.â
He rambled on, but Ms. Marie was obviously no longer listening, but was recoiling, pressing herself tightly against theback of the chair. âYour family raised you better than this, boy.â
âSo . . . theyâre not good, then,â Oliver prompted. They werenât, of course, he knew that, but judging by her reaction it was worse than heâd anticipated. What tipped you off, genius, the grave robbing or the creepy hideouts?
Marie flicked her gaze between the two of them, shaking her head over and over again. He couldnât tell if she was shivering or just swiveling her head back and forth, back and forth. . . . âBack when I was a girl you didnât say those words. You didnât speak that name. You speak that name you get all thatâs evil in tâworld coming to you.â
âWhatever they do with these bonesââ Micah began.
She was swift to cut him off, lifting a hand as if she could stopper his lips herself. âI wonât repeat it. I wonât say it, I wonât. These folkâthese are evil folk. The Bone Artists, they steal, and then they leaveâbody snatchers. Body thieves . They take your bones for black magics. Witchcraft . Satanâs friend, that prince of theyâs is, He curse you and youâre never right in the spirit again.â Her voice rose and then fell to a sudden hush. She shook her head one last time, frowning, on the edge of tears as she looked at them as though they had both been taken far, far away.
âYou wonât never be right in the spirit again.â
âSheâs a little on the religious side, if you couldnât tell,â Micah had said, dropping Oliver back at the shop that afternoon. He had leaned over toward the passenger seat and the rolled-down window, gesturing at where Oliver stood on the sidewalk. âI wouldnât take everything she says seriously, all right? Weâre not talking a pinch of salt, here, weâre talking the whole shaker. Imean, come on . . . Princes? Satan? I might believe in some dark stuff but letâs not go crazy.â
âIâm sure youâre right,â Oliver said, conjuring a thin smile. âBut all the same . . .â
âNo, youâre right. Letâs cut and run while weâre ahead.â Micah gave him a salute and a wink, leaning back into the steering wheel. âYou seeing Sabrina tonight?â
âMaybe. Itâs getting on to supper. You seeing Diane?â Over his shoulder, Oliver heard the distinctive sounds of a séance going on inside. He hated séance night at the shop but it always brought out a bunch of tourists.
âDo you really have to ask?â He laughed, waggling his eyebrows. âCatch you later, man, we still need to do that big celebration. Donât keep stalling!â
âIâm not, I swear, just giving yâall time to plan the parade.â
Micah snorted and honked the horn on his old Chrysler, pulling away from the curb and into the empty street.
The voices inside the shop swelled to meet him, but he dodged the door, aiming instead for the family apartment. His pocket buzzed and he slipped out his phone, wincing as he read the display.
The Dragon Lady.
She had her answer, what more could she want from him?
âYour answer is no? Is that your final decision?â it read.
Oliver texted back furiously, lips pursed with aggravation. There was no doubt in his mind that he needed out. Now. She was poison and he refused to go back for another dose.
The answer is and always will be: no. Leave me alone.
He was just a few steps from their front door when her replycame, fast enough that Oliver hadnât gotten his phone all the way inside his pocket. Just one word, and for some reason it chilled him more than her gaze or her sneer ever could.
Pity.
H e jerked awake to Bon Jovi blaring into his pillow. Oliver flailed, grateful, for once, to be yanked out of his sleep. Out of