Bad enough that part of me thought Eammon was a leprechaun.

Not just think, you know he is.

I gritted my teeth and ignored that inner voice that sounded so much like my gran. Gran as she’d been in her prime, filled with love for the darker side of things, a love she’d instilled in me. It had all seemed so far away when I was on the West Coast. It had been easy to think Himself was right, that she was eccentric and maybe a little crazy.

“Crazy old lady, before you know it, she’ll be overrun with cats and that house will be taken over by the city, ruining the value,” he’d said more than once. The value of the house always being the key point. What a ducking douche.

But here I was, stepping willingly into the same crazy waters that my gran had lived in. A part of me wondered if it wasn’t a mid-life crisis kind of thing. You know, suddenly you start dancing under the moonlight and chanting together as you burn incense and eat mushrooms that make your head spin.

The other part of me knew I’d just opened the door I’d asked Gran to shut all those years ago with that simple prayer I’d whispered. Because seeing bogies in the dark of a graveyard wasn’t something I’d experienced in a long, long time.

And that was exactly what I was seeing—a figure that wasn’t human.

Maybe it had been, but it surely wasn’t now.

What in the world was I getting myself into?

2

“Yeah, I see your scrawny butt over there.” I swallowed hard but kept my voice as steady as my flashlight. I’d come to this interview knowing in my heart that I’d be stepping into a world that would show its monsters to me if I asked. I’d asked, hell, I’d prayed for it.

Now the monsters were there, looking back at me.

Didn’t mean I wasn’t sweating like a pig in a hothouse.

“Come out. Right now.” There it was, Gran’s voice coming out of my mouth.

Sharp. Authoritative. I’d channeled her no-nonsense, kick-your-hind-end-if-you-don’t-listen-to-me tone.

“No.” The whisper-growled word sent a chill straight down my spine.

Be bold.

“Do not make me come over there, or you will be very, very sorry.” I snapped the words. “I am here for an interview, and if you make me any later, so help me. God in heaven will not save you from me . . .”

The rustling behind the gravestone made every hair stand along the back of my neck and my bare arms. I kept the light unmoving as the person slid to the left. Head down, long hair covering his face and eyes, scraggly clothes that hung off a whip-thin frame that made the Eric fellow from earlier look fat.