Flood walls encased the Cathedral’s block-long base and outbuildings, topped with razor wire and security lights, the brightest I’d seen anywhere. Rubio said Abel’s surge had washed through the crypt but left the main sanctuary untouched. Over the years, storm damage had remained minimal. I was meant to see this as a sign from God, but Rube didn’t push his faith on you. As I saw it, just another smart choice of building site.

I leaned out over the sill to peer uptown. Almost to my assigned territory, and ready to do a little poking around before deciding my next move.

A rustle along the corridor jarred me to full alert.

Oh no! Incoming, and I was caught flat and dreaming. No time to run. I hugged my arms around my bag, close to my chest, tucked my head, whirled and flung myself madly at the shadow sliding up behind me.

It let out a strangled yelp and went down, tucking and rolling same as I did, making for a soft landing and a ready getaway. The yelp was familiar, and so was the cackling laugh it wheezed out, back-sprawled on the concrete, arms flung wide in a caricature of surrender.

I sprang up. “Spunk! You creep! You lousy . . .”

“Have sum respect fer yer eldahs!” More helpless cackling.

“What are you . . . ?”

“Whew! Good one, Glimmagirl!” He pulled in one long breath, then quick as a cat was back on his feet, dusting himself off. “Ya learned that lesson right enough!”

Hands on hips, I tried for justifiable outrage. “What are you doing?”

He mimicked my pose. “Whatchu doin’, just standin’ dere lika lox?”

“I wasn’t . . .”

“That’s twice ya nearly got bagged tonight.”

“Twice?” Ah. Dark Boy. “You been following me?”

He cocked his head, which to me always seemed too big for his body—long and horse-like, with his reddish hair sticking out from under the stained ball cap he always wore, even indoors. “How else I gonna see ya in action?”

“You’re still testing me?” My shoulders sagged.

“Looks like I betta.” Spunk sidestepped to the window wall and peered out. His half-toothed grin flashed in the glare of the security lights. “Whacha doin’ up heah? Prayin’?”

“Not me.” I shrugged, flicked a hand toward the cathedral. “Only I told Rubio . . .”

“Ah, fer him.”

“Just being neighborly.”

“Yeah, yeah. Da boy could use a prayer or two. Not sure he deserves it.” He turned to face me. “So whatchu got in yer bag?”

“Huh?”

“Whatchu picked up on da dock.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Fergot it already, didya?”

“No, I . . .” I snatched up my still-damp grab bag, so relieved that my fingers fumbled at the laces. I fished out the bracelet and coins and presented them on my palm. “Probably plastic. Or maybe glass.”