“So we have water,” Jim said.

“In the original myth, Apep lived in the river,” Chandra said.

“Could he be somewhere in the Chattahoochee?” Derek asked.

“No.” Jim tapped the paper. “Too risky. The Chattahoochee is too shallow and too well patrolled. Half of the city’s shipping comes through it. The army would napalm a giant snake the moment they saw it.”

“So we either have lakes in the north or…” Derek pulled out a map. “Or the Suwanee.”

“The Suwanee River would work,” Jim said. “It’s deep and black water.”

I dug through the manifests. “She put in an order with the teamsters for a large crate shipment to be shipped a couple of weeks ago. Supposedly glassware. It’s going to…Waycross.”

“Waycross, Georgia?” Jim asked.

“Yep.”

“That’s right on the edge of the Okefenokee swamp,” Derek said.

“There are also crate orders for Augusta and Tallahassee,” I said.

“We need a confirmation.” Jim dug through his papers.

Derek and I burrowed into our stacks.

“Pontoon!” Derek announced twenty minutes later. “She bought a pontoon boat.”

“When?” I looked through my notes on the shipping records.

“On the fourteenth. Took it off the lot.”

“She shipped a large crate of antiques down to Folkston on the fifteenth. Where is Folkston?”

“The east edge of the Okefenokee.” Jim rose. “We got her.”

“You can’t be involved,” I reminded him.

“No, we can’t help you fight,” Jim said. “There is a difference. Nobody says we can’t scout the swamp and mark the way for you. You won’t go in blind.”

“I’ll get on the phone,” Derek said.

They left the room.

Doolittle put a cup of hot chocolate in front of me. “Drink this before you go.”

I sipped it. It had to be half sugar. “It’s delicious.”

Doolittle patted my arm. “It’s good for you. A little sugar goes a long way.”

Little, huh?

“Thank you,” I told him. “You were always kind to me. Not many people are. I will never forget it.”

“You are coming back.” Doolittle fixed me with his stare.

“Sure.” I got up and hugged him.

Raphael, Roman, and I rode the ley line out of Atlanta. The magic current ran whether the magic was up or down, but when tech ruled, like it did now, the ley line speed dropped to a mere forty miles per hour. It took us several hours to get there. The magic finally spat us and our cargo out right between Waycross and Folkston into the open arms of a shapeshifter woman with a Pack Jeep. She was short, dark-haired, and had a sprinkling of freckles on her nose.

“Here is your ride.” She held out the keys. Raphael took them. “Go down that road, take the right fork, then the second left. You’ll come to the pier. There are two pontoon boats there. Take them. The way through the swamp is marked with strips of white fabric. Good luck.”

She walked away.