With a knowing nod Himari took him to the dojo’s office. To his relief they had both staves in stock, so he paid for them, repeatedly thanked her, and then headed back to his hotel room with his purchases in hand.

  Later that evening, sitting up in bed with a cold pack on his sword arm, he couldn’t stop smiling. He might still be tired and sore, but he had just found two great birthday presents, ones Katia would never expect.

  Now he couldn’t wait to get home.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  Once again, Katia found herself at the cemetery to watch over the still-deceased Albert Means. No one had called in sick this time, but there wasn’t a line of folks eager to tangle with a necro after last night’s adventure. So here she was because she needed the money. If the necro showed up he was in for one helluva tough time because Riley was sitting vigil with her. Her master had also insisted that Katia would get the entire vigil fee.

  “We might get lucky and nail this sucker,” her boss said, grinning.

  Or not.

  The cemetery looked no different than the night before, though fresh flowers had appeared on a nearby grave. When Katia paused in front of it, she realized one of her feet was resting on the grave itself. She stepped back immediately.

  “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” As if the dead could hear her.

  It was a Breman family thing—you didn’t walk on a grave. This one had a vase buried partway in the recently disturbed soil. There was a bouquet of yellow roses inside, though the petals were already beginning to droop.

  “Anna Lee Lanier,” she murmured, reading the temporary placard that announced the deceased’s particulars. A check of dates of birth and death said she’d barely made her twenty-eighth birthday and had died three weeks earlier.

  “You can’t see them, but the roses are beautiful. Someone misses you very much.” A faint breeze blew across her face now, as if in acknowledgement.

  Katia headed off toward Means’ grave, eager to catch up with Riley. The current grave sitter was a young man, probably in his late twenties. He had a pale complexion, wavy dark hair, and glasses. Then he sneezed, twice.

  “You have a cold?” Riley asked.

  He nodded. “I should have been here yesterday afternoon, but I was too sick.” He gave Katia a long look. “You were on the news today.”

  “Yeah, I bet I was.”

  The guy quickly stashed his empty juice bottle into a ratty khaki backpack, then rose. Reciting the phrase that allowed them to cross the protective border, he gave the grave one last look and then headed across the cemetery grounds without another word.

  “What a cheery dude,” Katia mumbled.

  It took them a few minutes to get their gear set up, then they reset the circle because Riley wanted to enlarge it. Katia let her go for it because it certainly wasn’t her that wielded magic in this duo.

  Once the Holy Water and candles were placed and the new circle glowing away, Katia relaxed. The night was nice, she was earning money, and Riley was always full of interesting stories. They laid the tarp on the ground, then rolled out the sleeping bags. Once she was parked on hers, an unsolicited package came her way, one that contained strawberry Pop-Tarts, of all things.

  “It’s tradition, sort of,” Riley explained. “Simon loves them, so we shared his supply when we sat vigil for my dad.”

  She knew that Simon had a fondness for those things, but there was a lot more in that explanation than just a memory. Maybe now was the time to find out just what had happened between them. “He said you two dated for a while.”

  “Yeah, we were just starting out and it was going really good and then, well, Hell messed us up,” Riley admitted, her voice sad now. “Part of me is bummed it happened that way, but the other part knows that’s why Den and I are together now. Simon’s okay with how it all fell out. Well, at least once he stopped feeling so guilty about it.”

  “He still does a little, I think.”

  A nod returned. “Our exorcist carries a lot of guilt. He’s getting better. You know, I actually cheered the first time I heard him swear.”

  Katia laughed. “He mumbles ‘damn’ every now and then, and I’ve heard him use the ‘f’ word once. I’m a very bad influence.”

  “Good for you. Simon always needed to loosen up. He’s a much cooler person now.” Riley eyed her. “He seems more at ease. Well, except for all the silly tree and squirrel pictures.”

  Katia had a theory about that. “Any chance he’s just sending those to mess with our heads? Is that possible?”

  Riley opened her own Pop-Tart, then hesitated before she took a bite. “You know, that makes sense. The old Simon—no way. I think the new one has some mischief in him. You don’t see it very often, but it’s there.”

  “Hmm. Maybe one of these days he’ll start wearing something other than those boring white shirts. He looks like he time-traveled here from the 1950s.”

  Riley laughed. “He does!”

  “Simon works out and has serious muscles. He doesn’t show them off, but they’re there.”

  “Noticed that, did you?”

  “I did,” Katia admitted. “He’s damned handsome. But you can’t tell him I said that. It’d embarrass him.” And me.

  “I won’t. Oh, Den mentioned something about going to a new BBQ place. Mama Z’s is still his fave, but he says it never hurts to try something new. You and Simon could come with us, give my husband all sorts of grief about how Southern barbeque just isn’t like the Midwestern kind.”

  Katia grinned, liking that idea. “That works for me.” She finished her Pop-Tart before rearranging herself on the sleeping bag. “I’m not used to this. The joking around, you know? My parents pretty much shut me out when my brother got hurt, and then my job sucked after my first master died. It was damned grim there for a while.”

  “And now you’re in with a bunch of oddball Southerners who shout a lot and make fun of each other.” Riley smiled back at her. “You’re doing just fine, Journeyman Breman. Don’t let anyone say you’re not.” She paused and then asked, “Did you get the notice about the Guild meeting?” Katia gave a nod. “Good. You’ll get to meet some of the others. Sadly, not all are house-trained.”

  She snorted. “That bad?”

  “A few are seriously not good with females in the Guild. They gave me a megaton of crap when I was an apprentice, even when my dad was alive. There’s more of us now so they’ve just had to suck it up. You’ll hear lots of bitching and some smart-assed remarks. Ignore it unless they cross a line or get too lewd. Then nail them.” She eyed her. “Unlike your last Guild, here you have backup.”

  “Still getting used to that,” she admitted.

  “I had backup, you get backup. That’s the way it goes here.”

  They fell quiet after that. Riley began texting with her spouse, so Katia researched the occupant of the new grave.

  Anna Lee Lanier. Born 1991 Died 2019.

  Then she found the newspaper article. “She was murdered!” Katia blurted. At Riley’s puzzled look, she pointed toward the grave in the distance. “The lady down there. I found a news article. Her husband was arrested. He says he’s innocent.”

  “Man, that sucks. I wonder if he really did it.”

  “Isn’t that what Alex wants to do—call up the dead to find out what really happened to them?”

  “It is. That might be even harder for him now after what happened last night. Mort managed to keep his name out of the news, but summoners gossip like anyone else.”

  “So, he’s toast just because of that lying necro?”

  “Who knows? If we can get Alex free of this other nonsense maybe we can track down her killer. At least if her husband didn’t do it.”

  He would not hurt me.

  The voice was so quiet Katia almost didn’t hear it. She glanced around but saw no one. Riley was texting again and didn’t act as if she’d heard anything odd, so Katia shrugged it off and closed the news article on her phone. She was just going to freak herself out if she kept this up.

  After her master finished her conversation, she laid down on top of her sleeping bag, wished Katia a good night, and curled up. She made it look so easy. Katia eventually stretched out on her own sleeping bag, staring up at the stars. They weren’t as bright here, too much light pollution even in a cemetery.

  As she drifted off, she swore she heard that voice again, though what it was saying was so quiet she couldn’t hear all the words. Not knowing what else to do, Katia whispered, “Rest in peace.”

  Not yet. Not yet.

  FOUR

  Something magical bumped against Riley’s mind and she opened her eyes, blinked, then slowly sat up. The cemetery was as dark as one would expect in the middle of the night. Darker, because the streetlights near the parking lot were out. They hadn’t been that way when she and Katia had gone to sleep.

  Another tap on her mind, though this time it was more like someone shoving on a locked door rather than politely knocking.

  “Katia?” The journeyman was upright in a heartbeat, which said she hadn’t been sleeping soundly. “We have company.”

  “The necro?”

  “Yes. Best to let whoever they are do their thing. We’re fine as long as we’re inside the circle.”

  There was the crinkle of plastic as Katia took a long swig from her water bottle. “Do you recognize the magic?”

  “Same as last night.”

  “Back for more, then.”

  Except this time, she was here.

  The summoner floated out of the dark, skimming just above the grass. It was an impressive blending of glamour and illusionary magic, all black flowing robe and distant thunder. Hollywood would have loved it. He, or she, hadn’t bothered to look like Alex. This time it was Mortimer Alexander.

  “Dumb move,” she muttered.

  Riley pushed through the glamour and a faint impression returned. Male, maybe forty or so. He came to a halt a few feet from the Holy circle, his eyes on her and then moved his attention to Katia.

  “Your name is not Susan. You lied to me,” he said.

  “Seemed only fair since you lied to me,” she replied, steel pipe in her hand now. Protective circle or not, Katia Breman was always prepared.

  The necro frowned at her. “I do not like liars.”

  “Oh, the irony,” she replied, then yawned. “Don’t you have something better to do than creep around graveyards in the middle of the night?”

  Riley chuckled. “That is kind of the default setting for summoners, actually.”

  The necro’s attention shifted to her now, along with a more insistent mental shove. She batted it back like a tennis ball causing the sender to blink in surprise.

  “Don’t be rude,” she said. “You have no claim to this corpse. You need to leave. You know it’s a violation of the summoner oath to reanimate the dead without their permission.”

  It was one of the first rules you learned when you began your training, and it was pounded into your head from then on just in case you hadn’t been paying attention the first, or the tenth time.

  “And if I have permission?” he asked slyly.

  “Then we wouldn’t be sitting vigil over the late Mr. Means.”

  “Who are you to challenge me?”

  “I’m Summoner Blackthorne. I’m also a master demon trapper. And who are you?”

  The smug expression didn’t fade. “No one you would know. But you will after tonight.”

  His spell struck the circle hard, causing the protective sphere to flare bright white as it repelled the onslaught.

  “Not happening!” Riley said, immediately reinforcing the sphere.

  For a time there was a give-and-take of magic, though Riley already knew that this guy was much stronger. The Holy Water circle was all that kept him at bay.

  As if he’d come to the same conclusion, the summoner abruptly changed tactics and spat out a single word that made her ears throb in time to her heartbeat. A rumbling came from behind them, but she didn’t dare break her concentration to see what was happening.

  “The grave’s opening!” Katia cried out.

  “What?” Riley spun around to find Means’ plot churning like a team of energetic moles had taken residence. “That’s impossible!”

  The dirt blew straight up, then pummeled down onto them in fat red chunks. A large piece smacked into Katia, and she crouched down, belatedly covering her head. A sharp crack broke the vault’s lid into pieces and then the casket lid flew straight up out of the hole and against the Holy Water circle like a guided missile. The impact blew the ward apart. Dirt and pieces of the casket’s lining rained down around them. As the debris settled Means climbed out of his grave, then looked around, confused.

  “You’re mine now. Get over here,” the necro said, waving him forward.

  The dead man marched away from his grave, surprisingly quick for a corpse, ignoring Katia’s feeble attempt to grab him. Means had barely cleared the remnants of the circle before he and the summoner went skyward in an acrid cloud of blue-black smoke.

  “Oh, no,” Riley muttered.

  Purple and black arcs of magic seethed around them, making Katia’s head roar and her chest tight. Riley was on her knees, her head bent, blood dripping from her nose. Some of that strange purple undulated across her master’s fingers as she reached toward the ground. The moment she touched it, the magic flowed downward into the earth.

  Katia’s eyesight faded as the pounding in her skull increased. She lost her balance, falling forward, palms skidding in the grass. It was then she felt it, the persistent tug of the earth. To her astonishment, the spell’s magic flowed down her arms and through her fingers.

  As much as it hurt, she forced herself to stay connected with the ground, not allowing her fingers to curl in agony. Instead, she dug deep into the grass and then into the dirt.

  Her body seemed to crackle as wave after wave of the powerful spell searched for an outlet. Whatever was inside her was beyond description, like someone had stuffed her full of fireworks and then lit them off all at once. She swore she saw intricate patterns in the purple mist and could hear the earth groan as the magic descended into it.

  There was a low moan. It had come from her. Another moan, this one from Riley. Time passed, though she had no idea how long. There was only the endless rippling agony.

  “That’s it, just let it go,” her master said from somewhere near her. “I’m sorry I can’t make it go away any faster.”

  “Hurts.”

  “Yes, it does. Why didn’t you tell me you knew how to ground a spell?”

  “I . . . don’t.”

  Katia’s head bowed even more, connecting with the grass and the earth now. With her skin touching the soil, more of the magic pushed its way out of her, pulse by painful pulse.

  Time passed. Hours. Decades. And still the purple flowed out of her.

  “You taught her how to ground a spell?” That was Mort’s voice, so apparently her boss had called for backup.

  “No,” Riley replied.

  “You didn’t?”

  “No,” Riley repeated, this time with more emphasis.

  With a great deal of effort Katia raised her head to find the senior summoner kneeling on the other side of her. Some distance away was the older summoner, the strange one with the sigil on his forehead. Lord Ozymandias. Above him bobbed a glowing orb, a match to the one that hovered above Mort.

  “Here, you need this,” Riley said, holding out a few tissues. “Your nose is bleeding.”

  Katia managed to sit up, then she jammed the tissues against her face.

  God, my head hurts so bad. The worst hangover in her life—the night of her senior prom and too much tequila—was just a mild ache compared to this.

  “You didn’t show her how to ground the backlash,” Mort said, as if that needed repeating yet again.

  “I didn’t have time. The circle just blew apart. From the inside.”

  His lordship swiveled around now, staring directly at Katia.

  “Journeyman Breman, do you have any magical talent in your family?”

  Did she? “No. Not like you guys.” She was tempted to blow her nose to clear it, but something told her that wouldn’t be wise. As it was, it burned as if someone had poured acid into both nostrils.

  “And yet you see angels,” Ozymandias said.

  “They glow really bright. Hard to miss them.”

  Then his lordship was right in front of her, eyeing her intently. “Then how did you know how to ground the backlash?”

  She guessed that was what had nearly blown her head off. “I saw Riley doing it. I figured I could give it a try. I just had to get that stuff out of me.”

  “Ohhh . . . ” Mort murmured. He shot a surprised look at the senior summoner, and a nod returned.

  “I can relieve you of the headache if you permit me to touch you,” Ozymandias said.

  “Ah, sure. Go for it. I swear my eyes are about to fall out.” At least her nose had finally stopped bleeding.

  “Close them for me.”

  When she complied there was a faint touch at the center of her forehead and then the agony melted away.

  Her eyes snapped open. “Oh, God, that’s better,” she said, blinking in astonishment. “Thank you.”

  “You think she’s a chaîne?” Mort asked.

  “Must be, though there aren’t that many of those around.”

  “A what?” Riley asked.

  “Chaîne. The word is French and means, well, chain,” Mort said.

  As much as she appreciated that her head no longer hurt so bad, Katia didn’t like being left out of the conversation. “Ah, sorry, but right now you’re making zip sense.”

  “A chaîne or channel is someone who can ground spells, and in this case, a backlash, like what you just went through,” Mort explained. “But that person is usually incapable of performing magic. It’s an odd trade off.”