“Please, Penny?” he persisted. “Folks have died.”
That didn’t interest her at all. “It’s a bad time for me. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Now, Penny, I’m afraid I have to insist.”
She sighed again. “Fine. Give me a moment.” She glared at his foot until Steve drew it back, then she closed the door.
Damn. This wasn’t right. She wasn’t curious about me, the trouble in front of her property, or the deaths in town. Something was very wrong.
“It’s okay,” Steve said, maybe sensing my unease. “Penny’s my cousin and we get along very well.” He wrung his hands nervously, looking from me to Justy and back again. Justy looked pinched and skittish. She stayed close to the top of the stairs.
In the window behind the fertilizer, I saw a curtain move. It was a boy, maybe fifteen years old, with brown hair in a ragged bowl cut. His eyes were big and brown and empty. He had a white mark on his face, too.
The door swung open suddenly. I heard a low growl and lunged forward.
Penny heaved herself through the doorway, swinging something over her shoulder at Steve. I caught hold of it even as I realized it was an axe and pushed. The blade passed over Steve’s skull and thunked against the doorframe.
Steve cried out in a high voice. Footsteps thumped on the wooden stairs, leading away.
Penny jabbed the butt end of the axe at me. I ducked. The handle whiffed by my jaw. I put my shoulder against her hip, wrapped my arms around her knees, and upended her onto the floor.
The axe flew out of her hands and bounced across a dingy throw rug. She reached for me, hands curled like claws, but I caught her wrist and pulled her onto her stomach, then planted a knee in her back.
Steve was still standing in the doorway, his mouth hanging open. Justy was nowhere in sight.
“Bring your cuffs in here before someone gets killed!”
That jolted him into action. He fumbled at his back pocket.
I took my ghost knife from my pocket and slipped it through the back of her head. It passed through without leaving a mark the way it always does with living people. It didn’t even cut her hair.
But it didn’t stop her thrashing. It didn’t cut away her anger and hostility the way it had for Horace. Damn. She was immune, just like Ursula. Was it something to do with the stain on her face, which Ursula didn’t have? I didn’t know, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t my spell.
I glanced around, worried that the boy would come at me with a kitchen knife, but I couldn’t see him.
Penny tried to wrench her arm out of my grip. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I wasn’t going to be able to hold her for long if I didn’t do something drastic.
Which was the same choice I’d faced with Ursula. People had died and I’d nearly gotten myself killed because I couldn’t be ruthless with a woman who wanted to murder me.
I leaned my body weight onto her, pinning her arms to her back. I could have broken them, hit her behind the ear, or stomped on her, but I held back, and my refusal to make that choice became my choice. If that made things difficult later on, so be it.
Steve knelt beside her but didn’t cuff her. He pleaded for her understanding, apologized for what he had to do, and generally irritated me by trying to be reasonable with a person who had lost all reason. “Just snap them on!” I barked. I bent her arms behind her back, and he did it.
We heard a car engine rev outside.
“No!” Penny screamed. “Don’t take him from me! You can’t take him away from me!”
I sprinted through the door and across the porch. A dirty white pickup roared across the yard, heading downhill toward the street. It lurched and swerved in the mud. I raced after it.
The truck skidded on a steep part of the yard and slammed against a tree.
I ran around a thicket toward the truck, ghost knife in hand. Maybe the spell was useless against these people, but it made me feel better to hold it. The truck bed was empty, so I circled toward the driver’s side. There was a strange sound, like a high-pitched keen mixed with a metallic scrape. I had never heard anything like it; I figured it was a damaged fan belt.
I reached the driver’s window. The brown-eyed kid was behind the wheel, holding his bloody forehead—the pickup was too old to have air bags.
“Sit still,” I said. “We’re going to have someone take a look at that head.”
He looked at me, his expression still empty. “I’ll kill you,” he said. “If you try to take him from me, I’ll kill you.”
I glanced over at the passenger seat. It was empty. The plastic lining on the passenger door had a discolored patch.
Goose bumps ran the length of my body. The sapphire dog was very close.
I stepped back and looked around. I couldn’t see anything but trees, leafless bushes, and mud. Justy laid rubber peeling away down the street. Steve was running toward me as fast as he could, which wasn’t fast at all. He had almost reached the back fender when he looked toward the passenger side of the truck.
And stopped. He gaped at something on the other side of the truck that I couldn’t see.
I walked toward him. My guts were in knots, but I refused to be afraid. I had come here for exactly this moment.
