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his coffee was undrinkable without it. The kitchen was the only family living space on the first floor of the building that housed their carpentry shop. The bedrooms and living room were on the second floor. He traced one finger along the grain of the tabletop. They'd had the table for as long as he could remember, and his father had talked about replacing it for nearly as long. Jacob looked up as his father entered the kitchen. “Good morning, Papa,” he said as he took another sip of coffee.

    His father, Caleb, stared at him for a moment and then walked over to the stove to pour a cup of coffee. He raised the pot to offer more to Jacob, who nodded his acceptance.

    “You're up early this morning, Son. How did it go last night?” Caleb asked as he poured coffee into Jacob's cup.

    Jacob rubbed his forehead wearily. “Actually I haven't been to bed yet.”

    Caleb took a seat at the heavily worn table. “Did something go wrong? You left here fairly early. That run shouldn't have taken all night.”

    “Well, you know we thought it might be a trap.” Jacob waited for Caleb to nod. “We were right.”

    Caleb leaned forward, frowning his concern. “What happened?”

    Jacob related the early events of the previous evening.

    Caleb chuckled. “I'd almost forgotten about that trapdoor. I haven't used it in years.” Then his frown returned. “So if you got away from them, what is the problem?”

    A loud scraping noise pierced the morning stillness as Jacob pushed his chair back across the hardwood floor. He began to pace the small kitchen, trying to figure out a way to tell his father about the disturbing encounter. It was so early that Matthew and Grace hadn't gotten up yet. Which was unusual, as Grace was typically the first one down to start breakfast. Jacob looked out the window without really seeing the gradually lightening sky. Their neighbor, the town baker, had been up well before sunrise. The air was redolent with the delectable aroma of bread baking.

    He turned to face his father. “Those men, Papa; there was something about them.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “They managed to follow me, and I couldn't detect it, not for a while, anyway. Sometimes I'd know without a doubt that they were there, and then other times I would sense only a trace of them.”

    Caleb shrugged and took another sip of his coffee. “Even the best of us get caught out sometimes, Son. We're Eshu. Not God.”

    Jacob didn't take the bait. His father frequently called him arrogant about his abilities as a conductor, but he had more important things on his mind at the moment. He continued as though he'd not been interrupted. “You don't understand, Papa. I wanted to rip their throats out.”

    “Well, they are slave catchers,” Caleb said.

    “I've encountered them before, even killed a few, but the desire to do so has never been so strong before. I have never wanted to tear them to shreds. It's as if I knew they were evil. Their smell…” He left the sentence hanging, wondering if his father would think he'd gone insane.

    Caleb looked disturbed, and he leaped up from his seat with a speed that belied his age. The high-backed chair fell to the floor with a crash as he grabbed Jacob's shoulders in a biting grip.

    “Their smell? What did they smell like?”

    “I told you. They smelled evil, or what you'd expect evil to smell like.”

    “Describe it.”

    Jacob frowned, troubled by his father's intensity. They were of a size, though his father was somewhat leaner. Still, Caleb's grip on his shoulders was beginning to hurt. “I'm not sure I can describe it. They smelled almost like brimstone—and sulfur. I couldn't help it; as soon as I got away from them to where it was safe, I had to Become. I hunted them, and it was all I could do not to kill them.”

    Caleb backed away from him, his hands falling away as though he'd suddenly lost control of them. Jacob reached up to rub a sore shoulder.

    “I can't believe it,”