In his head the Black Book whistled the question music from Jeopardy.

  “Wait,” said Heath. “I can quitclaim the book. Abandon…” There was something wrong with that line of reason, but Heath couldn’t think of it.

  “Perfect!” said Colin. “When your landlord gets here, just do that and give it to him.”

  “Won’t work,” said Nariko, who sounded just as certain as she looked tired. Both she and Heath were back in the same smelly jeans and shirts they’d been wearing, without even the benefit of a wash.

  “Why not?” said Colin. Only he had a change of clothes at hand, and now he wore a gray tee shirt that read “Queensrÿche” and depicted a gold symbol with wings spread high and a blade or something stabbing downward.

  “She’s right,” said Heath, realization clicking. “My uncle has the bookmark. If I quitclaim the book, my uncle will probably know, and be able to claim it immediately through the bookmark, the same way I did.”

  In his head Heath could hear a disappointed finger-snap from the grimoire.

  “Cars outside,” said Nariko from the window. “Black Mercedes by the look of them.”

  “It’s only been five minutes,” said Colin.

  “More like eight,” said Heath with a sigh. “Let’s go outside. No reason to damage any of Colin’s stuff if we don’t have to.”

  Colin clapped him on the shoulder.

  Heath led the way out, Nariko taking position on his right, her eyes narrowed and her lips moving in silent prayer or incantation. Colin took position on his left, muttering something that was probably a spell that Heath didn’t have time to pay attention to.

  The first men out of the cars wore trench coats, and Heath sighed again. “This is just getting uglier and uglier.”

  The next person out was an elderly gentleman, and Heath could only think of him as a gentleman. Hunched slightly with age, his wore his thinning silver hair straight back, and he fit his gray pinstripe suit as though he’d invented the look.

  Power rolled off of this man in casual waves.

  “The Lammergeyer,” muttered Nariko before she returned to her spells. Heath could feel power rising up through the ground to move through her too, as well as filling Colin beside him.

  It seemed as though only Heath wasn’t trying to show off his personal power. But Heath had his ready to go, with spells on his lips, powders in his pockets, and mojo bags offering at least a first line of defense. If he needed it, which he hoped he didn’t.

  But one more person was getting out of the trailing car. Suit, dressed just the way Heath had last seen him: black suit and tie, crisp white shirt. Shoes and belt gleaming black. Jet black hair and ruddy skin giving him a devilish look.

  “Wait,” said Heath. “The Lammergeyer is working for you?”

  “Why take multiple bids when I can hire multiple contractors and only pay the winner?”

  Suit straightened his tie, shot his cuffs, and approached.

  “Well, this looks like quite the stand-off,” said Suit. He had six men in trench coats, each with a 9mm pistol drawn and pointed at the ground, in addition to his Italian wizard. “Does this mean you’ve decided to try to keep it after all, contract be damned?”

  The word “damned” seemed to echo in Heath’s head.

  “Leave this thing with me and I’ll destroy it,” said Heath. “But you didn’t say you were coming to get it. You said you were coming to take it, as though the only way I can fulfill my end of the contract is to let you kill me.”

  Heath gave Suit the darkest look he could.

  “I don’t plan on letting that happen.”

  “Fuck this,” said Nariko. “Quitclaim it. Let this asshole fight your uncle for it.”

  “Andre Cyr is your uncle then,” said Suit. “I’d wondered if that was just a rumor.”

  “My father’s brother.” Heath looked down the street where he could just see a limousine. “You can ask him yourself in a minute.”

  “No,” said the Lammergeyer, his voice holding only an enticing trace of an actual Italian accent. “Do not let Andre Cyr get the book.”

  Uncle Andre’s limo rolled to a stop in the middle of the street.

  “That would violate our contract,” said Suit. “And if you think that’d save you any risk, you’re quite mistaken, I’m afraid.”

  “I may be a little fool,” said Heath to Suit, “but you’re a damned fool. You’ve got the money to go do whatever you want. Enough to pay people to even kill for you. And you want to start down the magic path?”

  Heath shoved The Black Book of Saint Cyprian at Suit.

  “Take the damned thing and go to Hell.”

  “Now,” said Uncle Andre, getting out of his limo, “let’s not be so hasty as all that.” Uncle Andre was still wearing his own black suit from earlier, and his red tie looked just as crisp as it had under the Burnside Bridge. “I believe that’s my book.”

  “I have a contract that says otherwise.”

  Suit tried to take the book, but yanked his hand back with a shout. The skin of his fingers blistered red and cracked.

  Uncle Andre’s slow, percolating laugh rolled out of him as he wandered up, excusing himself past the trench coat brigade to join the standoff.

  “My, my,” he said. “Haven’t seen so many pistols in one place since I lived in Louisiana. What idiot brought guns to this conversation?”

  Heath pointed at Suit, who shook his hand around as though he could whip the pain out of it.

  “Of course,” said Uncle Andre, nodding first to Heath, Nariko and Colin, then turning to the Lammergeyer. “Whatever he’s paying you, it ain’t enough. You know that, right?”

  “Are you so certain?” Power gathered about the Lammergeyer. “Nothing I sense from you or your nephew is enough to give me pause.”

  “But you gotta ask yourself,” said Uncle Andre, gesturing with his cane. “Are you facing just one of us? After all, the boy and I may have our problems, but we’re kin and we’re from the Deep South. Think a man like you ought to know a thing or two about what happens when an outsider steps into the middle of a family squabble.”

  Those finely honed silver eyebrows drew down, and the Lammergeyer’s mouth firmed into a line.

  “It seems that the elder Mr. Cyr has forgotten about the men with pistols,” said Suit. “I doubt any one of you is fast enough to fire off a spell before…”

  The first of the trench coat brigade fell unconscious to the ground. The other five followed like dominoes a moment later.

  Suit’s eyes widened almost as much as his jaw. “But…”

  The Lammergeyer shook his head and turned away.

  “Get back here!” Suit yelled, but the Lammergeyer only waved acknowledgment and continued toward the cars.

  “Don’t worry,” said Uncle Andre, patting Suit on the shoulder. “I’ll send a consolation prize to your window one night.”

  “We had a deal!” Suit yelled at Heath.

  “I gave you the book,” said Heath. “Handed it to you in front of witnesses. I’ll do it again, if you like. Not my fault if you can’t take it.”

  “This isn’t over,” said Suit, but before he could turn away Heath grabbed him by the shoulder and gave Suit his best angry-professional tone.

  “You didn’t warn me about claiming the book. It’s on you if that means you can’t have it. I made a sincere, good-faith effort to fulfill our agreement, and I damn near got killed in the process.”

  “Twice,” said Colin.

  “Three times,” corrected Nariko.

  “Whatever,” said Heath. “Now you uphold your end or I’ll make you regret it in ways you can’t yet imagine.”

  “I’ll help,” said Nariko.

  “Me too,” said Colin.

  “Can’t say I like the idea of someone reneging on a fulfilled contract with my nephew,” said Uncle Andre. “Might have to take care of you my own self.”

  “Fine,” spat Suit. “It’s a shit property anyway.”

  And with that he clutched his hand and ran for the car.

  Uncle Andre chuckled as Suit and the Lammergeyer rode away together, Suit yelling and the Lammergeyer looking away down the road.

  “Nice bit of work taking down the gunmen,” said Uncle Andre to Heath. “Spirits of yours?”

  “Mine,” said Colin, raising his hand. “I don’t like people waving guns on my property.”

  Uncle Andre nodded acknowledgment before turning back to Heath.

  “Now, boy, let’s settle this little matter and get on to more serious opportunities. Hand over the book or you’ll leave me no choice but to take it from you. And believe it or not I don’t want to have to do that.”

  Heath looked at his uncle, then made a show of looking around at the neighboring houses.

  “Let’s take this inside.”

  Uncle Andre claimed one of Colin’s pale blue recliners, easing into it with a sigh that sounded almost indecent. Heath claimed the other, too tense to even try to relax. Nariko and Colin sat at opposite corners of the matching couch.

  Once they were all seated, the scene might almost have looked domestic. Except that every one of them sat up and forward, at the very edge of their seats, save for Uncle Andre who settled back as though he intended to take a nap. Heath could see the lie in the pose though. Uncle Andre didn’t recline the chair in the least, and he held his cane less like an affectation and more like a weapon. His hand gripped just low enough to let him strike with the silver handle or the tip, as needed.

  Heath wondered what little charms his uncle had woven into the cane, because he doubted the confrontation would get physical. Not the time to open up his spirit eyes and take a good look though. The amount of magic already moving about the room might prove too distracting at a key moment, if he could see it with that level of clarity.

  Uncle Andre looked about, and Heath wondered if his uncle had mastered the trick of keeping his spirit eyes open without letting an excess of magic distract him. Given the way his eyes flicked to undecorated corners where Colin likely had home-brewed spirits or important junctions in his protection spells, that seemed likely.

  But Uncle Andre’s own spirits had to have waited outside. Heath couldn’t feel them. Couldn’t see them even out of the edges of his normal vision the way he usually could around his uncle.

  “You’ve done a fine job decorating the place,” said Uncle Andre to Nariko. “Especially like the touch of verbena in the potpourri. Stylish.”

  Heath saw Nariko fight down a smile as Colin cleared his throat and said in a patient voice, “I decorated my own home. And thank you.”

  “Oh,” said Uncle Andre, and Heath heard his uncle’s prejudices all fill that single syllable. But before Heath could speak his uncle turned to him. “And both you and she spent the night here last night? Must have been some party.”

  “Uncle,” said Heath, voice tight. “While I appreciate, and I’m pretty sure my parents agree here, that you don’t want to just let some stranger murder me, let’s you and I not pretend we’re some kind of perfect sitcom family. You don’t get to judge my choices or my friends.”

  Uncle Andre frowned and tapped the silver head of his cane against his chin.

  “And here I thought you wanted to mend some fences, boy. Maybe let bygones be bygones and try to work things out.”

  “I like the idea of it, uncle. But I’d trust it more if you’d stop threatening me and judging my friends.”

  “Well, if we’re not going to discuss pleasantries – and it seems that our host doesn’t have the good manners to offer refreshments – perhaps we should get down to business.”

  Colin started to say something angry, but Heath stalled him with a raised hand that made his uncle grin.

  “All right, uncle.” Heath held up The Black Book of Saint Cyprian and watched his uncle’s greedy eyes try to swallow it up from across the room. “First thing’s first. Bookmark!”

  Heath said the word with all the force he could muster, his whole focus on demanding that it return. He had no idea if that would work, but the moment he said it, the bookmark appeared in the grimoire, marking some spell just short of the middle of the book.

  “Well, now—” started Uncle Andre, but Heath interrupted.

  “No.” Heath thumped the book against his open palm. “You have no claim to the bookmark because you didn’t find it at large, you didn’t take it by force, and it wasn’t given to you. The grimoire let you watch over it while I was … indisposed … and as current holder of the grimoire it’s mine to recall.”

  “Clearly you don’t want this book.” Uncle Andre must have used just this tone to sell his farm eggs to the local stores. “And just as clearly the Black Book wants to come to me. So why fight this? Why not let me just take it off your hands. I’ll even offer compensation, if it’ll help the process along.”

  Indeed. Why fight this? Your uncle seems the best candidate to me, and since I can tell you want to destroy me I’ll fight you from the inside while he fights you from the outside. Think you can win a two-front war?

  “Heath?” said Nariko, voice tight with concern.

  “I’m all right.” Heath shook his head. His words were a lie. He felt off-balance inside. The Black Book pushed at his thoughts. Not too much, just a little to try to get Heath to either claim the book or lose to Uncle Andre.

  “Must say you’re lookin’ pale, boy.” Uncle Andre leaned forward in his chair. “More than usual, I mean.”

  “Water?” said Colin.

  “Yes,” said Heath, and an idea tickled the back of his mind where, he hoped, the Black Book wouldn’t see. “Maybe some all around.”

  “Oh, now it’s hospitality time.” Uncle Andre laughed as Colin went to the kitchen. “Bet he doesn’t even return with cookies.”

  Nariko kept a watchful eye on Uncle Andre, but kept glancing at Heath, who had his fingers pinched over the bridge of his nose. On the inside, Heath focused on containing the Black Book, both to limit its interference and to keep it away from the building idea in the back of his head.

  But compartmentalized thinking was just one of the skills Heath needed as a conjure man. He couldn’t count the number of times he needed to keep an eye on two or three different spirits while blending and mixing and recalling the right prayers or spells to make all the elements come together for a proper working.

  “You don’t look good, boy,” said Uncle Andre in his most avuncular voice. “Why don’t you let me take that burden off your hands…”

  “Let’s…” Heath made his voice sound tight. Strained beyond the moderate effort he actually needed to organize his mind the way he was. “…wait … for the drinks.”

  Colin came back into the room with four tall, narrow glasses of ice water on a silver serving tray engraved with filigree that looked older than anything else in the house. He served Heath first, then Uncle Andre, who nodded thanks as he took his, then brought the tray to Nariko before taking his own and reclaiming his seat.

  Uncle Andre raised his glass high.

  “Europeans make it out to be bad luck to drink a toast with water.” He grinned. “But let’s face it, ain’t nothing European about me. To renewing old ties.”

  Heath raised his glass with the others, but no one echoed Uncle Andre’s words, which got a raised eyebrow from him as they drank. Heath took a moment to savor his water, which tasted clear and fresh and cold. He made a show of draining half the glass before setting it on a coaster shaped like the musical notation for a whole note rest on the cherry wood tripod table next to him.

  Colin and Nariko each settled for a sip before setting their own glasses back down on the silver tray.

  “Now,” said Uncle Andre, having set down his own glass empty save for its ice cubes, “let us—”

  “A moment, uncle,” said Heath. He held up the grimoire. “This thing’s as sentient as any of us, and it hasn’t had refreshment.”

  Uncle Andre furrowed his brow. Nariko and Colin looked suspicious. And in his head Heath could feel the grimoire’s distrust rising.

  Heath pulled the tin flask from his shirt pocket and spun the lid off with a quick movement.

  “No!” yelled Uncle Andre, sitting forward.

  Heath dumped half the contents of Ghede Brav’s special spiced rum onto the grimoire.

  It screamed in his head. And what a scream. It filled the whole of Heath’s mind and overflowed. His eyes clamped shut. He dropped both flask and grimoire as he clutched his temples in pain, bent forward and rocking until the scream echoed out into quiet.

  When Heath sat up again, he felt woozy, but he was alone in his head.

  “Nosebleed,” said Nariko, and Heath grabbed a citrus-scented tissue from the carved wooden holder on the tripod table, dabbing at his nose.

  “The fuck was that scream?” said Colin.

  “That was The Black Book of Saint Cyprian,” said Uncle Andre, distaste all through his voice, “trying to cope with a Ghede’s rum.” He turned to Heath. “Which Ghede?”

  “Brav.”

  “Brav’s rum for a necromancer’s grimoire.” Honest admiration in Uncle Andre’s voice, and perhaps a bit of jealousy. “Where did you get that, boy?”

  “Been a long day,” said Heath. And it had. The little tricks he’d been using to keep his exhausted body and mind moving were starting to wear thin.

  Uncle Andre nodded, and Heath noticed that his uncle’s nose had a slight trickle of blood going too. Just how loud had that scream been? Colin and Nariko looked stable at least, if nearly as exhausted as Heath felt.

  “Tell you what,” said Heath. “If you can handle a shot glass of this rum, I’ll give you the fucking book. But it has to be you, you. Not one of the Lwa riding you.”

  “You didn’t blend that rum, did you,” said Uncle Andre, the realization in his voice making it a statement rather than a question. “That flask actually belongs to—”

  “Yeah. And I’m not sure how I’m going to get it back to him.”

  Uncle Andre rolled his lips around as though chewing on his thoughts, and Heath felt sick to his stomach. That was his dad’s gesture, and Heath was pretty sure he’d picked it up. The thought that he shared such a thing with Uncle Andre was not pleasant.