As I watched Clive make contact with Holly, she screamed.

  Her cheek where Clive made contact was falling off. The flesh was sliding away.

  Sylvie and I both jerked back in shock as Holly dropped to her knees.

  And I couldn’t breathe again. I quickly reached for her again, this time wrapping my hand around her waist. And again, I could breath.

  Sylvie locked hands with me, gripping me firmly. “Hector!” she screamed.

  And he came. He looked only half alive, but he came.

  Sylvie set Clive on the ground—the only weapon we had that worked against Holly—and then grabbed at Hector’s hand.

  He gasped, inhaling deeply.

  “Her head. Quickly. Before she recovers.”

  He didn’t question her logic, even though his blade had been useless against her. He simply swung.

  It was awkward. Holly was on her knees and Sylvie still had hold of Hector’s left hand.

  But he managed it.

  It was a powerful stroke with as much of his weight behind it as he could manage with one hand.

  Her head rolled.

  Before that image could forever imprint upon my brain, to be stored with all of the other gruesome deaths I’d witnessed as a soul collector, her flesh and sinew and cartilage turned to dust.

  Nothing but bones remained.

  The stench disappeared.

  I looked for the bartender, but he was gone. No corpse on the ground, simply gone.

  Hector, Sylvie, and I had two seconds to process events when Lilac ran into the pool hall panting. “What happened? Is everyone okay? I kneed the bartender in his manly bits and zip-tied him. Wow! Are those bones? Are those her bones? What happened?!”

  Hector clasped his head and groaned. “Lilac.”

  Her eyes were huge with worry. “Oh, no. Big guy. Are you okay?” But she didn’t wait for an answer. She just hugged him.

  With a final pat on the back, she let him go. “I hate to be a pest, guys, but I do have a man zip-tied in the trunk of Geoff’s car, so…”

  16

  Lilac drove home.

  After, of course, we released the zip-tied man in the trunk of the car.

  I had no idea how she got him in the trunk. He outweighed her by fifty pounds, at least, but she managed it.

  And when we popped it open—because, yes, she had “closed him in there just to be safe”—he looked terrified. The poor guy was young and confused and had almost certainly been under Holly the succubus’s influence.

  Hector told him that he would hunt him down and make him sorry if he was ever involved with shady magical doings ever again.

  Then he pulled the guy’s wallet out of his back pocket, looked at his license, said, “Uh-huh,” then let him go. He didn’t give the man his license back.

  Hector could be scary, even when he was exhausted and looked like he was about to fall over.

  When Hector was breathing the even cadence of a man deeply asleep, and Sylvie and I were cuddled in the back seat, Lilac whispered, “Spill. What happened? And what was that stuff in the air? Are we all going to die of lung cancer in six months?”

  She looked legitimately concerned about the possibility.

  “Magic,” Hector said without opening his eyes. “It was death magic in the air, and magic doesn’t cause lung cancer. Not usually.”

  “Sorry,” Lilac said.

  “It’s okay. I’d like an explanation as well. I’ll just rest my eyes while I listen.” And when no one spoke, he said, “Sylvie?”

  “I knew something was up right away. I mean after the explosion and Tamara’s charm protected us. When Holly started to talk to us. She was more worried about me than any of you.”

  “Hmm.” I noticed a certain sharpness, as well. She’d not been able to maintain her composed bluff with Sylvie. “And when Hector was in the room, you shouldn’t have been her primary worry.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh,” Lilac groaned. “It’s the necromantic magic. Something about your magic doesn’t play well with her nasty, stolen death magic.”

  “I guess not.” Sylvie closed her eyes for a second and shook her head. “At some point I realized I was the only one not gasping, and then when Geoff touched me, he could breathe as well. But—”

  I had one arm around her shoulders, so I took the opportunity to give her a supportive squeeze.

  She tipped her head against my shoulder and kissed my cheek. Then she said, “I tried to smack her with Clive—oh, no! Clive. I think I left him at the pool hall.”

  I squeezed her shoulder again. “I got him. He’s in the trunk.”

  She let out a sigh of relief. “So, I’m trying to bash this old woman with Clive, which is really just an image out of anyone’s nightmares, when Geoff grabs hold of my arm. The next time I hit her, I really hurt her. Which was when I realized… don’t you all remember? How it was my magic and Clarence’s magic that helped Clarence?”

  She refrained from mentioning resurrection or coming back to life, but we all knew what she meant.

  “That’s interesting,” Hector commented. “I’m not sure I understand the mechanics, but it deserves further study. I can say that my blade only made impact when you were physically touching me as I struck her.”

  “Ick. So you really had to do the beheading thing?” Lilac asked. “I saw all the bones and just assumed something else happened.”

  “What about those bones?” Sylvie asked. “Isn’t there going to be a problem with the police?”

  “If I hadn’t been so out of it, I’d have burned and buried them,” Hector said, “but I doubt those bones will still be there in the morning. I’m ninety percent sure they’ll be dust by dawn.”

  I hoped so. The last thing we needed was to be roped into some human murder investigation. I hated lying, wasn’t that great at it even if I did have a solid poker face, and very much didn’t want to be a witness, or worse, a suspect. That went doubly for Sylvie.

  We had restful silence for all of four or five minutes, then Lilac said, “Do you think Clarence will talk about it now? You know now that the compulsion on him is broken?”

  “I don’t know.” I hoped he would. When he wanted to. It had to be embarrassing for him. He probably felt duped. I’d make sure that he knew all of the details, the ones he probably didn’t know when he was still alive. Assuming he wanted to hear them.

  He’d been targeted, probably because the ability he had to heal would have kept the underlying decay of her mortal body at bay. And when something hadn’t seemed right, perhaps her request for “allegiance,” Clarence had said no.

  And he’d been killed.

  As soon as Holly had met Clarence, his fate had been an early death. With help, he might have escaped her. But nineteen-year-old orphaned Clarence didn’t have a support network. It had just been him against the world.

  Him against Holly.

  But that wasn’t the case any longer, and I’d make sure he knew it.

  Lilac dropped Hector first.

  When she signaled to pull into her driveway, I said, “Do you mind not waking Clarence? I want to talk to him when I’m rested and clearheaded, so I can explain everything right away if he has questions.”

  “Oh, good plan. I get to give him the awesome news that the wicked witch is dead, but he won’t really want to grill me—and that’s only if he’s even awake.” She stopped the car in the road, but now she started forward again. “I’ll just drive to your place and walk home.”

  Five minutes later, the car was parked, Lilac was walking home, and I was down on one knee in front of Sylvie’s house.

  “Marry me.”

  “Are you seriously asking me to marry you in the middle of the night after that disaster?” She was smiling.

  “I am. I didn’t know when the right time would be. I just know that I want to marry you. Who you are now, whoever you become as you embrace your magic. I just want you.” At this point, I realized I was missing an important accessory. “I do have a ring. It’s inside. I mean, inside my house.”

  She laughed. “I’ll marry you, Geoff. But we’re having a traditional ceremony.”

  “Absolutely. If that’s what you want.” Anything she wanted. Because she said yes.

  17

  The next day, sometime in the afternoon, I realized I hadn’t seen Clarence for a few hours.

  I knocked on Clarence’s door. Privacy was important, and Clarence had proven himself to be trustworthy, even if I didn’t agree with all of his choices.

  Knocking before entering was my new mantra. I tried before, but I would succeed now. No excuses.

  “Come in.” His voice sounded curiously muffled.

  Probably because he was under his bed. I could just see his back haunches from the doorway.

  His bed was the metal frame variety and didn’t have much clearance. I wouldn’t have thought he’d fit.

  “You coming out any time soon?”

  “Can’t.”

  I bit back a grin. He’d hear it in my voice if I was smiling. “Are you stuck?”

  “I saw a bug.” His voice sounded weary. “I saw the bug, and then I had this urge to chase it.”

  “Except you don’t really fit and now you’re stuck.”

  “I’m tired of being a cat, Geoff.”

  I couldn’t even begin to imagine. I’d live with no physical body, but I’d never been forced to borrow someone else’s. I leaned against the doorframe and considered how to respond.

  “Most of the time it doesn’t seem to be much of an issue.” He made a growling sound that I took as disagreement, so I hastened to add, “I don’t mean that it’s no hardship to be possessing a bobcat, just that you don’t often have catlike impulses.”

  “No, just sometimes. Still.”

  “I’m sorry, Clarence. That you had such a rough time, and that you ended up stuck in a cat’s body. But I’m not sorry you’re still alive.”

  “Thanks, Geoff.” His back legs twitched. “Do you think you could get me out of here?”

  After a brief discussion regarding tactics—should I lift the bed and let him crawl out, thereby risking my knees or back? Or should I pull him out, risking his dignity and potential inadvertent scratches?—we decided that I should lift the bed to give him room to scramble out.

  “But lift with your legs, okay? The last thing Sylvie needs on her honeymoon is a guy laid out with a back injury.”

  That was exactly what I’d come to discuss. I wanted to tell Clarence I’d asked Sylvie to marry me before he saw the ring.

  “Hello? You still there?” When I didn’t immediately reply, he said, “I saw your browsing history. Good choice with the classic emerald-cut diamond. Classy. Oh, hell. She said yes, didn’t she?”

  He sounded legitimately concerned. Because he was my friend.

  Even though Sylvie and I marrying would disrupt his life, even though he had no idea if he’d be welcome in our joint household, he was still worried that I’d had my heart crushed.

  “Seriously, man. You’re killing me here. My right leg’s kind of falling asleep and I’m worried that Sylvie has lost her ever-loving mind. Give me something.”

  As soon as I’d caught my breath, because being confronted with the reality of amazing friendship can steal it away, I said, “Sorry, Clarence.”

  I lifted the bed frame—using my legs—and he darted out like his rear was on fire. “Oh, man. I thought I was going to be under there all day long.”

  He plunked himself down on a huge pillow in the corner. “Well? When’s the date?”

  I grinned at him. “Because of course she wouldn’t say no. I’m a prize.”

  “You are, Geoff. If you don’t already know it, I’m sure Sylvie will do her best to make sure you figure it out.”

  “She did—say yes, I mean. And no date yet, but we’re not thinking a long engagement.”

  He was nodding as I provided the details. I’d become so accustomed to his presence that it no longer seemed strange for his feline body to make human gestures.

  “We’re both hoping you’ll stay with us. You’re family.”

  If I wasn’t mistaken, he relaxed slightly. But then he grinned in that mischievous, what-trouble-may-make way of his. “I’m family, huh? Does that mean I can be your best man? Because I have several outstanding ideas for your bachelor party.”

  I wasn’t even going to dignify that with a response. No way was I allowing Clarence anywhere near my bachelor party. A quick topic change was in order. “Remember that movie night we were going to have?”

  “DVDs from Target, my choice. Heck yeah, I remember.”

  “You still in?”

  “I am so in.” He was off his pillow in a flash. “Can we get some of that alcohol-free beer, too? Please? I promise not to stealth hire any strippers for your bachelor party if you do.” He fluttered his lashes in mockery of coyness.

  I swallowed a groan.

  He probably wouldn’t. I was pretty sure. Then again…

  “Sure. I can pick up some near beer.”

  EPILOGUE

  Three months later

  “You’ll be fine, Clarence.” I hoped. “We’re only going to be gone for two weeks.”

  He blinked innocent feline eyes at me, then he sat down in the entryway right next to my bag.

  Clarence was never innocent. Ever. Even on his best behavior he was far from harmless.

  I had only to think back a few days to my surprise bachelor party for evidence of his ongoing mischievous bent. At least he’d kept to his promise: there hadn’t been strippers. Illegal poker, cigars, a bottle of thirty-year-old whisky that I was fairly certain cost around a grand—and bratwurst. Naturally there’d been plentiful supplies of Clarence’s favorite German sausage.

  His only redeeming act was to hire a cleaning service for the following day, and leaving the massive mess that had been in honor of my nuptials for dear Mrs. Feldhaus, our regular cleaner.

  I swallowed a sigh. This was our honeymoon. Sylvie and I were allowed to leave for a honeymoon. One without Clarence.

  Especially considering the fact that my new wife and I were about to embark on a new phase in our lives and we’d both agreed without hesitation that Clarence would be a part of that life. He was family.

  All the more reason the two of us wanted some alone time before we settled into a future that involved all three of us under one roof.

  After taking a discreet, steadying breath, I turned to Lilac. I’d already tried to prepare her for the task she’d accepted, but it was down to the wire and I realized I might not have been as blunt as I should have been. “Hide all of your credit cards.”

  “Hey!” Clarence shot a resentful look my way, then he leaned against my luggage, leaving a trail of downy cat hair in his wake. “I don’t do that anymore. Besides, I have my own money.”

  Which was even more terrifying. But what could I do? He might keep his own odd sort of hours and probably was doing all sorts of illegal things for his clients, but he worked hard. That money was his. I was starting to suspect he’d hoarded a nice little nest egg.

  I ignored the hair on my luggage and refrained, as I always did, from asking questions about the exact nature of his employment. “Clarence-proof the liquor cabinet. And don’t, truly, do not give him spicy people food.”

  As much as Clarence claimed his need for comfort food, he didn’t feel well when he indulged. I wasn’t his keeper, more like a personal trainer who constantly encouraged him to make good choices. He needed that personal trainer in his life, and I wasn’t sure Lilac was enough of a drill sergeant to pass as his personal trainer in life—for two whole weeks. And now I was mixing up all my metaphors.

  Lilac shared a look with Sylvie that made it clear my panic was showing.

  And I let it show even more when I asked her, “Can you be a drill sergeant personal trainer?”

  To her credit, she didn’t look confused by the crazy that was coming out of my mouth. “No. But I’ve got this, Geoff. We’ve got this.”

  Did she really, though?

  I’d been responsible for Clarence long enough to know just how problematic he could be when stressed—and he was more than a little stressed about my recent marriage to Sylvie. He was happy for us, but along with that came a solid dose of concern for his own place in the household. We’d reassured him. We both loved him, and he was family. There was no room for debate on that point, but he still—

  A knock on the front door derailed my train of thought.

  We didn’t have time for a visitor. Sylvie and I had to leave for the airport within the next fifteen minutes. I glanced at my watch. No, the next fourteen minutes.

  Sylvie answered the door without any signs of worry. No sense of impending doom was making her heart pound with apprehension.

  Something was going to prevent us from having our moment.

  We’d planned. We’d prepared. We’d packed well in advance. And yet, here we were—I glanced at my watch again—thirteen minutes before our scheduled departure time, answering the door to an unexpected visitor.

  I arrived at her side just as she swung it wide.

  “How can I help you?” Sylvie spoke in a pleasant tone, one that conveyed a lack of recognition.

  The woman on my porch appeared to be a stranger.

  She wasn’t.

  The first time I’d met her I’d had the impression of a pleasantly pretty, plump, motherly woman. But then I’d looked into her eyes—her bright green witchy eyes—and I’d caught a glimpse of someone else beneath the glamour she used to disguise herself.

  I’d wondered since if she’d given me that glimpse of her true self, and now I was even more certain she had.

  I recognized her witchy green eyes first. But it only took a heartbeat for the rest of her appearance to spark that old memory.

  “Tamara.” I smiled in greeting.

  The young woman on my porch was Tamara Gilroy, our friendly neighborhood witch. The one who’d looked nothing like the person standing here now.

 

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