MOSES MECH was scrawled on a piece of torn ruled paper taped inside the front window. Liam walked up the steps to the small concrete porch, knocked on the door. I followed him, waited.

There was a buzz, then a click, and the door unlocked, opened. We stepped inside.

In shotgun houses, the front door directly faced the back door, and each room daisy-chained the next along the way. This front room wasn’t big—maybe ten feet square. But every single inch was filled with shelves, and every inch of shelves was filled with electronics. Old, bulky television sets. Radios. Toasters. Lamps. Electronic toys. Receivers. Clocks. Every row was stacked at least three deep, and the shelves extended all the way to the room’s ten-foot ceilings. Video players were crammed up to the acoustic ceiling tiles, pushing some of them off-kilter.

For all the stuff, there wasn’t a speck of dust or ash in the place. It was clean as a whistle.

A counter had been built at the opposite end of the room, making a barrier between the front room and the door that led to the rest of the house.

A man sat behind the counter. He was small and pale, with green eyes, and a receding line of dark hair. Two glossy black horns popped from each temple. They gleamed like lacquer, and it took several seconds to realize I’d been staring.

It hadn’t occurred to me that Liam would be bringing me to a Paranormal. He hadn’t said one way or the other, but I’d figured he had a friend in some Containment office. I guess I’d been wrong.

“I need you, Mos.”

This must have been Moses, from the sign in the window. Which meant this was his shop.

“And what brings you to Devil’s Isle today?” He looked up, nearly smiled at Liam before sliding that glance to me. His expression became very unfriendly very fast. “You brought someone in here?” His voice was low, gravelly, and utterly pissed.

“She’s with me,” Liam said. “And I need a favor.”

The man snorted, tossed his head, light catching the horns like they were made of glass. “I don’t help clueless humans.”

“You’d be helping me. And she’s not a clueless human. She’s Sensitive.”

Moses looked at me again, head tilted with interest. “I’m listening.”

“She took down a couple of wraiths in the Quarter using magic.”

“She got firepower?”

“Telekinesis,” Liam said, then glanced at me with a smile. “Not that she knows how to use it.”

“She regulating?”

“She is not. She’s pretty much ignorant of everything magic. Containment got her on video,” Liam added. “We need that video cleaned up.”

Moses snorted. “She’s too skinny to take down wraiths.”

“I most certainly am not.”

Both of them ignored me. “She took them out,” Liam said. “My word on it.”

Moses looked at Liam. “You trust her?”

Liam’s blue-eyed gaze was cool and appraising. “I’m not sure yet. But I know Containment’s gonna make trouble if we don’t take care of her Candid Camera problem.” He reached into his jeans pocket, pulled out four shining silver discs about the size of a quarter, laid them on the counter, where an image of St. Louis Cathedral, destroyed in the war, gleamed.

They were Devil’s Isle tokens, created to allow Paras to buy supplies and food from the commissary. I had a dozen in the store’s lockbox, most given to me as souvenirs by agents and officers. Too bad I hadn’t thought to bring them.

“You got cash, you’re the boss,” Moses said, then spun around on his stool. He pulled a keyboard from beneath the counter behind him, rapped his palm hard against one of the monitors.