“Here you go, Mr. Lion King.” I could have sworn he growled at me. I stepped away from the angry beast.
While Constantine ate his meal in silence, I prepared Bartholomew an open-faced tuna sandwich with asparagus and cheese. It took less than five minutes to toast the bread, add mayo to the tuna, and then layer the sandwich. Toast went on the bottom, followed by the asparagus, the tuna, and then the cheese. A few minutes under the broiler, and the sandwich was done. With the new gluten-free bread we had bought, I didn’t feel bad making him a sandwich.
“OK, Bart, come and eat now. I don’t need you transforming into the Hulk over there.” I didn’t have to tell Bartholomew twice. Food was the only thing that would separate that boy from the computer area. He brought a stack of papers with him.
“Here you go.” He handed me the papers.
“What’s this?” I opened up the sheets.
“Obviously, maps. I tried to break them down by area.” Bartholomew had been busy. By the looks of it, they had gotten up as soon as I’d left.
“Maybe if I looked at things before asking, I could save myself the smart replies.” I glared at Bartholomew over the maps. He smiled back brightly. Boy geniuses were a menace to themselves. “According to the priest and the ghosts, we’re looking for a location where the walls to purgatory are weak. What can cause that?”
“Ley lines are the most common,” Constantine said between tuna bites. Thank God, he was coming back to normal. I liked nice, useful Constantine so much better.
“Does Texarkana have any ley lines? Whatever those things are.”
“Ley lines are—”
“Constantine, not now. You can explain the concept later. Do we have any?”
Constantine wasn’t even mad. Which meant the tuna was doing its magic.
“Not any strong enough to break the barriers,” Bartholomew said between bites. We needed to work on manners with these two. “I checked earlier. Sorry.”
“No ley lines. What else, then?” This was not my specialty.
“Crossroads and intersections have power. They allow the flow of energy and at times redirect it,” Constantine said.
“Is that why feng shui discourages people from building houses in front of the end of a street?”
Constantine stopped chewing and looked at me, surprised.
“Oh, don’t give me that look. Feng shui is fairly common now.”
“You’re right, but most people don’t make the connection. Every major religion has understood the power of energy and magic.” At least the lecture hadn’t lasted long this time. Constantine was back at his tuna.
“That’s not good.” Constantine and I turned to look at Bartholomew as he spoke. “If crossroads are that big a deal, State Line is a giant magnet. Not only is a major street, but it’s a highway, and it separates two states.”
“Oh God, that’s what they meant by loving the twin cities. But we need something that connects State Line to downtown.” I opened Bartholomew’s maps on the counter. I found the downtown map and traced State Line down. Bartholomew and Constantine were both looking over my shoulder.
“Holy cow,” Bartholomew whispered.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I was in shock.
“Can you humans make things any more complicated?” This time, I completely agreed with Constantine. “Why would anyone in their right mind put a post office in the middle of State Line? That stupid building is sitting in two states.” Constantine was staring at the map in pure anger.
“That is the second-most photographed post office in the country. Not to mention the FYI—the Texas Marshals and the correctional officers have offices there. This is a giant nightmare.” I thought I had issues with dead people.
“That’s a federal building. We can’t bust in there.” Bartholomew looked at the map as he chewed.
“We? Where you think you’re going?” I sounded like my godmother, but I didn’t care. I was not letting Bartholomew get hurt on my watch.
“With you. Isis, you can’t do this on your own. Besides, Constantine can’t enter purgatory.” Bartholomew was looking directly at me. There was no fear in his eyes, and he was not backing down.
“You can’t enter purgatory? Why?” How come nobody had ever explained that before?
“Purgatory is a human creation for souls. I’m a magical cat, but even I have limitations. In the end, only humans can enter—not even Death.” Now that explained why he was so upset about the whole purgatory thing. It meant he couldn’t help. “Bartholomew is right, Isis. You’re going to need help. I don’t like it any more than you do.”
“Bart, this is dangerous. If something goes wrong, I might not make it out of there.”
“Exactly why you need me. I thought we were all a team. I want to be part of this.” For an eleven-year-old boy, Bartholomew was really brave—or naïve. “Isis, please. I’m tired of being left behind. Besides, I could just follow you anyways.”
I wasn’t sure which part scared me the most. I knew the feeling of being left behind all too well. I took a deep breath. “Fine. But you follow my orders and do exactly what I tell you.”
“Deal.” Bartholomew was the only one who was excited about that. Constantine and I just glared at the kid.
“Constantine, can you call your contacts and get us another vehicle, please? We need to blend in in Texarkana. The witches will be expecting Bumblebee.” Getting downtown was important.
“Too easy. It’ll be ready by five p.m.” I really believed Constantine was the head of the mafia.
“Bartholomew, can you disable the cameras at the post office? Make sure there’s no trace of us there.” The last thing we needed was to get caught on camera driving like maniacs.
“Simple enough. I’ll bring
