Another two circles in the opposite direction and I repeated my command. After yet one more full turn, I said, “Slainte.” It literally meant health, short for “to your health,” and acted as a toast before drinking. I thought it a fitting sentiment.

The magical lock opened, and I used a knife to take off the cover. A real safe lay inside, fireproof, with a separate spell to be hellfire-proof. My fingerprint opened this one, and finally, after all that, I had access to the book I’d taken from the mage’s house.

I glanced at it in the safe’s depths, wanting to grab it out and flick through it, but that would be a dumb move. Considering how long it would take to secure it again—and the very real limits on my time—I resisted. Instead, I dropped in the second book and closed it all up. If I lived through the next few days, I would go somewhere quiet and do some learnin’.

As I was getting up, I heard a strange scuffle.

I froze, listening.

Like a live thing, the noise vibrated through my house.

I took out my gun and braced myself near the door to the spare room. Soft movement sounded in the entryway, someone trying to be quiet.

Adrenaline flooded me, heightening my senses and increasing my speed. I swung out into the hallway, gun up, finger on the trigger. A shape loomed large in the doorway, hulking and dangerous.

I sighted and barked, “What do you want?”

The man threw up his hands. A spell!

I dove forward and then rolled to the side, coming up on my knee with my gun out, crouching in the doorway to my bathroom. I sighted on the person’s head. No words drifted toward me. The hands didn’t move.

Finally, I registered the face.

“Oh. Mikey. It’s you.” I sagged before climbing to my feet. “You could have knocked instead of skulking in.”

My neighbor, No-good Mikey, could be one of the meanest sons of bitches in the neighborhood. If he thought you were looking crossways at him on a bad day, he’d charge you like a bull and beat your head against the ground. Or he could be the sweetest man on earth for no reason whatsoever. It was hard to gauge his various moods.

Most people tried to steer clear. Being that he was right next door and my moods could get as black as his, but rarely as sweet, we just tried to give each other a wide berth when one of us was ragey. We didn’t talk much.

“How?” he asked, not moving. “You ain’t got no door.”

I put my hand next to the wall, holding his gaze, and gave three deliberate knocks. “Works on any surface—no door required.”

He leaned against the doorframe, squinting in at me. “You’re good with that gun. Were you a cop?”

“Yeah, right. Not even dirty cops steal as much as I do.” I jammed my gun into its holster and retrieved my spells from the spare room. “What are you doing up this late?”

“Smokey said you came home.”

There was that name again. Mince had mentioned him, too. “Is Smokey that guy who was loitering around outside fifteen minutes ago? The creepy-looking dude?”

“Yeah, Smokey. Don’t you know your neighborhood?”

“I’ve seen him around, I just never bothered to ask his name,” I muttered.

I flicked a switch, but wasn’t surprised when the light refused to shine. I tried again in the hallway. Still nothing. I grabbed a candle from my bedroom—a prop I’d purchased in the silly hope that one day I’d have a romantic reason to use it—lit it with my finger, and brought it out so Mikey wouldn’t ask why I was getting around just fine in the dark.

“He’s usually up at night, prowling the neighborhood,” Mikey said, looking around the place. If he was surprised, he certainly didn’t show it. “He’s one of those quacks who think vampires and goblins are real. Says he saw a vampire with you the other night. You’re on his radar. Watch out.” He rolled his eyes.

I wondered if goblins were real. They weren’t in the Brink if they were.

I didn’t think so, anyway. Maybe I should pick Smokey’s brain…

“Why’d he wake you?” I asked, kicking the pile that used to be my couch. I rested my hand on my pocket holding the wad of cash I’d taken from William. It was made up of twenties, not hundreds like Darius carried, and this wad was much smaller. It wouldn’t come close to covering repairs for the mess I was standing in. Dare to dream.

“I told him to,” Mikey replied.

“Because…?”

“What do you mean, because? Look at your house!” He gestured angrily at the walls. “Look at it!”

“I’m standing in it. I see it.”

“I know Mince let a couple guys come in here the other day. Heard you left them to it.” Suspicion rang in his voice. I had no idea why.

“Yup. I didn’t feel like dying.”

“You didn’t call the cops.”

“I don’t like cops.” That wasn’t true, but it was what guys like him needed to hear so they didn’t freak out.

“Yeah, well, I heard those guys left without taking nothing. Somethin’s not right with that. Somethin’s up. So I told ol’ Smokey to watch this place. To let me know who was coming and going.”

“What’s it to you?”

He pushed away from the doorframe, his body going taut. “What’s it to me? You’re my neighbor, that’s what it is to me. I don’t gotta get a filthy dog because you’re here all the time. Everyone knows there’s one person crazier than me in this neck of the woods.” He jabbed a thick finger at me. “No one messes with my stuff when you’re around.”

He basically just called me a crazy, rabid dog. Awesome.

He put his hands on his chest. “You got my back.” His hands pushed through the air toward me. “I got yours. That’s how this shit works.”

“Touching,” I said dryly.

“Yeah. I’m a goddamned nun.”

Okay, then…

“This afternoon,” he went on, leaning against the doorframe again, “or yesterday afternoon, technically—another guy showed up. Skinny bastard with his face deep in his hood. I was sitting out on the corner this time, watching. He strolled right past me, not even a nod. In my neighborhood.” Usually people paid Mikey homage so as not to get their skull cracked. “He walked into your place without even knocking. Walked right on in, like that sonuvabitch owned it.”

Mikey took a moment and cracked his neck. A burst of adrenaline filled my body out of nowhere. He was human, but he still wasn’t someone I wanted to tumble with. He’d probably conjure up weapons like a magic trick.

“He wasn’t worried someone might be in here?” I asked.

“Nah. Just walked on in.” Mikey scratched his chin. “He weren’t quite right, neither. Muttered to himself like a crack-head. He twitched like a crack-head, too. Far as I know, this ain’t no crack house. So that didn’t fit.” The accusation was soft, but it was there.

“Nope. No crack in here. Not even any weed. I’m naturally this crazy.”

Mikey pursed his lips. “That’s what I thought. That’s why I followed up, just to see what he was up to.”

“Let me guess: you didn’t call the cops either.”

“Hell no, I didn’t call the cops! You think I need cops asking me questions? Ain’t no one needs cops asking them questions.”

“Right.” Crime watch was exactly that in this neighborhood—people watching the crime take place. “Can you describe him, at least?”

“Wait a second, I’m not done yet.” Mikey held up his hand.

I went into the kitchen to get a second look at the damage. Maybe there was an unmelted fork somewhere.

“You gonna listen to this or am I wasting my time?” he called after me.

“Eyes don’t work like ears, in case you haven’t realized. I don’t actually need to be in the same room to hear you.”

I heard a sort of huff, then footsteps. He appeared in the doorway of the kitchen and resumed his lean. “I don’t like to yell unless I’m about to bust someone’s head.”

“Good to know.”