Magic In the Blood

Chapter Six

The smell of hot coffee and baked scones wrapped around me like a hug as we walked into Get Mugged. Grant’s employee, Jula, was behind the counter, moving scones out of the oven and into the glass case below the counter.

There were about a dozen people seated at the mismatched wood tables and chairs, reading papers, their laptops, phones, handhelds. Get Mugged was bigger than it looked from the outside, and open up to the second-floor ceiling, with an overlooking loft at the back half of the shop. Ceiling-to-floor windows and strings of track lighting on the pipes across the rafters lit up the place, while the brick and wood walls made that light feel warm.

“Hey, Jula,” Grant called out. “Get me a Shot in the Dark, would ya? And a towel?”

She looked up, the piercing in her eyebrow flashing blue and then pink as she looked from Grant to me. “Oh. Sure.” She put down the tray of scones and reached for a big mug from the shelf behind her.

Grant, his arm still over my shoulder, steered me farther into the shop, back to a table nestled against a narrow window on the other side of the counter. It was far away from the door and out of sight from most of the people in the shop but close enough to the counter that Grant or Jula could keep an eye on whoever sat there.

I had the distinct impression Grant didn’t think I was doing so hot.

“Here now,” he said. “Best seat in the house.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m okay.” The heat of the place was working wonders for me, easing some of the ache. Even the intense sunburn sting from the watercolor people touching me was fading some. I was soaked through my coat, but still cold enough that I didn’t want to take it off. Once I got home I really would have to wring out my underwear.

I tugged my hat off and ran my gloved fingers through my hair. Another good thing about short hair is it handles the wet pretty well. I tucked it back behind my left ear, but kept it loose on the right so it would swing forward and cover the whorls of colors that licked beneath my jaw and up to the corner of my right eye. I was feeling a little touchy about the whole marked-by-magic thing at the moment.

Grant sat across the small table from me.

“Rough morning, huh?” he asked.

“I’ve had better,” I said.

Jula stopped by the table. “Here you go.” She placed a mug of coffee and a plate with a hot scone in front of me. “The towel?” she asked.

Grant pointed to me.

She handed me the towel. “Anything else I can get you?”

“No,” I said. “Thanks.”

She looked over at Grant again. He was leaning back in his chair, his own short hair wet enough that it looked as black as mine instead of the light brown I knew it was. Drips of rain caught on the edge of his spiky bangs and ran a wet line down his temple and jaw. Grant had dark, dark blue eyes and that sort of rough and ready look that always made me imagine him in a cowboy hat.

Even though all I wanted to do was dive into that cup of coffee, I took the towel, pulled off my gloves, and inspected my hands. Black bands on all my left knuckles, whorls of metallic colors over every inch of my right hand. The black bands looked a little swollen, like they were bruising beneath, and the whorls of colors were darker than normal, dull, like someone had sanded the metallic shine off of them.

Or several someones.

I dried my hands carefully, though they weren’t really hurting. The ache and sunburn had faded fast, leaving me cold. Just cold. And wet. I wiped my face. The towel was white, soft, and smelled of lemon dish soap.

“Thanks,” I said again, lifting the towel a little before handing it to Grant. He rubbed it over his face, wadded it up, and put it on the table.

“You had me worried.”

“Sorry.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Oh, I so did not. I didn’t like telling people I was going crazy.

“That’s really nice. But trust me, you don’t want to get involved in my troubles.”

“I don’t know. Everyone needs a little trouble now and then. Keeps things spicy.”

“Running the coffee shop isn’t spicy enough?”

He shrugged. “Business is business. But I want my friends to know I’ll do what I can to help. Be there if they need me.”

I shook my head but smiled despite myself. I’d been coming to Get Mugged for years, and I didn’t know Grant considered our casual morning talks the basis for a friendship.

“Friends?” I asked.

“Anyone who gives me tickets to the Schnitz for my birthday two years in a row is officially my friend.”

“I did that?”

Grant gave me a funny look. I knew that look-it happened when I had forgotten something in my past but the person I was with had not. Fantastic. I’d not only forgotten I was friends with Grant, but had also forgotten I’d given him tickets to the opera.

“You sure you’re feeling okay?” he asked.

I rubbed at my eyes. “Sorry, Grant. Things… The coma did weird things to my memory. I have a lot more holes. I think I lost your birthday.” And damned if that didn’t make me feel like a heel.

“Hey, that’s okay. I’ll remind you. The Phantom of the Opera’s coming to town, and I do like me some Phantom.” He patted the edge of the table and it suddenly felt like we’d just sealed a deal. We were officially still friends.

“So, tell all, girl. What’s going on?”

I am not the kind of gal who falls for every nice smile she sees. But Grant’s smile was like the shop- warm, friendly, comfortable. I smiled back, and for the first time in what must be years regretted not putting on at least a little mascara.

Not that it would matter with Grant. Women weren’t his thing.

“I just, well, I took a new job-”

“Hounding?”

“Right, for the police, and I guess my mind’s on that.”

“So, you’re not hurt?”

“No.”

“Not in trouble-No, let me rephrase that. Don’t need me to call the police for you?”

“No.”

“And you’re feeling a little better now that we got you out of the rain and wind?”

“Uh-huh,” I agreed. I took a drink of coffee and closed my eyes as it rolled hot all the way down to my belly. Hot, dark, rich. Heaven.

“Trust me,” I said. “After a cup of this, I’ll be perfect.” I took a bite of scone. “Wait,” I said around a mouthful of pumpkin spice goodness. “I’ll be perfect after the coffee and the scone.”

“Good.” He straightened and put both his hands on his knees, ready to push up onto his feet. “ ’Cause you looked like you’d seen a ghost out there.”

I choked on the scone and coughed uncontrollably.

“You okay?”

I nodded and thumped at my chest to try to get the bite of scone either up or down. I picked up my coffee and took a slurp. That got me a burnt tongue and scalded the roof of my mouth, but at least the scone slid down my throat. I coughed a little more and then sneezed.

How graceful was I today?

Grant calmly handed me the towel again, which I used to wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes.

“Maybe I should stop filling those things with gravel,” he said.

“What did you say?”

“Gravel. The scone. It’s a joke.”

“No. You said something about a ghost.”

Grant gave me a long look and then leaned his forearms on the table, folding his fingers together. “I said you looked like you’d seen a ghost,” he said calmly. “Standing out in the rain all pale and spooked. Why? Did you?”

I didn’t want to talk about this. Not to Grant. As far as I knew, he didn’t use magic, didn’t really understand it, and wouldn’t even care if I had seen ghostly glyphs or a whole herd of ghostly people stampeding outside his door.

“Did you see one?” he asked.

“What?”

He wiggled his fingers in the air. “A ghost.” Those dark, dark blue eyes still held the echo of his smile, but he was not joking around. It was a serious question.

I took a drink of coffee-a little more carefully this time.

“Get Mugged used to be an old saloon and boardinghouse,” Grant said. “It was built over the Shanghai Tunnels-did I ever mention that? Some people-especially people who use magic a lot-see things here. Spirits. I had a local ghost-hunting team come out and check into it a while back. Said there was a lot of activity. Ghosts of the men and women who were knocked out, locked up, killed, or sold onto pirate ships heading to China.”

“You had ghost hunters in here?”

“Sure. Why not? You don’t believe in ghosts?”

“I just-” I took a breath, exhaled. “I’m surprised you do.”

“Well, now that I’ve shared my secret, it’s your turn. Did you see a ghost?”

Hells. Why not?

“Yes.”

“Here?”

I took another drink of coffee, which hurt the burnt spots in my mouth. Totally worth it.

“Outside,” I said. “It was just for a couple seconds, but there was more than one.”

Grant grinned. “I liked the sound of that. Haven’t had multiple apparitions before. Were they full body?”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you see them clearly from head to toe?”

The memory of them turning, gazing at me with hungry, empty eyes, moving toward me slowly, too slowly, flashed through my mind.

“Every bit of them. And I don’t know what you’re so happy about. They scared the hell out of me.”

“Haven’t seen a full body myself. Always kind of hoped I would. The ghost hunters said they didn’t think there was harmful activity here.”

“You might want to rethink that,” I said. Hells. Who was I to change Grant’s mind? If he liked thinking friendly ghosts were Caspering about in his coffee shop, that was cool with me. He could probably capitalize on the haunted thing and bring in the tourists.

And since no one else had seen multiple full-body apparitions (see how quick I pick up on this stuff?), I was beginning to think seeing them-and being touched by them-had more to do with those Death glyphs out on the wall than with Grant’s Shanghai victims.

“Oh, now. Don’t go holding out on me. I can see it in your eyes. There was more. Spill it, girl.”

I took another bite of the scone, which practically melted into sugar and spice in my mouth. “This is really good. Did you change bakeries?”

“It’s my own recipe. Less scone. More ghost.”

“You made this? I’m impressed. You should open a bakery or a coffee shop or something.”

“Allison Beckstrom,” he said. “Don’t make me sic Jula on you. And don’t think she can’t take you-she’s little, but she’s tougher than she looks.”

“Listen,” I said. “I saw ghosts-a lot of them. And they… um… touched me. It hurt. Don’t. Don’t look like that. I’m fine. It was just for a second. Right before you came out. And before that I saw some kind of magic written on the warehouse wall. Glyphs that were for Life and Healing-good glyphs. But around all those was the glyph for Death. When I got closer to the building, they…” Telling the truth and watching Grant’s expression go from excitement back to worry again was harder than I thought it would be. “… they just-”

“Disappeared?”

I nodded.

“And you’re sure you’re not hurt? I’ve heard of ghosts leaving marks.”

“I think I’m fine.”

He stared at me.

“I’ll check myself over when I go home. After coffee.” I picked up the cup and took another drink.

Grant didn’t push me on that, for which I was grateful.

“Life and death, huh?” he asked. “Were they city-cast to keep vandals off the block?”

I blinked. “I don’t know.” I’d never even thought about that. “Do you know if the city has any standing spells here?”

“I can look into it. The company that owns the lot next to me went bankrupt. I’m thinking about buying it, though I don’t know what I’d do with it.”

“Open a bakery?” I suggested.

“Like I need two businesses to run.”

“You could always rent the place out to the ghost chasers.” I popped the last of the scone in my mouth.

Grant’s eyes went wide. “That’s a fabulous idea.”

“Wait-I was joking.”

“No. It’s good. It’s really good. They’re looking to move out of their place-too small and not enough… you know…”

“Decay?”

“History. They were saying they wanted to move closer to the older part of town. This whole block’s been trying to go high-end for years.” He winced. “It hasn’t caught on, which is fine with it me. I like things the way they are.”

“And you think bringing in people who run around doing seances is going to bring the property value up?”

“Sйances.” He shook his head. “You really don’t know anything about this, do you? But even if it were sйances, do I look like I care?” He grinned and I could tell that no, he most certainly did not.

“Well, good luck with that. If things go well, maybe they can come de-ghost my apartment.”

I was joking around.

Grant didn’t buy it.

“Why? You seen ghosts there too? Ghost magic?”

“No. Not really. Not like here on the street. It’s complicated. And what do you mean ghost magic? There’s no such thing.”

“Those graffiti things you said you saw, that appeared and disappeared. Ghost magic, right? Talk to me.”

I could talk to him about the magic near his place, could talk to him about the ghosts on his street, but telling him about my dad, in my apartment bathroom, touching me when I was naked and alone in the dark…

Nope. Wasn’t gonna happen. All I wanted to do about that was find some way to scrub the memory of it, and the echo of his touch, out of my brain and off my skin. Too bad magic didn’t erase the memories I wanted to get rid of.

“I don’t really want to get into it, okay?”

And he must have caught the “please” in my tone because he reached over and patted my hand.

“Does it have something to do with this?” He gently brushed the back of my right hand and the whorls of metallic color that webbed there.

“Maybe.”

“That happened when you left town for a while, right? The coma and all?”

I nodded.

“When you feel like talking about whatever happened in your apartment, or anything else, you come back here, okay?”

“If you keep making these scones, I will.”

But he wasn’t about to be brushed off so easily. “Allie. Listen to me now. I want you to know you can come here anytime. No questions asked. I have a place you could sleep-alone-if you need it. And I know how to keep my mouth shut about people’s… business.”

“Thank you,” I said.

That, Grant accepted. He probably thought it was sincere. He had good instincts.

“Okay, so how about I get you a refill on that coffee?”

“That’d be great.”

He gave my hand one last pat and then pushed up on his feet and walked off as the door opened.

I don’t usually pay attention to opening doors. Not really. I mean, sure, when I was running for my life I jumped at every creak of door and slide of window. But that was over with now. This was my town. I was safe. Except for the released felon, the cursed cop, and the ghosts, everything was peachy.

Or not.

It wasn’t just one person coming through the door; it was a half dozen, split four men, two women. They were all dressed in Sunday morning churchgoing clothes even though it was not Sunday. They all carried that earnest sincerity of those who feel a deep need to spread the Word.

I let out the breath I’d been holding. The last thing I needed to worry about were churchgoing people. They looked around the room as they took off their coats and hung them on the coatrack by the door. They were chatty, smiling, and making the “isn’t this nice” noises of people discovering a new pleasant place to hang out.

But another movement caught my eye. A man sitting in the far corner of the building lifted his cup of coffee toward me in a sort of salute. I’d say he was in his mid-fifties, and he was bald except for a ring of hair that may have once been blond and was cut short behind his temples. He wore bifocals and a nice dark brown sweater. He didn’t take a drink of his coffee and didn’t look away from me. He just sat there and smiled and smiled.

Creepy.

People moved between our line of vision, so I went back to finishing my coffee. Since I’d told Detective Stotts I’d Hound for him tonight, I also needed to score a phone and call Violet to cancel our dinner date. Now that I thought about it, I wondered if Pike could tell me something about those weird glyphs. I still had the card he’d given me for the Pack. He said if I called, they’d tell me when they were meeting next. I pulled my cell out of my pocket, hoping it might have miraculously repaired itself, but no. Still dead. Maybe Grant would let me use the phone here.

A man walked up to my table.

“Good morning,” he said as though he knew me and I should be glad to see him.

I looked up. Yep, it was the creepy guy from across the room. Didn’t recognize him.

“So good to see you,” he said. “My name’s Frank. Dr. Frank Gordon. I believe we are neighbors.”

“Oh?” I asked.

“Third floor of the Forecastle. I just moved in. I thought I saw you leave the building this morning. You’re an early riser, Ms…”

“Beckstrom,” I said. “Allie Beckstrom.”

He held out his hand, and I reached over and shook it.

Frank’s gaze shifted from my face to my hand. He tipped his head back so he could gaze through the bottom half of his bifocals. His smile went hard, his teeth clenched, and he held his breath. Surprised. Then, quietly, “Remarkable.”

Okay, I was done with him staring at my hand like it was fresh meat. I tugged free of his grip.

“A remarkable tattoo, Ms. Beckstrom. Where did you go to find such an… unusual design?”

“The country,” I said. “It was nice meeting you, Dr. Gordon, but my friend will be here…”

“Magic, isn’t it? You do know that, don’t you? I make it a hobby to study such things.” He hadn’t moved, hadn’t stopped smiling, but everything else about him-the sudden stiffening of body language, the tone of hunger and anger just behind his pleasant words-meant I had a problem on my hands.

Well, not on my hands themselves, though that was also true, what with the marks and all, but the current problem was Dr. Creepy here.

I knew when things were edging toward violence of some sort-physical, magical, verbal. I checked his hands for weapons: a knife, needle, or gun. Nothing. But you didn’t need anything more than your fingers and a few well-spoken words to draw on magic.

And magic could do a lot of harm. Trust me on this.

I inhaled to catch his scent-the smell of almonds and sweat with just a hint of licorice-and then I stood because I wasn’t about to get into a fight sitting down.

“Hey, Allie,” Grant called out, cheerful and loud.

I didn’t look over, didn’t look away from Dr. Gordon. Dr. Gordon didn’t look away from me either.

Grant, however, wasn’t caught in the showdown. He strode right over, all casual and cowboy, and leaned his entire body between us while he placed a fresh cup of coffee on the table.

“Here’s your refill.” He turned and stuck his hand out. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He and Dr. Gordon were close enough, there was no way Dr. Gordon could get out of the handshake. And Grant had wide enough shoulders that he pretty much blocked my view, breaking off our glaring match. “Name’s Grant. Grant Rhines. I’m the owner of this coffee shop.”

Dr. Gordon had to take a step back to shake Grant’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rhines. I’m Dr. Gordon.”

Thank you, Grant. I did not want to become someone’s pet project. Didn’t want the doctor to get some kind of idea that he could take me apart to find out how I could hold magic in my body when no one else could. It was time for me to get out, move on, be done with being here.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you in my fine establishment before, have I, Doctor?” Grant asked.

“As I was saying to Ms. Beckstrom before you interrupted us, I’m new to the neighborhood.” He wasn’t even trying to be pleasant anymore. “Now, if you’ll excuse us?”

“No,” I said. I stepped out from where I was closed off by Grant and stood slightly behind him because there wasn’t any more room to go past him unless I forced the issue. “We’re done talking. Grant, could I use your phone?”

“Sure thing.” He didn’t move or look away from Dr. Gordon. “I’ll show you where it is. Can I get anything else for you, Doctor?” he asked.

Dr. Gordon smiled, instantly a mild-mannered nice guy again. And it freaked me the hells out that he could do that-look so completely harmless in the blink of an eye.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Mr. Rhines. You’ve done enough. Thanks for the offer.” He stepped aside and glanced at me. “I’ll see you soon, Ms. Beckstrom. Have a nice day.” He turned and ambled over to the door. He paused and pulled a heavy coat and umbrella off the rack. Grant and I stood there, watching him until he was out the door and onto the street.

“Great guy. You really know how to pick ’em, don’t you?” he said.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I said. “Can I really use your phone?”

“Sure, sure.” Grant strolled even farther to the back of the shop, and I followed him through a door to the left. He pulled out a set of keys, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. Beyond the door were nice, carpeted stairs going down.

“A dungeon?”

“I did mention the Shanghai Tunnels, right?” He moved past me and started down the stairs. “Just give that door a good tug behind you. Wouldn’t want a customer tripping down here.”

I hesitated. I mean, how well did I really know Grant? All I had to go on was his word. The whole birthday thing could be a lie.

“Mind if I leave it open?” I asked.

“That’s fine. I’ll be back up in a sec.” He had turned the corner, out of eyesight from the top of the stairs. “Phone’s here on the table. Allie?”

I took a deep breath. Hounds are not trusting people. But Grant had given me more than his word. He’d gone out of his way to run interference with Dr. Nosy up there. And besides, we were friends. I think. I shut the door and clomped down the stairs. “I’m leaving wet footprints on your carpet,” I said. Then, “Wow.”

The room opened up at the bottom of the stairs and was most definitely not a dungeon. A full apartment, it was nicely furnished in leather and linens, with accents of deep blues and greens and lights set along the walls and ceilings in just the right way to make it feel airy and spacious instead of like the brick basement it was.

“You decorate this yourself?” I asked.

“Mostly. Had some help from a friend or two. Do you like it?”

“It’s fantastic.” I meant that.

“Thanks,” Grant said. “The phone.” He gestured to an old-fashioned standing candlestick phone with a rotary dial.

“Serious?”

“Authentic. Works too.”

I walked across thick carpet to the phone table next to a very comfortable-looking easy chair.

“Take your time. I’ll be right back.” He headed up the stairs, leaving me to make my call.

I dug in my coat pocket and pulled out my blank book and thumbed through it until I found Violet’s number. I dialed the number and got her on the second ring.

“Beckstrom speaking,” she said.

Strange to hear my father’s name, my name, from her lips. I wondered if I’d ever gotten used to that before, when I had known her, before I had forgotten her.

“Hi, Violet, this is Allie.”

“Allie. Is everything okay?”

Note to self: start living the kind of life that would make that question no longer the first thing everyone thought to ask me.

“Fine. Except I need to cancel our dinner appointment.”

“That’s too bad. I was looking forward to it.”

“Yes, well, I got a Hounding job that needs to be done tonight before the spell fades. Maybe breakfast?” I offered.

Violet hesitated. “I think I could do breakfast. What time?”

“Eight?”

“Eight should work,” she said. “How about Kickin’ Cakes?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Perfect,” she said. “And, Allie?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful.”

Note to self number two: start living the kind of life where people weren’t always ending their conversations with me like that.

“Sure thing,” I said.

I hung up the phone and dug in my pocket for the card Pike had given me.

I dialed the number. I was about to hang up on the fifth ring when a man’s sleepy voice answered. “ ’Lo?”

“I’m looking for the Pack?”

“Found it.” He yawned loudly and I heard rustling, like blankets being swept aside, and the wind-chime clink of a couple of beer bottles thunking onto carpet.

“Pike told me to call for the next meeting time.”

“Yeah?” he said.

“Yes.”

There was a long pause.

“Listen, if there’s a secret password or something, he didn’t tell me what it was,” I said.

“Wait,” he said. “Who is this again?”

And I thought Pike said not all the Hounds were as dumb as Anthony.

“Forget it.”

“It’s cool, it’s cool,” he said. “It’s just early, right?” More sounds of him grunting as though he’d stood up, and then the plastic-on-tracks rattle of window blinds being pulled aside. “Damn,” he said. “Not early. So what was your name?”

“Allie Beckstrom.”

“No kidding.” He suddenly sounded much more awake. And happy. That made me suspicious. “Nice to finally hear from you, Allie Beckstrom. Meeting’s at noon at Ankeny and Second. You know where that is, right?”

“I’ll manage,” I drawled.

He laughed, and it sounded like a dog’s bark. “Right. You got this town down, dontcha? Okay. Lower level. Today. Noon.”

“Is there a room number?”

“You’ll find us.”

And then he hung up on me. Hung up. Fab.

I hooked the ear piece on the receiver and stood there in Grant’s apartment, feeling a little less lost. At least I had a plan for finding out more about ghosts from Pike, and once I talked Pike into going to the police with me, we could take care of Trager too. The muffled thump of footsteps on the floorboards above my head was a comforting sound. Down here, in this place, I was alone, removed from the world. Hidden. Safe.

Safer than I felt in my own apartment. Which was all sorts of wrong that I didn’t even know how to begin fixing.

No, that wasn’t completely true. I knew why I didn’t feel safe at home. My dad. Or rather, my dad’s ghost. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms as the memory of being naked and vulnerable while my dad’s ghost touched me sent chills down to sour in the pit of my stomach.

I thought about what Grant had said-ghost hunters believed spirits of people who had died traumatic deaths lingered here and that people who used magic were sensitive to them. Maybe I didn’t believe in all that stuff, but I could not ignore what I had seen today. My dad’s ghost. Glyphs that bore my dad’s signature. The empty-eyed watercolor people.

Maybe I was seeing things because I carried magic inside me. Or maybe all the ghost stuff was my subconscious telling me I needed to face my father’s death-something I had not done in any physical manner since I’d come back to town. I should just do the one thing I was avoiding and go to my dad’s grave, and get it through my head that he was dead and gone.

And not hanging out in my bathroom waiting to ambush me.

I dialed the phone again and called a cab. They said they’d be by in about three minutes.

Just as I hung up, Grant came back down the stairs. “Everything okay?” he asked.

Sweet hells, there was that question again.

“Yes. Thanks. For everything.”

“You leaving now?”

“Have an appointment at noon and some other things to do before then.” I fished my wet gloves out of my wet pockets and thought briefly about going home first to change into something dry. Since I would be out in the rain anyway, it seemed like a waste of laundry. Hopefully I’d have time to go home and change before the Hound meeting.

“Need a cab?” Grant asked.

“Just called one.” I started walking toward the stair.

Grant hitched his thumb in the opposite direction.

“How about I take you out the back way? Quicker than going through the whole shop again.” He crossed the living room area, and I got a quick peek at a very nice modern kitchen before he opened a door revealing a freight elevator that had been redone in gaudy Gothic cage work. Not at all what I expected out of mister-casual-cowboy Grant. A set of brick stairs lit from above by the morning light stacked up to the left, wall-hugging sconces of sword ferns placed against both stairwell walls. A nice touch of green so far belowground.

Grant started up the stairs. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I am.”

We reached street level. No great surprise-it was raining. I pulled my hat out of my pocket and put it on. I zipped my coat to keep the chill wind at bay. I wondered if we’d have worse winds by tonight, wondered when the storm would blow through.

A black-and-white Radio Cab drove up. I didn’t think it was the one I had called, but I waved it to the curb anyway.

“Thanks, Grant. Really.”

“Any time.” Grant crossed his arms over his chest, hunched against the gusty wind.

I opened the passenger door.

“And, Allie?”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

“Be careful.”

Great.

I gave him the best smile I could manage and got in the cab.

“Where to, lady?” the cab driver asked in overpracticed English.

“The Riverloft Cemetery,” I said.

It was time to face the one person I’d been avoiding since I got back to town. My father.