One Grave at a Time (Night Huntress #6)(49)

Next I passed out lighters until everyone had several. Then I went to get the final protection against a possible spectral attack: Helsing, who gave me a baleful look when I hustled him into his carrier.

Sage, lighters, and a pissed-off kitty might not look like the most conventional ghost-busting arsenal, but so far, they’d proven to be the most effective.

Elisabeth and Fabian flew into our car even before Bones had it in park.

“You must hurry, he just left!” she said, her accent even thicker with her agitation.

“Which apartment?” I asked.

She pointed at the left-hand corner of the building. “One of the top ones.”

Bones’s brows went up. “You don’t know the number?”

“It’s difficult to get such details while trying to remain unseen,” Fabian replied, rallying to Elisabeth’s defense.

“How many can there be?” I asked Bones, with a philosophical shrug.

He got out of the car. “Appears we’re going to find out. Charles,” he said, as Spade pulled up alongside us, “stay here and keep some sage burning. With luck, we’ll be right back. Fabian, Elisabeth, keep a lookout for Kramer in case the sod returns while we’re here.”

“What about me?” my mother asked from the backseat.

“You’re staying with the car,” I told her as I got out, hefting the pet carrier along with me. “No offense, Mom, but your people skills suck.”

She huffed in indignation. Bones flashed me an appreciative grin that she couldn’t see.

“Keep it running, Justina. We may need you to fetch us in a hurry,” he said, his tone very bland.

That explanation mollified her until she thought it through, which didn’t happen until we were already up the second flight of stairs of the apartment building.

“You can run faster than that!” I heard her shout from across the parking lot.

Spade’s reply was swallowed up by sounds from the occupants in the building, but I caught the hint of his laughter, which meant he’d belted it out without restraint.

“She’s got to be steaming,” I noted in amusement.

Bones’s smile was shameless. “How regrettable.”

We climbed the last flight of stairs to the third floor. Several apartments were clustered in the general area Elisabeth had indicated. Because it was right around dinnertime, it sounded like all of them were occupied, too. No narrowing it down that way.

“Well, how do you want to do this?” I asked. “Pretend to be Neighborhood Watch members reporting a rash of car vandalisms, or a sweepstakes clearinghouse with a big check?” That would at least get fewer doors slammed in our faces. Maybe.

“Give me a moment,” Bones murmured. He closed his eyes and his aura flared, filling the air with invisible currents. After several seconds, he pointed at the two doors in the far corner without opening his eyes.

“She’s in one of those units.”

“And you know that because you can somehow use the Force now?” I asked, trying to limit the dubiousness in my tone.

He opened his eyes, tapping the side of his head. “By listening. You’re probably tuning everyone’s thoughts out, but I’m focusing in on them. A very traumatized woman is behind one of those doors, and I’ll wager it’s because Kramer just left.”

That was what I got for doubting him. Bones was right that I’d pulled my mental shields up high and tight against the barrage of thoughts coming from the apartments, but in doing so, I’d neglected an important tool in finding our target.

“Good thing you’re here. That’s far too practical to have occurred to me,” I added wryly.

He stilled my hand as I was about to knock on the door labeled “B.”

“Don’t berate yourself. I did the same thing when I first acquired this power, but I’ve had it much longer, so my response to it has changed. You’re not used to it yet, but you will be, then accessing it will be second nature to you also.”

Maybe, but it wasn’t even my power to begin with. If I stopped drinking from him, that mind-reading ability, like every other borrowed power, would soon be gone. Bleakness briefly threaded through me. In many ways, I was an imposter, my significant strength and skills just the product of a supernatural dietary quirk. Without the capacity to siphon powers through feeding, I probably wouldn’t be any more bad-ass than my mother. Would the real Red Reaper please stand up?

Then I pushed those thoughts aside and rapped on the door. I could have my personal identity crisis later, when someone else’s life wasn’t on the line. If anyone deserved a pity party, it was the woman we were here to collect, and from the muffled sob on the other side of this door, it seemed I was about to meet her.

“Who is it?” a strained voice called out. Can’t handle dealing with anyone right now followed on the heels of that, discernible even through my mental barrier.

“We just moved in,” I said, trying to sound friendly. “I found this cat wandering around, and I was wondering if you’d recognize who his owner is.”

Seemed more plausible than my other ideas considering I was standing here with a cat carrier. The door cracked open, security chain still engaged. Cautious, good for her, but no dead bolt or chain could keep out what was after her. I caught a glimpse of matted blond hair framing a tear-stained face before I held up the carrier, showing her a glimpse of my kitty.