《Shadow Falls》


 Dead End Chase

    I pounded my feet on the scorching hot rooftop tile, eyes locked on the fleeing killer. My clay skin crackled in protest in the damn sun. I should know better than to stay exposed for too long. The heat would turn me into a pile of brittle shards. I needed to catch that son of a bitch before that happened.


    Anna''s instructions still echoed in my mind: "Find the guy before he strikes again, Jam." Easy for her to say - she, the mayor, was safe behind the scenes at city hall. I, resident golem and town Sheriff on the other hand, was out in the field.


    I sprinted across a rickety water tank''s flat root. It groaned in protest under my feet and I nearly lost my balance. Below me, Shadow Falls'' Main Street hummed along its usual rhythm: Mrs. Peabody calling out daily specials from her General Store counter; The Bean There''s coffee beans grinding to a chorus of chatter.


    No way would I''d be getting backup anytime soon. That face - or rather, this lack thereof - would vanish into the crowd before my deputy arrived. I was on my own.


    As we tore through town, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted up to me. I recalled the carefree summer nights I used to spend listening to crickets at Macdonald''s farm; life before serial killers came knocking on Shadow Falls'' doorstep. This was what I got for a summer day now: serial killer chases, rooftop sprints, and perpetual dry-ness.


    I had no idea what this killer''s motivation was, nor did I care: my job was to stop him. With each leap and landing, our proximity seemed to inch closer to the deadly midpoint. It felt like we were two cogs on an engine of fate - and the city hung precariously in balance. Then, the killer''s foot slipped; he fell from a lower roof, landing with a soft thud in a dumpster below.


    As I dropped onto Maple Lane, the city''s rhythm reasserted itself around us. The sweet aroma of Mrs. Peabody''s baked goods mingled with the stench of rotting trash from where the punk landed. Time stood still for a moment; then, it was my turn to move again.


    I strode towards that bland face, sweat beading on my forehead. The heat made my clay skin feel like it was melting off my bones. I slid my gun out of its holster, the metal creaking like worn leather.


    The punk''s eyes darted left and right as if searching for escape. He took one step back, just one, though, his expression stuck in frozen terror. He spun around and darted down a cellar staircase.


    I smirked, the world narrowing down to just him and me again. This guy didn''t know I was running on fumes. Time to bring an end to the theatrics.


    Every step was an effort, the sun''s relentless glare draining what little moisture my clay skin possessed. My joints protested with every landing. It wouldn''t be long before stiffness would catch up and bring me crashing down. My life force comes from wet clay, and I was drying out fast. My weakness, you see.


    I dug deep for reserves of moisture, conjuring the tiniest droplets from parched earth beneath my surface. Every moment counted, or soon wouldn''t count at all. With renewed energy, my strides gained length and purpose once more.


    I crept down the stairs, eyes straining to pierce the darkness. The killer''s advantage had always been his anonymity. Until now, that was. Forgettable features meant I''d never catch a break unless he gave me one. But this abandoned basement seemed tailor-made for a final showdown.


    I rounded the corner, and the stench of rot and decay slapped me in the face. Rats scurried past, their beady eyes gleaming with malice. This place was a tomb, and I just happened to be the guest of honor.


    The killer''s faint outline appeared ahead, the flickering flashlight cast an eerie glow around him like a macabre halo. Our gazes met. His face twisted with rage as he sensed the noose closing around his neck.


    What had brought him to this godforsaken hole? Did he think it''d give him cover? Newsflash: nothing does that anymore -- least of all this crummy dive. But I had no intention of letting my curiosity get the better of me. I crept forward, the only sound our labored breathing, each of us daring the other to make a move. In the stillness, even time itself seemed to be holding its breath...


    For an instant, our gazes clashed like two guns pointed at each other. He lunged, a blade flashing in the fading light. We crashed into each other like two freight trains on a collision course. My fist cocked back, ready to strike. The killer''s face twisted with rage, and I reveled in it. The predator became prey.


    The blade scraped against my skin as I absorbed the blow, his strength paling beside mine. I ignored it and grabbed his knife hand.


    At first, we struggled, neither of us giving an inch. With superhuman strength, I wrapped my fingers around the killer''s wrist and cracked it, snapping it clean. He howled as pain shot through him. A cross to the temple sent him crumpling to the ground.


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    That''s when a second guy appeared out of nowhere and started firing at me. Damn, that stung! I registered multiple bullet holes, not dangerous, but enough to get on my nerves. I cursed silently as I stared at the killer''s twin. Another face so bland, so forgettable, that even his identical brother couldn''t recognize him in a line-up.


    He emptied the magazine into me, the sound like popcorn popping on high heat. I stumbled forward, absorbing each shot without slowing down. Just more of that annoying itch spreading across my surface. The last bullet spent, the twin froze. His eyes flickered towards mine as if waiting for something to happen. I grinned, showing off a mouthful of dental fillings that felt like tiny marbles rolling around.


    I growled, my clay drying with the sudden stillness. His face twisted into something almost human: fear. I knew that if he ran, I would be too slow to catch him. Faster than my dried-out body should have allowed, I closed the distace and sent him to sleep with another haymaker.


    I heaved my exhausted clay frame onto a nearby pile of rubble. I felt like a chunk of dry brick fresh out of the kiln. My itching body screamed for water, and I eyed the distant shadow of the Bean There cafe through the cellar door. Coffee was my favorite form of hydration. The town square''s bandstand beckoned, its shade and quiet an oasis amidst this sweltering hellhole.


    My terracotta hand flexed, the numbness still lingering from the earlier fisticuffs. One missing finger told me I needed a drink sooner rather than later. This heat would make my joints seize up like rusty gates. Shadow Falls better had some water on reserve for their local golem in Sheriff clothes. Maybe I could slip into the Bean There unnoticed, nurse my wounds, and get my priorities straight.


    A fleeting thought about how to make myself appear less suspicious passed through my mind, and for good reason: Jam Slate''s long-tempered tenure had earned me the locals'' respect and trust, making it difficult to rouse suspicions. Still, pulling two lifeless humans around town might scare our law abiding citizens, and I depended on the goodwill of the townfolks.


    Oh well, it couldn''t be helped. I tossed the twins on my shoulder like sacks of potatoes and shuffled outside, joints creaking in protest. As we approached the square, I spotted Mrs. Peabody setting up a small market stand outside her general store. She smiled kindly at us, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and called out,


    I nodded curtly.


    She raised an eyebrow but didn''t press the matter. We passed The Bean There cafe, its doors ajar and inviting me with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Water and caffeine beckoned like siren songs, but my priorities were clear. I needed to get these abominations locked up before I lost more than just a finger.


    We turned onto Main Street. The sun''s cruel gaze intensified. My brow was dry and itchy; I had no more water left to sweat. The station loomed ahead, its stone facade seeming sturdy against the burning heat. Time was running out; I wasn''t going to make it.


    I veered toward a roadside stand, my dry lips pursing with anticipation. The sign promised A young boy ran the stand, his eyes shining like new pennies as he poured the yellow drink into my cup. A straw poked out of the ice like a tiny snake slithering out of its den.


    I set the twins onto the ground and inhaled the liquid. The sweetness wafted up, rehydrating my parched throat and nose.


    I felt life rushing back into me. My missing finger -- no longer missing. An unblemished nub of flesh was slowly molding itself into my missing digit. With a renewed spring in my step, or what passed for it these days, I turned back to retrieve... nothing. The twin freaks were gone, vanished like wisps of smoke on the summer breeze.


    My mind spun with questions. Where had they vanished to? How the hell did they manage to slip through my fingers like greased piglets at a county fair? My feet carried me back toward Maple Lane''s center, the sound of lemonade glass shattering against the sidewalk lost in the murmur of crickets and the rustling of leaves. No sign of them anywhere!


    I headed back to the lemonade stand to look for clues. I kneeled down, eyes scouring the ground like a maniac searching for dropped change. Nothing. Zilch. Not even a single bloody footprint.


    I touched the pavement. It felt colder than it should be, like the city''s very bones were sucking up the warmth from my skin.


    I sniffed the air, trying to pick out anything out of place, and my nostrils twitched at the acrid stench of ozone. Flickers of clove hung suspended in the atmosphere like a faint echo, a residue left behind by someone''s hasty spellcasting. Someone with access to real power had teleported those twins away from me.


    I gritted my teeth. My problem child of an investigation had just turned nuclear hot. If a mage was involved, then this was no longer petty human-on-human crime. I had to call it in, and I didn''t like it one bit. Shadow Falls just got a whole lot more complicated. And so did my life as its chief lawkeeper.


    I sighed and bought a second lemonade to combat the heat. I took a long swig, feeling the wet glass soothe my parched throat. A faint hint of ozone still lingered in the air, reminding me of the teleportation spell that had so thoroughly rained on my parade.


    I strolled back to city hall, my clay feet moving in a slow, deliberate gait. The humid air wrapped around me like a damp shroud. I could practically feel the city''s latest secrets dripping with sweat from its stone streets, begging to be unraveled by me.


    My eyes roved over the familiar sights and sounds of Maple Lane -- Peabody''s corner store, where they stocked more than just lottery tickets; the creaky old train station, where you could almost hear the ghostly echoes of late-night whistle blows; even Ol'' Macdonald''s farm fresh produce stand, which had somehow managed to remain stubbornly in business for three generations.


    Shadow Falls was my city: my home, my beat, and my life. But this little slice of peace just got turned inside out. It seemed like I wasn''t the only one playing by a different set of rules than regular townsfolk.


    Every brick seemed to bear down upon me, questioning everything. Had someone from out there been poking their nose into Shadow Falls'' affairs? What did they want with my serial killer?


    Time to put on my thinking clay, rehydrate with some old-fashioned Java at the station, and conjure up a plan. This city might be mine to guard, but its magic was another story altogether.

 Its Gotta Be Me

    I shuffled into the station, exhaustion sagging my shoulders like a cloak made of damp sand. Charlaine was hunched over her files, eyes narrowed, lips pursed in concentration. I nodded at her. She glanced up and gave me a tired smile.


    "You''re back." Her voice was flat, weary.


    "Yeah, back." I dropped into the chair behind the cluttered desk. "Coffee, please."


    Charlaine handed me the pot. I stared at the black lukewarm bean juice. I needed caffeine, a whole damn pot of it. My throat was dryer than the Arizona desert and my clay was still stiff from the heat. I chugged it all in one go. I could feel the liquid coursing through my system, loosening my joints and pushing back the exhaustion. Being not technically alive, I did not need to sleep. But I''d learned a long time ago that for whatever reason, my clay absorbed coffee faster than anything else. Tequila was a close second, but that''s another story.


    "How much did you find out about the killer?" Charlaine pulled a pack of chewing gum from her bag.


    "Killers. And they seem to have vanished into thin air." I slammed the pot down on the desk, making the old phone ring. "Looks like we''re dealing with a mage."


    "A mage?" My deputy''s eyes widened. She looked at me, then at the pot, then back at me.  "Well, good thing you''re a goddamn golem." Charlaine chewed gum thoughtfully.


    "Golem or not, I need your help. Get the kit, please."


    "The fingerprinting kit?"


    I snorted. "No, Charlaine. I don''t mean the fingerprinting kit. I mean the one with all the voodoo trinkets and the weird herbs. You know, the one your grandma gave you."


    She rolled her eyes. "Oh, that kit. Why didn''t you just say so?"


    "You know that religious stuff gives me the heebie-jeebies. Your grand-m¨¨re is a nice lady, but a priest is a priest. Don''t matter if they prey to Jesus, Odin, or Daddy Longlegs."


    "Papa Legba."


    "Whatever they call him. He''s a creepy dude."


    Charlaine just laughed and headed to her locker to fetch "the kit". The radio crackled on in the corner, broadcasting local chatter about an impending thunderstorm. We could use the rain, I thought. My desk phone let out a metallic yelp. I ignored the ring until it cut off. Now wasn''t the time for an extended break, but a moment would have been nice before diving headfirst into this strange brew. Then, Anna''s voice crackled through the interoffice speaker.


    "Jam. I need you in my office. Now."


    I sighed. I had hoped for another caffeine fix, but you didn''t keep the mayor-slash-town-physician waiting. I checked my reflection in the mirror on the wall. I didn''t need to shave, the beard was just part of the look. I rubbed my eyes and straightened my hat. I could hear Charlaine giggling from the doorway.


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    "La douleur exquise. Don''t worry, you''re looking fine enough, mon cher...iff."


    "Did I ever mention that being insubordinate is a fireable offense?"


    "Love you too, Jam," my deputy said, and then I was out the door.


    Anna''s office was a mess. Papers piled everywhere, medical journals mixed with styrofoam cups and empty pill bottles. The smell of antiseptic and stale coffee hung in the air. I stepped in and leaned against the desk. Anna gestured towards the guest chair, which was covered in a thick layer of medical supplies. I preferred standing.


    "You smell like garlic," she said, coughing.


    "Oh," I said sheepishly, "I carry a clove in a ziploc bag. In case I need to break up a bar fight at the Fangs and Fur. A bullets must have nicked the plastic. Now the smell is streaming out. I can go out if it''s too much."


    "I can manage, thanks. Bullets, you say. How''s the investigation going?"  The mayor looked up from the mountain of papers, her eyes red and tired.


    "Well, the perps, they''re gone. Vanished. Poof. Like magic."  I longingly stared at a defunct espresso maker. "Speaking of, this seems to be the first sign of magical elements involved.  Complicates things."  I pulled out the crumpled ziploc bag from my pocket.  "You know, these things aren''t cheap, you''d think they could make them bulletproof."  I concentrated and enclosed the garlic bag with a thin layer of clay. Problem solved.


    "Rules are rules, Jam," Anna said. "As much as I hate it, we''ve got to call this in."


    I shrugged. "It''ll make it harder to do my job, Anna. To keep the town safe."


    "You think you and Charlaine can do that alone now? Magic''s involved. Which means you could be at risk, too."


    "Bureau''s gonna be here soon after the call. Probably gonna tear the whole place apart. They''ll mess things up, they always do."


    Anna sighed. "You know I hate it when they''re here, too. But they''re good at their job, Jam. More than you give them credit for. We need their experience."


    "Yeah, well, I''ve got my own experience. And I''d rather solve this myself."


    "You need more than just experience, Jam. You need manpower, competent one." Anna was getting impatient. "And yes, we''ll also need to call Krabat. And no, he''s not my ''Igor'', I swear. Just helping me with some research."


    "Alright, alright, Anna. Just don''t let him turn us all into fluffy white rabbits."


    Anna just shook her head. "I''ll tell you what, you go back to the station and I''ll start making some calls. You have a hunch about this case? Anything at all?"


    "Got a feeling," I replied, "but I ain''t sharing it with those goons in suits. It''s gotta be me, Anna. It''s always gotta be me." I stood up and headed for the door. "Don''t let those suits ruin everything. You know how it is."


    "I do." She looked at me with a mixture of resignation and hope. "Keep me posted, alright, Jam?"


    I nodded. At the end of the day, when the chips were down, I knew I could count on her.  "You got it."


    I left her office, that damn stink of garlic still in the air. I saw an empty coffee mug and grimaced. Needed another pot.  Needed a cigarette.  Needed a goddamn break. But Shadow Falls was never gonna let me have one.


    "Time to head out, Charlaine," I said and grabbed my hat from the rack. Couple of days, tops, before they''d show up.


    Charlaine was already packed up and waiting. "Ready when you are, Jam."


    The entire Shadow Falls sheriff''s department stepped out into the hallway and back into the business of catching a killer. The case wasn''t even a week old and it was already getting complicated.  The air was thick with the smell of rain, a scent that was as familiar to me as the back of my hand.  "Let''s go," I said, taking a deep breath of the damp air, "It''s time to figure out what we''re dealing with."

 Gone in a Flash

    Charlaine, bless her heart, was still nervous about this whole investigation. "You sure about this, Jam? We''re just going to...walk into another ambush?" I glanced at the doorway of the basement, our only way in and out. There was no way the twins could pull a fast one like that again, not if they wanted to be in one piece. But you never know with magic. It can do crazy stuff, make things appear and disappear, warp reality itself.


    "We gotta see what happened. Bureau''s gonna be here soon. Ain''t nobody needs those suits messing everything up."


    We took another slow pass through the room, making sure to scan every corner. The place was littered with old machinery, rusting tools, and dusty debris, all of it just as I''d remembered it. Unlike me, Charlaine wasn''t relying on sight. Reaching into a worn pouch on her belt, she fished out a vial filled with shimmering dust; a pale lavender that seemed to glow even in the dim light.


    "What''s that?" I asked her.


    "It''s a tracking dust, Jam. My grandma gave it to me. It follows the magical traces of whatever it''s dusted on."


    With a muttered incantation, she uncorked the vial and flung a handful of the stuff into the air. It swirled for a while, then defied gravity, arcing gracefully through the room before converging near a spot on the dusty concrete floor. We both stared at the swirling cloud for a moment, then I pointed my flashlight back in the general direction we needed to go.


    With newfound purpose, Charlaine strode towards where the cloud had settled. Kneeling down, she brushed away rubble to reveal the outline of a broken bottle, its jagged edges glinting in the narrow beam of the flashlight. Beside it lay a single, worn rosette half-buried in the dirt. It shimmered. The leather was a deep, sun-bleached brown, weathered and cracked with age. The intricate stitching, though faded, depicted a stylized claw, sharp and menacing.


    "Wait a minute," I said, my voice tinged with excitement. "This looks kinda familiar¡­" I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. Inside, nestled amongst my IDs and credit cards, was another rosette, identical to the one we¡¯d just found. This one, however, still looked far newer, the leather supple and the stitching bright. It depicted the same stylized claw, but with a bold inscription circling it, ¡°Fangs and Fur - 50th Anniversary.¡±


    Charlaine snatched the rosette from my hand and flipped it over in her fingers. "I don''t remember you being a fan of country music, Slate," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye.


    "Hey, who said I wasn''t?" I chuckled, a little embarrassed. "I just never thought I''d be carrying a keepsake from some dusty old saloon.¡± I shrugged and let out a sigh.


    "So, a bar," she said, slowly nodding her head. "Maybe that''s where the magic comes from?"


    "Could be," I said. "But why would the mage hang around that place? Doesn''t sound very magical, does it?"


    "Maybe not," she said, her gaze flitting from the rosette to the dusty floor. "But then again, this isn''t your regular honky-tonk either, I''ve been told..." She looked at me, her brow furrowed. ¡°What are we going to do with this thing, Jam?¡±


    "Yeah, well," I said. "It''s the best lead we got, isn''t it?" I gestured toward the cracked and chipped concrete walls of the basement. "Let''s go and have a drink, shall we?"


    The rain pounded against the weathered exterior of Fangs and Fur as we stepped inside. Warm light spilled from the saloon, welcoming us into a world of flickering lanterns and twangy country music. Patrons, a mix of humans, shifters with subtle changes, and even a hulking troll nursing a mug of ale, crowded around worn wooden tables. In the corner, hunched over a steaming plate of ribs, was Krabat. There was no love lost between us, and based on his withering glance the feeling was mutual. Charlaine, however, received a nod from the mage, a hint of friendliness in his stoic expression.


    Millie, the weathered bartender, greeted us with a tired smile. "The usual, Jam?" She placed a shot of Tequila in front of me. I nodded.


    Charlaine, staring at the bottle with a disapproving grimace, shook her head. "I''m on duty," she said, "Cappuccino, please."


    "This ain''t no Starbucks, honey," Millie rumbled, but shuffled over to the espresso machine anyway. I took the glass, the burn of the booze a welcome relief against the chill of the rain seeping in from the open doors. When she returned, I ordered a refill.


    "Thanks, Millie. Also, mind helping me out on something?" I pulled out the leather rosette. "This yours?"


    "That thing? You know that I gave those out to the staff and friends for the anniversary." She smiled, but her eyes lost a little bit of their usual warmth. "This one''s been through the wringer. Where''d you get it from?"


    "Well, we found this one down in a basement." I laid it on the bar. "Part of a case. It seems a little...well, worn. Like it was buried in the dirt for a while. Perhaps with someone who likes to sleep in a grave during the day, eh?"


    Millie glanced at Charlaine, who was carefully examining the cup she''d just received. "We''ve been friends for a long time, Jam. Are you accusing my staff of murder?"


    "Ain''t accusing anyone, just asking questions. Like, who had this rosette? Any idea how it got down there?"


    "Don''t know, sheriff. I handed out dozens of these. Maybe it was lost, maybe it was dropped. There''s a good fortune teller on the next block. I hear she knows all about things lost and found."


    I shrugged. "Not a bad idea," I said, pushing the glass towards Millie for another shot. "We got nothin'' to lose." I saw her smile, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. She was right, there were dozens of staff and regular, no way to narrow it down by just looking at it. It could be a guest. Or the bartender, the bouncer, maybe even Millie...


    Charlaine took a cautious sip of her cappuccino. The frothy drink felt out of place the rough-and-tumble atmosphere, but so did my deputy. Lowering her voice, she leaned towards me. "Alright, how do we approach this?"


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    I shrugged, my expression stoic. "Casual. Ask around, see if anyone recognizes the rosette."


    Charlaine scanned the bar, her gaze settling on a group of burly men with tattoos. Taking a deep breath, she pushed off the bar stool.


    "Excuse me, messieurs," she began, her voice polite yet firm. "Don''t mean to bother you, but I was wondering if any of you might recognize this?" She held out the worn leather rosette, its sun-bleached brown catching the warm glow of the lanterns.


    The men squinted at it, their conversation stalling for now. "Can''t say I have, miss," rumbled a man with a beard as thick as his arms. "Looks like some kinda old belt buckle."


    "Could be a souvenir from a rodeo or somethin''," another man chimed in, a hint of amusement in his voice.


    Charlaine offered a smile that didn''t quite reach her eyes. "Thanks anyway. Maybe someone else..."


    Krabat strolled over, his boots clicking on the wooden floor. He was smiling, but it didn''t reach his eyes.


    "Hey, Charly. Haven''t seen you at Fangs & Fur before."


    My deputy didn''t answer, she just stared at him, her eyes narrowed. The mage leaned in, his black eyes boring into Charlaine.


    "You''re looking for something." It wasn''t a question. "Well, I just happen to be a bit of a collector. May I have a look?" He ran a hand through his white hair, a gesture that seemed to defy gravity itself.


    "What exactly is this thing, Krabat?"


    He tilted his head, an unsettlingly graceful movement, as he examined the rosette. "Something that belongs to the past."


    I watched Charlaine, her face a study in controlled irritation. She took back the rosette and put it into her pocket. "It''s from here, right?" she said, her voice tight. "Fangs and Fur."


    "You''ve been sniffing around, haven''t you?" He smiled, a slow, predatory grin. "I also have a keen sense of smell," he said, his voice a silky whisper. "And a fondness for relics. Especially relics with a bit of a story behind them. So you''re saying you found this thing in your attic?"


    "We didn''t say that, ?ajatovi?," I interjected. I hoped it would throw him off base. He hated that historians had figured out his birth name.


    "Or maybe," the mage continued, ignoring my jab, "it was a gift. From a friend. Someone who knew you were looking for something. A friend who''s quite fond of the past, and the secrets it holds." His eyes flicked to Charlaine, a hint of mischief lurking in their depths. "Don''t you agree, Deputy?"


    "You''re not just a collector, are you, Krabat?" I said, my voice low and dangerous. "You''re a player and you know more than you care to admit."


    "Now, now," he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Let''s not get ahead of ourselves. I''m only trying to be helpful. After all, the mayor asked me to, didn''t she?"


    Krabat''s words hung in the air. But before I could press him for more, a new kind of trouble erupted. Bruno, a thickset human with a shaved head and a scowl, was winding up, fists clenched, ready to go. Across the table from him, Grog, a hulking ogre with a beard like a tangled forest, was just as ready. It was an ugly scene.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t know an arm wrestle from a tea party,¡± Grog said, his voice like gravel grinding.


    ¡°You sayin¡¯ I¡¯m a liar, green giant? I¡¯ll show you a liar!"


    Looks like we had ourselves the start of a good old fashioned bar fight. The whole damn bar was buzzing with anticipation. The human was a walking, talking, beer-guzzling disaster, ready to pick a fight with his own shadow. The ogre was twice his size and twice as pissed off, his green skin turning a shade of purple as Bruno¡¯s braggadocio went on and on. I¡¯d seen it all before.


    A small part of me wanted to just watch, see if Bruno stood a chance. But then again, it was my job to play peacemaker. My nature, even. Besides, the whole thing was getting on my nerves. I wanted to figure out the rosette, figure out who was involved, and I couldn''t do that with a brawl going on. So I grabbed the nearest empty beer mug and tossed it into a corner. That got their attention.


    The bar went silent. The steel guitar stopped playing, and all eyes were on me. I liked the tension. It meant I was doing my job. I also felt a cold shiver run down my spine, but it wasn''t from the rain. It was coming from the bar, where Krabat was standing. I felt him watching me with a chilling intensity.


    "Well, fellas," I said, my voice low and steady. "I''ve always believed that a good drink can solve most problems. Millie, the good stuff. For my two friends here.¡±


    Millie didn¡¯t hesitate. She grabbed two dusty shot glasses and filled them with a dark, smoky liquid that smelled like a campfire.


    Grog''s eyes glinted, mischief bubbling over. "You sure about that? That''s top shelf and costs more than me or Bruno make in a week."


    ¡°Yeah, I''m sure. Gotta warn you though, that stuff will knock the stuffing out of a man.¡±


    Bruno, still fuming, scoffed. "Yeah, right. Fancy sheriff liquor."


    Grog chuckled, a deep rumble that shook the floorboards. "Now hold on there, friend. I ain''t sayin'' no to a peace offering. Not when the Sheriff''s offering that kind of quality. Appreciate the gesture, Sheriff. One shot it is!"


    "Keep the whole damn bottle, it''s on the house." Millie, who''d been bracing for a fight, offered me a grateful smile.


    Bruno was still simmering, but Grog was a man of his word. They both shuffled towards the bar, their faces still flushed, but the tension in the air had deflated a little. They took the glasses from Millie, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They both took a gulp, faces contorting in a grimace as the alcohol burned its way down their throats. Grog coughed, a guttural sound that resonated through the room. Bruno just stared at his glass.


    Sheriff Slate does it again! I figured I¡¯d get them both liquored up enough to forget the whole thing. That was my strategy for most fights, really. Problem with those people, they¡¯re all brawn, no brains. The two would be at it again sooner or later. Well, at least it wasn''t happening right now, on my watch. Like I always told Anna, one step at a time.


    I turned back around to continue the investigation. That''s when I noticed it. Krabat was gone. Charlaine was gone. They had left without a word, like they¡¯d been swallowed whole. Last I checked, they were still right here. Charlaine had been quizzing folks about the rosettes, asking if they¡¯d seen anything out of the ordinary.


    That¡¯s when I smelled it. Ozone. That unmistakable, metallic tang. It hung in the air like after a bad storm, right before the thunder cracked. But there wasn''t any rain in here. Also, storms never left a hint of clove behind. I sniffed again, sure of it now.


    A sudden rush of dread washed over me. I glanced at the barkeep. She looked as puzzled as I was. She seemed to be trying to figure out what was going on too.


    ¡°Millie, have you seen anything? Heard anything?¡±


    She shook her head, her eyes narrowed. ¡°Ain¡¯t seen nothin¡¯, Sheriff,¡± Millie said, her voice low. ¡°They just kind of¡­ disappeared.¡±


    ¡°Disappeared? Like a puff of smoke?¡±


    She shook her head again. ¡°More like a sudden chill,¡± she whispered, her gaze shifting towards the door. ¡°Like something... went by.¡±


    I stared at the spot where Charlaine and Krabat had been a moment ago. They were gone. Vanished into thin air, just like the murder twins. A tremor ran through me, not from the booze, but from a sudden wave of fear. They were gone. Vanished. Just like that. And this time, I had no idea who to blame but myself. But I knew one thing: I couldn''t let them disappear without a trace.


    I took a slow breath, trying to calm my nerves. "Millie," I said, my voice a low growl. "You seen anyone come in or out here recently?"


    "Not since those two left. They just, well, disappeared. Poof! Like magic." I nodded. Magic''s a dirty word in Shadow Falls, a word that brought back memories of the old days, memories I didn''t want to revisit.


    I scanned the faces around me, searching for anything, anyone, that might hold a clue. There was the usual cast of characters, but none of them had the means to pull of this disappearing act. Except probably Krabat, and he was gone now. The damn sorcerer. He was up to something, but I couldn''t put my finger on it. Now they were gone, whisked away by some unseen force, and I had a bad feeling about it.


    I was on my own now. But I wouldn''t stop until I found Charlaine and Krabat, even if it was the last thing I did. This town was a damn powder keg, and I wasn''t about to let it explode.

 The Scratch in the Dust

    I walked out of the bar, the night air cool against my face. The streetlights cast long shadows, stretching out like grasping fingers. I headed towards the "Main Street Mini Storage," the place where the latest victim had been found. The coroner had already taken the body, and Charlaine had told me any magic trail would run cold after two to three hours anyway. But Charlaine was missing, and I had no better idea where to search next.


    The storage facility was a squat, concrete building, tucked away on the edge of town. The metal doors were all locked, but I knew the manager. He was a straight up guy, a little slow, but he wouldn''t mind letting me in. I walked up to the office, the door creaking open as I pushed it.


    The manager, a skinny man with a receding hairline, looked up from his paperwork. He gave me a tired smile. "What can I do for you?"


    "Just gotta take a look around," I said. "Something came up."


    He nodded, his eyes wary. "Sure thing, Sheriff. Anything you need."


    He unlocked the door to the storage area, and I stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of dust and mildew. Rows of units lined the walls, each one a potential hiding place. I walked down the aisle, my boots echoing on the concrete floor. I stopped at the unit where the body had been found. The door was open, the lock broken, the interior empty. I checked the outside, but there was nothing there. No trace of Charlaine, no trace of Krabat, no trace of anything.


    I sighed. This was going to be another dead end. I was running out of time. Something was about to go down, something nasty. And I was the only one who could stop it.


    Walking past the yellow police tape, I ignored the flimsy barrier I''d put up myself earlier that day. Everything still looked the way I''d left it. The air hung heavy with the scent of mildew and something else, something metallic and sharp. I remembered Frankie, the boy who''d been working here. A skinny teenager with a nervous laugh and a habit of chewing his fingernails. He''d been a good kid, as far as I could tell.


    I''d never found out how or why the twins chose their victims. Maybe it was random. Maybe it was something I hadn''t figured out yet. I ran a hand over the doorframe, the cold metal biting into my clay skin. I closed my eyes, trying to picture the last time I was standing here. The victim, the killer, the fight. But all I saw was darkness. I needed to find Charlaine. I needed to find Krabat. I needed to find answers. And I needed to find them fast.


    Frustration started getting the better of me. Nothing but dust and the lingering scent of fear so far. I crouched down, examining the dusty floor. A faint, almost imperceptible scratch in the floor, hidden beneath a smear of dried blood. It was barely there, but I could see it. A single, thin line. Tracing it with my finger, I felt the rough texture of the concrete beneath my clay skin. It was a symbol, I knew it. A mark left by the killer. Couldn''t figure out what it meant.


    My hands hovered over the scratch. It was faint, almost invisible, but I could feel it. A subtle energy pulsed beneath my fingertips. I ran my hand over the ground, brushing away the dust. The lines deepened, revealing a faint inscription etched into the floor. It was a series of symbols, unfamiliar to me, but they hummed with a strange power.


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    I took out my phone and snapped a picture. The markings were barely visible in the photo, but I knew it was real. I needed to show this to someone who could make sense of it. No signal. Of course not. This place was a dead zone. I cursed under my breath.


    I knelt down again, then traced the inscription with my finger. A jolt shot through me, the floor glowing with an eerie azure light. The air crackled, and a shimmering circle materialized on the floor where the lines were etched. Stumbling back, my heart pounded in my chest. This wasn''t just some random graffiti. This was something else. Something powerful.


    The circle pulsed, the blue light growing brighter. There was a pull, a magnetic force drawing me towards it. I knew I shouldn''t go in. It was dangerous. But I couldn''t help it. I was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.


    I took a step forward, then another. The circle pulsed faster, the light growing more intense. I felt a surge of energy coursing through my body, a tingling sensation that spread from my fingertips to my toes. Closing my eyes, I braced myself for whatever was about to happen.


    When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in the storage unit. I was in a different place. A place I''d never seen before. It was a vast, empty space, the walls shimmering with an ethereal light. The air was thick with a strange spirit, a feeling of power and mystery.


    I looked around, trying to make sense of my surroundings. There was nothing here, just the endless expanse of the void.


    Then, I felt someone watching me. Turning slowly, my hand instinctively reaching for my gun. But there was nothing there. Just the empty space, the shimmering walls, and the eerie silence.


    I was alone. Or was I?


    A deep growl echoed from afar, sending shivers down my spine. It slowly approached, getting closer and closer. I could feel the air growing colder, the darkness pressing in on me.  The growl turned into a snarl, and a pair of glowing red eyes appeared, followed by a giant hound weaving in and out of the shadows. The beast was big as an ox, and it did not seem pleased to see me. I clenched my fists, bracing myself for whatever was about to happen.


    Then, a voice, raspy and cold, whispered in my ear. "Welcome to the spirit world, Sheriff Slate. I''ve been expecting you."


    Standing before me, bathed in the eerie blue light of the circle, was a hooded figure I''d never seen before. Tall and lean, possibly human, though it was hard to tell. The creature wore a long black tattered coat, the collar pulled up around its neck. A straw hat cast a shadow over its face, hiding it in darkness.


    "Who are you?" I growled, my voice tight.


    The figure chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Names have power for me and my kin. You may call me... Eshu."


    It stepped forward, eyes glinting in the blue light. The shadows around him seemed to writhe and twist, as if they were alive. The giant dog was still there but kept its distance.


    "You''re the one behind this, aren''t you?" My voice hardened. "The disappearances, the strange happenings..."


    Eshu tilted his head. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."  He took another step closer, his eyes boring into mine. "I''m here to offer you a deal, Sheriff Slate."


    "What kind of deal?"


    "A deal that will benefit us both. I need your help in the world of the living, Sheriff. And in return, I can give you something you''ve been searching for."


    My gut twisted. Graveyards are full of people who make deals with shadowy entities in magical dimensions. But did I really have a choice if I wanted Charlaine back?


    "What do you want?"


    "I want you to find someone for me, Sheriff. Someone who''s dear to a follower of mine. Also, I want you to stop calling me Daddy Longlegs."

 The Doll

    "And then he told me to come here before you open the mail."


    Anna sat across from me, her face pale, her eyes bloodshot. She was trying to hide them behind her sunglasses, but I could see the strain in her face. She hadn''t slept in days.


    "He wants me to find someone for him," I said, taking a swig of coffee directly from the pot. "Someone who''s dear to a follower of his."


    Anna sighed, her shoulders slumping. "That''s not good. What''s his angle? Papa Legba is not known for his kindness."


    "He''s not known for his kindness," I agreed, putting the pot down. "But he''s not known for his patience either. He wants me to find this person, and he wants me to do it fast."


    "What do you think we should do?"


    Anna''s words hung in the air, heavy with worry. Charlaine was gone, vanished without a trace. Krabat was gone, too, so I guess it wasn''t all bad.


    "So, here''s the deal," I said, leaning back in my chair. "I think that if I play along with the voodoo god, he''ll help us get Charlaine back."


    Anna''s eyes narrowed. "He''s playing us, Jam."


    "Perhaps," I said, "but he''s also the only one who knows where Charlaine is. And he''s the only one who can get Krabat back. This was a long shot, a desperate gamble. But it was the only shot we have."


    Anna sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Fine, but I''m not holding my breath."


    The mayor pulled a little flask out of her desk drawer. Before I could say anything, she took a swig. She noticed the expression on my face and gave me a wry smile. "Relax, Jam. It''s just pig''s blood. Tastes like crap, but at least it''s not addictive. It takes the edge off staying up in the daylight."


    I shrugged. "As your sponsor, it''s my job to worry. Old habits die hard, even after years."


    She nodded, pointing at her fifty-year chip. "One day at a time."


    Anna took another swig of the blood, grimaced, and put the flask back in her drawer. Taking another sip of coffee, I emptied the pot. I guess we all had our little vices.


    "So, what do you make of Krabat''s latest scheme?"


    Anna leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowed. "Krabat''s a victim, just like Charlaine."


    I raised an eyebrow. "You think so? There aren''t many mages left in the world. Fewer even with enough juice to teleport two folks at once."


    "He''s not one to mess with Voodoo. His magic''s different, Jam. You know that."


    She was not wrong. Krabat''s magic was rooted in European tradition. Different schools don''t mix. I still had my doubts. "He''s got a lot of allies who might do his dirty work."


    "He''s got a lot of allies because he''s been around for a long time, Jam. Not because he''s evil."


    Anna was on to something, though I didn''t like to admit it. Krabat was a manipulator, a master of the dark arts, but he wasn''t a fool. He wouldn''t risk his neck in a direct abduction, he''d send a proxy. But I still couldn''t shake the feeling that something was off about him.


    "What about Legba then?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even. "You think he''s behind all this?"


    Anna shrugged. "Who knows, Jam. He''s a trickster, a god of crossroads. You can''t always trust what he admits to."


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "He didn''t admit to anything anyhow," I countered. "He just didn''t deny it. Also, the markings on the ground definitely looked like Voodoo to me."


    "You''re not exactly an expert on that," Anna said. "He could be playing a game, Jam. He''s always playing a game."


    I stared at the empty coffee pot. The god of crossroads. A trickster. A manipulator. Did I mention that religion gives me the heebie jeebies?


    "Why would he task me to find someone though? Why not just do it himself?"


    Anna''s eyes narrowed. "Maybe he can''t. Maybe there are things even a god can''t do."


    "Maybe he wants to see what I''ll do," I said, my voice tight. "Maybe he wants to see if I''m worthy. Or maybe he''s just getting a kick out of it."


    My friend didn''t answer. She just sat there, her eyes fixed on me, her expression unreadable.


    "I don''t like this, Anna. Don''t like the way this is all playing out."


    "Neither do I, Jam," she said, her voice soft. "In life, we have to play the hand we''re dealt."


    I noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the faint tremor in her hands. She had not slept since the killings started. We were both caught in a game we didn''t understand, a game with stakes we couldn''t afford to lose.


    Silence hung in the air, thick and heavy like the fog that rolled in from the bay every morning. Anna''s words echoed in the room, a reminder of the weight of responsibility that rested on my shoulders. There were half a dozen letters on her desk, each one a potential clue, a potential danger.


    "So, this guy sends you on a quest but doesn''t give you any details?" Anna asked, her voice laced with a hint of disbelief. "No godly weapon or a magic compass that shows you the way? Not even a name?"


    I nodded, my gaze fixed on the letters. "All he said was to come to City Hall before you opened your mail."


    ¡°Let¡¯s get to it then.¡± Anna reached for a letter opener. The first letter was addressed in a neat, elegant script. It was from a local business owner, requesting a meeting to discuss a tax issue. Nothing out of the ordinary.


    ¡°Nothing here,¡± I said.


    ¡°Maybe the next one.¡± Anna opened the next letter, her fingers trembling slightly. It was a thank-you note from a local charity for her recent donation.


    ¡°Damn it, Jam!¡± Anna muttered, throwing her hands up in frustration as she started ripping through the letters.


    Suddenly, she stopped. She held up a single letter, standard business envelope, cream-colored and plain. No return address, just a single, ordinary stamp. The only thing out of the ordinary was that it had a wax seal. Beyond that, it looked utterly unremarkable, the kind of envelope that gets buried under a pile of bills and forgotten.


    Anna held the letter up to the light, her eyes narrowed. "This is it, Jam. The first move."


    I leaned back in my chair, my gaze fixed on her. "What''s the seal?"


    "Looks like a wolf," she said, her voice low. "Could be a dog, too."


    Anna held the envelope close to the desk lamp, scrutinizing it from all angles. It appeared completely ordinary, even under the harsh light. With a sigh, she decided to just open it. As her finger pressed down on the seal, a faint click resonated from within the envelope. Before we could react, a muffled pop echoed through the office. A shimmering cloud of multicolored glitter erupted from the envelope, momentarily blinding us.


    "What the¡­", I said, coughing a cloud of glitter out of my mouth.


    Anna blinked rapidly, waving away the sparkling dust. "Glitter bomb?" she asked incredulously.


    We looked back at the envelope, now lying split open on the desk. The interior was still plain, no hidden compartments, no scorching marks. Just harmless, sparkly chaos. But beneath the glitter, nestled in the folds of the envelope, lay a tiny, intricately carved wooden doll.


    The doll was cold to the touch in my hand, yet the wood felt strangely alive beneath my fingers. On its smooth back, a single name was etched in a delicate script: Charlaine Meyers. A chill ran down my spine. Despite what Charlaine thought, I recognized voodoo when I saw it. I''d seen enough of it in Shadow Falls to know that it wasn''t something to be trifled with.


    I turned the doll over in my hands again. It was small, no bigger than my thumb, but it felt heavy, almost alive. What to do, I thought?


    When I put the doll back on the table, it started to turn. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it rotated about forty-five degrees to the left. I watched it, my breath catching in my throat. I rotated the doll back to its original position. It turned again, back to the same spot. "Guess there''s our magic compass," I said, a nervous laugh escaping my lips.


    Charlaine grabbed an empty petri dish and laid the tiny doll inside of it. She got up and walked across the room, the doll spinning in the dish. It kept pointing in the same direction, like a home-made water compass. She handed the dish to me. "Go bring them back," she said.


    "Bring who back?"


    "Charlaine and Krabat. Your deputy''s grandma is a mambo, rigth? A voodoo priestess? She must have arranged for some divine intervention, should any harm come to her family."


    "Perks of her job? It''s as good a theory as any," I said with a shrug.


    I took the petri dish and headed out the door. The doll spun in the dish, pointing me towards the outskirts of town. Or maybe even further out, into the woods. Finding anyone out there was like hunting a needle in a haystack. Without the doll, I wouldn''t have a prayer. Luckily, someone else already seemed to have done the praying on my behalf.

 Dolls Dont Lead to Happy Endings

    The moment I stepped out of town, the air changed. It got colder, heavy. I felt it in my bones.


    The woods weren''t completely quiet. There were sounds, of course, but all wrong somehow. The rustle of unseen creatures, the crackle of branches, the distant hoot of an owl. Give me a honking car and a good police siren any day! A chill ran down my spine.


    I kept walking, the doll guiding me through the underbrush. It wasn''t leading me to a road or a clearing, not that I could tell. This felt like a path carved out of the woods themselves, like something out of a fairytale. I hated fairytales. Always so neat and tidy, with a hero always getting the girl and the villain getting his comeuppance. Life was messy, just like this whole situation.


    Through the trees, a dilapidated cabin appeared. It was a ramshackle affair, leaning against the wind, the paint peeling, the roof sagging. The windows were boarded up, and the door hung crooked on its hinges. A porch swing creaked gently in the breeze. It looked like it had been abandoned for years.


    I saw the doll spinning again. It pointed directly towards the structure.


    From behind the building, a figure emerged. It was Krabat. His face was bruised, and he walked with a limp. He saw me but didn¡¯t say anything. Just a slight nod of his head. A guard followed him, shoving Krabat towards a black sedan.


    I crept closer, staying low, hidden in the shadows. The moonlight cast long, skeletal fingers across the overgrown lawn, revealing the face of the guard. It was one of the murder twins. I wanted to rush out and go after them but reminded myself that I had a different job to do. The little doll still pointed at the cabin.


    Five more guards came out of the door. They were the same, all of them. Average faces, forgettable, like they''d been poured from the same mold. Murder twins might have been plausible, but sextuplets?  Now I¡¯d seen it all.


    The car left, bringing the odds down to a gentle five against one. I needed to get in, but could I take them all? Could I sneak past them? My options were dwindling. Each one of those faces could be the one that noticed me.


    Then, one of them stepped closer. He peered through the darkness, his eyes suspicious. I couldn¡¯t stay hidden any longer. I slammed into the nearest murder twin, my fist a hammer blow. He went down like a sack of potatoes, his eyes wide with shock.


    The others turned, confusion in their eyes, but I was already moving. They had the numbers, but I had the element of surprise. That, and superhuman strength. A whirlwind of punches and kicks, my body absorbed the force of their attacks. I couldn¡¯t let them grab me. If they had read up on me since our last encounter, I¡¯d be a clay statue. They¡¯d just hold me down long enough for the sun to rise, to bake me like a clay brick, so I¡¯d crumble into dust.


    One by one, they went down. Four of them lay on the ground, knocked out, their identical faces contorted in pain. The last one scattered, and I was too tired to chase after him. I just stood there, panting, my clay body chipped but whole.


    From up close, I studied the faces of the unconscious goons. They all looked exactly the same, up to a tiny mole on the chin. Not even twins would be that alike, let alone sextuplets. Magic, I realized. They weren''t entirely human. More like constructs, like me. Flesh golems, maybe? I¡¯d dealt with my share of strange creatures in Shadow Falls. This was new to me.


    I turned and walked towards the open door. There was a girl to save, after all. I didn''t see any sign of more men, or whatever the murder twins were. I figured that whoever put them here thought half a dozen is enough. Still, I needed to be careful.


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    I checked the perimeter. Nothing. I moved closer, my hand resting on the revolver in my holster. Maybe I was walking into a trap, but I had to find out what was going on. I had to find Charlaine.


    Dust swirled up as I stepped inside. The air was thick and stale, smelling of decay and something else I couldn¡¯t quite place. It was heavy, like it was holding its breath. I felt like I was suffocating, and I didn''t even really need to breathe.


    The cabin was small and sparsely furnished. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a dim yellow light. The furniture was covered in dust sheets. A fire had been built in the fireplace, but the embers were cold. The place was silent like a tomb.


    My eyes scanned every inch as I walked through the room. The furniture was overturned, and the walls were scratched. In the corner, I saw a pile of clothes. They looked like they had been thrown there in a rush. I picked up a shirt. Krabat''s shirt. It was stained with blood.


    I checked the other rooms. The bedroom was small and dusty. The bed was unmade, the sheets pulled back as if someone had been sleeping there. A book lay open on the nightstand, its pages dog-eared and stained. I took a peek but couldn¡¯t make out any words. This was like one of those old horror movies Anna loved to watch on the few date nights we had over the years. The ones where the lonely cabin in the woods was always hiding a dark secret.


    I checked the bathroom. It was just a small room with a sink and toilet. I pulled a small box of matches from my coat pocket and lit one. I needed a little light. The bathroom had a single window, but it was boarded up. I checked behind the toilet. Nothing. I checked under the sink. I pulled out the garbage can. I kicked it over, sending a cloud of dust into the air.


    There was something in the garbage. I reached into the trash and pulled it out. It was a piece of paper.  A crude map. And an address, written in a language I couldn¡¯t understand. The map wasn¡¯t drawn for a town. I pocketed the paper just in case.


    I went back and swept the cabin once more. There -- loose board near the fireplace. The wood was old and warped, yielding to my touch. I knelt down and found the handle of a trapdoor. Underneath lay a dark, gaping hole. it smelled faintly of damp earth and something else that I coudln''t identify


    A secret passage. I reached for my coat pocket and pulled out a small flashlight. Its beam illuminated the rough-hewn steps leading downward. The air grew thick and stale as I descended, a faint, musky odor clinging to the darkness. After what felt like an eternity, the passage opened into a small, dimly lit chamber. In the center, bound and slumped against a wall, sat Charlaine. Dirt smudged her cheeks, dried tears traced glistened paths through the grime.


    Hurrying to her side, I knelt, throwing caution to the wind. I fumbled with the thick ropes binding Charlaine¡¯s wrists. Charlaine¡¯s eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then widening in recognition. A flicker of relief crossed her face, quickly replaced by confusion and a tremor that ran through her body. She croaked out, her voice hoarse,


    I said, my voice gruff with relief.


    I worked quickly, my clay fingers tugging at the ropes, loosening the knots. She looked at me, fear and confusion etched on her face. It made me want to punch something, anything, to let out the frustration that had been building up inside me.


    Her voice was barely a whisper.


    I said, gesturing towards the opening of the passage.


    she whispered?


    My eyes scanned the room for clues. The chamber was spartan, just a few bare walls and a single rickety table. There was no furniture, no personal belongings. It looked like a makeshift prison, a place meant to be temporary.


    I helped her to her feet. ¡°Are you hurt?¡±


    She shook her head, but a grimace crossed her face.


    I glanced at her wrists, where the ropes had cut into her skin, leaving red marks.


    I said, my voice rough.


    I helped her up, careful not to jar her injured wrists. We started back towards the passage, my hand resting lightly on her back. She leaned against me, her body trembling slightly. My deputy was a tough cookie, but even toughness has its limits.


    As we climbed the steps, I glanced back at the chamber, a sense of unease settling over me. I knew that the danger wasn¡¯t over. Whoever took her, whoever built this underground lair, wasn¡¯t going to just let us walk away. They¡¯d be watching, waiting for their chance to strike. But for now, I had to roll with the punches.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get you out of here.¡±


    The air outside was sweet and crisp, a welcome contrast to the musty air of the underground chamber. The murder twins were gone, all four of them. The smell of ozone and clove assaulted my noze. Maybe they weren''t actually teleported, maybe they just popped like soap bubbles once they were no longer needed. There was a lot to talk about, and a lot of questions to answer. But first, I had to get Charlaine out of the woods.

 Out of the woods

    The night air outside was sweet and crisp, a welcome contrast to the musty stench of the underground chamber. Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived. I heard a car approaching. It was a black sedan, like the one that had taken Krabat away earlier.


    "We gotta move," I said, grabbing Charlaine''s arm. "They¡¯re coming back." I pushed her towards the clearing, my eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. I could make out the shapes of trees, their branches twisting and turning in the wind. The underbrush, that''s where we needed to go!


    The sedan pulled up beside an old oak, its headlights cutting through the darkness. Several figures emerged from the vehicle. One of them was a familiar face, one of the twins, the ones that had been guarding the entrance. The other figure was still in shadow, but I suspected the face would be the same.


    "Shit," I muttered. "One of them got away during the fight. Must''ve called for reinforcements."


    Charlaine shifted nervously. "They¡¯re here for me?"


    "Not just for you, kiddo," I said, my voice gruff.


    The black sedan idled, its engine humming like a caged beast. Two of the murder twins stood silhouetted against the headlights, waiting. The tension was mounting, a silent pressure building in the air. My hand went to my pistol, the familiar weight of metal reassuring.


    "We have to leave. And we have to make sure they don''t follow."


    I grabbed Charlaine''s arm, pulling her towards the path I came from earlier. The woods were dark and dense, offering some cover. We pushed through bushes, adrenaline pumping. There were voices behind us. Our pursuers. They were relentless, like dogs on the hunt, making noise to flush out their prey. Meaning, us.


    The sound of their pursuers grew closer. Charlaine stumbled in the dark, her legs still shaky from confinement. "Keep moving," I growled, urging her on. Still, I knew we couldn''t outrun them for long. We dodged between the trees, the twins hot on our heels. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the woods, a relentless drumbeat.


    A slight rise in the ground appeared ahead, and I spotted a large, fallen log lying half-submerged in the foilage. It looked like a good hiding spot. I pulled Charlaine behind the log, our bodies pressed tight against the damp wood. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth.


    "What now?" Charlaine whispered.


    "We gotta split up," I said, my voice low and urgent. "I''ll create a distraction, you keep going. Head south, follow the path, it''ll lead you to my car."


    Charlaine''s eyes widened. "No. I''m not leaving you."


    "You gotta," I said, shoving the car keys into her hand.  "You can escape."


    She looked at me, her eyes filled with concern. "But what if they catch you?"


    "I''ll be fine," I said, my voice a little strained. "It''s night, and the woods are cool and damp. They can''t hurt me unless they brought a flamethrower along"


    "Or the right kind of magic, Jam. You''re not immune to that."


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    I grabbed her arm, pulling her close. "No time for that now. You gotta go."


    With a swift motion, I grabbed a rock and threw it into the darkness. The sound of the rock hitting the ground echoed across the clearing. It was a gamble, but it was my best bet.


    I closed my eyes and listened. The voices were getting louder; they were coming. With a surge of adrenaline, I took a few steps back, my hand resting on the gun in my pocket.


    Then, I felt it.


    A sudden heat in my pocket. My hand reached in to find the source. The compass, the one with the little "Charlaine" doll attached, was emitting a faint glow. I''d never seen it do that before.


    Charlaine¡¯s voice cut through the air, a little panicked. "What¡¯s wrong, Jam?"


    I was too stunned to answer. I just held the petri dish up in front of me. The doll was no longer a simple wooden carving. The small figure was illuminated by a soft, ethereal glow. A strange inscription in a language unknown to me, was now etched onto the doll''s tiny chest. Also, its legs seemed to be wiggling. What the hell was this?


    Charlaine¡¯s face was a mask of fear and surprise. "Where did you get this?" she asked, her voice shaky. Before I could answer, she snatched the doll out of my hand, throwing it away from us. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the glow from the doll turned into a blinding light. I shielded my eyes, the heat of the light scorching my clay skin.


    When I looked back at the spot where the doll had landed, my jaw dropped. There, standing in the light, was Charlaine. A perfect, life-sized copy of her. The same dirt stains on her jeans. The same bruises on her arm. The real Charlaine was staring at her copy, her face a mix of horror and disbelief. The copy just stood, silent and motionless, a perfect replica in every way, but with the same lifeless eyes as a wax figure. This was the kind of mess that only happened in Shadow Falls. This was the kind of mess that only happened with me.


    The doll, the copy, it smiled. A real smile, not the creepy, frozen grimace of a wax figure. Then it waved at me, a quick little gesture that somehow was too familiar. It started running. Not a normal run, either. Clumsy, awkward. Like it was trying to make noise.


    "Charlaine, stay here. Stay hidden." I didn''t need to tell her twice. She was frozen, eyes wide. Like a deer in headlights. Or a bunny caught in a snare.


    The doll ran through the underbrush, creating a rustling, cracking symphony. A diversion. A cheap one, but a diversion nonetheless.


    I had planned on setting this whole thing off myself. Get a few of the guards chasing after me, give Charlaine time to escape. But that plan went south faster than a greased pig.


    The guards were shouting in the distance. They were buying it. The doll was making a hell of a racket.


    "Let''s go." I motioned to Charlaine. She was still frozen, so I grabbed her arm and pulled her along. We crept back through the woods, the darkness a welcome shroud. I didn''t dare turn on a flashlight. Not with those guards out there. Not with the Murder Twins on our trail.


    The forest was thick with shadows, the air thick with the scent of pine needles and damp earth. I was aware of every rustle, every creak, every snapping twig. Paranoia was a familiar companion. I was always on edge, always looking over my shoulder. How I missed the city noises of Shadow Falls.


    We reached the edge of the forest. The open field stretched before us, bathed in the pale light of the moon. My car was parked at the far end, a dark silhouette against the silver sky. We made a run for it.


    I threw the car door open, a sigh escaping my lips. I was glad to be out of that forest. Glad to be back in the familiar confines of my car. Glad to be getting the hell out of there.


    "Jam?" Charlaine''s voice was shaky. "What was that? What was that doll?"


    "It was a tool. A way to locate you when I had no other clue to go by," I muttered, starting the car. "And apparently also a way to buy us some time."


    "But... why?"


    "Why did the chicken cross the road, Charlaine?" I shrugged. "I don''t know. But I''m sure it had a good reason. We should stop by your grandma''s place, she can probably help make sense of this."


    I gunned the engine, tires spitting gravel as I pulled onto the road. We sped down the empty highway, the dark forest shrinking in the rearview mirror. I glanced at Charlaine. Her face was pale, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and confusion.


    "This was a bad day, Jam," she whispered.


    "It could have been worse," I said, turning the corner onto Maple Lane. "At least, we''re out of the woods now."

 Mama Marie

    I tried to lighten the mood. Fat chance. Charlaine was pale as a ghost, still processing what had happened.


    Maple Lane was deserted. No surprise there. Even the crickets seemed to be keeping quiet. My gut churned. Something felt off.


    "Hold on." I slammed on the brakes, killed the lights, and drove off road. The old Chevy screeched in protest. Charlaine lurched forward, eyes wide with alarm.


    "What is it?"


    "Quiet." I rolled down the window, straining to hear anything over the thumping of my own pulse. The air hung heavy and still. Like before a storm. But something else¡­ a faint, sweet smell. Like a gingerbread cookie. Damn -- it was clove.


    "They followed us." Charlaine''s voice was barely a whisper.


    I didn¡¯t need to ask who "they" were. We both knew. The Murder Twins. They were like roaches. You squash one, two more pop up.


    "Get down." I shoved Charlaine¡¯s head down, hoping to God these clowns weren¡¯t packing anything heavier than knives tonight. My hand went to the glove compartment, feeling for the reassuring weight of my service revolver.


    A flicker of movement in the rearview mirror. Headlights passing us by at neck breaking speed. Magic or not, the twins clearly had to rely on plain old eyesight. They sucked at it.


    After five excruciating minutes of waiting, I shoved the Chevy back into gear. It jerked forward, tires spitting gravel.


    "Where are we going?" Charlaine''s voice was tight with fear. Understandable. The girl had a front-row seat to more weirdness than any human should.


    "Your grandma''s."


    She blinked, eyebrows shooting up. "What? Why?"


    "Just trust me, alright?" I floored it, engine screaming as we tore down the deserted road. Streetlights blurred, painting streaks of sickly yellow across my windshield.


    "You think she''s involved?" Charlaine''s voice was barely audible over the roar of the engine.


    "Don''t think so." I gripped the steering wheel tighter. "But that doll of yours screamed ''voodoo'' louder than a gator in a bathtub. And Daddy Longlegs," I shot her a sideways glance, "well, he ain''t exactly known for playing it straight."


    Charlaine went quiet. I knew she hated it when I called Papa Legba that, but the name fit. The old loa was a smooth talker, always wheelin'' and dealin''. Like giving me a way to save her hide, just when I needed it most, always came with strings. Strings I was starting to think were suspiciously absent in this whole mess.


    ¡°My grandma wouldn¡¯t.¡± Charlaine''s voice was small, lost in the roar of the engine and the growing storm of doubt in my gut.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t what?¡± I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel the heat of her stare burning into the side of my head.


    ¡°Wouldn''t hurt anyone. She wouldn¡¯t¡­use magic like that. Not even to save my life.¡±


    I grunted. "Magic''s a funny thing, Cher. Even good intentions can go sideways.¡±


    She didn¡¯t answer. Didn''t need to. We both knew the kind of trouble that followed messing around with a deity was usually bigger than both of us. And this time, it felt personal.


    The silence that followed was heavier than a coffin lid. We screeched around a bend, the old Chevy leaning dangerously. I could practically smell the rain coming, a thick, earthy scent that always seemed to hang around trouble in Shadow Falls.  Rain started to fall, fat drops splattering on the windshield like blood on a crime scene.


    The headlights cut through the gathering darkness, illuminating the familiar, ramshackle outline of her grandma''s place. The porch light flickered on as we pulled up, casting long, distorted shadows across the overgrown lawn.


    I cut the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the drumming of my own pulse.  A low growl rumbled from beneath the porch, a sound I knew all too well.


    ¡°Stay behind me,¡± I muttered, more out of habit than anything. For Charlaine, her grandma''s hut was probably the saftest place in the world.


    The porch steps groaned under my weight, protesting every creak like they were gonna give out any second. The growl from beneath deepened, a low rumble that vibrated in my chest.


    ¡°Evening, Cerberus,¡± I drawled, not taking my eyes off the door. ¡°Taking the night off from guarding the gates of hell, are we? I saw a buddy of yours recently, by the way. A little taller, but just as grumpy.¡±


    The hound whined, a low, mournful sound that did nothing to ease the knot in my gut.


    The door swung open before I could knock again. Light spilled out, momentarily blinding me after the darkness. I blinked, adjusting to the sudden shift.


    ¡°About damn time you got here, Sheriff.¡±


    Anna. Figured the good doctor would be part of this little soiree. Her eyes, red-rimmed and shadowed, flicked between me and Charlaine. She was wearing one of her more formal suits, the kind that screamed ¡®I¡¯d rather be sucking blood at the opera than dealing with your mortal problems¡¯.


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    ¡°What¡¯s the emergency?¡± I tried to sound casual, but my voice came out rougher than usual. ¡°Someone neglecting their daily dose of garlic?¡±


    She didn¡¯t even crack a smile. Just stepped aside, the scent of lilies and formaldehyde clinging to her like a shroud. ¡°She¡¯s waiting for you.¡±


    Anna¡¯s words hung in the air, thick and heavy like the humidity that always seemed to cling to Shadow Falls. I stepped inside, Charlaine right behind me, her hand brushing my arm. She flinched. I knew what she felt ¨C a cold blast, like walking into a tomb.


    "Evening, Gran¡¯mere." Charlaine''s voice was hushed, respectful. "Looks like you finally fixed the air conditioning."


    Mama Marie sat cross-legged on a low table draped in a tapestry I¡¯d swear I¡¯d seen in a National Geographic back in the 40s. She was a small woman, swallowed by the shadows of the room, but her eyes ¨C those eyes saw everything. They glittered in the flickering candlelight, each ring in her iris a story I didn¡¯t want to know the ending to. A necklace of bones clicked against her chest as she rose, her gaze lingering on me a beat too long.


    "Sheriff. This a surprise. Trouble don''t usually come knocking ''fore midnight." Mama Marie''s voice was a low rasp, like dry leaves skittering across pavement. She studied me, those ancient eyes boring into me like I was some two-bit hood she was about to read my rights to.


    "Folks been disappearing, Mama Marie." I kept my voice even, professional. No need to disrespect the old bird. "Vanished. Poof. Gone."


    "Humans are fickle creatures, Sheriff. Prone to flights of fancy." Her lips tightened. "Perhaps they grew tired of Shadow Falls'' limited charms."


    "Don''t think those folks were human. Humans don''t stink of ozone and clove all the time."


    A long moment stretched, filled only with the crackle of the fire and the rustle of Mama Marie''s robes. Then, without a word, she rose and shuffled towards a darkened corner of the room. The chanting stopped. The shadows seemed to deepen, pressing in on us like curious onlookers.


    "Tea, Sheriff?" Her voice, though quiet, cut through the silence like a shard of glass. "Chamomile for you, child. Helps with the nerves."


    "Helps with the nerves." Mama Marie reappeared, a steaming teapot in her hand. Her wrinkled face, usually a roadmap of Shadow Falls'' history, was smooth. Except for a tic above her left eye, betraying her worry.


    She placed three chipped mugs on the table ¨C chamomile for Charlaine, chicory coffee, black as sin, for the rest of us. No sense arguing. Mama Marie ran this place like her own personal spirit board, and we were just the pawns.


    She sat, her gaze lingering on her grandchild. "Whoever did this, they ain''t messing around. This ain''t no love potion or bad luck hex."


    My blood ran cold. Whatever Mama Marie wasn''t saying was scarier than anything I¡¯d faced in my long, unnatural life.


    "The also came after Charlaine, mam. Why would they do that?"


    The old woman turned her gaze to Charlaine, her eyes boring into the deputy like she was seeing right through her. "The gods don''t interfere without a price. There''s power in your blood, child." Mama Marie¡¯s voice was soft, but the words hit like a thunderclap. "Dormant, yes. But still, very powerful."


    Charlaine''s hand flew to the silver charm on her bracelet ¨C a gift from her grandmother. I¡¯d always dismissed it as superstition. Now, the intricate symbols etched into the metal seemed to pulse with an eerie light.


    "This magic," Mama Marie continued, her eyes fixed on Charlaine. "It¡¯s drawn to you. To your blood."


    The scent of incense, usually comforting, felt suffocating.


    "I gotta ask. You involved in this? Did you cook up those murderous gingerbread men?" I glared at Mama Marie, but even my toughest glare felt about as threatening as a damp rag in this situation.


    She chuckled, the sound like dry leaves skittering across a tombstone. "Sheriff, that kind of magic isn''t my Loa''s specialty. You think I got that kinda pull with Baron Samedi? I make my deals at the crossroads, not the pearly gates."


    "So you knew. You knew this was bigger than some two-bit hex." I slammed my fist on the table, rattling the cups and spilling my tea. Bad move.


    "Everything''s bigger than it seems, Sheriff." Mama Marie¡¯s eyes, usually filled with the warmth of a thousand gossiped secrets, were cold and sharp. "Sometimes, the only way to understand the game is to play your hand."


    "And what hand we playin'', Mama Marie? What''s this got to do with Charlaine?"


    Mama Marie didn''t answer, just reached for the chipped porcelain teapot, its surface painted with faded roses. She poured steaming liquid into our mismatched cups.


    "Drink, children. Helps with the seein''."


    I hesitated, then took a hesitant sip. The scent ¨C bitter, earthy ¨C sent a shiver down my spine.


    "Grandma?" Charlaine¡¯s voice was barely a whisper.


    Mama Marie just smiled, that same unsettling smile that usually meant trouble was brewing.


    "Don''t you worry none, sugarplum. Gran¡¯mere¡¯s got you." She reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out a small, embroidered pouch. Inside, I caught a glimpse of dried herbs, chicken bones, and something that looked suspiciously like a human tooth.


    "Whenever I ain''t sure which way the spirits blowin''," she said, her voice low and rhythmic, "I consult the leaves."


    She tipped the teapot, pouring the last of the murky brew into the teacups. Three soggy leaves clung to the bottom.


    "Alright, Mama Marie, what kinda carnival trick is this?"


    Charlaine''s foot connected with my shin under the table. I shut up.


    Mama Marie just chuckled, her gold tooth glinting in the lamplight. "Sheriff, you been around long enough to know better than to scoff at old ways." Her eyes, though, were on Charlaine. "Child, you seein'' somethin'' in those leaves?"


    Charlaine leaned forward, brow furrowed. I knew that look. She was tapping into that part of her, the part that saw things I never could. "Grandma," she said, voice hushed, "These leaves... they''re a way to talk to him, aren''t they? To Legba."


    "Clever girl," Mama Marie said, a hint of pride in her voice. "You think those fancy charms and powders gonna reach a Loa in the spirit real? Nah, you gotta speak their language."


    "And this swamp water is it?" I muttered. Another swift kick from Charlaine.


    "Hush, Jam," Mama Marie said, but there was amusement in her eyes. "The tea, the leaves, it''s all just focusin''. Openin'' the door a crack. Legba, he''s got his ears to the ground. He''ll hear."


    "Fine," I sighed, rubbing my shin. "But if we end up running into Samedi instead, you''all are on your own."


    Charlaine just rolled her eyes. "Like you ever let me out of your sight on a case. Even if the lord of the dead himself appears."


    Mama Marie chuckled, a low rumble in her chest. "You two, always squabblin'' like pups." She carefully poured the remaining tea from the pot into a chipped saucer. The murky liquid pooled around the three soggy leaves. "Now hush, both of you. Time to listen."


    The room seemed to hold its breath. Shadows stretched from the corners, the air thick with incense and something older, earthier. Mama Marie began to chant, low and rhythmic, words I didn''t understand but felt in my metaphorical bones. The leaves in the saucer trembled, spinning slowly at first, then faster, a miniature whirlpool in the heart of our little table.


    The air crackled. A gust of wind slammed the windows shut, even though they were already latched tight. Cerberus started to howl from his spot underneath the porch.


    Charlaine stiffened beside me, hand drifting toward the silver charm she always wore under her shirt.


    "Easy, child," Mama Marie said, her voice steady despite the sudden chill. "He''s here."

 Sealing the deal

    The leaves in the saucer spun faster, then stopped dead. A chill crept through the room. Sweat beaded on my clay skin. Charlaine''s breath hitched. Mama Marie''s eyes gleamed in the candlelight.


    I scanned the shadows. Nothing. Silence pressed in, heavy as a gravestone. "Alright, enough theatrics. Show yourself, Daddy Longlegs."


    A voice from the darkness. "I still wish you wouldn''t call me that."


    Anna stepped into the circle of candlelight. But it wasn''t Anna. Not really. Her eyes glowed an unnatural green. She swayed like a cobra ready to strike. When she spoke, it wasn''t her voice. It was older. Deeper. It sent ice through my veins.


    "Sheriff Slate. Always a pleasure." The thing wearing Anna''s face turned to Mama Marie. "And you, old friend. Your offerings are appreciated. Your hospitality... exemplary."


    My fists clenched. "Get out of her, Legba."


    Those alien eyes fixed on me. "Now, now. Don''t be rude. I can only manifest at the crossroads of life and death. Like your grisly crime scene. Or a vampire - dead, yet alive."


    Mama Marie chuckled. "That''s why I asked the mayor here, child. She volunteered."


    The possessed Anna smiled. It didn''t reach those glowing eyes. "Indeed. Now, about our deal, Sheriff. Congratulations on your speedy delivery. The person you rescued was the one you sought. Our business is concluded."


    I stood, chair scraping across worn floorboards. "Not so fast. You promised me something I''d been searching for. Someone isn''t something. You''re still in my debt, Legba."


    The words hung in the air. Silence stretched like taffy. Then all hell broke loose. Lightning cracked. Thunder shook the walls. The candles sputtered, casting wild shadows.


    Charlaine''s boot connected with my shin. "Stop pissing off deities," she hissed.


    Another boom rattled the windows. Something outside exploded. The air crackled with ozone. Then, just as suddenly, everything went quiet. Only Cerberus'' whine and Legba''s low chuckle broke the stillness.


    "Well, well." The thing wearing Anna''s face leaned back. "Color me impressed, Sheriff. It''s rare for a trickster to be... outsmarted."


    I kept my clay face neutral. Inside, I was sweating bullets.


    Legba''s stolen eyes gleamed. "English. Such a tricky tongue. But game recognizes game, as they say." Anna''s body shifted, predatory grace in every movement. "Name your price, Slate. Within reason, of course. What do you truly desire?"


    I weighed my options. Asking about Krabat was out. So was the Murder Twins'' boss - could be anyone, anywhere. I needed something concrete. Something to end this mess.


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    Legba''s voice dropped low. "Remember, Sheriff. There''s always a price at the crossroads."


    I took a deep breath I didn''t need. "I''m searching for a way to stop the source of the killings. No more deaths, no more disappearances. Not just in Shadow Falls, but the surrounding area too. And here''s the kicker - I want it done without any more citizens getting hurt."


    Legba''s borrowed brow furrowed. "That''s... very specific. Many constraints. It would be difficult to fulfill."


    I leaned forward. "You saying you can''t do it?"


    Thunder cracked again. Charlaine''s boot found my shin. Again.


    Legba''s laugh was all smoke and shadows. "It can be done. But you might not like the outcome." The grin that spread across Anna''s face was pure mischief. "Then again, giving what''s asked for, not what''s needed? That''s on-brand for a trickster, isn''t it?"


    I didn''t like the sound of that. Not one bit.


    "Go to city hall," Legba said. "Be sure to arrive before dawn."


    Before I could argue, Legba turned to Mama Marie. The old woman''s eyes were calm, resigned.


    "Your kin has been returned safely," Legba purred. "Are you prepared to fulfill your part of our bargain?"


    Marie nodded once, chin held high.


    It happened faster than I could blink. Legba lunged, Anna''s fangs sinking deep into Marie''s throat. Charlaine screamed. I lurched forward, my clay limbs sluggish. Too slow. Always too damn slow. Marie''s eyes rolled back. Her body went limp. Legba drank deep, greedy gulps echoing in the candlelit room.


    "Stop!" I bellowed.


    Legba''s stolen eyes flicked to me. Amused. Challenging. Blood trickled from Anna''s chin. I grabbed for my gun. Useless. What good were bullets against a god?


    Charlaine''s hand shot out, gripping my arm. "Don''t," she hissed. "You''ll make it worse."


    The hut creaked. Shadows danced. Outside, Cerberus howled, low and mournful. Legba released Marie. Her body crumpled to the floor. Charlaine rushed to her side, fingers pressed to her grandmother''s neck.


    "You bastard," I growled.


    Legba wiped Anna''s mouth with the back of her hand. "A deal''s a deal, Sheriff. You of all people should appreciate that."


    I clenched my fists. Clay cracked and reformed. "This wasn''t part of it."


    "Wasn''t it?" Legba''s stolen voice dripped honey and poison. "The price at the crossroads, remember? Everything has a cost. Mama Marie knew, and she gladly paid to keep her family safe."


    Charlaine''s voice, barely a whisper. "She''s gone."


    Legba stretched, catlike, in Anna''s body. "Now, now. Don''t look so glum. Nosferatu, remember? She''ll be back... in a way."


    "As a bloody vampire?" I snarled.


    That damned smile again. "You''ll see soon enough. Tick tock, Sheriff. Best hurry to city hall."


    Thunder rumbled outside. The air crackled, heavy with ozone and something darker.


    "Oh, and Slate?" Legba''s eyes glittered. "You might want to bring your map."


    A blinding flash. When my vision cleared, Anna''s body lay crumpled on the floor. No sign of Legba.  I looked at Marie, pale and still. At Anna, unconscious and vulnerable. At Charlaine, eyes wide with panic.


    The clock on the wall ticked steadily. Thirty minutes to sunrise.


    Tears ran down Charlaine''s face, but her voice was calm and steady. "Jam. We need to go. Now."


    "Cerberus," I called. The hound''s massive head appeared in the doorway. "Guard them. All three."


    Charlaine stood, shoulders squared. "I''m coming with you."


    "Like hell you are," I growled.


    "My grandmother is dead," she snapped. "Anna''s out cold. Whoever wakes up first might be... hungry."


    I opened my mouth to argue. Closed it. The kid had a point.


    "Fine," I grunted. "But you follow my lead."


    We stepped out into the storm-dark day. Thunder rolled across the sky. The air smelled of rain and burning rubber. I stared at what was left of my car. "Guess we know now where the explosion was coming from."


    I checked the clock again. Twenty-five minutes left. Whatever Legba had set in motion, we were racing against the clock. We''d have to run to make it in time. The day had barely started and was already getting crappier by the minute.