My gaze shot to the ghosts still flitting about the room. They might just provide me with one. But first I had to persuade Bell to remove my cuffs.

“Okay, Bell, you made your point. I’ll perform a ritual.” I didn’t specify which ritual, but I doubted he’d notice.

“Splendid! And I told you to call me Max. Now, how long will the ritual take to prepare?”

“Not long.” Or at least I hoped not. “But if I’m going to do this, I’ll need your men to uncuff me”—and get the damn gun away from my head—“so I can draw a circle.”

“My people can draw the circle for you.”

No. That wouldn’t work. I needed the cuffs off. Getting out of here would be a hell of a lot easier if I could use my hands. “I need to draw it. My magic is . . . peculiar.” Okay, that was almost a lie. My magic was peculiar, that was true, and I did need to draw the circle to have an excuse to be freed, but the two statements had no connection. It was amazing what vagueness and implication let me get around. I’d remember that the next time I dealt with fae.

Bell frowned, but after a moment he nodded and the goons unlocked the handcuffs. The release from the irritating constraints was a shock, which made being free more painful than being bound. I pulled my arms to the front of my body and rubbed my aching wrists, which were red and puffy. PC licked my hands, offering his own comfort.

“Do you need something to draw the circle with?” Bell asked, and before I could respond, a young woman with hair she clearly hadn’t brushed since she woke stepped forward and handed me a stick of chalk.

It wasn’t the nearly invisible wax chalk I usually used for indoor rituals but a fist-thick stick of neon pink sidewalk chalk. Right. I accepted it, frowning as the powder coated my fingers, and then I looked around. The ghosts in the room were losing interest in the skimmers and floating off. That wasn’t good. I needed the ghosts to be interested. Very interested.

The ghost who’d smiled at me earlier hovered near the stairwell. I started to make my way toward her, but one of the goons grabbed my arm before I made it two steps.

“Where are you going, Miss Craft? You wouldn’t think about double-crossing me, would you?” Bell asked and nodded to Goon Two, who leveled his gun. “Betraying me could be very bad for your health.”

“Just trying to decide the best place for my circle.”

“How about right here in the center of the room?” Because there are no ghosts in the center of the room? But in truth, as I had no plan to invoke the circle, it didn’t matter where I drew it. I moved to where Bell had indicated and began dragging the neon pink chalk across the concrete floor. It would have been easier if my purse and PC hadn’t been dangling around my torso, but I wasn’t sure how the next few minutes would play out and I wanted PC with me, just in case I didn’t have time for anything but running.

“Pssst, hey,” I whispered, trying to get the closest ghost’s attention as I drew the most meticulous—and fluorescent—circle of my life.

The ghost didn’t look at me, but one of the skimmers did. “Are you talking to me?”

“No.” I flashed him some teeth and then drew the last foot of my circle.

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. Damn. 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 space. 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 space, 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-massive-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.