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fitting she use this same dump site after wielding Lucifer’s Blade far more successfully than Senator James K. Harper had. Pompous, thin-dicked asshole.
    The euphoria of success wore off the farther Camille got from the yacht and the athame. She regretted not taking the time to dress.
    She jerked as something slapped the water, tightened her grip on the flashlight as an alligator bellowed close by. She wondered if the scent of blood and cooling meat would be enough to incite an attack when she stopped the skiff to unload Robert.
    Temptation crept in, to dump him and escape the eerie, predator-filled waters so she could hurry back to civilization. She pushed forward. Just a little bit farther . And finally the mangroves loomed ahead, silhouetted in the night sky like a cluster of gallows.
    Dismay crowed in at reaching them. White bones and a gaping skull caught the light, reflecting it back toward her in accusation.
    Camille opened her mouth in silent scream, frustration’s escape rather than fear’s. The corpse she’d wrapped in plastic and carried to the car with Nicole had come free of its moorings, the shroud loosened and tugged so flesh had been stripped away, the frenzied feeding lifting the gas-filled body and carrying it, other predators dragging it through exposed roots.
    Rebellion rose. This wasn’t her mess to clean up.
    The slap of water quickened her pulse. It drew her attention from the collection of bones.
    She swept the area around the skiff with the flashlight’s beam. Assessing eyes returned to the senator’s discarded whore, then dropped to Robert.
    Why bother fighting dead weight? Why struggle to wrap and sink him when it would only be wasted effort?
    She set the flashlight on the seat. Carefully, slowly, she rid herself of a lover who’d left her with only one memory to savor.
    Anticipation bubbled upward like expensive champagne as she turned the skiff toward the yacht. Tomorrow she’d hunt for pliable prey, live prey for her mistress. And by the following morning, with a demon lord at her beck and call, Helene would want yet another. Lucifer’s Blade would need to be blooded again, recharged by a death that would create a second exhilarating memory.

Chapter Three
     
    Sapphire blue lit the cave. Warm arms slipped around Miguel’s waist and soft-capped breasts pressed against his naked back.
    He glanced down, smiled at seeing the jeans. Thank god .
    He slept. He knew it and yet he was more aware in this dawn dream, this spirit approach to Talocan, than he’d ever been before.
    It’s because of the bond we share . Words spoken, mind to mind, from Ianthe to him. It’s because you accept it, and this, your birthright.
    He grimaced at that. Dios , he wasn’t at the place yet where he was glad not to have his spirit locked firmly into his body. But…
    Maybe there was an advantage, as Seraphine had suggested. Maybe he could use this to help the dead.
    His heart skipped, pounded as it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe he could find his cousin Julio here, or someone who’d known him, someone with a clue as to who Julio had been with that night he was bludgeoned to death in a sleazy hotel room.
    It’d probably been a john he’d picked up to support the drug habit that had started after being kicked out at announcing he was gay. But that was supposition. Speculation.
    Ianthe pressed a kiss to his neck. You should focus on finding your great-great-grandfather.
    I know. And yet he couldn’t shake the image of Julio or the driving need to find justice for him. He’d idolized Julio. They’d been close despite the five years of separation in their ages.
    Julio was the reason he’d become a cop, or part of it. The day he’d joined the force, he’d asked to see the murder book. Before then he’d dreamed of solving the case that had been cold for years.
    The walls around them spun. It made him queasy as the spinning continued as if they drilled downward, toward the center of the