decided to leave the sketched glyphs. They’d freak the workmen out, but then maybe they’d stop putting their tools on it. The candles, though, were linked to people, and I plucked them one by one and dropped them in the paper bag with the original vials until I could do an incinerate-and-flush.
Everything that didn’t go into the waste bin fit in my oversize shoulder bag. Landon would meet with us if Zack was there. And once we proved the baku was in him, we could see about a cease and desist.
But I knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. I’d probably have to do something I didn’t want to. Grim, I began to make a mental list of what I needed. New sleepy-time charms in my splat gun. A handful of zip-strips for Landon or his security. “A new stick of magnetic chalk,” I whispered. Finger sticks, salt vials, a pain amulet or two. Perhaps a curse to remind Landon I was a demon. That slinky black dress that hid my thigh holster really well.
“If I’m lucky, the charms in my room will still be good,” I mused, steps fast as I went down the hall. But I slowed as I pushed the door open. Everything was the way I’d left it: the closet open and empty, and the dresser top clear. The bed was stripped, and an old sheet covered it to keep the construction dust that slipped under the door from coating the mattress.
“Bingo,” I said, kneeling before one of the boxes stacked in the corner. The harsh sound of the tape lifting off was loud, and I shuffled around the bric-a-brac, dropping a few things into my bag to take home until I found the little vial of pinkie-nail-size sleepy-time splat balls. The use-by date was coming up, but they were still good, and with a quick practiced motion, I refilled my splat gun’s reservoir and snapped it closed. Satisfied, I dropped it in my bag and stood.
A sliding thump from the belfry pulled my head up, and I stared at the ceiling as if I could see through it. “Jenks?” Maybe he needed help moving something. “You okay up there?”
Silence came back, and then my pulse hammered at the rhythmic creak of steps. Someone was in the belfry. With Jenks.
I jolted into motion, swinging my bag around and fumbling inside it for my splat gun as I went into the hall. “Jenks?” I shouted as I dodged the hole in the sanctuary floor, then skidded to a stop, almost running into the shadow in the dark vestibule.
“Don’t pull that, Morgan.”
It was Weast, and I froze, my grip wrapped around the butt of my splat gun, still hidden in my bag. What the hell is he doing here? “I pull it, I use it,” I said, tone hard. “What happens depends on what comes out of your mouth next. Where’s Jenks?”
A thread of tension ruined his cool and relaxed stance as he glanced at the stairs to the belfry. “He’s with Glenn. Something about a heat block. Apparently it’s under a few boxes. I’m sure they’ll be down in a moment. Meantime, you and I can talk.”
“Talk. Sure.” Motions slow, I took my hand out of my bag, satisfied when Weast relaxed. “Walking into a demon’s church without knocking isn’t smart,” I said. “But I’m glad you’re here. I could use your help with the baku.”
“Twisting curses?” he said, and I took an instinctive step back when he came out of the shadows and into the light. His eyes were on the stripped pool table with its ten-pointed stars and melted wax as if knowing what everything was for. “On a Monday, no less.”
My eyes narrowed at his flippant attitude. “It’s new. I can prove the baku is attacking people with it. The I.S. is going to have to let everyone go.” I hesitated. “I’m its target. They got in the way. Landon is using the baku to try to make me kill Trent.”
Weast nodded, his eyes now on the underside of the roof. “That’s our theory as well.”
My lips parted. Thanks a hell of a lot for telling me that, Glenn. “And it’s none of my business?” I said, bringing Weast’s attention back to me. “The baku has been honing its skills for, what? Two weeks? Damaging people’s souls in the process. You can see it in their auras. In mine, in theirs. I can prove Landon is hosting it. I just need—”