“You were in her lane,” Jaime said. “Got a police report to prove it. Who killed you? The idiot who got behind the wheel of his convertible, so pissed he couldn’t even fasten his seat belt. That kid you hit will spend the rest of her life wearing leg braces. And you want me to help you exact revenge on her?”

I turned on the man, eyes narrowing. He met my gaze and took a slow step back, then wheeled and stalked away.

“Don’t think this is done!” he called over his shoulder.

“I’m coming back. And next time you won’t have your ghost-bitch bodyguard to protect you.”

“You want my help, Eve?” Jaime said. “Make sure he doesn’t come back. Ever.”

I smiled. “Be glad to.”

Massachusetts / 1892

Massachusetts / 1892

THE NIX SNIFFED THE AIR. IT REEKED OF HORSE AND human, the sweat and shit of both. That hadn’t changed. She stood in the intersection of a street wide enough for four or five buggies to pass. Metal rails were embedded in the road, and a strange horseless carriage glided along them. Wooden poles lined the street, with wires strung from pole to pole, crisscrossing over the rows of brick buildings three, four, even five stories high.

Gone were the bustling markets, the narrow cobbled streets, the pretty little shops she remembered. The last time she’d walked the earth, this New World had been nothing more than a few bleak settlements on a wild continent, a place to send murderers and thieves.

The Nix rolled her shoulders, twisting her neck, trying to get used to the feel of this new form. In all the years she’d inhabited Marie-Madeline, she’d never quite grown accustomed to the stink of it, the pain and tedium of a mortal existence. Still, there had been a freedom there that she’d never known in her natural form—the freedom to act in the living world and wreak her own chaos. But now she was in another shape, somewhere between human and demon, a ghost.

A horse and coach veered toward her. She reached out, fingers curving into claws, ready to rip a handful of horse-flesh as the beast ran past. The horse raced through her hand without so much as a panicked roll of its eyes. She hissed as it continued down the road. Even a human ghost should be able to spook a horse. Once, her very presence would have put such fear into the beast that it would have trampled anyone who came near. She closed her eyes, and imagined the chaos she could have created. And now what? After two hundred years of damnation, had she escaped only to moan and lament what she had lost? No, there had to be a way—there was always a way.