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“Do you recall the name LaFontaine?”

My mind zooms backwards to a happy time in the midst of war and tragedy. “Artie,” I whisper. “Artie and Yvette.”

“That’s right. Young Arthur Sloane married Yvette LaFontaine in 1942. They had several children, in addition to the little boy Mrs. Sloane already had from her late husband.”

“I remember. He was shot by occupying forces in Paris. Yvette was already a widow when we met her.” A ghost of a smile crosses my lips. I remember the first time I saw Arthur holding her hand at the end of the voyage. I saw the beginning of their romance—but such a thing never happened for me. “Arthur adopted him—a beautiful little fellow. Pierre, they called him. Artie was a wonderful father, but they kept the boy’s lastname out of respect to his father’s heroism and Yvette’s French heritage.”

Bitterness fills me. Artie has been dead for fifteen years. All the men who made me have died. The young children I ferried to safety during the war are dead or elderly. The ones who are left are scattered around the world. I’m only a hazy memory to them, and perhaps that is good. I’m a part of their lives that they associated with terror and loss.

“Pierre LaFontaine reached adulthood, thanks to your protection of his mother and adopted father. He had several sons, and they had children, and they’ve had children... The one who needs our help is Therese LaFontaine.”

“A little girl?” Something inside of me wakes up.I can protect again?

“Not so very little, Reginald. I think she’s in her twenties.”

“Oh. Oh? Why turn to me? What does she need to be protected from?”

Minegold stalls. “It's not long-term. It's a week, maybe two weeks, tops. You don't have to leave town. It is far better that she comes to us. This task will be just... perfect for you. You’ll get to use all of your skills.”

“You can stop stroking my ego. What does the job entail? What skills? You want me to guard her and do a full copper refit?”

“Both. Well, not the full copper refit, but fixing up an old house on Ridge View Way.”

“The lady needs me to protect her from a realtor?” There’s only one house on Ridge View Way. The small lane runs past one of the cemeteries in Pine Ridge, and as any supernaturally conversant person knows, you do not build your home on top of someone else’s.

Jakob heaves a deep sigh. “I'm afraid you won't like this part, but as I said, it's not for long. You're going to have togo undercover. Therese must appear completely unaware and innocent of any knowledge of supernatural doings.”

I look in the mirror. I look like a human. A stocky, barrel-chested human with a square jaw and a square head to match. Bulging muscles and a frame too short to carry them all. It gives my torso a bunched-up appearance that I’m not fond of, but it’s something I can’t change. My skin is light gray. I look like I’m moonburned instead of sunburned. “You want her to seem ignorant of anything paranormal, so you stick her with a supernaturally created being? A golem?”

“Just until the Feds can take her.”

“TheFeds?” That’s the last thing any paranormal being wants to deal with! “That’s not my line of country, Jakob.”

“Nor mine, but you and I both know that the paranormal and normal go hand-in-hand far more often than not.”

“I don’t want to end up in some lab.”

“It’s the Federal Witness Relocation Program.”

“Why aren’t the Feds protecting her now?”

“Because she’s just entering the country today. They need her evidence, and they need her to testify. Therese is one brave young lady, according to her grandmother. She is the one who contacted me for help.” Jakob’s voice is surging in excitement. Like me, he lives to play the hero. Unlike me, he has something else to live for besides that. “Therese knows that her ex-husband’s associates will probably attempt to intercept her now that she is back in the country.”

“Where is he now?”

“He was arrested in Europe a few months ago. If he hears that she’s been talking to anyone who twigs as an agent, he’ll take her out. Not personally, I imagine, because he would be the first suspect, but he’ll have it arranged.”

“How in the world do you know all of this?” I demand.

“Her Grandmere!” Jakob rolls the French word off his tongue lightly, something I can’t manage.

“In Paris?”

“In Louisiana. Sloane and LaFontaine educated their children well in the ways of religious and divine protection—what some call good or “white” magic. Therese knows of golems and will have no trouble trusting you.” Minegold gives another sigh. “What she didnotlearn much about was the darker side of magic, the evil things magic can do. When she met a charming young man in New Orleans, she married him—unaware that he was in the earthly employee of demons. He works in human sacrifices, Reggie. If Delgado believes that Therese is not some fluffy innocent, ignorant of his dark habits, she will be his next offering.”

“But... The Feds?” This sounds like a job for the Night Watch, not a lone plumber! We’ve taken down all sorts of evil humans and monsters over the years.

“The Feds are trying to bring down a killer. To you and me, a human sacrifice is only one part of a complex problem. Obviously, a sacrifice is made for power, and the sort of power Matteo Delgado brokers is hair-raising. I’ve been doing some rapid digging—not too much lest I alert the wrong people, but I believe his most prolific clients are among the darkest practitioners in New Orleans.”