He had to be used to much better. He was probably just being polite. “You’re welcome,” she murmured.
Georgie stirred in his seat, glancing at her. “Jack said you smelled like William yesterday.”
“Georgie!”
Too late. A predatory light sparked in Declan’s eyes. The blueblood came to life like a shark sensing a drop of blood. “Who’s William?”
“None of your business,” Rose snapped.
“He’s a guy. He likes action figures,” Georgie said helpfully. “He asked Rose on a date, but she didn’t go.”
“Does your sister go on dates often?”
“Every week,” Rose said.
“Never,” Georgie declared at the same time. “It’s because Brad Dillon tried to kidnap her on their last date.”
She stared at him. How did he know that?
“Mémère told me. Brad hit her on the head with a club, and she fried him with her flash. Jack and I liked William okay. But Brad is a scumba—”
“George.” Rose loaded her voice with steel. “Go brush your teeth and wake up your brother.”
He slid off the chair and took off.
Declan leaned forward, his features iced over. “This William. What does he look like?”
“Shockingly handsome,” Rose told him.
“That covers a lot of ground.”
“You don’t need to know what he looks like!”
“Of course I do. If I meet him, I’ll have to discourage him from courting you. You don’t want me to assault some random stranger, do you?”
She took her bowl to the sink.
“Rose,” he called. “This is important. What does William look like?”
Rose rinsed out her bowl, glanced up to the window, and saw Leanne Ogletree on the path to her house, striding forward in a determined fashion. A worried expression pinched Leanne’s face into a pale mask. If a big pink elephant with rainbow wings had appeared at the end of the path, Rose would’ve been less surprised. The words died on her lips. Now what?
Declan came to stand by her. “Who is that?”
“The former bane of my existence. Stay inside, please.”
Rose braced herself and stepped out onto the porch.
Leanne walked up to the steps. She was a thin, narrow-hipped woman, who seemed to consist entirely of sharp angles: sharp elbows, prominent knees, defined face, and a stare, which, as Rose knew from experience, could slice like a knife. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other for the last four years. Rose kept to herself, and Leanne wasn’t a social butterfly either, not since Sarah Walton married and moved away. The few times they had run into each other in public, they’d silently conspired to ignore each other’s presence.
It was damned hard to ignore somebody who was standing right there by the porch.
“Morning, Leanne.” Rose kept her tone civil.
“Morning.”
Leanne’s face was pale, and in her blue eyes, Rose glimpsed a small echo of fear.
There were a dozen things Rose could say—about Sarah, who now refused to recognize Leanne; about Leanne’s husband, Beau Ogletree, who had taken off to adventures unknown; about Leanne’s dad, who just last Sunday got so hammered he puked his guts out right on the steps of the church, scandalizing all local Edger Christians forever. But Leanne stood there, with that fear in her eyes, and Rose let it go.
“What’s wrong?” she asked simply.
“It’s Kenny Jo. We went to visit Amy Haire to help with her grandma Elsie. You know her.”
“Elsie Moore? With the tea parties?”
“Yeah. She shut herself in her room and won’t come out. She’d tied herself to her rocker, and when Amy and I tried to move her, she scratched Amy bloody. So I called Kenny Jo to come undo the knots while we held her down. He got into the room and started screaming. I tried to take him out of the room, but something ripped his clothes. It clawed the T-shirt right off of him and scratched his chest. Elsie says we can’t see it because it’s hiding and our magic isn’t strong enough. But Kenny Jo sees it.”
“Why come to me?” Rose asked.
“He was screaming your name.” Leanne swallowed and said in a hoarse voice, “Look, I know I made your life hell in high school. But it’s my kid in there. Please help me save my boy.”
“You can’t see anything outside of the room?”
Leanne shook her head. “I felt something. Cold and wet . . .”
“Like slime down your back?” Rose shivered, recalling the beast that attacked Jack.
“Yes. Like that.”
“Wait here for me, please. I’ll be only a minute.”
ROSE hurried inside the house, dropped the attic’s ladder, and climbed up, flicking on the light. For years the attic had served as the repository of all sorts of junk her father had found in his adventures, and now piles of bizarre objects greeted her: old books, broken weapons, twisted puzzles which, when solved, showed a way to some fabulous non-existent treasure, rolls of fake maps, dime-store antiques . . .
“Jack!” she called.
He scrambled up the ladder.
“I need the see-lantern. Hurry!”
He breathed in the stale scents of the attic, scrambled up the pile of oddities, and plucked the lantern from the heap. It was an old, beat-up maritime lantern. Discoloration from years in salt water dappled its heavy metal base and ornate top. Rose shook it gently, holding it by the ring in its roof, and a tiny green light flared within the thick ribbed glass.
“Thank you!”
She climbed down, reciting instructions on the way. “Stay inside. Don’t let anyone in or out. I’ll be back shortly. If I’m not back by lunch, take the guns and go to Grandma’s.”
The boys looked at her.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” Georgie nodded.
“Jack?”
“Okay.”
“Good.” She headed out of the house. “Declan?”
Dad’s room was empty, the bed so neatly made, she almost did a double take. She hurried past it and saw him, in his full attire, cloak and everything, standing on the porch. Leanne gaped at him in stunned silence.
“I’m coming with you,” he declared, punctuating the words with the white frost rolling over his green irises.
“Why?” Rose raced down the porch steps. Leanne took a moment to snap out of her Declan-induced trance and followed her.
“The creatures are dangerous,” he said. “And you’re a very stubborn woman. You might decide to get yourself killed just to spite me.”
There was no way she could keep him from not coming with her. “Suit yourself.”
She headed down the path, unreasonably irritated because a small part of her was thrilled to have a large, muscular man with a three-foot sword as her backup.
“Who is he?” Leanne murmured, catching up with her.
“A man who’ll soon be leaving empty-handed,” Rose said.
AMY’S house was a large, old affair that had started as an A-frame. Long ago it must’ve had a definite shape, but the Haires were famous for thinking they had carpentering skills, and over the years the house had grown several rooms. It looked like a sprawling mishmash now, sitting in the middle of a wide lawn and bordered by small
