“Usted va a pesar de que, bruja.” For a moment I saw them—little boy and little girl, both with crystalline eyes and bowl-cut black hair, the girl in a shift and the boy in a brown loincloth. The shape between them was androgynous, melting first into the girl’s body, she mutated into the boy, and the third shape whisked them both back out of sight, receding down a long tunnel. The sound of a door closing, sharp and firm, echoed through shocked air.

I sagged. The victim was unconscious, his face slack and empty. “Ogoun,” I whispered. “Legba, Ogoun, thank you. Muchas gracias. Thank you very much.”

“What. The. Hell?” Avery didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have to.

“It’s bad news.” I glanced at Saul, who hadn’t moved from the door. He leaned forward, though, tense and expectant, his dark eyes not leaving me. He was pale under his coloring, and I found out I was still smelling like rotting goop.

I couldn’t wait to get home and take a shower.

“I got that much.” Avery crouched gingerly. I let go of the victim, who slumped to the floor, breathing heavily. “That smelled like cigars. And… rum?”

“Put him in a holding tank downtown. Get me a file on him, too. I need two headshots.” I straightened. Every muscle in my body cried out in pain, then subsided into a dull howling. “Keep the door bolted. Watch him. If you have to, buzz me again.”

“Great. Okay.” Ave visibly restrained himself from asking me why, and I checked. I get so used to dealing with one thing after another that sometimes letting someone else in on the situation doesn’t occur to me. But Ave would do his job better if he knew what he was dealing with.