“Deb? It’s Isaac.” I pulled my jacket tighter. If she had a working furnace, she hadn’t bothered to turn it on. “It’s been a hellaciously long day.”

Lena raised one sword and approached the staircase. She touched the rail, then one of the steps. “The wood’s old, but sturdy. It’ll hold our weight.”

Her skin roughened as she climbed the steps. The wood living within her flesh usually grew alongside her bones. It made for fascinating X-rays. But she could manipulate that wood into a kind of subdermal armor when she wanted to, growing plates of hardened oak over muscle and organs.

She could grow the armor externally as well, along with sharp wooden spurs from her knuckles and joints, but for the moment she retained a more-or-less human appearance.

“I’m not in the mood for games, Deb,” I called out. “This doesn’t have to get ugly.”

“Breaking into my house, issuing threats and demands?” The voice came from upstairs to the left. “The Porters never change, do they?”

“Can you see her or her magic?” whispered Lena.

“I don’t have X-ray vision.” Though if I dug up a Superman novelization, maybe Roger Stern’s The Death and Life of Superman . . . I mentally added that to my never-ending list of potential research projects.

Footsteps creaked overhead, on the opposite side of the house from Deb’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” I called. “Did you have company?”

“Oh, you know. The life of a MILF.”

“MILF?”

“Monster I’d like to—”

“Right.” There was an image I didn’t need.

I checked Smudge, then signaled for Lena to go ahead. She moved forward and flipped a light switch at the top of the stairs. A lone incandescent bulb lit up overhead. I tucked my reading lamp away and followed.

If anything, the second story of Deb’s home was in worse condition than the first. The doors had all been removed from their frames, exposing a truly foul bathroom suffering from water damaged ceilings and decorated in a mildew and rust stain motif. To the left was a bedroom with an old twin mattress on the floor and a swarm of carpenter ants attacking what looked like leftover Chinese food.

The only room that showed signs of civilization was a small library on the other end of the hall. Deb might have let everything else go, but she continued to care for her books. The lone window in the library was undamaged and covered with a sheet of insulating plastic for additional protection. A small dehumidifier hummed by the wall.

There was no sign of Deb or her guest.

“Renfields can’t change form or go invisible,” I whispered. “She’s here somewhere.”

“Check the library for an attic door,” said Lena. “I’ll look in the bedroom.”