Somehow, that didn’t surprise me at all. “Get them.”
Once he was gone, Annette folded her arms. “I can see the wheels turning in your head. Out with it.”
“They’re chipping away at the house and its defenses.” My fists clenched. Did Morgan realize he’d been hurting Temple in the process? “None of this was spur-of-the-moment. It’s part of Alex’s longer plan. And we know he’s planning a sacrifice.”
“You think he’s going to come after one of us,” said Annette.
“Any of us would make a tasty treat for Ringo. And it would explain why Ronnie’s dream directed him here.”
“Which one of us do you think he’ll pick?” she asked. “I know he’s got history with you, but I have that tasty demon blood. And let’s face it, I’d make a much better-looking sacrifice.”
“I don’t think the ancient slumbering horror cares how hot you are,” I said.
She was right, though. Alex wouldn’t sacrifice me. If he truly wanted to hurt me, he’d go after Temple or Annette. The end of the world would begin here, and it would begin with the death of one of my two closest friends.
“R’gngyk, I hope you can hear me. Things have gone a little sideways. Don’t worry, I have things under control, but...to sum up, the twelve-year-old failed to burn down my enemy’s sanctuary. He’s been taken off the board. Morgan, my best hope for infiltrating said sanctuary, was caught and grounded. Jenny Winter is onto me, and knowing her, she is royally pissed off. I’m finalizing the ritual as fast as I can, o mighty dreamer, but I’d appreciate a little help here.”
CHAPTER19
Annette
It was only after I changed clothes that I realized I’d dressed like I was going into battle as opposed to simply talking to my grandson. I’d donned my favorite black jeans, the comfy ones that stretched enough for me to kick a bastard in the junk if I had to. I’d also dug my old leather jacket out of the closet and thrown that over a teal tank top. Steel-tipped boots completed the ensemble.
I had my knife, too, of course. Strapping that to my back was habit, as natural as wearing socks.
I was halfway down the stairs when there was a knock at the front door. The shop was closed, but people had been stopping by all morning to check on us. I’d accepted sympathy and well-wishes from Caleb, who worked at Wicked Good Books; our neighbor Mindy; and one of our regulars, a retired dentist who came in every week for crossword puzzle books and to gossip about the school board.
Jenny reached the door before I did this time, which was fine by me. I waited while she chatted briefly with a man and woman who looked to be in their early twenties. She returned carrying a foil-covered casserole dish and announced, “The Satanic Temple sent us a tuna casserole.”
“Put it in the fridge with the rest,” I said. “I’m borrowing your protégé and heading out.”
Jenny paused on her way to the kitchen. “You’re going to talk to Morgan?”
“I want answers about those shelf cards. I keep telling myself he couldn’t have known what he was doing. He wouldn’t deliberately harm Temple or the shop.” I could understand how he’d fallen for Alex’s bullshit. Morgan had so few people he could talk to about magic. Connecting with Alex and his stories and knowledge must have been like winning the lottery. But deliberately trying to hurt people? I couldn’t—wouldn’t—believe that.
Jenny balanced the casserole in one hand and patted my arm with the other. “Call if you need me. And no killing!”
“I’ll be fine,” I lied. I was too upset, and her sympathy would only shatter my self-control. I turned to Ronnie, who was sorting books into three categories: Fine, Salvageable, and Ruined. I cringed at the size of the last pile. “Ronnie, let’s go. I’m driving.”
He followed me out the back door. “Did Jenny say we had Satanic casserole? That sounds spicy.”
We’d gone only a few steps when something low and dark raced through the parking lot and disappeared beneath my car.
“What the hell?” Ronnie pulled a collapsible baton from his trench coat, extended it with a snap of his wrist, and pressed a button on the handle. Blue light crackled along the tip.
“You have a whole armory tucked away in that coat, don’t you?” I stepped sideways. “It was too big to be a skunk. Didn’t move like a dog.”
The thing shot out from between the front tires. Claws scraped the blacktop as it charged and sprang at my face like it had been flung from a catapult.
I spun out of the way and landed a solid backfist to its body as it passed. The blow sent the thing flying to strike the shop’s back door with a heavy splat. The sound was like five pounds of raw hamburger shot against a brick wall.
“I think it’s—it was—a cat,” I said. It was maybe fifteen pounds, tops, with four legs and a too-long tail. Smaller tentacles writhed from its body. It shook itself, crouched, and lashed its tail.
The ex-cat had far too many eyes, and almost all of them were watching me. They blinked at random, one after another. For some reason, that asynchronous blinking disturbed me more than the tentacles or the thing’s clear desire to claw me open.
I drew my knife.
“What are you doing?” asked Ronnie. “You can’t kill it.”
