Part 4 (1/2)

”It does.”

”Hmmm,” she said through pursed lips. ”Men,” she said. ”You can always count on them for trouble.”

I smiled. ”Take care,” I said, as she got in the car. On impulse I added, ”I love you.”

She paused to shoot me an I'm-worried-when-you-say-things-like-that grimace, then gave me a fond wave as she started up the car. I didn't care if she thought I was strange. I probably would never see her again after tonight, and, anyway, I did love her. Izzy had been good to me when I needed a friend.

I watched her drive away with my hands resting on the handles of the bicycle.

Clouds had rolled in, and a haze formed a halo around the moon. Though the air was warm, I s.h.i.+vered. I looked at the address again. I thought I knew the place. It was a long way out but doable by bike.

Besides, if the Vatican agent followed Izzy and me this far, I was sure I'd spot her if I took the bike. It's very difficult to follow a bicyclist when you're in a car. I'm no speed racer, so someone creeping along at fifteen miles an hour would be easy to spot. Besides, my mountain bike said All Terrain right there on the crossbar. If I had to lose someone, I'd off-road it.

Anyway, I was restless to be going-somewhere, anywhere.

Shouldering my backpack, I glanced behind me at my apartment. I could see Barney in the window, silhouetted by the purplish glow of the grow lights. Her eyes were on my back as I hopped on my bike and headed out.

Somewhere outside of the city limits the rain started.

I was too far out to turn back; Sebastian's place was closer than home at that point. It was only a light drizzle. I could feel myself calming down with the exercise. The county highway was deserted. The smooth asphalt curved around farms and fields of newly planted corn and alfalfa. I could smell the pungent scent of manure on the warm breeze. My shoulders relaxed. I didn't have to leave town. The Vatican agent was concentrating on Sebastian.

She might not even know I was a Witch. I'd heard through the grapevine that the Vatican employed psychics who could sense the presence of magic, but she might not be one of them. Even if she were, she was on a.s.signment to deal with Sebastian first. That would buy me time. Time to entrench. Time to make a stand.

If I ran now, it would be the beginning of a life on the run, of starting over from scratch. I'd spend the rest of my life lonely because, just as I made friends, I'd have to leave them. It was bad enough to think about doing that twice, but forever? It was too much.

I wouldn't go. Maybe I could find a way to face down the threat that would solve the problem permanently.

Lilith tightened my stomach.

Well, maybe not that kind of permanent. I'd think of some way-someother way.

Nighthawks darted through the air chasing mosquitoes, flas.h.i.+ng white stripes on the underside of their wings as they pa.s.sed overhead. Well, I'd think about all that later. My first order of business was to warn Sebastian.

The raindrops grew heavier as the miles wore on. I checked the address again. Up ahead I was happy to see what I a.s.sumed must be his farm. A graveyard occupied the lot next to Sebastian's. It was one of those odd country cemeteries that existed between fields, surrounded by a chain link fence, with no church for miles. The monuments listed on ground made uneven by time, the wooden coffins underneath having long since disintegrated. A nearby yard light illuminated neatly trimmed gra.s.s, though a few markers were nearly obliterated by cedar bushes and other overgrown offerings.

I could see how this place might appeal to a necromancer.

Just as I pulled into his drive, the rain officially became a downpour. I dragged my bike through the mud of the pathway to his front door and hauled it and myself up onto the open porch. A damp, rotting-wood smell permeated the porch. When I leaned my bike against the railing, the section gave so much that I was afraid I'd come away with wood in my hands. The porch rail mostly hid the bicycle from the road.

Not that anyone would be looking at this decrepit place.

A heap of curled, yellowing newspapers lay in front of a screen door, which hung precariously by a single hinge.

The farm looked abandoned.

Fan-f.u.c.king-tastic.

Leaning up close to a dust-covered window, I peered into the darkened interior. I thought I could make out furniture of some kind. No lights were on anywhere. Maybe I was at the wrong place? I checked the card again. The address was painted clearly above the door. The numbers matched.

Gingerly propping the screen door against my shoulder, I knocked on the door. No answer. I pounded a little harder, then leaned up to try to look in the window of the door. To my horror, it popped open, the latch slipping open under the extra pressure. There was something overly familiar about this scene, which caused my magic radar to ping. The go-away vibes were so overwhelmingly strong that I started to suspect they weren't real at all, but a spell designed to keep people away.

Even so, I hesitated, my foot on the threshold. The rain fell in sheets, sluicing down the slanted porch roof. My mini clung heavily to my b.u.t.t, growing colder with each gust of wind. Going back wasn't an option, not with the constant flashes of lightning and miles of open, flat farmland.

So, the only course was the fool's errand. If only my life were a movie, I thought, then I could just listen for the swell of operatic music and know if my decision was the wrong one.

”h.e.l.lo?” I ventured, stepping over the threshold. ”Sebastian? Anyone?”

I peeked around the door into the house. Blessed warmth hit my face. The interior smelled of woodsmoke and cinnamon.

”Sebastian?” I called out again, taking a bolder step inside.

Turning, I saw a man-sized shadow, and I nearly jumped out of my skin until I realized it was just a coat rack with a jacket hanging on one of the pegs. I let out a sigh of relief. Reaching out a hand, I felt leather and heard buckles knock into each other: Sebastian's coat.

Right house, at least.

A cold draft rushed along the edges of the soaked skirt. I wanted to shut the door behind me, but somehow I felt less like I was trespa.s.sing as long as it remained open. I dripped self-consciously onto the hardwood floor. ”h.e.l.lo?”

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the room in front of me began to take shape. On the far left wall was a fireplace with a simple carved-wood mantle. A couple of overstuffed chairs and a couch nestled in front of it, as though huddled close for warmth. A built-in buffet took up most of the wall opposite me.

Cabinet shelves and leaded gla.s.s framed a pa.s.s-through opening that presumably led into a kitchen or dining room. I heard rattling of pots coming from the back of the house. Someone was here. ”Sebastian?

It's me, Garnet.”

The storm shook the window.

A hiss like rain spattering asphalt seemed to tickle my ear. ”Trespa.s.ser.”

I turned at the words but saw no one. The feeling of being watched crept across my skin. Behind me, nothing but water pelted down, silver needles reflecting in the yard light.

As I turned my attention back to the interior of the house, my peripheral vision registered the coat rack as man-shaped again. This time, however, I could have sworn it lunged toward me, and I took a step back before I remembered what it was.

”Trespa.s.ser.”

Either my overly guilty conscience just sprouted an ”outside voice,” or the coat rack just talked to me. ”h.e.l.lo?”

The wind pushed the door shut with a slam. I jumped and yelped at the same time. At least my first impression was that it was the wind, but part of my brain said,Breezes usually blow outside in, not the other way around .

”Is someone there?” I heard a voice call out from upstairs.

”Sebastian! It's me, Garnet.”

”Don't move!” Sebastian shouted.

”Don't move, trespa.s.ser.” The second voice came from behind me. I spun around at the sound.

Lightning flashed, revealing the shadow of someone holding an upraised knife. Instinctively, I called Her name.

The darkness instantly became light to my magical eyes. A gaunt man dressed in ragged overalls and galoshes stared at me with bugged-out eyes. His mouth was twisted with rage. The knife came down in a slas.h.i.+ng motion. The hand I'd stretched out to ward off the blow felt a slight shudder as the blade clattered uselessly against Her psychic s.h.i.+eld, which surrounded me like an obsidian bubble. The man looked around frantically.Yes , I thought,you should be nervous, little ghost .