“Sure, let’s go visit the demon down the street. Why not?” Sylvie muttered to herself as we walked single file down the sidewalk.
Tamara’s look-away spell was more likely to work when we weren’t bunched together, and we didn’t want Nicky and Mrs. G to know that we were going to Hector for help. One had to assume they were spying on the neighborhood, and that the sudden cooperation between the stone heiress, the witch, the medium, and retired death had put them on high alert.
And I’d also be keeping an eye on things if I was illegally searching one neighbor’s house and stealing another neighbor’s cat. But that was me.
Hector’s house, like Tamara’s, had signs of a supernatural occupant, but much subtler. I opened the gate to the front yard and felt a slight resistance as I entered the yard—except for that. I held the gate as Sylvie, then Lilac, and finally Tamara passed through, and each woman caused a ripple as she passed. Not subtle at all.
Hector had basically posted the supernatural equivalent of a security sign in the yard. In addition to the barrier around the property, Hector’s yard couldn’t have been more different from Tamara’s. Neatly clipped grass, a fruit tree, a few blooming but magically impotent plants—pleasant, but not the yard of a person who spent much time tinkering in and with nature.
The door opened before we arrived, and the tall man I’d only briefly glimpsed the day of the explosion stood there. He didn’t look particularly happy to see us.
“Are you going to invite us in or glower at us?” Tamara asked with a slightly snippy tone. Someone’s harmony was out of balance again.
Hector leaned against the doorframe, relaxing slightly. “I don’t know, witch. What trouble have you brought with you?” The smile he flashed first Lilac and then Sylvie was flirtatious. Not overly so, just enough to be charming, to make a woman think that she was attractive and he couldn’t help noticing.
This guy was good.
Tamara pushed past Hector—and since the man was bulging with muscles, it was clear he allowed her to. “No time for your devilish ways, Hector. We might be spotted outside.”
“You think whoever you’re hiding from can get a look inside my security bubble?” Hector motioned for us to come inside, tipping his head at the women as they murmured quick introductions and then offering me his hand. His shake was firm, but not challenging, and just the right length to say, “I’m self-confident, but not arrogant.”
I was starting to not like this Hector guy on principle. Forget that he was a demon—whatever that meant—he was too perfect.
“I’m not talking magic, Hector. They could use binoculars. I’m worried about the neighbors.” Tamara headed straight to the kitchen without hesitation or direction, so she was no stranger to his house.
Hector closed the door with a thud. “That’s unfortunate. I had high hopes for the neighborhood. But given the recent direction it’s taken, I suppose I’m not surprised.”
“Gentrification?” I asked, wondering at the connection.
He smiled. Of course, it was perfect. “No, Geoff Todd, not gentrification.” He used my name as if he found it amusing. “The fact that our quiet little street has become a supernatural hot spot. We’re attracting all sorts. No offense intended. Your sort I welcome.”
“Retired soul collectors.” We weren’t exactly a huge demographic.
“Not exactly. I find soul collectors generally fall into two categories: chaos-loving and eternal optimists. You seem the latter.” He broke eye contact, turning his attention to retrieving drinks.
His evaluation, when viewed within my experience, was surprisingly astute. Surprising since his direct contact with soul collectors had to be limited. I hadn’t even known demons existed, so I was either shielded from that knowledge because of a devilish connection or they were just rare.
After producing cold cans of fizzy water and inviting everyone to sit, Hector said, “So, witchy lady, what exactly can I do for you?”
Hector really was a hard man not to like, and I wasn’t seeing signs of his reported daytime moodiness.
Tamara glanced at the kitchen clock. “We’ve got about twenty minutes to come up with a rescue plan for Geoff’s, ah, ward.”
Clarence wasn’t my ward—not exactly. Semantics, I supposed, but labeling Clarence as my ward made me feel all the more responsible for his welfare and therefore his kidnapping.
Sylvie popped open my fizzy water, pushing the can closer to me. Quietly, she said, “It’s not your fault. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine for getting you involved in my family’s inheritance dispute.”
Hector perked up. “Family squabbles? Tamara, you should know better. That’s the worst sort of trouble.”
Tamara snorted. “You should know me better. It’s nothing like that.” As she pulled the rock from her travel bag, she said, “The Gonzalezes have kidnapped Geoff’s cat.”
Hector raised a brow. “You mean the cat who’s not a cat?”
“That’s the one,” I said. “Clarence.” I didn’t provide a last name, but only because I didn’t know it. Part and parcel with Clarence’s murky history.
But Hector’s full attention had moved to the rock. He reached out but stopped suddenly. “May I?” And interestingly, the question was directed to Sylvie, even though she had yet to be identified as the relevant “family” in this particular dispute.
Glancing at Tamara for confirmation first, Sylvie said, “Yes, please.”
As he took the rock in his hands, that brilliant smile he’d flashed earlier reappeared. “I haven’t seen one of these in a very long time.”
Which made me look at him more closely. Because when he said “very long time” in his deep, appealing voice, I believed he meant a very long time. Years? Decades? More?
Tamara frowned. “Well, if I’d known you could decode it, I’d have brought it around earlier. We came by primarily for armaments.”
We had? Right, because we were going into battle. I really hoped this talk of battle and weapons was all a huge, overextended metaphor for a more civilized conflict—if there were such a thing.
Sylvie leaned forward. “So you do know what it
