“If I’m right, the things were not shooting at you.” No, I was pretty sure Joe had done the shooting. A Hollows member, or whatever the hell we were called once we were trained. Which would explain why no one had ever found the stalker when they’d gone to watch over Eric.

“Was it Joe who was watching you before me?” I asked.

“Yes, how did you know?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“I’m a good guesser, but I don’t think he’ll be watching you again,” I said as we reached the top of the stairs and the door. That scream had me thinking that Joe wouldn’t be watching anyone ever again. Guns and bullets don’t work on demons, I knew that much. He’d have needed a silver knife. Like mine. I shivered, grateful I had the knives Crash had sold me. Without them . . . well, let’s not think about that. “Okay, cover me.”

He stood there with his arms spread wide and I just shook my head. “Never mind. Turn around and watch the street. See if anyone notices us here.” Which was totally possible. My gran’s house was on a side street, sure, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t foot traffic. Her place was right next to the Sorrel Weed house which was a popular tourist stop with its history of blood, death, and ghosts.

“People are looking,” he whispered.

“Wave at them, look friendly,” I said as I set to picking the old tumblers. My gran always kept the lock greased, which was about to work in my favor as I picked one tumbler after another in quick succession. The lock clicked open and I stood, reached back for Eric, and dragged him inside with me. “Stay away from the windows,” I said as I turned and locked the door behind us. “Better yet, sit there.” I pointed at the bench in the entryway, kind of built into the wall. “You should be able to see someone come to the door, but they won’t immediately be able to see you.”

“You’re better at this than I thought,” he said. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

I wanted to tell him to stuff it, but instead just went up the stairs, each one creaking under me as much as an announcement of my presence as my voice. “Gran?”

A whiff of her perfume tugged me forward and I hurried toward what had been her bedroom. She paced the room, a bit more transparent than she’d been the other day, but that could be the shaft of sunlight that slid through the arched window behind her.

“Gran, I need your help.” I sat on the edge of the bed, a small puff of dust rolling up.