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“Now you’re saving elves and fairies?” says Carlos. “Go and kick that necromancer’s ass into gear.”

“I will, but think about this. We’re talking about mystical beings. Some of them are going to know heavy magic. Maybe one of them can help me.”

“That’s bullshit. You’re doing your hero thing when you should be looking out for number one.”

“Trust me, I am.”

Ray gives me a piece of paper with a couple of long, complicated names on it in black pen. He holds out the scroll and I put it in my pocket.

“Where are you headed?” he says.

“First to Thomas Abbot’s place.”

Carlos says, “You need a ride?”

“No thanks. I’ve got my own way.”

Before I go I say, “This is probably going to look weird.”

“What?” says Ray.

I step into a shadow.

AND COME OUT by the ocean in Marina del Rey.

But I’m too late.

Abbot’s boat is already on fire. The idiot lives on a yacht in the harbor. It’s surrounded by locked fences and bodyguards, but I’m sure it’s a tempting target because instead of being a normal home where normal people might be able to run away, you can fucking sink this one and kill everybody without even hitting them.

The yacht is only a few yards out from the dock. The fact Abbot didn’t just sail off means the engines must be down. But someone must be alive inside. As the faction killers shoot and throw curses at the boat, people on board are doing the same right back at them.

I step into a shadow at the edge of the dock …

… and come out on the burning deck. I’d intended to slip out in the main cabin, but I don’t know this boat that well, and anyway, the damned thing keeps moving, rocked by the currents and blasts from the curses.

I dive into a kind of fancy sitting area away from the fire and the shooting. The interior is mostly kindling, but there’s carpet inside. When I start to get up, I’m face-to-face with one of Abbot’s bodyguards, and he has a very nice, new Kimber pistol pointed at my forehead. I don’t have any choice. Before he can fire, I punch the dummy on the side of the head and kick him off when he goes limp. I didn’t knock him out or anything, but he’ll be seeing stars and chirping birds for a while. As I go farther into the boat, I drag the guard behind me out of range of the fire.

There are bodies on the floor of the main cabin. Some shot and others fried by curses. Six, maybe eight bodyguards fire back at shore through shattered windows. I leave the punch-drunk guard in a corner and look around for Abbot. He’s at the far end of the place, throwing big balls of white-hot plasma back at the dock. He looks scared and I’m not sure he’s thinking things through. Burning plasma will back off most sensible people, but one, the people outside are Wormwood, so we can rule out sensible, and two, if he keeps throwing hoodoo at the dock, he’s going to set it on fire, and it’s the main escape route for him and his people. Wanting very much not to get shot by the faction or a guard, I hunch over like a damn fiddler crab and run as fast as I can down the length of the room. I don’t get shot, but splinters and shrapnel tear through my coat into my left shoulder and side. When I’m near enough to Abbot, I throw myself onto the floor and crawl up beside him.

“Hell of a night, huh?”

He spins in my direction and raises a hand to start a curse. Then he recognizes me. Freezes for a second. Starts to lower the hand. Changes his mind and raises it up again. I slap it out of the way and grab him.

“Asshole, if I was with them I could have killed all of you and raided the fridge by now.”

“How are you here?” he yells over the sounds of gunfire and hoodoo.

“You mean, how come I’m not dead?”

“Yes. Where have you been?”

“Dead.”

“What?”

I can see that he’s reconsidering feeding me a plasma blast so I say, “It’s a long story and I’ll tell you later. Aren’t you more concerned about not dying?”

“Very much.”