Heart and Soul by Jackie May (reading list .TXT) 📗

nothing’s there. I stand completely still for a full minute, just watching and listening, but nothing’s there. A vague, human memory comes to my fox mind, of being inside Arael’s East Side demon lair and seeing shadow people in the corners of my eyes.

A shiver snaps me out of my thoughts. Lowering my head to the ground and perking my ears up straight, I slink across the bridge. The creek beneath it glides over smooth stones with hardly a whisper. A loud flapping sound makes me jump—a snowy owl fleeing the shadow under the bridge. It perches on a tree branch overlooking a courtyard surrounded by a gothic iron gate.

Wary of the staring owl and the eerie sound of wind causing the leafless tree branches to clatter like bones, I want to retreat. But beyond the gothic gates, built into the side of a rocky hill, is a mausoleum with marble steps leading up to four Roman pillars. Beneath its domed roof is an ornate mantle carved with words. I don’t read Latin, but I imagine it says something like, Villains only. Or how about Only complete idiots would try to get inside this place at witching hour.

Either way, it’s a perfect match—this is my stop. Now for the worst part. I choose a spot behind the owl’s tree. Dropping the purse, I dig at the ground with my paws to clear the snow. Not that it will help. The ground itself is frozen solid, cold as ice. I step into the small clearing of pine needles and I shift from a fur-coated winter predator into a pink, mostly hairless winter wimp.

My sharp intake of breath scares away the owl. I can only hiss and make strange vowel sounds as I hop from foot to foot while trying to unzip the purse at the same time. I’m supposed to put the earbud in first, but screw that—I need socks now, or my feet will stick to the ground.

I rummage and rummage. Where’s my damn socks? I dump out the purse and kick the pile to scatter my clothes. There they are. After pulling on one, then the other, relief is immediate. I push the hair out of my face, retrieve the earbud, and try to sound professional despite standing in the middle of a graveyard in nothing but tube socks. “I’m here. Enter from the south. Move toward dead center and look for a stone bridge.”

Brenner says, “Roger that. We’re on Lafayette.”

“Park on Laurel. You’ll see the truck there.”

Hillerman’s voice cuts in. “—coming down from the north side. Do not engage until I’m there.”

“Too late for Shayne and Brenner,” Russo jokes. “Congrats, by the way. Can I sing at the wedding?”

I try not to fall over as I pull jeans up one leg. “Only if you do the Pointer Sisters.”

“I love the Pointer Sisters.”

“So does Jay.”

“I do?”

“Not the singers, mind you. That’s what he calls my boobs.”

Russo gives a shout of laughter. “Wow. This I did not hear about.”

“It was one time,” Jay protests.

“So you don’t love the Pointer Sisters?” I ask.

“I didn’t say that.”

Hillerman’s angry voice poops our party. “I’m going to explain this again, so none of you can say I didn’t warn you. This isn’t a night club. When trouble comes, I promise you it won’t be in the form of a dance-off. This is demon territory, so from this moment forward, we all will be subject to extreme mental stress. If any of you makes it out of here without killing yourselves or each other, I’ll be thoroughly impressed.”

“Hearing you loud and clear,” Russo says between grunts. He and Jay must be climbing over the cemetery gate. “A little whistling in the dark, is all. I’m a nervous joker.”

“Understood,” she says.

“Whoah, whoah,” I object through my Tigers jersey as I pull it down over my head. “Understood? Just like that, he gets a pass? How come you never say that to me?”

“Maybe because I never understand anything you do or say.”

“What, I can’t whistle in the dark, too?”

“You’re not nervous, you’re glib. There’s a difference.”

I want to fire back at her, but the phone line fills with a yelp and the rattle of a gate. Jay groans in pain.

“We’ve cleared the fence,” Russo says with a chuckle. “And very gracefully, I might add.”

By the time everybody converges at my tree, I’m nice and toasty in my buttoned-up Tigers jacket and a wool scarf and gloves. Hillerman’s in black tactical gear and, of course, her shades of badassery. Russo gawks at her and murmurs, “Awesome.”

And then there’s Jay. He’s covered in wet leaves.

“Any sightings?” Hillerman asks.

“Yes, a tree squirrel. If you see it, give him a boot to the head for me.”

“I thought I saw something in the trees,” Russo says. “But it was nothing.”

“I saw that same nothing,” I add. “But it’s a spooky cemetery at night. You’re going to think you saw things.”

“Right,” Hillerman says. “You’re going to think you saw a tall thing with thick legs, a horse’s head, and antlers.”

Russo blinks. “Damn, that’s exactly what I saw. Shayne?”

“Maybe, yeah. Is that bad?”

Hillerman huffs, annoyed. “Forget it. Just don’t keep it in the corner of your eye for too long. It’s fine.”

Russo’s mouth drops open, and I blurt, “It’s fine?”

“It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.”

“Let’s go,” she orders.

I nod my head toward the mausoleum behind the gothic iron gate. “There it is. Just like on the card.”

“Latin inscription?”

“Yep.”

“What’s it say?”

“Welcome to the Happiest Place on Earth, what else?”

“You don’t know Latin?”

“You do?”

“Um, let’s see, the language of exorcism? Yeah, I think I do.”

“Awesome,” Russo murmurs again.

Oh my gosh, can she be a little more obvious with her flexing? Matt’s right—she’s got it bad for Russo. It might be a little cute, if her flirting weren’t so brutal. Matt’s inside her head, probably laughing his ass off at the confounded look on my face.

We approach the gate. It’s locked with thick chains, and the bars are too close together for my fox to slip through. Can’t