Once I straightened, I handed the chalk back to the woman who'd given it to me. My entire palm was coated in bright pink powder. With a grimace, I wiped my hand on my thigh and then moved to the center of the circle.

"I'm going to start now," I told Bell, but I didn't activate the circle.

I glanced around. There were only three ghosts left in the room. d.a.m.n. Not that there was anything I could do about it. Well, here goes. Resituating PC, I clutched the purse and dog to my chest and closed my eyes. Then I took off my charm bracelet, shoved it in my pocket, and threw my shields open wide.

Grave essence crashed into me. I'd never worked in a graveyard outside of an active circle before, and any other time, I would have said it was a suicidally stupid idea. Now it was a matter of necessity. Taking on the essence of dozens of graves was like diving headfirst into an iceberg, but I didn't stop or even try to slow the flow. I let the essence pour into me, fill me, and mingle with my magic. Wind ripped around me, tearing at the underground room. More than one of the skimmers made strangled, startled sounds.

And I've only just begun.

I opened my eyes. Now the ghosts were staring at me, more flowing into the room as my body filled with the grave. Roy had once told me that normally I looked like any other mortal, maybe just a little clearer than most, but once I started channeling the grave I lit up, glowing like a beacon. That was another reason I raised shades only inside a circle-not everything in the land of the dead was friendly.

I could feel the dead all around, the bodies calling to me and promising release from the war raging in my body as my life, my heat, railed against the grave essence seeping into every cell of my being. So many bodies, so very many bodies, and many so much older than the graveyard was reputed to be, far older than Nekros. My power brushed against something ancient, powerful, and aware, and I recoiled, drawing back before it noticed me. I have enough.

Now to get down to business.

The ghosts hovered around me, their faded and shimmering clothes and hair whipping violently in wind blowing across the land of the dead and through me like a violent storm, but though the ghosts were curious, they kept their distance. My gaze skittered over the female ghost who'd smiled at me, and I reached out toward her, palm up, arm extended. She stared at me, and then ever so slowly, floated forward to take my hand. As soon she touched me, I pushed the grave essence mingled with my magic and life into her. I'd manifested Roy several times over the last month. Usually I siphoned only enough power into him to make him visible, occasionally tangible, but this ghost I poured magic into, like I had that night under the Blood Moon.

"What is that? Is that a tear?" one of the skimmers asked.

"It looks different," another said.

"It looks human shaped," said a third.

The swarm of ghosts realized what I was doing before the skimmers did. As the woman's form filled out, her dress blooming to a deep burgundy and her hair darkening, the other ghosts swarmed forward.

"Help me," I pleaded to her as I released her hand.

I'd filled her with my own life force as well as my magic, but I couldn't compel ghosts. They didn't have to obey me. I couldn't make them.

But this time I got lucky.

As the other ghosts closed in around me, I saw the woman rush toward the goons. Screams filled the room, but I couldn't see beyond the press of shimmering bodies surrounding me. The ghosts reached for me, their translucent fingers clawing at me as they all tried to touch my skin, my power. And I gave it to them.

My magic poured out of me, into the greedy, spectral hands, and each ghost that touched me became more solid, more real. None manifested as forcefully as the first woman, but they crossed over enough to be well and true poltergeists.

Chaos erupted as the now visible ghosts took full advantage of their mostly corporeal state. They rushed at the skimmers, and screams shook the underground s.p.a.ce. The pudgy skimmer I'd spoken to before I reached the mausoleum turned sheet white and hit the ground in a faint. Two other skimmers scrambled over him as they fled toward the stairs.

The ghosts howled and laughed and screamed as they soared around the room, knocking beds askew, tossing things against the walls, and shoving skimmers. Some were actually trying to help me, but most did it just because they could. That was just fine with me. It worked. The skimmers were scattering, the ghosts giving chase.

A gunshot sounded, deafening in the tight underground s.p.a.ce, and I hit the floor, crouching over PC, who gave a terrified yip. A second, then a third, and a fourth shot banged through the room, and as I hadn't been hit yet, I chanced a look up.

Both goons had pulled guns and were emptying their clips into the ghosts. But you can't kill what's already dead.

The ricochet off the concrete walls could do some damage to the living, though. Time to get out of here.

Bell was the only one watching as I dashed for the stairwell, but his bellowing yells were lost in the chaos. I was still straddling the land of the dead, which made the stairs treacherous. Several of the steps crumbled under my feet as I ran, and I knew I was doing real damage, but I didn't care. I burst out of the mausoleum.

Up in the graveyard proper, ghosts were chasing the skimmers who'd fled. If the skimmers had run for the gates, the ghosts wouldn't have been able to follow, but either they didn't know that or they were too frightened to realize which direction was out. Instead they dashed around tombstones, tripping over grave markers, while the half-manifested specters followed close behind.

PC was like a furnace against my chest as I ran. I was cold. Really cold, and the chill still sank into my skin from all sides. But I didn't dare release my touch on the grave yet.

I made a dash for the gates, but stopped just short of rushing through them. If I crossed those gates, I might not be able to reclaim my heat. I couldn't afford to leave a chunk of my life force behind.

Turning, I reached for my power. The mausoleum was on the opposite side of the cemetery, ghosts still underneath and others spread across the large graveyard. I'd never tried to use my power to reach across a distance anywhere near that far. Not that I had a lot of choice. I found my heat, my power, and I pulled. It followed the well-worn path through my psyche back into my body, which did little but make me feel even colder. I slammed my shields shut, blocking the essence still clawing at me. Then I turned and ran on shaky legs out of the graveyard.

Chapter 28.

I ground to a halt in the parking lot. A couple of the cars that had arrived with us were now missing, so I knew that some of the skimmers had managed to escape, but plenty of cars remained. Now would be a good time to know how to hot-wire a vehicle. I could even see. Sort of. In an I-justchanneled-a-ma.s.sive-amount-of-power-and-my-psyche- took-over-for-my-eyes kind of way. Driving wouldn't be safe, but I could probably keep the car from hitting a tree. Unfortunately hot-wiring cars wasn't part of my repertoire.

Well, I can't just stand here. Now that I'd reclaimed my heat from the ghosts, they would be a lot less corporeal, which meant the skimmers would be after me any minute. If the goons hadn't accidentally shot them all.

I dashed across the gravel lot, the rocks shifting under my feet and doing nothing for my already precarious balance. I had the option of sticking to the road or tromping through the woods. I'd make it farther, faster following the road, but the skimmers would also have an easier time catching up with me once they reached their cars. Not that I didn't think they'd find me in the woods-they still had those d.a.m.n tracking spells, no doubt-but the odds were at least slightly more in my favor.

My lungs burned like ice in my chest, and the muscles in my thighs itched with exertion. I stopped, sagging against a tree as I gulped down air. I was shaking so hard PC would suffer whiplash soon, but I had to keep running. I squeezed my eyes closed. Once I catch my breath.

If I survived this, I was going to have to take up running.

Digging my phone out from under PC, I glanced at the time. Nearly two. Somehow I had to make it to the bridge and elude the skimmers, who I could hear crashing through the woods in the distance behind me. I could call John, but I wasn't familiar with the area. Where would I tell him to meet me? h.e.l.l, right now all I knew about my location was that I was somewhere west of the cemetery and I could hear the river.

I shoved the phone back into my purse and my fingers brushed the enchanted bridle Malik had lent me before we went looking for the kelpie. I stopped. I could hear the river, so I wasn't far, and a horse could cover ground a whole lot faster than I could.

"It's a crazy idea," I told PC between wheezing breaths. He looked up at me with his big brown very freaked-out eyes. The sound of the skimmers crashing through the underbrush was getting closer. I had to get moving again.

I headed toward the sound of running water. Tricking a carnivorous horse who liked to drown and eat people who climbed on her back was a crazy idea. But I didn't have any better ones.

Once I reached the riverbank, I pulled my dagger and pressed the point into the flesh of my finger. The last cut hadn't even healed yet, and here I was bleeding into the river again. I only hoped her curiosity would get the better of her and she would answer.

I stood on the bank, shivering and waiting with the bridle clutched behind my back for what felt like a long time. Every sound from the wood made me turn, expecting to see the skimmers rushing toward me. Then the water swirled as a large dark head emerged.

"You do taste tempting," she said, her large nostrils flaring as she inhaled my scent. "Have you changed your mind? Care for a ride?"

"Actually, yes."

The horse blinked at me. I hadn't spent a lot of time around horses, only one summer when my father sent Casey and me to camp, so I wasn't familiar with all of their expressions. I hadn't realized that a horse could project pleased surprise, maybe even antic.i.p.ation. She swam for the bank and then climbed up onto the damp sand. I'd forgotten quite how big she was until I found myself staring at an eye-level flank.

She leaned forward, stretching her front legs and lowering herself. "Climb on."

Okay, this is it. I stepped forward, reaching for her thick neck. Then I tossed the bridle over her head. Malik had said as long as I tossed it, it would catch her.

It worked.

The kelpie screamed, a loud, equine yell of fury. "Release me this instant."

"A favor, and I will let you go."

Her dark eye rolled in the socket, focusing on me, and she whipped her large head around like a dog shaking out his coat. Water and seaweed flung off her, hitting me, but I didn't release the reins.

After a moment, she huffed and turned her head toward me. "Name your request."

Now the tricky part. I had to get the wording right or she'd find a loophole, which she would probably exploit as on opportunity to eat me.

Goon One, or maybe Goon Two-hard to say which, stepped out of the forest beside me. d.a.m.n, out of time.

"I request a ride for myself and my dog, above the water. You will carry us to the old bridge as fast as you can and allow us to dismount unharmed." I hoped I hadn't missed anything.

"Fine."

The kelpie lowered her front legs again and I scrambled onto her back as the goon ran toward us. I had time to see him lift a gun. Aim it at me. Then the kelpie went from standing to an unnatural gallop and the world flashed by me.

I clung to the reins with one hand, my purse and PC with the other, and kept my knees pressed hard against the kelpie's sides. I'd never ridden bareback, and I expected to fight to keep my seat, but the kelpie's scales were sticky, holding me in place. Well, how else would she keep her riders locked on her back while she drowned them?

The trees blurred as she galloped past, and then the giant arch of the bridge loomed ahead of us. She slowed to a canter and then stopped at the base of the bridge. I slid down to my feet, my legs trembling with more than just exhaustion.

The kelpie shook her head and the bridle slid free. She looked at me, and huffed a breath smelling of rotted fish in my face. Then she turned, stepping into the river.

"You have not made a friend this day, feykin," she said as she sank under the water.

"I know." But I didn't apologize.

She stopped with just her dark eyes and pointed ears above the water. "Perhaps your pursuers will desire a ride." Then she vanished.

Maybe I'd grown jaded, but I couldn't force myself to care if she ate the goons.

The collectors were waiting for me in the center of the bridge. I didn't see the cops as I made my way along the bank, but I imagined that wherever they were they could see me. Wonder what they thought of that entrance?

I put PC and my purse under the bridge, tucked away out of sight behind a support pillar.

"Stay," I said, pointing at him. He whined, but lay down, the bag shifting with his movement.

If I had to get out of here quickly, it was going to be hard to reach him, but he'd been through a lot tonight. If things went badly, I wanted him out of harm's way.

Death smiled as I climbed the bank, relief making his hazel eyes brighter. I didn't bother fighting the answering smile that his summoned in me, but joined him and the other two collectors. The center of the bridge seemed as good a place as any to draw my circle. A circle that I actually planned to use this time.

"Looks like you made it just in time," the gray man said, and pointed with the skull that topped his cane.

The water on the far side of the bridge bubbled and whirled as a large shadow expanded under the surface of the river. A giant green head emerged. It looked like the head of an alligator with a long, leathery snout stopping in a flat forehead and thick eye ridges-but the head alone was the size of an alligator.

Sea serpent?

Then another head emerged. And another. I stumbled back against the railing of the bridge as two more heads on long, scaled necks emerged. How many of these things are there?

Seven. Heads, at least. Then the first huge taloned foot grabbed the side of the bridge as the creature hauled itself up, and I realized that all the heads were attached to one beast. Hydra.

And another construct. How many souls are fueling that thing? The mist under its glamoured form was solid, completely obscuring the charmed disk in the jumble of souls.

The police, whom I hadn't seen, shouted into radios, calling for backup. I glanced at the edge of the bridge, wondering if I even had a chance of making it to the bank-this thing's reach was ma.s.sive. Then my senses picked up on familiar magic that was not part of the construct.

I let my eyes follow my senses. There, around the center head's neck was a large collar, and dangling from the collar was a ruby saturated with Holly's magic. I'd never seen her without the charm.

The police surged forward, opening fire on the hydra. Their bullets were too small in caliber to do much against the hydra's thick hide, but the collectors were a lot more effective as they lunged at heads and jerked souls free.

"Wait! It's wearing one of Holly's charms. Maybe it's supposed to take me somewhere," I yelled, staring at the head with the jewel strapped to its neck. I met its red eyes, looking for a sign of intelligence, of intent.

It blinked large, reptilian eyes at me. Then lunged.

Huge fangs hurtled toward me, but Death reached me first. He tackled me to the ground, his hand behind my head keeping my skull from cracking against the stone. The hydra's head sliced through the air above him, taking out a section of the bridge railing where I'd been standing. Death twisted, watching the head withdraw. Then he turned back toward me.

"Love, the only way that thing is supposed to take you somewhere is if it pa.s.ses off the spell in its fangs. Don't try to reason with it," he said, his face close enough that his breath drifted over my lips as he spoke. His face wasn't the only thing close. The entire front of his body pressed against mine. He seemed to realize that fact at the same time I did because a grin spread over his face. "I really wish there wasn't a hydra here," he said, his voice pitched low. Then he rolled off me and helped me to my feet.

d.a.m.n hydra.

Death stepped away, his focus on the hydra again. Oh, I wanted to destroy that construct. Bad.

I glanced at my dagger. If my reach had been a handicap with the gryphon, it was astronomically worse with the hydra. The dagger was just too small. Only one other option.

I dropped my shields.

I could feel graves in the darkness. The essence from small dead animals, some not so small, and some that were most definitely not animals, reached for me. Fresh graves. Old graves. And some graves that felt ancient as the essence clawed at me, trying to sink under my skin.

I didn't have enough time to do more than try to block out the encroaching essence as one of the hydra's heads snapped toward me. I dove to the side, reaching with power. As the head recoiled for another strike, I pulled with magic. A soul popped free. The head shrank. One soul down.

Someone released a sharp scream and I whirled around. Beside me, the raver pressed a hand over her arm-an arm soaked in blood. The hydra can hurt them? My racing heart stumbled in my chest, missing several beats as my gaze snapped to where Death dodged the lunging heads, his hands darting out whenever one got too close. The head always drew back smaller, down one more soul. Then two heads rushed him at once.

No!

I thrust my power into the head lunging for his back, and jerked at the souls inside. One. Two. Three souls popped free. Then I was falling forward, the bridge rushing up to slam into my knees. The gray man stood above me, jabbing his cane into the nostril of a head filling the s.p.a.ce where I'd been.

"Watch your own back, girl. He'll watch his," he said as he pulled his cane free. "We could use more room to maneuver. The beast is targeting you. Lead it to the bank. We'll cover you."

Right. I pushed to my feet, then immediately dove to the side as another head lunged forward. I made it only a few feet with each sprint, but true to his word, the gray man covered my dash off the bridge. Two men in uniform met me on the bank.

"Bullets won't pierce its skin," I said, turning back to reach with my power again. The hand I lifted shook too hard to hold straight.

"It's fae, right?" one of the men asked as he snapped a clip into his gun. A gun I wasn't familiar with but bigger than the Glocks that most of the homicide detectives carried. It was also spelled. He pulled the trigger and one of the heads exploded.

I blinked at him, wide-eyed, as he squeezed off three more shots. Another head scattered into mist. We'd already destroyed two, and while he lined up another shot, the collectors finished off the last three heads. Then all that was left was a lumbering body. The collectors tore into it as the gunman squeezed the trigger twice more.

He smiled as the beast vanished and a disk the size of a tabletop hit the ground. "Spelled iron," he said, clearly thinking his bullets had done the trick. I so wanted to disillusion him, but I didn't. He turned to me and held out his hand. "Name's Tucker."

"Alex Craft."