Hell Fire

see us. Let’s take cover.” He led the way toward the hedges.

Because I couldn’t think of a better plan, I followed.

Once we were hidden, I noticed Chance craning his neck to get a better look at the symbols etched into each stone that composed the arches. I looked too, figuring it might be important. And then it clicked.

“They match the ones on the library,” I whispered.

Shannon added, “Which used to be a church.”

“They’re Rosicrucian,” Dale put in.

Hey, I could show off my Booke learning. “But they also draw from the Emerald Tablet of Hermes.”

The conspiracy theorist looked suitably impressed. “Oh, excellent.” He took a notebook out of his man purse and scrawled something.

Saldana’s leashed aggravation added a lovely edge to his Texas drawl. “I don’t mean to interrupt the ramblin’ about architecture, but unless you have a point to make, I think we need to focus elsewhere. Otherwise, the butler’s gonna come out this back door and find us squattin’ in the bushes.”

“I do have a point to make,” Chance said, unexpectedly, and with a hint of steel in his tone. “Our technology worked at the library. My luck worked at the library—”

“Which means it might work here,” I breathed. “We’re right under the sigils.”

Chance favored me with a smile. “Exactly. So how about I concentrate on finding us a way in there?”

Sounded good to me.

Shannon didn’t really know what we were talking about. Chance had been mundane for all the time she’d known him, and Dale squinted at us like he thought we were crazier than him. That took some doing.

As Chance focused, the air seemed to thicken around us, as if charged with electricity. I could feel the hairs on my arms prickling. Yep, his gift was definitely working here, and it seemed stronger than ever. Could it have built up power from not being used? An interesting question, but I needed to take a few steps away from him. I didn’t want to see what would happen if the bad-luck polarity had ramped up too.

It occurred to me I ought to put Butch down and see if he could find anything useful as we walked. I slipped him out of my purse, set him on the ground, and said, “Sniff the place out, but don’t rush off.”

He gazed up at me with big bulging eyes. Though he didn’t bark, he gave the impression of understanding me. How had the not-so-bright security guard wound up with a genius dog anyhow? The Chihuahua trotted along beside me, snuffling in the flowerbeds.

“This way.” Chance followed his luck as if it were a lodestone.

We circled the house, staying low and close to the walls. I didn’t want to risk getting too far from the protective runes and having his talent kick off like cheap cable TV. Midway around, Butch stopped, sneezed, and pawed at the ground.

I knelt to see what he had. Jesse dropped to his knees beside me. Dale shone a key chain penlight over the area, and with sure hands, Jesse raked the topsoil, examining the herbs. “Looks like the remnants of ward preparations, but not the general kind, like we learned from Chuch.”

My brows went up. “Maris?” That was his now-deceased ex-girlfriend, who had been a talented and powerful witch before a warlock murdered her to prevent her from telling us what she knew. “So, what’s this used for?”

He nodded. “To prevent demons from crossing your threshold.”

That served as confirmation that England was in this mess up to his neck, not that I’d needed it. I trusted my mother’s memories, but others probably appreciated concrete evidence since we were going after the most powerful man in town.

I gave the dog a pat. “Good work.”

We moved on then. With deliberate malice, Shannon scuffed her feet all the way around the house, tearing up the protective measures at every possible opportunity. Eventually Chance stopped outside a darkened window.

“This is it?” Dale asked. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed on the window and it slid up.

“Incredible,” Jesse muttered. “A place like this, and he leaves a ground-floor window unlocked.”

It might be the only one too. Jesse made quick work of the screen; given his profession, he showed an unexpected talent for B&E. Then we climbed inside, trying to be quiet. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw we’d come into a formal study. The hulking desk by the window hunched before us like a monster, and two wing chairs sat nearby as its minions. For a moment, I heard nothing but our rustling movements, and then our breathing. Then I picked out the distant murmur of voices. We’d found them.

“We need to find out what they’re up to,” Shannon whispered.

But it didn’t make sense for all five of us to go banging around in the dark. In the end, it came down to Jesse and Chance. The cop had the skill set for sneaking, but Chance’s luck might guarantee he wouldn’t get caught. They eyed each other for a few seconds before agreeing to a coin toss.

“Not you,” Saldana muttered. “I get heads.”

Chance just grinned and put away the silver coin he liked to roll along his knuckles. He kept it in his pocket for when he needed to think. Back when we were together, he’d often spin it on his hands while working out the solution to a knotty problem. I’d always liked watching him.

Our girl dug out a quarter and flipped it. The coin gleamed in the dark and she caught it cleanly, then peered at it. “Tails,” she said unnecessarily.

Luck always favored Chance. With a quick smile, he set off to spy on the twelve.

The Devoted Dead

Fifteen minutes passed.

Dale slipped back outside and sat, just beneath the window, drinking from a flask. In a way, I envied his alcoholic purple haze. The rest of us might as well see what we could learn in here.

Time to loot the desk. Quietly, I rummaged through the drawers, looking for anything of interest. In the bottom-right one, I found an interesting manila dossier full of pictures, old-fashioned black and whites that would’ve required a dark room. Among them, I found shots of us. So I hadn’t imagined that “being watched” sensation.

More telling, I found shots of Curtis Farrell half naked with a girl who probably wasn’t even eighteen. That would’ve been why England fingered him for a dirty job, but when blackmail didn’t work, he moved to brute force. What the hell had England wanted him to do to Miss Minnie?

Rob her? Frighten her into a heart attack? Silence her?

Or maybe I’d been right the first time. If England had been monitoring our movements and he’d known we would be there that night, maybe Farrell wasn’t supposed to do anything but die. Did Farrell know something about England, then?

Shannon came over, peering across my shoulder. “Holy crap,” she whispered. “I didn’t know Missy was sleeping with Curtis Farrell.”

Aha. “That would be—”

“England’s daughter,” she finished.

So England used his leverage with Farrell to get him where he wanted him. What then? Well, let’s see. If you had all the money and power in town and you caught a dirty, weed-smoking gas station clerk messing around with your daughter, what would you do? Find some schmucks to kill him for you, of course. The perfect crime.

Mr. McGee must’ve found out that Farrell was running around with Melissa England; hence the argument. He’d wanted Farrell to stay away from the girl, hoping he could get out of Kilmer. Neither one of them would be going anywhere now.

We can ask the sheriff to look at the scratches on England’s hands before they heal and at the bruises on Farrell’s neck. If only they had DNA testing there . . . but I might as well have been wishing for the moon. I thought about that for a moment; I could accuse him falsely and blame England for the bruises on my neck too, if I believed the end justified the means. Of course, we couldn’t be caught poking around his property for that to hold. He could say he’d acted in self-defense since we’d broken into his home.

Dammit. Where the hell was Chance?