn’t survive the training.”

  Didn’t survive the . . .

  Katia would worry about that later. “Are we up to the bad part of the news yet?”

  He sighed as if the weight of the entire world was on his shoulders. Which it probably was, at least in Atlanta.

  “As of now, nine people have been reanimated. Five of those were stolen when the necromancer overwhelmed the grave sitters. Three had their graves explode, destroying the protective circle, like what happened to you and Riley. One reanimate came from a funeral home.” He paused and added, “Riley said you told her about that one.”

  “And the pale guy.”

  He nodded. “He isn’t the necromancer, I’m sure of that,” Mort said. “I’ve been trying to find a pattern but—”

  “You’re so wiped you can’t think straight.”

  A slight smile said she was right.

  Katia retrieved her legal pad and a pen from her trapping bag. “Then let’s work through them, one by one. Maybe we can see something they have in common, something we missed.”

  Mort seemed to relax for the first time since she’d arrived. “I’ve got notes as well. Let me get them.”

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  A little over an hour later they had a detailed list of all the missing reanimates, dates of death, their home addresses, occupations, who had handled their funeral arrangements and where they were buried. To put all that data in some form that made sense, Katia created a grid. It was second nature to her after all the years of landscape planning, and it helped her sort things out in her own mind.

  Mort studied the listings, then tapped a finger on the page. “I used to be a mortician, so I have experience in the business.” He put small check marks by five of the businesses listed. “I know the directors at these funeral homes personally. I’ll call them to see if there is anything they remember that seemed odd.”

  That was a good idea. “You want me to do the others?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll get further with them than you will.”

  “Then maybe I need to find the guy who was at the funeral home and at the cemetery.”

  “He might be a relative of Mr. Means.”

  “Well, if he is I can’t really talk to him since we’re being sued.”

  He blinked at that. “Good point. You know, there’s one thing we don’t have on this list,” he said. “We need to know who was grave sitting those bodies. I can find out the names of those who were injured, but I don’t know the others. I’ll check with Riley about that.”

  “Maybe get the names of everyone who watched these graves, not just the ones the night the bodies were stolen. Maybe there’s a pattern?”

  “Good idea.” He made a note of that.

  Katia took a photo of the grid with her phone. “You need me for anything else?”

  “Not unless you’d like to stay while I make those calls. It might take some time, though.”

  “No, I better get back to Simon’s place. I owe both Riley and the Vatican a couple of exorcism reports. Don’t dare get behind on those.”

  As he placed his first call, Katia let herself out the front door. In her jeans pocket was the name and phone number of the lady in Savannah. Maybe someday she’d contact her. But not today. Not with Alex’s future on the line.

  ELEVEN

  “Go!” he shouted. And still the dead just stared at him. “Go, please, just go!”

  It was useless. All his plans had failed. Again.

  “Why can’t you do what I command?” he demanded.

  Nine dead faces stared back at him, some blank, some bewildered. Only one seemed to comprehend what Mathias was trying to do.

  “You want us to go into that other world again?” the one named Means asked.

  “Yes. Go there and bring something back to me.”

  “But we can’t go,” Means replied. “It won’t let us in.”

  And that was the problem.

  Mathias had opened a gateway into that other world, bright and shimmering with energy. Or at least he’d thought it was the entrance until he’d been tossed out on his ass. Entry refused. The doorman, or whatever the hell that was on the other side, refused to deal with him. He’d tried again and been slung back into his own realm. And warned never to try that again.

  So, he’d sent in the dead. Whatever that was on the other side couldn’t have any problem with them, right? The first few he’d reanimated weren’t lucid enough to do what he needed, so he reanimated even more bodies, carefully choosing those he thought might be capable of the task.

  His assistant had helped him weed through the obituaries, and the last few had been a lot brighter. Means, in particular. Those that made it through the portal were immediately tossed back into this world.

  Just like me.

  Mathias Burnley Chaffin, a summoner with considerable power, a wearer of the darkest navy robe, was a failure. If the stakes hadn’t been so damned high his pride would have been hurt. But that wasn’t important, not when Her life was on the line.

  Mathias waved his hand and the portal vanished, revealing the dirty wall of the abandoned factory.

  “I need someone strong enough to cross the barrier and get past that damned gatekeeper,” he murmured, pacing now. “Someone who has done it before.”

  He needed them to bring him an object of power or the one he loved would perish. Even now She was dying, he could sense it. Dying with all her people because of the evil that had invaded their world. An evil that should never have been there in the first place.

  He’d been naïve, so sure he could save them all. Now Mathias had no choice but to send someone who was still alive, and he knew who that had to be. Something about that strange girl at the gravesite told him she might be the one. Not the summoner, she would be too much of a hassle.

  No, it had to be the trapper, the one who’d resisted his magic but didn’t have any magic of her own. The one that his lover said had walked the realms.

  Was it true? Could the trapper get past the menace at the doorway? Only one way to find out. But first he needed leverage to ensure she’d make the journey and return with the object he needed, because she wouldn’t do it otherwise.

  Mathias knew stubbornness when he saw it.

  “Who would you risk your life for?” he mused.

  He stepped away from the Deaders and made the call.

  “Yeah?” the voice on the other end said.

  “It’s . . . Magus. I need you to check someone out for me. I need to know who her closest friends are, her family, who she’d be willing to fight for.”

  “I thought I was done,” his assistant complained. “People are starting to ask questions. Someone saw me at one of the funeral homes.”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  “Well, I do,” the voice insisted.

  Mathias gritted his teeth. “Think about who you’re talking to.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath as reality hit home.

  “Yeah. Sorry. It’s not been easy.”

  “It isn’t easy for any of us, Hawkins. Check out the trapper at Means’ grave. Her name is Katia Breman. I need the info tonight.”

  “Okay. But this is it, right?”

  “Yes, this is it.” Because if what he planned didn’t work, he was done.

  “I’m grave sitting right now. I planted the spheres just like you asked.”

  “Fine. Whatever. I won’t be needing them.” Not now.

  Mathias ended the call. It was only then he realized the reanimate was still standing nearby, watching his every move. Means looked over at the other Deaders, then back.

  “Can you send them home now?” he asked as he gestured toward the others. “They can’t help you. They need to be at peace.”

  Mathias wasn’t a bastard, or hadn’t been one until recently.

  “I’ll free a few of them, but not all.” He needed some for leverage against his fellow summoners. “I’ll give them a restorative and then send them to the cops. The police will make sure they get to the proper people.”

  “Thank you.” Then Means shuffled over to rejoin the others. There was murmuring among them, and one of the dead started to cry.

  As the weeping continued, Mathias closed his eyes, thinking again of the one he was trying to save. If She and her people died, then he didn’t care what this world would do to him. They could rip away his magic. Kill him. It simply would not matter if She didn’t survive.

  In that case, dying would be a mercy he did not deserve.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  Katia headed downtown after her time with Mort. Having a full day off didn’t happen that often so if she didn’t get called out to an exorcism, the afternoon was hers. For once, she’d decided to do something touristy. How often could she take a real Atlanta Demon Trappers tour?

  Because her face was all over the news, both in electronic and print, she’d opted for a disguise. A pair of sunglasses covered part of her face and the Six Feet Under restaurant baseball cap, a present from Riley, hid her hair.

  When Riley had initially mentioned the tour, Katia had brushed it off. Then her boss had routed her to the tour’s website which said thirty-five percent of the fees were donated directly to the local Guild’s Orphans’ Fund. There was even an official letter from Master Harper that stated tour guide Gary Bates was for real. She suspected that it’d been Riley who’d engineered that endorsement.

  Gary’s website bio said he was a former journeyman trapper who had quit the business right after the Tabernacle massacre. He’d been there, been injured, and now the thought of trapping Hellspawn gave him endless nightmares. Instead, he’d decided to educate people on what trappers did, what Hellspawn were really like, and how it wasn’t at all like Hollywood’s crazy hype.

  Now she was downtown listening to Gary restate all of this at the beginning of the tour, just in case someone hadn’t read the fine print on his website. That honesty earned him major points.

  They’d begun in the heart of the city.

  “The trappers call this part of town Demon Central,” the guide said to the group as he gestured around. He looked to be in his early fifties, but you could see that the job had worn him down.

  “Though it’s not generally known, Hellspawn infestation has moved around over the years. At one time it was closer to Little Five Points, which is northeast of us,” he said, pointing in that direction. “When the witches and necromancers moved into that area about twenty years ago, the demons shifted here.”

  Which made sense. The fiends would always go after easier prey, especially those who couldn’t toast them with magic.

  “Will we see one today?” one of the group asked hopefully.

  There were fifteen of them, a few from the area but most were here on vacation. It appeared that the good folks from New Orleans, Boise and New York City were eager to see Atlanta and its Hellspawn.

  “We may see some. Maybe not. I always hope we don’t,” Gary said.

  Katia eyed the worn denim bag on his shoulder, big enough to hold a few bottles of Holy Water, a magical sphere or two, and a steel pipe. Gary might be out of the trapping business but he was no fool.

  After stopping at a few more locations where famous trapper events had occurred—Terminus Market and the former site of the Tabernacle, now a memorial—they took a break inside a bar formerly known as the Armageddon Lounge. It’d been a favorite haunt for fiends until the new owner had renamed the establishment.

  It was during this stop that Gary worked his way around the group, talking to them as they enjoyed their drinks and got out of the broiling heat for a bit.