My sense for supernaturals has about a 60 percent accuracy rating: the “weaker” someone’s power is, the less likely I’d detect it. I’d been told I could hone this skill, but had no idea how except through practice and concentration. There were maybe a half-dozen other Expisco half-demons in the world and I had no idea how to find them, so I was stuck muddling through on my own.

Two girls stood at the tent flap, daring each other to go inside as a male friend egged them on. Typical students on a spring break, with burnt noses and bad dye jobs from a last-minute decision to test whether blonds really did have more fun.

“I hope she’s not trying out for a spot,” one girl muttered as I headed their way. “My fourteen-year-old sister has bigger boobs.”

“She can practice her Kama Sutra on me anytime,” the guy said.

I nodded to them as I passed, pretending I hadn’t heard. Just like Mom would have done…though she probably wouldn’t have added the mental “Fuck you.”

I pulled the tent flap open a crack. A stomach-churning blend of pot and incense rolled out.

“Caesar Romeo?” I called.

“Who’s askin’?”

“Faith Edmonds. You’re expecting me?”

The dimly lit tent was divided into rooms. The front one was a reception area, complete with chairs and magazines-Playboy and Penthouse. Maybe for inspiration.

“Well?” the voice barked. “If I’m expecting you, what the fuck are you waiting for? Get your ass in here.”

I followed the voice into a room that looked like a sultan’s tent. Multicolored pillows carpeted the sand floor. A huge gilt mirror on a stand had been tilted at an odd angle-odd until I followed the reflection to the pillows.