Hard to explain.
I pointed my Jetta north on Highway 43, hopped off when I got to the suburbs, drove west until I hit Friedenberg. What had begun as a tiny hamlet on the Milwaukee River had become the commerce center of a wealthy subdivision. I lived in the original tiny hamlet, where the buildings were old and the taxes reflected that.
The town was quiet and dark. The single stoplight flashed. Nothing ever happened in Friedenberg. At least until I had moved in.
I parked behind the combination business and residential two-story I'd purchased after leaving the force. A knickknack shop, understandably empty at this time of night, rented the ground floor.
After opening the outside door, then closing and re-locking it, I hurried upstairs to my apartment. A quick glance into the two rooms—one for living/sleeping/ dining and another for bathing—revealed I was alone. For now.
Quickly I changed out of my jeans, torn shirt, ugly vest and sandals into another pair of jeans, a navy blue tank top—July in Wisconsin was still July and the temps hovered in the high seventies long after the sun went down—then tennis shoes. Running in sandals never worked out very well, and lately, I ran a lot.
I threaded Ruthie's crucifix onto the chain with Sawyer's turquoise, then pulled the amulet from my pocket to take a better look. In the center of the circlet a five-pointed star had been etched. Carved into the opposite side were several words in a language I didn't know. Since my repertoire consisted of English, English, and then a little more English, it could be anything.
I shoved the amulet into my jeans. Since I'd yanked it off his mother's skinny neck, maybe Sawyer would have a clue as to what it was.
And speaking of Sawyer's mother—
I opened the dresser drawer next to my bed and removed the photo I kept there. When I'd first seen this picture in the lair of the leader of the darkness—a quaint term for the other side's big boy—I'd nearly had a heart attack. I'd recognized her face from the night Sawyer had conjured her in the desert.
Until today, I hadn't known the woman of smoke was also a Naye'i. I hadn't known she was Sawyer's mother.
I had known she was evil, and I hadn't liked at all finding her likeness next to the place where Satan's henchman slept. So I'd snatched it.
Now I was wondering if that hadn't been a less than brilliant idea. Before I could think about it too much, I tore the photo into itty-bitty pieces, then ground it up in the garbage disposal. Maybe that would keep her from finding me again. But I doubted it.
I kept a duffel under my bed, always packed and ready—clothes, cash, my laptop. I'd had no call to use the bag in the past month. My visions of supernatural baddies had dried up as thoroughly as the small plot of grass in my backyard.
I hadn't been sure if that was because I was a little short on demon killers, having only two in my arsenal after last month's massacre. Jimmy, who was in the middle of a mini-meltdown and no help at all, and Summer Bartholomew, who I just plain didn't like and wouldn't call unless I had to.
When push came to shove—and it would, it always did—I had myself. I was the first demon-killing seer in history. Let no one say that I am not an overachiever.
However, I found it hard to believe that the head honchos upstairs—my name for whoever sent me information via Ruthie's voice or an old-fashioned vision— would have given me a break in my duties just because I was shorthanded.
The other option was that I'd lost my power, and it hadn't felt that way, even before Ruthie had whispered Naye'i.
But now I had a third option in the amulet I'd yanked off the woman of smoke. She'd been able to get close to me because I hadn't received the usual advance warning of impending doom. Until I'd gotten my hands on the medallion, Ruthie's ghostly voice had been silenced.
I really needed to find out what that thing was.
I stowed my knife in the duffel, then cast a glance at the safe under my sink where I kept my gun when I wasn't at home. I could bring the knife on the plane as long as I checked the bag, but there were rules about transporting firearms by air—particular cases required, certain ways the ammunition had to be packed—and I didn't know them all.
That sense of urgency that had been riding me since I left Murphy's won, and I decided to make do with the knife. Guns weren't all that useful against Nephilim anyway, unless you knew where to hit them, how many times, and with what.
Looping the luggage strap onto my shoulder, I turned. Someone stood in the doorway.
CHAPTER 3
Ruthie's voice remained silent. But after the incident with the Naye'i, the lack of that whisper wasn't as dependable as it used to be.