Lurine crossed the invisible threshold that marked the return to Hel’s domain, and both of us relaxed a bit, feeling brightness restored to the world even in the dark of night. “It so often does, cupcake.”

The cards from my mom’s reading danced behind my eyes as I tried to put the pieces together. La Calavera, the victim’s grinning skull. Had it been just earlier today that I’d attended Thad Vanderhei’s funeral? Yes, it had. La Botella . . . Urgh. My stomach turned sour at the thought of it.

La Araña, the spider in its web sprawling over Jerry Dunham’s shoulder, his flat, dead gaze meeting mine as he spoke of headless chickens, and that had been this morning, too . . .

Las Jaras, the arrows.

I didn’t have a fix on that one at all.

After that . . .

Lulled by the soft, steady sound of the Honda’s engine, I drifted into sleep, waking only when Lurine pulled into the driveway of her gated estate and put the car in park, shutting off the engine.

Lurine eyed me. “Under the circumstances, I think we’ll put you up for the night in one of the guest rooms, okay?”

I yawned, too tired to protest. “Okay.”

Ten minutes after we pulled into the drive, I was nestled in the depths of a bed with a feather-cushion mattress, ironed sheets with a ridiculously high thread count drawn up to my chin. Everything smelled fresh and clean and faintly of lavender. I wriggled with contentment and snuggled deeper into the mattress, my tail twitching in gentle approval. It made a nice swishing sound against the sheets.

Lurine deposited a glass of water on the bedside table. “There are toiletries in the guest bath. Got everything you need?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good.” Stooping, she kissed my forehead, sort of like she used to do when babysitting me, only not quite. “I’ll be out for a while.”

With an effort, I propped myself up on my elbows. “Where?”

“Down to the beach.” A dreamy look crossed her face. “Night’s the only time I can swim freely.”

“Oh.” Now, that would be a sight to see: Lurine in all the splendor of her true form, diving and cavorting through the white-crested wavelets of Lake Michigan on a midsummer night, the iridescent scales of her muscular coils glinting in the moonlight, their joyous rainbow hues muted to a complex monochrome palette. I was a little sorry to miss it and a little relieved, too. “Have fun.”

She smiled. “I will.”

I slept.

It seemed as though no more than a few minutes had passed before my phone chimed an incessant alert, but when I squinted my way awake, there was a faint, gray daylight behind my eyelids.

I fumbled for my phone. “’Lo?”

“Daise?”

It was Jen, and she sounded scared. I dragged myself upright against no fewer than five very soft down pillows. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s up? Is it your sister?”

“No, it’s Brandon.”

“Your brother?” I was still half-asleep.

“Mom and Dad had a fight. He took off in the middle of the night. I only just realized it.”

“Hang on.” I downed at a single gulp half the glass of water Lurine had left for me. “Okay, so Brandon’s missing. Did you report it?”

“Of course I did!” Now Jen sounded impatient. “Officer Mallick said boys will be boys. He told me to call back if Brandon wasn’t home by lunchtime.”

I pressed the cool glass of water to my temples. “Do you know where he went?”

Although I couldn’t see it, I knew that on the other end of the phone, Jen gave a helpless shrug. “Where does he always go?”

I knew the answer to that question.

In times of trouble, of which there were many in the Cassopolis household, Jen’s brother, Brandon, fled into the woods and marshes behind their house, where he could hunker down and hide. It was exactly the kind of stupid, dangerous place that appealed to an eleven-year-old kid, but he’d never stayed away for long.

Overnight was a record. Overnight meant he ran a serious risk of encountering something very unpleasant.

“Okay, okay! Don’t panic.” I scrambled out of bed. “I’m going to call Cody.”

“He’s not on duty,” Jen said. “I asked.”

I squirmed into my denim skirt. “I’m going to call him anyway. We need a tracker.”

There was a little silence. “Do you think he’ll do it?”

“I don’t know.” I switched the phone to my other ear so I could squeeze my right arm into my sleeveless top, then switched back to do the other, yanking it over my head. “But I’m sure as hell going to ask. I’ll call you back.”

Cody picked up on the second ring, sounding surprisingly alert for a guy who’d worked patrol on the night shift.

I explained the situation to him. “I thought maybe you could shift and track him for us. See . . .” I winced. “Jen knows.”

There was a silence, and it wasn’t little. If it weren’t for the slow, steady sound of his breathing, I would have thought he hung up.

“I’m sorry!” I said. “It’s just . . . Oh, crap, I’ll explain later. But she won’t tell anyone. And the thing is, it’s dangerous out there. If Brandon hasn’t come home yet, it probably means he’s in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Cody asked curtly.

“The green, slimy, and pointy-toothed kind,” I said. “There’s a mucklebones in the marsh.”

“A what?”

“A Jenny Greenteeth. Only Jen didn’t like sharing a name with it, so we called it Meg Mucklebones, which, yes, is from a movie. . . . Gah! It’s a marsh hag, Cody. They drown and eat children. Are you coming or not?”

“I’ll be there.” He hung up.

I was leaving a note in the kitchen when Lurine drifted out wearing a sheer, lacy nightgown and robe straight out of a Victoria’s Secret fantasy, only probably ten times as expensive. “What’s up, cupcake?” she asked in a sleepy, sultry voice. Honestly, I don’t think she was even trying for sultry; it was just her default mode. “I heard you talking to someone.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Hel’s liaison is on call. Got a possible eldritch emergency.”

Her gaze cleared and sharpened. “Do you need help?”

I shook my head. “Cody’s on his way to meet me.”

“Oh, good.” Yawning, Lurine stretched languorously. “Then I’m going back to bed.” She smiled at me. “I had a goood swim last night.”

Okay, that time she was trying. I suppressed a faint shiver. “All right, I’ll talk to you later. Thanks again.”

“Anytime.”

Twenty-seven

The sun was only just clearing the horizon when I left Lurine’s place, the sky a pale eggshell-blue. It was a still, quiet morning. Below the bluff, Lake Michigan was calm and glassy, its waters unusually translucent.

It would have been lovely if I weren’t hungover, my head throbbing and my stomach roiling. Undercover work was definitely not my strong suit.

The Cassopolises’ house was on the outskirts of East Pemkowet, verging on a tract of undeveloped wetlands. Given Mr. Cassopolis’s temper, I had to admit I was glad to see Cody’s pickup truck already in the driveway. A patrol car would have been even more reassuring, but he was off duty.

Inside the house, it was uncomfortably obvious that it was a scene of domestic violence. Jen’s father was glowering, barely managing to keep his temper under wraps in the presence of a police officer. Her mother sported a bruised lump on the side of her jaw.

She wouldn’t press charges, though. She never did. She’d probably already told Cody she fell and hit her chin on the table.

Jen met my gaze ruefully, confirming my suspicion. “Thanks for coming, Daise.”

“Of course.” I gave her a quick hug, whispering in her ear, “Do you have something of Brandon’s? Cody’s going to need it to track his scent.”

She nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

While Jen left to fetch an item of her brother’s, Cody turned to me. His expression was studiedly neutral, and I couldn’t tell how angry he was. “Got something for you, partner.” He handed me a sturdy, finely worked belt with a metal-trimmed scabbard hanging from it. “Try that on for size.”

“What in the world?” Mrs. Cassopolis said faintly. Her husband silenced her with a glance.

Feeling more than a little silly, I buckled the belt over my denim miniskirt. Although the leather was stiff, the belt fit well and sat perfectly on my hips.

“It will soften with wear,” Cody said briefly. “And I’ll give you some oil for it. Try the dagger.”

Dauda-dagr caught the early-morning light as I eased it out of the makeshift deerskin scabbard, its etched runes flaring. It slid into the new scabbard as if . . . well, as if it were made for it.

Both the Cassopolises stared.

And suddenly I didn’t feel silly anymore. I was Hel’s liaison. The Norse goddess of the underworld had marked a rune onto my left palm with the hand of life, and she had given me dauda-dagr with the hand of death, a badge of status visible for all to see, eldritch and mundane alike, a symbol of her trust. I had the right to bear it openly, maybe even a duty. I found myself standing a little straighter, a little taller.

At that moment, Jen returned to eye me with disbelief. “Jesus! Way to accessorize, Daise.”

Okay, maybe it didn’t exactly go with a miniskirt. “It’s a magic dagger,” I informed her. “And it has a name.”

“Okay.” She processed that without blinking. “Shall we go?”

Cody gave a brusque nod. “Time’s wasting. Show me which way you think your brother went.”

The Cassopolises’ backyard was small and overgrown, boasting a rusty swing set that I was pretty sure had been there when they bought the place decades ago. Beyond it, a faint trail led into the woody underbrush.