Jean strolled into the garage. “Got all the pictures. You need me for anything else?”
“I don’t think so. Wait, maybe. You didn’t happen to bring the crab claw did you?”
“It’s still in lock up. You want me to go get it?” Jean asked.
Hogan stepped into the space. His head snapped up, his nostrils flared and he waved his hand in front of his face.
“What are you doing?” Jean asked him.
Hogan pinched his nose. “It stinks in here. You don’t smell that?”
All of us sniffed.
“No?” Jean said. “Smell what?”
He pulled the collar of his T-shirt up to cover his nose in a makeshift mask and mumbled something.
“What?” she chuckled, leaning closer. “You are such a weirdo. School?”
He plucked at the fabric. “No. Smells like ghoul.”
Chapter Twelve
I shook my head.“It smells like ghoul? What does ghoul smell like?”
“Rotted flesh and melted vinyl,” Hogan said. “You really don’t smell that?”
I tried again, but the only thing I smelled was musty concrete, motor oil, and the salty green of the coastal wind.
I glanced at Odin. “Don’t look at me,” he complained. “I’m not half Jinn. I don’t smell the undead.”
“Are you sure it’s a ghoul?” I asked Hogan.
He nodded. “I met one once. Before I moved here. Same smell. Exactly.”
“What do we know about ghouls?” I said, wishing Myra and her encyclopedic knowledge of all things magical were here.
“They stink.” Jean flashed me a grin. I rolled my eyes.
“They eat flesh?” I said, sorting through the differences between ghouls, undead, and zombies.
“Lure people into graveyards,” Odin added. “Nibble on the living or the dead, and walk out looking like whoever they ate.”
I swallowed back a little bit of revulsion.
“Gross,” Jean said. “If you can smell one, does that mean one of us is a ghoul?”
Hogan blinked. “Uh…maybe?”
Jean waggled her eyebrows. “You’re gonna have to sniff us to make sure.”
“We are all who we say we are,” Odin grumbled. “This is a waste of time, and I have things to do.”
“No,” I said. “You stay. We all stay. Let’s all take a step backward so we don’t muddy up each other’s scents.
Odin muttered something that sounded like “bullshit” but stepped back with Jean and me. Hogan sniffed Jean first, pulling his T-shirt down away from his nose and nuzzling her neck.
She giggled, her face stained pink. “Stop it. I hate that. Anything?” she asked, holding perfectly still.
