I can’t see Letitia’s truck anymore, though I can see a bright glow speeding alongside us that’s Letitia herself. The only solid items on this side are things that have been around long enough to imprint on the place. Most of the buildings are missing, and the few that aren’t have been there for decades. I can’t stay long because the environment will kill me, not to mention the ghosts, whose attention we’ve already gotten.

I thump on the roof with my fist. “Welcome to the land of the dead,” I yell. “The premier tourist destination for assholes like you. Whattaya think? Like it?” They answer with a few shots through the roof that come a little too close for my taste.

“Well, if you’re gonna be that way about it, I’ll just leave y’all to your business.” I reverse the spell, jumping from the car at the last moment before shifting back.

I don’t bring Werther’s car with me.

Jet engine noise, bright, blinding sunlight, and I slam into the side of the truck. My gecko hands snag on the edge of the cab and the side of the truck bed, legs dangling dangerously close to the ground. I hook one leg up into the cab and Spider-Man my way from the back of the cab to fall into the seat.

Letitia stares at me. “Where did they go?”

“Somewhere else,” I say. My breath is ragged. I haven’t had to do shit like that for a long time. It was easier than I expected it to be. Well, the spell was.

My body, however, feels like I’ve gone a couple rounds with a bear. Pretty sure my arm is bleeding again, and my hands ache from hanging off the cars.

“Are they coming back?”

“Guy like Werther? Count on it. But we have more important things to talk about.” I draw the Browning and shove the barrel into Letitia’s side. “You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing here, Letitia? I’d hate to have to kill you before I find out what’s going on.”

Chapter 8

Letitia keeps her eyes on the road and doesn’t say anything. I push the gun harder into her side. I’m running out of patience and I’m not in the mood for anyone’s bullshit.

“Either you’re thinking of how much to tell me, how to tell it to me, or coming up with a whopper of a lie. If you go with Option C, I’ll know. And then I’ll just shoot you. I might even shoot you just because I assume you’re going to pick Option C anyway.”

“After I saved your life?”

“Very conveniently, too. You just happened to be in that spot at that time with a stolen truck. You’ve changed, Letitia. I don’t recall you having a taste for larceny.”