“I know.” Cody reached out and gave my shoulders a squeeze. “I know, Daise. So am I.”

“Sorry.” I took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Believe me, I’m frustrated, too. And, Daisy . . . you know this isn’t your fault, right? You didn’t set some damn Jamaican witch doctor’s ghost loose on the town.”

“No, but it was my job to prevent it from happening,” I said. “I didn’t. And now it’s my responsibility.”

“Right,” Cody said. “Plan B it is. Let’s start by heading over to Drummond’s to buy out their stock of hammers.”

It wasn’t much of a plan, but like he said, it was a start.

Forty-four

While everyone else was carving jack-o’-lanterns, I spent the day before Halloween handing out hammers.

“The, um, particular talent of the Outcast will probably be more useful,” I said to Stefan. “But just in case.”

“Of course.” He inclined his head, a shadow of regret behind his ice-blue eyes. “Some of us may find peace in laying the spirits of the dead to rest.” He paused. “Are you well, Daisy?”

“Not exactly,” I said honestly. “But I’m doing my best.”

Stefan’s pupils were steady. “I could alleviate your fear.”

I raised my mental shield without thinking. “No. Thanks, but no.”

Unexpectedly, he smiled. “Better. In battle, fear is a warrior’s friend. You are wise to keep yours honed to a fine edge.”

“Um . . . thanks.” Keeping my shield in place between us, I eyed him. I couldn’t help but think about what Cooper had said about us, not to mention Cody’s occasional flares of jealousy. “Stefan, exactly what am I to you?”

He frowned slightly. “How do you mean the question?”

“I don’t know.” I really wasn’t sure what I was asking, but I also wanted to see how he would answer without any guidelines.

Stefan was silent for a minute. “A rarity.”

Okay, that wasn’t what I’d expected. “Excuse me?”

“A rarity,” he repeated. “A demon’s seed conceived in innocence, born in faith, raised in love. That makes you a rarity, Daisy Johanssen.” Leaning forward, Stefan raised one hand to cup the back of my head and kissed me on the lips.

Whoa.

It was a gentle kiss, but authoritative; a kiss that staked a definite claim. A jolt of electricity, or whatever the thing that feels like electricity is, shot through me. I’m not sure, but I may actually have gasped out loud.

Stefan released me and straightened, his pupils waxing into dark moons. “Does that answer your question?”

“Not exactly, no.” My heart was beating fast and hard, and my knees felt wobbly. “But it raises plenty of others. Only—”

He finished my thought for me. “Only now is not the time.”

“Right.”

Stefan smiled again, this time faintly, but with genuine affection. “You should know that there are those of us who appreciate you for what you are and do not dismiss you for what you are not, Daisy. The Outcast will support you as best we can in whatever manner necessity dictates. I have conceived a fondness for this ridiculous town, and I do not wish to see it forevermore haunted. When All Hallows Eve has passed, I will answer any question your heart desires. But for now, it is best that you go.”

I went, the impress of his kiss lingering on my lips. Life can be incredibly inconvenient at times.

Although I debated it, in the end I asked Lurine to be on hand to provide backup. I figured that if she was in costume, the odds that anyone would recognize her would be reduced.

Lurine agreed readily to help out after dark. “No worries, cupcake,” she said, idly tossing the hammer I gave her. “Some of the prettiest boys from Rainbow’s End are planning to march in the adult parade as an entire squadron of Lurine Hollisters. No one will recognize the real deal.”

“What about . . .” I struggled to remember the name of the satyr, who was nowhere in evidence. “Nico?”

“Nico?” She looked blank for a second. “Oh, right. He got a little tiresome. I sent him off to pick apples at Pomona Orchards. Perfect place for a rustic deity. Do you want him there?”

“No, that’s okay. I’d rather have people I know well enough to trust,” I said. “I just thought maybe you were an item.”

“An item.” Lurine looked amused. “That’s not really a term that applies to satyrs, cupcake. Satyrs are for . . .” She gave a little wriggle that managed to suggest serpentine undulations even though she was in human form. “Oh, let’s just call it a down-and-dirty celebration of the urge to merge, shall we?”

Kind of like Cody and me, I thought. Well, except for the part where I wanted an actual relationship, which wasn’t an option for a werewolf and a hell-spawn, because we were unsuitable mates incapable of producing little half-breed werecubs. Not that it was anything I was contemplating, but . . . God, I wondered if members of the Outcast could have children? I’d never heard of it happening, but I didn’t know if there was a physiological reason for it, like maybe the plane of mortal existence between salvation and damnation was a sterile one, or—

“Daisy?”

I blinked at Lurine. “Huh?”

“I lost you for a minute there, baby girl.” There was concern in her blue eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Are you kidding?”

“No.” It was a good, solid “no,” a bracing, cut-through-the-bullshit “no.” Lurine sat on the couch opposite me, arms spread casually along its back, legs crossed at the knee, one dangling foot flashing the trademarked crimson sole of a spike-heeled Christian Louboutin pump. The wisdom in her patient gaze dated back to the Bronze Age, rendering Stefan Ludovic a mere child in her experience.

I sighed. “Didn’t you tell me heartbreak was a rite of passage?”

“I did.”

“Well, I might be stumbling toward a new phase of maturity.”

“Oh, baby girl.” Lurine came off the couch in a graceful slithering motion to embrace me. “It’s all right.”

I closed my eyes. “It’s not, though. It’s really not, Lurine. All this crap that’s going on in my personal life doesn’t matter. I screwed up. And I’m scared. Hel’s disappointed in me. So is the chief.”

Lurine shrugged. “Oh, fuck them.”

I inhaled sharply. “Lurine!”

“Oh, you know what I mean, cupcake.” Letting me go, she ruffled my hair. “I’m on your side. And you can do this.”

My eyes stung with tears. “Thanks.”

“What can I say, baby girl?” Holding me at arm’s length, Lurine regarded me. “I believe in you. Go out there and make your mama proud.”

It heartened me.

It’s surprising what an affirmation from a millennia-old monster can do for your self-esteem; and I don’t use the word monster lightly. The truth is, Lurine was a monster by her own admission. In a way, so was I. And it was good to be reminded of it.

Feeling a little better about tomorrow’s prospects, I stopped by Sinclair’s after his last tour was done for the day.

Jojo the joe-pye weed fairy was lurking outside his place, huddled under the juniper bush, clutching her slingshot. She looked weary and bedraggled, a brownish cast to her green skin, the purple clumps of her hair going to seed. It was late in the season for a wildflower fairy like her to be out and about. Usually, they vanished by this time, hibernating or taking to the hollow hills or whatever it was that nature elementals did during the winter.

“I come in peace, Jojo,” I said, eyeing the slingshot. “This is business.”

“Yes, I know.” Although she didn’t insult me, she summoned the energy to cast a disdainful look in my direction. “Someone must needs keep a vigil.”

“Are you expecting the duppy to show up here?” I asked her. “Do you know something I don’t know?”

“Like as not.” Jojo bared her teeth in a pointed grimace. “But not about the spirits of the mortal dead, no.” Her grip on the slingshot tightened. “I would fain keep him from harm, ’tis all.”

“Okay, then,” I said. “Be careful.”

Inside, Sinclair promised to distribute hammers and nails to all the members of the coven and assured me that they had a phone tree in place and were prepared to convene on a moment’s notice at the first sighting of his grandfather’s duppy.

“They won’t be able to help with the hammering thing if that happens, though,” he warned me. “They’ll need to form a spirit circle around him.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’m just trying to get as many people armed and ready as possible. God knows, we could be overrun by ghosts before Grandpa Morgan decides to make his grand entrance. We might need all the help we can get.”

Sinclair nodded at the silver acorn whistle hanging around my neck. “Have you thought about . . . ?”

“Summoning the Oak King?” I touched the gleaming metal. “I don’t think this is something even he can help with, Sinclair. The fey don’t wield influence over the dead. Although Jojo’s determined to try,” I added. “She’s out there with her slingshot. Says she would fain keep you from harm.”

He smiled tiredly. “Poor thing. She’s been dogging my footsteps ever since it happened.”

“She’s been dogging your footsteps ever since before it happened,” I pointed out.

“True.”

The front door opened to admit Jen and a tall, lanky, good-looking guy in corduroy pants, a cable-knit fisherman’s sweater, and a chestnut-colored suede jacket. Even given the fact that the jacket was draped over his shoulder to accommodate the cast on his left forearm, it took me a couple of takes to recognize him.