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head. It had taken him years to escape from his family, and many scars, not all of them visible. Even if he had to work with an empath again, he’d do it. He reached his office and started gathering up his stuff, a pulse of excitement beating in his heart. He’d rather die than go back. That sounded overdramatic but, in the present circumstances, it might just happen anyway.
    * * *
    By the time it was completely dark, Tom was yawning and Ella turned off most of the lights, leaving the room bathed in the glow from the TV screen and a nightlight that illuminated the door. She put her backpack on the bed, and pulled out the remains of the bucket of chicken and various other things, the most important of them being her gun.
    Tom’s fingers headed straight for her weapon and Ella smacked them away. “Don’t touch that. It’s loaded.”
    “I knew you were going to say that, but I had to try.”
    “Look, if you want to help me, you have to do what I say. No independent thinking allowed here.”
    “You sound like my teacher at school.”
    She sat cross-legged on the bed with him so that she had his full attention. “We want to coax the creature out, so we’re going to use the chicken as bait. If it is what I think it is, it loves eating chicken almost as much as small children.”
    “You’re kidding, right?”
    “Not really.” Ella gazed down at her open-mouthed helper. “In the old days this creature often took small children and babies because they were easy prey. Nowadays, because food is so plentiful here, they tend to go for the easy option, which is take-out from the trash bins.”
    “Oh, like the seagulls and the pigeons in the park.”
    “Exactly.” Ella placed the chicken on the floor beneath the bed. “So, you’re going to lie down and pretend you’ve fallen asleep.”
    “And what are you going to do?”
    “I’m going to hide under the bed behind the chicken.”
    “Are you kidding me?”
    “No. If it looks like it is getting away from me, I want you to smack it on the head with something heavy.”
    “Like my baseball bat?” Tom scrambled off the bed and returned with the sturdy bat in his hand.
    “That’s perfect. You can hide it under your covers. But remember, only hit the thing, and not me, okay?”
    “Okay.” Tom settled himself back beside her on the bed. “What if I kill it?”
    “They have very hard heads, so that’s unlikely, but if the creature hasn’t listened to my warnings it deserves anything you can throw at it.” She patted Tom’s scabbed knee. “Are you ready, then?”
    “I suppose so.”
    She smiled at him encouragingly. “It will be fine. These things aren’t very brave really, that’s why they pick weaker prey.”
    “Then why do they want me?”
    She hesitated. He didn’t really need to know that it was probably his emerging empath powers that made him irresistible to Otherworld creatures. She settled on a lesser version of the truth. “You bring a lot of food up here, don’t you? Once the thing has gotten used to an easy source of food, he’ll stick around.”
    Tom shivered. “I won’t do it anymore.”
    “After tonight, you won’t have to worry about that. You’ll be able to eat whatever you like, whenever you like.” She gave him a quick hug. “Now you settle down for the night, and I’ll turn off the TV and then get under the bed.”
    While Tom stretched out, she settled herself under the bed and positioned the bucket of chicken temptingly in front of her. Outside, the trees rustled and sighed to the hypnotic rhythm of the ocean breeze. She waited for the first telltale hint of magic to reach her and gripped her gun and flashlight more tightly. A rustling sound from the closet drew her attention, and she peered through the darkness at the shape moving toward her and the chicken.
    Tom sighed and the thing paused, giving her a clearer view of coal black eyes and a piglike nose. It sniffed the air and crawled closer, one long bony arm outstretched