Heath, Nariko and Colin looked at one another across Colin’s kitchen table in a moment that seemed to linger longer than the touch of the Black Book’s bookmark.

  Then the doorbell rang again.

  Colin stood.

  “You aren’t seriously going to answer that,” said Heath.

  “Not everything’s about you,” said Colin with a half-smile. “It could just be a package delivery.”

  “You don’t think the timing is…” started Nariko, but Colin shrugged and padded barefoot toward the front door.

  Heath jumped to follow and Nariko was only a step behind them. A convoy of bathrobes and bare feet across Colin’s cherry hardwood floor, still chilly in the morning’s early light.

  Heath didn’t settle for following Colin’s determined stride though. He skipped past to the window and looked out into the rain. He couldn’t see the front porch from his angle, but he could see the neatly trimmed grass, and out by the curb…

  “No delivery truck out there,” said Heath, his fingers parting Colin’s white lace curtain. “Just a black limo. Still want to answer the door?”

  Colin had the decency to slow his pace and gaze out the peephole to see who stood on his porch.

  “Um, Heath?” said Colin. “There’s an old man on the porch who—”

  “I ain’t so old as all that,” said a voice from the other side of the door. A voice Heath remembered all too well. “No matter what the gray hairs on my head try to tell you. Now whoever you are, boy, you open that door and let me talk to my nephew like civilized folk.”

  Heath’s groin clutched, and his stomach puckered so hard it must have tried to hide behind his spinal cord. But he could think of nothing to say.

  Not Uncle Andre. Not here.

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” said Colin. “Maybe we could meet you downtown for lunch—”

  “Boy, I have ridden in the cramped seats of two airplanes, and traveled three thousand six hundred twenty-three miles to stand here on your doorstep. Now you can either open this door, or the next time you hear my voice I won’t be so pleasant and civilized as I am right now.”

  Nariko shook her head emphatically, but Heath sighed.

  “Uncle Andre,” said Heath in the strongest voice he could muster, “a civilized man does not force his company on a host who is still in his bathrobe.”

  “It’s nearly nine a.m. By all the deals made at crossroads, boy, how late do you sleep?”

  “None of us are famers, Uncle Andre.” Heath could imagine the irritated flare of his Uncle’s nostrils at that comment, because Heath’s uncle wasn’t really a farmer either. Not anymore. He hadn’t done his own work in years. “Portland may not be Manhattan, but the fact is that we’re still city dwellers and not used to setting up meetings before ten, at the earliest.”

  A tricky answer, but Heath knew Uncle Andre would taste enough truth to believe it. Heath never set an appointment before noon if he could avoid it, although Colin had eight o’clock classes two days a week, and Nariko didn’t need an alarm clock to rise with the sun.

  “All right then, boy, when and where for a pleasant family chat?”

  Heath was tempted to name Tsarina’s, but if they really were connected to the Russian mob, his uncle might be able to cut a deal with them.

  “Riverfront Park near the Burnside Bridge. Eleven-thirty. Give us time to get dressed, and you to find a hotel.”

  “All right, boy. I’ll see you then, and I look forward to meeting the two friends you have in there with you.” Uncle Andre chuckled, and Heath remembered too well that low bubbling sound. “Too clever for your own good, though. Should have talked to me now when I just got into town. Give me another two hours and who knows what I’ll brew up?”

  “See you at eleven-thirty, Uncle.”

  Uncle Andre didn’t say anything else, but he grinned over his shoulder at Heath from Colin’s front walk. A scary image, the broad, gleaming grin from under a black umbrella.

  Uncle Andre wasn’t kidding about the gray hair. All his tight curls had faded from black to steel gray. He’d lost weight though, Heath could see that because the black overcoat didn’t bulge. Uncle Andre moved like a bantam weight boxer in his prime instead of a man in his fifties. A light step, as though all the travel he complained about hadn’t slowed him down in the least.

  He’d probably already been in town for two days, or so. Probably already made some allies. Vizinha, maybe. Or that demon-conjurer, Drake. Someone who wanted bad things for Heath.

  He might even have known the time and location Heath would choose for their meeting. He always seemed to be three steps ahead of Heath, ever since that night in the grave. Probably only wanted to show his face now to get Heath thinking about him. Knew Heath wouldn’t open the door. And if he did, Heath would have found out he was the one who was unprepared.

  As Uncle Andre got into the car, he grinned again and raised an index finger to his temple in a salute to Heath before closing the door.

  The limo pulled away, hissing across the wet pavement.

  Heath watched it go.

  “You’re not thirteen anymore,” said Nariko. “You’ve come a long way.”

  “So has he. The last time I saw him he couldn’t afford to throw money away on travel like that, much less the limo.”

  “A rental,” said Colin from the window on the other side of the front door. “And he didn’t fly first class if he felt cramped in.”

  “Uncle Andre would feel cramped in the only seat on a private jumbo jet. He’d say it hemmed in his spirit.”

  Nariko made an impatient sound.

  “Look at me.”

  She poked Heath in the ribcage, something she hadn’t done in a long time. Heath turned, but couldn’t quite read the emotion in her jade eyes.

  “This is your town, not his. And maybe you have enemies, but you have allies too. Real allies. People like him are always trying to out-maneuver each other. If he’s been here long enough to reach out to someone like Vizinha, they’re both more interested in how they can use each other than they are in striking at you.”

  “How did you know—”

  “Because I know you.” She shrugged, making the big Welsh-flag robe look somehow right on her. “Now come on. We’ve got two hours to prep for this, and I’m betting all three of us have tricks we want to prepare.”

  “After breakfast,” said Colin, leading the way back to the kitchen.

  “I guess I should put the bookmark back,” Heath muttered, pulling out his wallet. Then he stopped right where he was standing. A dusty chill swept across his shoulders and the back of his neck.

  The bookmark was already in his wallet. Not waiting for him on the kitchen table where he’d left it.

  Heath shoved the wallet back in his robe pocket and forced his feet forward again before Nariko or Colin could notice.

  At half an hour before noon, the rain hadn’t let up. What was more, it had added plenty of lighting and thunder, to make both Ogun-Shango and Oya proud. Enough storm in July to keep most of the joggers and bikers away from scenic Riverfront Park.

  But not all of them. Not here in the Pacific Northwest where it seemed that people didn’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain. The most hardy, or the most dedicated, wrapped themselves in rain gear and persevered.

  Still, they were few and far between enough that Heath felt confident in a certain amount of privacy.

  He leaned against a pillar under the Burnside Bridge, the smell of wet asphalt and oil stronger here than the clean water scent of the Willamette. On the bridge above him a steady static of cars rushing their way across the river.

  Heath stood on asphalt, not the tile of the nearby sidewalk. He’d picked a spot free of graffiti, one he was able to walk to without having to step anyplace that might be hiding goofer dust, or any of a dozen other little hexing possibilities that might pick away at his defenses.

  Nothing like that would have been more than an opening salvo for Uncle Andre, but so much had happened in the last couple of days that Heath had to assume a wartime demeanor.

  Trust nothing.

  Past the pillar behind Heath were crisscrossing stairs that led up to the bridge, for those who wanted to walk across the river. Dangerous to have at his back, except that Nariko was watching them. She in her business outfit once more – tight jeans, form-fitting black top and bun held in place with a steel spike – leaning against the pillar opposite Heath, maybe thirty paces away. She definitely looked more deadly than Heath did in his blue-and-white striped shirt and black jeans.

  Colin was around here somewhere. Invisible again, which was a trick good enough that Heath was seriously considering giving one of Colin’s books a try. If he could muddle through the over-the-top, infomercial style. Jenny H. was living on the street and addicted to crack, but one chant later she’s beautiful and healthy and courted by the richest and most handsome bachelors in Johannesburg. Or something like that.

  Maybe invisibility wasn’t worth it after all.

  Invisibility wouldn’t have mattered for Heath right now anyway. His uncle had found him again. At Colin’s house. While both Heath and Colin had spells up trying to foil trackers. Though admittedly, Heath’s had probably given out around midnight. Still, none of the others after the Black Book of Saint Cyprian had managed to track Heath down.

  But Uncle Andre did. And Uncle Andre knew that Nariko was there, through a closed door, even though she hadn’t said a word.

  More subtle ways to remind Heath that however much he learned, his uncle would always know more.

  Just when Heath was about the check his watch again, he saw a black limousine pull up to the curb. He felt that old childhood itch to run, right behind his kneecaps. His hands felt awkward. Unsure. Maybe he should put them in his pockets. Confident. No. Maybe he should dig something out of his backpack. A little goofer dust of his own, maybe.

  No. And the back of his neck felt exposed. He already had one wound there. What was he thinking, meeting Uncle Andre out here in the open? A crowded restaurant would have been better. Someplace with a bathroom window Heath could have crawled out of if things got really bad.

  The door of the limousine opened, and Uncle Andre got out. Black suit, black shirt, shiny black shoes, crimson tie. Mahogany cane with an ivory handle. Uncle Andre didn’t need the cane, but Heath knew why he had it.

  Uncle Andre proved Heath right with every step closer. Tapping his cane at the same rhythm Papa Legba used to hide Heath the other night. Reminding Heath that Papa Legba worked with him too, maybe more than with Heath.

  Uncle Andre must have seen that Heath got the message, because he grinned that same old grin. And though Uncle Andre’s hair was all gray now, he didn’t have any more lines on his face than he did the last time Heath saw him. The man looked positively vibrant.

  “What was the third thing I taught you, boy?” asked Uncle Andre as he approached. Even with his eyes open, Heath could just about see a couple of Uncle Andre’s little ghosties flitting about, checking the layout and reporting to him.

  “Never show fear. It gives your enemies power.”

  “That’s right.” Uncle Andre stopped a few steps behind Nariko’s pillar. She had turned her head to mark his approach, but otherwise hadn’t moved. “But there you stand, stinking out fear like your black ass just saw a swastika tattoo on the cop who pulled you over.”

  “You still my enemy, Uncle Andre? Been a while since you sent something to my window, and your other offering to the Baron must have been good enough to do the job for you, because life seems to be treating you all right.”

  “The Baron and I get along just fine.” Uncle Andre tapped his cane one more time before resting it in front of him under his folded hands. “And if you’re willing to let bygones be bygones, then so am I. Yeah, I got a little peeved at your insolence, but you’re still my kin.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Heath, “though I hope you don’t mind my saying it’s a little too soon for us to hug.”

  “Smart boy.” Uncle Andre chuckled, then looked around. “Dramatic place for a meeting. You have any trouble getting here?”

  “I didn’t trip any traps you left for me, if that’s what you mean.” Heath tilted his head. “Leaving a present on the back gate was a nice touch.”

  The present was just a little annoyance. A hot-foot charm to keep Heath agitated when they met. Uncle Andre’s grin widened, then he pursed his lips and nodded.

  “Maybe you’ve learned a thing or two after all. Maybe even enough for me to concede that Legba was right to save you.”

  “Maybe?” Heath fingered the second mojo bag in his front pocket, his little extra protection for this morning.

  “Maybe.” Uncle Andre nodded again. “Time’s gotta tell the tale on that one.”

  “Well,” said Heath, “if you and me are burying the hatchet—”

  “Not so fast, now, nephew. Things aren’t even between us just yet, and I think they need to be before you and I can stop checking yesterday’s footprints for nails.”

  Heath actually chuckled at that, and realized that his body had settled down. His gut still felt low and tight, but more like fear was a tool now than an impediment.

  “Just what do you think I owe you for saving my own life?”

  “A little restitution. You cost me time and power, and I think we both know there’s a way you can make that right moving through this little excuse for a city.”

  “You can’t seriously expect me to bring you the Black Book of Saint Cyprian.”

  “Cowries say you’ve got the best chance of getting hold of it. Even better than my own chances, and that’s saying something. So you swear to me by the deal you made with Papa Legba that when you lay hands on the book, you’ll give it to me as a gift, free and clear. You do that, and not only will I call things even, I’ll teach you pwen beyond any mojo you can call.”

  Uncle Andre nodded his head back and forth, noncommittally.

  “Maybe I’ll even share the findings of the book with you. We’ll see.”

  Heath screwed up his face tight, then let it go slack.

  “I miss you, Uncle Andre. I miss the days when you were my favorite uncle, telling stories and playing ball with me.” Heath shook his head. “But you’re into some dark stuff, uncle. Making zombies work your lands like old plantations in Haiti.”

  “Zombies are good for much more than that, boy. I’ll teach you that too. The Baron would love it.”

  “No, Uncle Andre. I won’t give you that book even if I do get my hands on it.”

  “Maybe you’re not so smart after all, boy.” Uncle Andre gave his head a single slow shake and flared his nostrils in a deep sigh. “And I had such hopes for you.”

  He started to turn away, then stopped and turned back.

  “Tell you what. You change your mind, you just leave me a note in the moonlight and one of mine will find it.”

  “I won’t change my mind.”

  “You give it serious thought, nephew. I’ll give you till sunrise tomorrow to reconsider. Then I’m coming for that book. And if you’re in my way, well, it won’t be easy consoling your father.”

  Uncle Andre turned and walked away, swiftly this time and with his cane tucked under his arm.

  Nariko spun around the side of her pillar and whipped the steel spike from her hair, arm back and ready to throw while her hair spilled down behind her.

  “Won’t help,” said Heath, closing the gap between him and her.

  Nariko blinked and then frowned. She pointed to the six-armed spirit covering Uncle Andre’s back.

  “Where did that thing come from?”

  “It’s always there. One of the first real spirits I saw.”

  “But at Colin’s house—”

  “It was hiding.”

  Uncle Andre got back in the limo and rode off.

  Nariko fixed her hair and tucked the spike back into place. She nodded.

  “I’ll be ready for it next time,” she said.

  “And I’ll be ready for him,” Heath said, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.

  “He looked at me,” said Colin, appearing beside them under the Burnside Bridge. Nariko had to check her fist from punching, but Heath didn’t move. He didn’t have it in him to feel surprised right then.

  Overhead a huge truck rumbled past.

  “Wait,” said Heath. “He looked at you? While you were invisible? Are you sure?”

  “Positive. And it’s never happened before.” Colin shivered, fluttering his faded, oversized Metallica Ride the Lightning t-shirt. “I was behind the limo, whipping up a little spirit to keep an eye on your uncle, when he reached the passenger door. He grinned at me and said, ‘You fire that thing off and one of mine will eat it.’ Then he just got in the car and drove off.”

  “Did you send your spirit?” asked Nariko.

  “I was too shocked.”

  Heath thought about that as he watched a man and a black lab walk past, both in slickers while the rain poured down all around. Lingering smell of garlic and hawthorn in the air, which had to have been from Uncle Andre, but Heath didn’t remember smelling them in his presence.

  “Do you guys smell anything?” he asked.

  “Cars,” said Nariko. “Oil, rain, grass from the park over there.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Nothing odd.”

  “I … I was just going to say wet pavement,” said Colin.

  “Nothing else. Nothing spicy or woody?”

  “Like what?” asked Colin. Nariko only gave Heath an expectant look.

  “I can smell both hawthorn and garlic.”

  Nariko inhaled deeply through her nose, then shook her head. Colin only shrugged.

  Heath shook his head slowly. Hawthorn and garlic, together, were used for protection. But neither of his mojo bags had either, and Heath was sure he hadn’t smelled them during his talk with Uncle Andre. In fact…

  “Nariko, what did you smell while my uncle was here?”

  “Nothing different.” She tilted her head, eyebrows furrowed. “No. I didn’t smell anything from him at all. Not aftershave. Not deodorant.”