“You’ve never seen a loa before? An orisha?”

“Holy crap.” His eyes got really wide, and he eased back a few steps, as if it was catching. “That was a—”

“Not a normal one, no.” I cast a critical eye over the apartment. “Get going. He won’t stay knocked out forever, but you should be able to get him downtown. If he wakes up in the back of the car and gives you trouble, smack him in the face with holy water and keep repeating a Hail Mary or something.”

“I’m Protestant.”

For Christ’s sake, like that matters. “Then recite the Nicene. Or the goddamn Wheelwrights lineup, whatever works.” I straightened. “Go on. I’m going to look around.”

“What for?”

“For signs of what he’s mixed up in. You don’t just trip and fall and get a spirit in you, you know.” Even Possessors had to spend weeks of effort to worm their way into a human host.

“Ha ha. I suppose you’re not going to help me carry him?”

“Saul will.” I glanced over at my Were again. He nodded slightly, and his jaw was set. I couldn’t think why, until something warm and stinging dropped into my eyes. “Shit.” I touched my forehead, discovered a shallow slice. “I’m bleeding.” I actually sounded surprised.

Avery rolled his eyes. “Hanging around you is a never-ending adventure.”

It’s that way for me too. “Shut up and get this guy locked up before he does anything else.”

Bare fridge, bare cupboards—only a can of refried beans and a paper bag of Maseca, as well as a bottle of vinegar, for some reason. Threadbare clothes, two uniform shirts with the victim’s name embroidered on them. A pair of busted sneakers in the closet. It was like a monk’s cell.

I poked at the remnants of the cot. Was standing, staring at the twisted curlicues of metal and sharp sheared-off ends, when Saul reappeared, closing the door with a slight click. “Anything?”

“Nothing. If he’s a follower, he’s got it well hidden.”