Death magic was not unknown to me, or to Savannah for that matter. Hoodoo and voodoo were not unheard of here, sister religions that could literally go either way. Sometimes toward the white magic, but more often than not toward the blacker magic that stained souls and stole lives. Getting caught out in a cemetery in Savannah near midnight was a dangerous activity, especially when you could see the shadows and all they hid within them.

Gran had made no bones about avoiding the cemeteries at that time, and in fact the one time she’d caught me out past midnight, I’d regretted it for days. I put a hand to my butt as if I could feel the sting of her switch even now. I loved her to pieces, but she’d not been a gran you could cross and hope for cookies the next day. She was old school granny who had more spells up her sleeve than anyone I knew.

If only I could ask for her advice.

But then, maybe I could. Her ghost was just an hour away. I didn’t know how much she’d remember as a ghost, but it was worth trying.

The boat cued up behind us.

“Breena? So quick?” Feish said.

I held up a hand. “Give me just a minute.”

Eric’s eyes wobbled with tears. “I’m really sorry. Please help me.”

The sounds of the waterway stilled as the engine died, and the birds that had been chirping a moment ago went suddenly quiet. Just like every horror movie I’d ever seen, right before the bad guys did something bad. My guts twisted and I found myself tackling Eric to the ground in a move that was stupid. Even as we went down, I thought the two of them would laugh at me.

Except something thunked into the boat behind us and Feish squawked. I rolled to see a dart with a red piece of fluff sticking out its butt end jammed deep into the wood frame of the boat.

“Get in the boat! And stay down!” I grabbed Eric by the arm and half hauled him from the ground and into the boat while a wide-eyed Feish stared at me like I’d sprouted horns. Maybe I had.

I leaned into the boat, pushing it out into deeper water, feeling the strain on my old muscles, and my old lungs, and my old bones.

Yes, that’s sarcasm.

I was waist deep getting the boat out as far as I could and my bag suddenly dragged me down, as if it were strangling me. I yelped and clung to the boat as I was slowly pulled under the water.

I reached down to my bag. Something had the bottom of it and was pulling me back toward shore. A gator wouldn’t take me to shore, that was some small measure of comfort.