“Suddenly I’m rethinking the wisdom of having you as a house guest,” said Colin, returning to his brushed steel refrigerator for a second IPA.

  “My rep can’t be that big. Not these days. Not after that Vizinha stuff.”

  “What happened there anyway?” asked Nariko. “Another angry ex-?”

  “You’re more her style,” said Colin. “Though I’d be happy to introduce her to the joys of men, if she ever got curious.”

  “She’s not an ex-,” said Heath, “and the official story was she lost a couple of clients to me and decided to show me up. Now those clients won’t touch either of us.” Heath shook his head. “But if you want to go out with her Colin, give it a shot. She likes guys as much as girls. Just don’t tell me about it, and don’t force us to be in the same place at the same time. Results wouldn’t be pretty.”

  “Yeah,” said Nariko, “heard about your little Spaghetti Western moment at Gripper.” Nariko rolled her bottle back and forth in her hands. “Think she’s got anything to do with this?”

  “Can’t rule it out. The woman embraces spite the way some women embrace fashion. And she did say something about not wanting to ‘raise a dead issue.’”

  “So we know something about the competition,” said Colin, but before he could continue, Heath cut in.

  “Wait. Colin. You heard something in the Sybil’s words that I missed in her comment about the book. What else did you catch that I missed?”

  Colin blinked rapidly. “I’m not … sure. Go through it line by line again?”

  “I asked if I was better off keeping or breaking my deal with Suit. She said if I keep the deal I must find death – only she made it sound capitalized – and if I didn’t, then death would find me first.”

  “Well,” said Nariko, “you’ve already had two attempts on your life today, which is exceptional even for you.”

  “And the day’s not over yet,” said Colin.

  “So it could be that Fire Eyes was going to kill you either way. Maybe offered you surrender as an attempt to get you to lower your guard.”

  “Maybe.” Heath ran his fingers through his hair and scratched at the soft spot at the back of his head, just above the bandage. “Next I asked what opposition should concern me most, and that was when she warned me about the book, which Colin already shed some light on.”

  “That it’s evil,” said Nariko, “and may try to corrupt you.”

  “Maybe,” said Heath, “but it also may be that the book resists being found. Or resists being found by me, since I don’t want to use it. Or maybe it doesn’t want to go to my landlord. Either way, the book itself might throw obstacles at us.”

  “That hardly seems fair,” said Colin. “If this book turns out to be some kind of mastermind—”

  “Let’s deal with that if we have to,” said Heath, glancing at his coal to see that it had a decent burn going. A good hour left to it, which would be more than enough for his purposes. “When I asked about the best way to survive, she said that my only future lies in my past.”

  “That’s not how you said it earlier,” said Nariko. Colin nodded.

  Heath closed his eyes and jogged his memory. “No, she said my only future lies through my past. You guys think there’s a difference?”

  “Sounds like you have to confront something from your past,” said Colin. “Overcome something you failed last time. Vizinha maybe. Or maybe—”

  “When did you last hear from your uncle?” said Nariko.

  Heath felt every line in his face smooth and that old, cold fear spider-climbing its way up his spine.

  Uncle Andre.

  The very last person on earth Heath wanted to see again.

  Cold earth on a hot night. Loose dirt, crumbly. Recently dug out for a shallow grave. A grave where thirteen-year-old Heath lay half covered with shovelfuls of topsoil. Shaking in nothing but his tighty-whiteys. Shivering. Pleading with his uncle.

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Andre! I didn’t mean to!”

  Metal scraping sound of a shovel picking up dirt. Hesitation.

  “Didn’t mean to what, boy?”

  No idea. Heath was only guessing that he’d done something wrong. Still, there had to be a right answer here. Like this was just the most extreme of those weird tests his uncle had been giving him all month out here on the farm. Tests that had Heath seeing things he’d never seen before. Hearing things that most people would never know were there.

  But if there was a right answer, Heath couldn’t imagine what it was.

  Didn’t help that he couldn’t quite think straight. His head felt stuffed with cotton that smelled like cedar and ginseng and licorice and red pepper. Like the smoke Uncle Andre “bathed” Heath with … earlier. How long ago was that?

  Heath’s limbs didn’t work right after the “bath.” Dropped him straight on the floor of the bathroom.

  The next thing Heath knew, he was here in the shallow grave.

  Another shovelful of dirt landed on his belly.

  “I was weak!” Heath guessed. “I wasn’t strong enough for the bath. But I will be. I swear to you.”

  Uncle Andre hesitated with another load of topsoil ready to drop. Humor in his voice when he said, “Swear to who, boy?”

  “Swear to God. To Jesus on His cross.”

  Uncle Andre’s chuckle. Low down, like it all happened in his belly and some just happened to escape his mouth. A sound so much like Dad’s own laugh it turned Heath’s stomach.

  “Wrong answer, boy.” More dirt. “Not a test, anyway. Done with tests, you and me, and you know why.”

  More dirt.

  Heath tried to think, but his thoughts poured like molasses. Molasses, poured on bread to offer Papa Ghede or maybe the Baron. Just the thought of the Baron was enough to make Heath’s teeth chatter. The Baron was scary. Too scary for Heath.

  That was it!

  When Uncle Andre took Heath to those crossroads the night before, Heath had…

  Heath had screamed and cried until Uncle Andre brought him home.

  Heath opened his mouth to give his answer. To hope it really was just a test and not something worse. Heath had seen just enough to have an inkling of how bad “worse” could get.

  Uncle Andre started speaking, so Heath held his tongue. But Uncle Andre wasn’t saying English words. It was the kind of talk he did with Dad sometimes, something they knew from their youth, and it always made Grandma tell them to stop.

  But Heath could pick out one word from what Uncle Andre was saying as he kept shoveling dirt. Baron. Only he didn’t pronounce it like Heath did. Uncle Andre said it like it was the last two words in the question, “What did the bear own?” all smushed together.

  “Right you are, boy,” said a voice right next to Heath. High and soft, whispery and thin, like from the mouth of an old man who had all the time in the world to say what he wanted to say.

  Heath screamed so loud and sharp it tore at his throat. A scream that went on until Uncle Andre shut him up with a face full of dirt that went straight into Heath’s mouth and made him sputter and choke while his uncle laughed.

  “Don’t call your uncle’s attention to me, boy, or I can’t do you much good.”

  Heath couldn’t have spoken right then anyway. He was too busy coughing and spitting, though he could hear every word the spirit was saying. And Heath knew it was a spirit. Two things Heath had learned for sure this month out on his uncle’s farm. Spirits were real, and so was magic.

  “Your uncle means to offer you up to the Baron just like a Christmas present. You’d be just the kind of present the Baron likes, too. Innocent, but not too innocent. Aware of magic, but not a clue what it means or how to use it.”

  Heath could feel his face turning blue. One chunk of dirt had lodged just wrong at the back of his throat, and since he couldn’t move so much as his neck, all he could do was try to cough it free. But so far nothing worked. His belly started jerking. His lungs started crying. His eyes started spitting out tears like drizzle making way for the storm.

  Panic did cut away some of the cotton in Heath’s head though. Helped make the fear that much sharper.

  But then the clog was gone. Just as fast as that, sweet, sweet air started flowing down Heath’s throat again.

  “There,” said the spirit. “That’s better. Now maybe you can pay some attention when I’m talking to you.”

  Heath nodded. His poor throat wasn’t ready to even rasp out a yes.

  “Now your uncle, he’s going to get something mighty fine from the Baron for an offering like what you got inside you. And since you were just a little fool who put yourself in his hands, he’s got the proper right to do it with or without your say. You understand what I’m telling you, boy?”

  “Ye—” the rest of the word wouldn’t come out, but the spirit kept talking all the same.

  “Save that poor throat of yours. If you’re smart, you’re going to need it in a moment.” Over the sounds of Uncle Andre shoveling more dirt, Heath would have sworn he heard piece of wood tap against a stone. “Now, boy, it’s nothing to me if your uncle and the Baron have some kind of agreement. The Baron’s good at contracts, maybe better than I am. Still, you got something in you, boy. Got enough curiosity to get you killed, and enough spirit to let you survive all the same.”

  Heath desperately wanted the spirit to get to the point. His legs were all covered now, and Uncle Andre’s voice got louder as he kept a steady rhythm of shovelfuls of dirt coming down onto Heath’s pelvis.

  “So, I say to myself, I see here before me just the kind of boy I like to work with. And I know I’m not the only one. So, I’m here to offer you a deal, boy. You say to me, ‘Papa Legba, help this young fool,’ and I’ll stand between you and the Baron tonight. And your uncle, he’ll know why.”

  “Papa—”

  “Not just yet,” said Papa Legba with a bubbly little chuckle. “You gotta let me finish first. Good to see you’re eager though. So, I’m giving you a choice of help. If you want, I can put that clog of dirt back in your throat and let you die right quick before your uncle makes his deal. You’ll be dead, but Brigitte will have your bones and Ghede will take your angel back across the water where you belong.”

  Heath started whimpering.

  “Or, I can save your life too, but if I’m going to go to that much trouble, you’ve got to promise to work with me. Not just so you understand how to offer me a proper thank-you for all I’d be doing, but so you learn a thing or two and maybe figure out how to put your uncle in his place your own self.”

  In Heath’s youthful ignorance, that sounded like no choice at all.

  “Papa Legba,” he rasped, “please save this young fool so I can work with you and learn all about hoodoo.”

  No sooner were the words out of Heath’s mouth than his head cleared. And he could move his arms and legs. But the best part was what Heath heard.

  “What?” cried Uncle Andre. “No! Baron, where are you going? What…”

  Heath could see his uncle looking down at him now. Work boots and overalls. Face as dark as Dad’s, only with a chin a little less prominent and the kind of anger in his dark eyes that Heath had never seen in his father’s.

  “Oh. Oh ho ho.” Now Uncle Andre was grinning that bright grin under the full moon’s light. “Boy, you just fucked up something important for me. And damn you if you don’t know it, lying there smelling like Papa Legba’s pipe. Well, all right, boy. You and me, we’re kin after all.”

  Uncle Andre leaned down and offered the shivering and very confused Heath a hand up. But before Heath could take another step, or even free his hand, Uncle Andre pulled him in close.

  “But, nephew, I only got one more shot at what you fucked up for me tonight. So if it don’t work, you better believe I’m going to send something to your window one night. Something that will let you know just how happy I am about the way you paid me back for my hospitality.”

  Heath could only chatter and shiver, both from cold and from the look in his Uncle’s eye. But he could also smell the faintest strains of sweet tobacco smoke.

  “And don’t you forget, boy. You may learn a thing or two, but I’ll always know more.”

  “I might not be evil enough to use the Black Book,” said Heath with a shiver, “but it would be just my uncle’s brand of bourbon.”

  He wasn’t on his uncle’s farm now, and he wasn’t thirteen. Heath was a full-grown man. And he wasn’t all alone. He was standing in the fancy kitchen of one ally while another gave him the kind of worried look she used to when they were dating and the subject of his uncle came up.

  “We don’t know he’s involved,” said Nariko, sliding off the white marble counter and stepping close so she could put a hand on Heath’s shoulder.

  “Why have I never heard of this uncle before?” asked Colin, handing Heath a Teufelsbrau IPA.

  Heath drained the beer and burped before he answered.

  “I don’t talk about him much. What do you say about a blood relative who tried to offer you to Baron Samedi for the power to make zombies?”

  “Zombies?” asked Colin. “Why would anyone want to make brain-eating—”

  “Not movie zombies.” Heath shook his head and flared his nose in a deep breath to try to slow his heartbeat. “Real zombies. The kind who work his farm now in New York. The kind he can send into your dreams.”

  Heath crossed himself and muttered a brief prayer to Papa Ghede.

  “Anyway, he’s tried to kill me three times since then, but I’m not sure how serious any of the attempts were. Could have been tests, like the ones he gave me that summer on the farm. He could be trying to figure out how far I’ve come in my power since he last saw me.”

  “Or maybe he gave it his all,” said Nariko, taking Heath’s empty bottle and setting it with the growing collection beside the brushed-steel sink. “Maybe that’s why he hasn’t tried in a few years. He knows he can’t get you.”

  Heath smirked. “Now who’s being dumb in all the wrong ways?”

  Nariko smiled back, but Colin cleared his throat.

  “All right, so your uncle may be in the game too. That doesn’t change anything. We still have to get the book first, so … wait. Zombies. Even the kind of zombies you’re talking about are still a death thing, right?”

  “Yep. Body dies but then rises again, obedient to my uncle, who has the spirit trapped in a jar. Both the flesh and the spirit serve him.” Heath pushed out another slow sigh, but it wasn’t helping with his heart rate. “This is Vodou stuff, not hoodoo. Never heard of a rootworker making zombies. He must be a bokor now—”

  “The point is,” said Colin, “you have to find Death before Death finds you.”

  “If you’re suggesting I cut a deal with the Baron…”

  “I know you’ve worked with him before.” Nariko’s words were hushed, like she was giving away one of Heath’s secrets. Almost reverent enough to make him laugh.

  “Little things. Some of the best curses I know I learned from the Baron. But nothing that would require a serious bargain, and nothing involving zombies.”

  “You know,” said Colin, slowly, like he was afraid of the response he’d get. “If you want to find a gentler path, I could lend you a couple of books. Swami Force maybe, or Voltarr Power. Get you some magic that doesn’t involve—”

  “It’s all the same, man.” Heath shook his head, but then looked up at Colin’s worried expression and snorted. “You sit there and tell yourself it’s not, but you’re lying. And deep down, you know it.”

  Nariko grabbed three more beers from the fridge. Behind Heath he could smell the charcoal burning in his censer. But he watched Colin shake his head, almost with pity.

  “We don’t all live in the same dark world you do, Heath.”

  “Really?” Heath grinned, and told himself that that grin looked nothing like his uncle’s. “Well, we have a couple of hours before midnight. While I get some work done here, why don’t you leave your amulets on the kitchen table, strip off your protection spells, and take a little walk from, say, Pioneer Park down to the river. I don’t care which street you take.”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “No.” Heath straightened up and stepped close to Colin. “You really think your world’s so bright and shiny? You take that walk and see what happens.”

  Colin looked down at his cherry hardwood floor, not daring to deny what they both knew. Magic gave a person power, but it made that person a dozen times more appealing to the things that stalked the night. Without his protections, Colin wouldn’t make it three blocks before something made a meal of him. Or worse.

  Colin finally mumbled a refusal and accepted a beer from Nariko. Nariko gave Heath a quit-it look as she shoved a cold, sweating beer against his chest.

  “I…” Heath puffed out a sigh that left his shoulders hanging forward. “I’m sorry, Colin. I know you were only trying to help, and I know your books are big on positive spin. But I know too damned much to smile and pretend the world’s a happy place.”

  “So you see why he’s fun to bring to parties,” said Nariko. “How about we toast to light in the darkness?”

  Colin wrinkled his brow, then it seemed to Heath that a smile dragged itself onto Colin’s face, with humor on its heels, despite whatever Colin’s plans might have been.

  Colin raised his beer. “To light in the darkness.”

  “To light in the darkness,” said Heath with an exasperated smile, “and we little fools who carry it.”

  All three drank, and this time Heath managed to appreciate the smooth flavor of the IPA.

  “Anyone have any other brilliant ideas about the Sybil’s cryptic utterings?”

  Nariko and Colin looked at each other. Colin shook his head. Nariko shrugged and drank another swig of beer.

  “Right then,” said Heath. “How about I get to some spell work before I have to light another coal?”

  “Wait,” said Colin. “Did your landlord give you any idea where he expected you to find the Black Book, and how you might recover it?”