I shook my head. This was crazy.

Crazy.

And I was embracing it like the nutter that Himself had accused me of being. I held my chin up a little higher, continually sweeping the area with the flashlight. I was not going to be surprised.

The tombstones I touched on with the light were broken and in complete disrepair. Terrible. That was going to make for a lot of pissed-off ghosts.

Fading in and out, shadows moved between the graves. My guess was on the ghosts that would be unhappy with how their graves were being treated. Let’s be honest, that was a huge part of the draw for Savannah tourism, and it wasn’t wrong.

Disturb the dead, and they will make sure you know about it.

I clenched my teeth.

A thick fog rolled in off the ocean, creeping around the remaining tombstones and masking the figures I’d seen. Hiding the path at my feet.

“You’re kidding, right?” I muttered as my flashlight barely pushed through the thick ground cover. I adjusted my bag and glanced at Robert, who was still there despite the disappearing act earlier. “Any ideas?”

“Nooooo.”

“Great.”

Of course, that was when the interview took an unexpected turn.

3

As if I weren’t already surrounded by ample evidence of the shadow world’s existence—graveyard after dark in Savannah, Georgia, check; skeleton companion, check; fog creeping around my bare legs, check—a howl split the air, shattering the stillness.

I jumped; I’ll admit it. Robert flattened himself to the ground in a way that was not natural and he . . . he freaking skittered away like a bug.

“Robert!” I snapped his name and he froze. “Don’t you dare leave me! I gave you a chocolate bar!”

Robert trembled and said one word. “Wolf.”

Wolf. Oh crap.

“Okay, go, go!” I yelled.

Wolves were just big dogs, right? And big dogs were something I knew. Dog groomer by day, part-time law clerk at night, helping Himself with his cases because he was too cheap to hire someone . . . never mind, that was beside the point.

I could do this. I dealt with bad dogs all day, every day.

Another howl cut through the fog and I blew out a breath. “Think, Bree, think!”

I needed something to use as . . . “A muzzle,” I whispered. I yanked my bag off my back and dumped the contents onto the ground. The bag was mid-sized, leather, and had two long handles for carrying crossbody. You know, to keep the thugs from running off with it. We old ladies thought about things like that—muggers and thieves on every corner, if you’d asked my gran.

And, apparently, now me.

I shook it off. If I could catch the bag around the muzzle of one of the wolves, maybe . . . that would be enough.