fought,” I said, partly addressing Alicia as the conduit to Josiah, and partly addressing thin air. “They’ve returned, and I think you found out something I need to know.”
I give Alicia credit for brass-plated balls, figuratively speaking, because she doesn’t just talk to spirits, she lets them get inside her head. I saw the change come over Alicia as Josiah’s ghost responded to our call. Her stance became more masculine and arrogant, her expression took on a look that was not her own, and one hand caressed the dueling pistol as if it were a long-lost lover.
“I’m here.” Alicia’s voice became harsh and throaty as Josiah’s ghost spoke through her.
“You fought Nephilim,” I replied. “You knew my boss, Sorren. We’ve got problems, and I think you found out something you never had a chance to tell anyone before you died.”
Alicia is a few inches shorter than I am, and you could drop her into any society tea party and she would fit in without missing a beat. So it was jarring to see her give me the once-over like a truck driver, have her gaze linger noticeably at chest level, and then grudgingly rise to meet my gaze with a level prove-yourself glare.
“So that Dutch vampire bastard is still around?” Winfield said. “Figures he’d outlast me.” I waited out his stream of profanity and when I didn’t pale and didn’t flinch, I saw some grudging admiration in his gaze.
“Something is drawing Nephilim to Charleston,” I continued. “Reapers and Watchers, too. People go down stairways and disappear. Is it Sariel?”
Instead of answering my question, Winfield looked at the pistols. “You’ve got my guns.” Josiah Winfield’s voice had a wistful quality, the kind most sane people reserve for lovers or children.
“You weren’t using them anymore,” I replied with a shrug.
“True enough,” Winfield replied, and Alicia absently petted the gun she held as if it were a lap dog. “Reapers and Nephilim, huh? Bad stuff. What did you say about stairs?”
“People go down stairs and never get to the bottom.”
“People with something to hide, or old secrets, maybe a past they’d rather forget?” Josiah’s rough cadence was jarringly at odds with Alicia’s usual way of speaking.
“Yeah,” I said. Josiah chuckled, and the sound sent a shiver down my back. “That’s the Watchers. They’re like enforcers, hired guns.” He gave a hoarse, strained laugh. “Like me, only worse, and they play for the other side.”
“What’s so bad about Watchers?” Teag pressed. He stood a few feet away, keeping a lookout on the alley entrance and exit so we didn’t get surprised.
“Reapers eat regular ghosts. Watchers eat tainted souls,” Josiah replied, with a hint of condescension. “Gives them power. But they don’t show up by themselves. They’re brought across, like the Nephilim, by someone more powerful. Where there are Watchers, there’s gonna be a Judge.”
“What do I need to know to stop the Watchers and the Judge?” I was desperate to get answers before the connection was broken.
The overwhelming guilt washed over me before Josiah could answer. I saw Teag’s face as it hit him, saw him blink back tears and set his jaw to hold his composure. Alicia was silently weeping.
I shook off the guilt, desperate to free the others before we were attacked. “Teag! Alicia! Snap out of it! The guilt is a trick. It’s what the Watchers do. It’s not real.” I couldn’t tell if I was getting through to them, but all hell was about to break loose and I couldn’t handle it by myself.
Movement warned me that we were about to stop talking and start shooting.
Two unnaturally handsome young men were headed toward us from one end of Dueler’s Alley, while two more came from the other entrance. One for every taste: blond, dark, ginger and bald. Teag had pulled himself out of his funk and fell into a defensive stance, his staff in one hand and a magical dagger in the other. Runes blazed at the top of his staff, and the braided cords fastened to the staff juiced up its power with his Weaver magic. I jangled the collar on my left wrist, and Bo’s ghost appeared by my side, ninety pounds of spectral, pissed-off golden retriever.
I had the walking stick in my left hand, and one of Josiah’s pistols in the other. Alicia still held the second pistol, though I doubted she had any idea how to fire it. I couldn’t tell whether she had heard my warning, or whether she was still paralyzed by guilt. That