“No.” I rubbed my temples, feeling the lurking onset of the hangover that awaited me. “But you’re right. That’s what they were looking for in Pemkowet. Not drugs. It all comes down to sex.”

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.