The second was a stone placard hung beside the front door of the McMansion announcing it to be the residence of the Locksley family, complete with a faux-heraldic crest with a Latin motto and pair of crossed arrows on prominent display. Yeah, crossed arrows—the missing piece of the puzzle from my mom’s reading. Las Jaras, the destination.

Oh, crap.

Johnny’s pupils dilated a split second before I bolted, and he was on me before I’d gotten ten steps toward the road, tackling me, his greater weight bringing me down. I hit the driveway hard, banging my chin and seeing stars. He rolled me over effortlessly, straddling my waist and pinning my arms with his knees. I fought a surge of pure panic, channeling it into fury.

“Whatever happened to being Stefan’s trusted lieutenant?” I spat at him.

Johnny inhaled deeply and grinned down at me, his pupils wide and black. “What can I say? I’m afraid I had a change of heart. Got an offer I couldn’t refuse.” He cracked his knuckles and drew back one fist. “Sorry about this, ma’am.”

His fist crashed down against my temple.

And everything went black.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Thirty-seven

My consciousness filtered back slowly. All I knew at first was that my head ached fiercely, and I felt sick and dizzy. Disoriented, I opened my eyes and tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

Water, murky and greenish. Huh. It didn’t feel like I was underwater. I took an experimental breath. Yeah, that worked. Okay, so I definitely wasn’t underwater.

A woman’s face swam into view inches from mine, gray-green and eerie, dark hair swirling around her head, pale translucent membranes over her eyes.

“Gah!” My body convulsed in a futile attempt to scramble backward, which was when I realized I was lying on my side, my hands tied behind my back, my ankles bound together. With an effort, I levered myself to a sitting position.

“She’s awake,” a man’s voice said with the same relish you might use to announce that dinner was ready.

Focusing, I made out the figure of Al the Walrus, his eyes glittering in the dim light. Oh, crap didn’t even begin to sum it up.

“Leave her be for now, you greedy bastard,” a laconic voice retorted. Jerry Dunham thumped the top of what I now realized was an enormous aquarium tank. “You need to feed, feed on good old Rosie here.”

“Ring around the rosie, pocket full of posies!” a woman’s voice sang dreamily. The infanticidal ghoul Mary Sudbury stooped before me, pupils enormous in her blue eyes. She’d died young, pretty, and insane. “Can’t I have just a taste?” she crooned. “I’m ever so tired of mermaid. Her despair’s gone all stale.”

“No. Get off her.” Dunham gave Mary a ruthless shove.