Something lunged at me out of the night. “Don’t shoot!” a man whispered.

He smelled of sweat, metal and dirt, plus a static crackle of nervous energy that was practically his signature. I turned on the flashlight and saw what I’d expected: a shock of pale hair, which as usual was making taunting gestures in the face of gravity, a square jaw, a slightly overlarge nose and furious green eyes. The Circle’s most famous renegade and my reluctant partner, John Pritkin.

I breathed a sigh of relief and clicked my gun’s safety on. To know Pritkin was to want to kill him, but so far I’d resisted temptation. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that!” I whispered.

“Why didn’t you shoot me?” he demanded.

“You told me not to.”

“I—that’s—” Pritkin seemed momentarily incoherent, so I shoved the gun’s barrel lightly against his stomach. At least I’d thought it was his stomach. I’d only intended to show that I wasn’t defenseless, but in a flash, I was slammed against the side of the crypt, my gun arm pinned to the wall, my body stuck between the hard surface and a very angry war mage. I reluctantly admitted that there may have been a fantasy or two that began with this scenario, but I doubted the evening was going to end the same way.

“I knew it was you,” I told him before his ability to vocalize returned. “You smell like gunpowder and magic.” That was truer than usual because his coat, a thick leather duster that hid his weapon collection, had a large spot where the leather was crisped and curled up. Like maybe a spell hadn’t missed him by much.

“Those are mages out there!” he whispered savagely. “So do they! And what the hell are you still doing here?!”

“I have the map,” I reminded him.

“Give it to me and go!”

“And leave you here alone? There’s a dozen of them!”

“If you don’t leave right now…”

I raised my chin, even though I’d turned off the flashlight so he probably couldn’t see it. “What? You’ll shoot me?”

His hand clenched my shoulder, almost painfully. Don’t tempt the crazy war mage, I reminded myself, just as a bullet sliced through the open doorway. It ricocheted several times around the crypt’s inner walls before crashing through what remained of the Madonna. “If you’re here much longer, I won’t have to!” he whispered furiously.

“Let’s just get the damn thing and we can both leave,” I said reasonably.

“In case it has somehow slipped your notice, this was a trap!”

“Damn it, you can’t trust anybody anymore!” The elderly French mage we’d visited in his sweet little country cottage had seemed so reliable, with his Old World charm and his kind eyes—and his lousy map that had sent us on the treasure hunt from hell. It wasn’t fair; the bad guys weren’t supposed to look like someone’s grandfather. “And Manassier seemed so—”

“If the next word out of your mouth is ‘nice,’ I will make your life hell when we get back. Pure hell.”

I didn’t bother to dignify that with a response. Pritkin was just…Pritkin. At some point I’d learned to mostly roll with it. I’d often wondered if he gave the Circle half as much trouble before he broke with them over his decision to support me. If so, you’d think they’d have thanked me for taking him off their hands. Maybe they planned to send a nice bouquet to the funeral.

“Look, all we know for sure is that some mages got here ahead of us. Maybe we all decided to burgle the place on the same night.” I didn’t really believe it—they’d attacked us almost as soon as we’d arrived and we hadn’t even found anything. But I hated to give up on our best lead yet. And leaving Pritkin to pursue it alone wasn’t an option. He had all the self-preservation instincts of a bug near a shiny windshield.

A strong hand clenched my arm. “Ow!” I pointed out.

“Give me the damn map!”

“Not a chance.”

“Hey!” I looked up to see the younger ghost staring at us. “In case you missed it, people are trying to kill you.”

“People are always trying to kill me,” I said irritably.

“The only way you’re dying tonight is if I kill you,” Pritkin informed me.

“I’ve been in relationships like that,” the ghost sympathized.

“We’re not in a relationship,” I muttered.

“Sheer bloody-minded—what?” Pritkin broke off his rant, which I hadn’t been listening to anyway, to look around wildly. “What’s happening?”

“You mean you let him talk to you like that and you aren’t even getting any? Man, what a rip-off.”

“Nothing. Just a couple of spirits,” I said, shooting ghost #2 a look.

“Hey, standing right here.”

“And,” his counterpart chimed in, “I resent that ‘just’ comment. We’re the two most active spirits in this entire—”

“Active?” A hand moved down my arm, the touch both gentle and rough, calloused from holding guns and doing push-ups and snapping people’s necks. “Don’t even think about it,” I told Pritkin, then turned my attention back to the ghost. “How active?”

The older ghost preened slightly. “We see everything that goes on around here. The things I could tell—”

“So, if there were hidden passageways, you’d know?” I asked, as Pritkin found my wrist. A moment later, the map was snatched out of my hand. “Still not leaving,” I told him.

“Oh. You’re after the thing, aren’t you?” the younger ghost asked.

I decided not to wrestle Pritkin for the map, which wouldn’t be dignified. It also wouldn’t work. “What thing?”

“The thing with the thing.” He waved a negligent hand. I was starting to suspect that if you died stoned, your ghost stayed that way.

“Could you be a little more specific?” Before he could answer, there was a strange sound from outside, a dim, high-pitched whine. I felt a hand on my back, viciously shoving me to the ground. Then Pritkin was on top of me, crushing me into a fetal position while things exploded and rained fire all around us.

Red and violet spots danced behind my tightly clenched lids for several long moments. There were minute tremors in the ground, like the aftershocks of an earthquake, and my skin prickled with leftover energy. When I cautiously opened my eyes, I saw starlight seeping in from a gaping hole in the roof and clouds of disintegrated stone in the air.

Pritkin was on his feet again, firing at the mages, who fired back, gunshots echoing off the high, close-packed monuments like firecrackers. Most of the time I thought he was a little too quick to opt for the shoot-it-and-hope-it-dies solution. Other times, like when someone was trying to make a colander out of my head, it seemed okay.

“Over there,” the younger ghost offered, pointing to the right. “Come on.” He slouched off, ignoring a nearby snaky pathway in favor of a shortcut across the tombstone-littered grounds.

“One of the ghosts knows where the passage is!” I told Pritkin. He looked surprised and I scowled. Just because I didn’t know seven ways to kill a guy with my elbow didn’t make me completely useless.

He looked like he was about to argue about the wisdom of trusting random spirits, or possibly my sanity. But the mages accidentally did me a favor by sending a spell that exploded with a massive crack against a nearby chestnut tree. The burning trunk fell over, taking half the crypt with it. Luckily, it wasn’t our half.

“Come on, then!” Pritkin yelled, grabbing me by the hand and starting off, as if this had been his idea all along.

“This way!” I dragged him after the ghost as a fresh haze of bullets rattled off the rubble behind us.

I found it hard going: the soggy soil sucked at my shoes with every step and the rain made it almost impossible to keep the flickering, pale image of our guide in sight. But Pritkin, damn him, slipped through the granite obstacle course like he’d laid it out himself. “How are you doing that?” I demanded the fourth time I knocked a knee into a very hard tombstone.

“Doing what?”

“You can see!” I accused.

“Here.” I felt a hand against my cheek for a split second, and Pritkin mumbled something. I blinked, and suddenly everything had a weird, flat, grainy look to it, like bad TV reception. Leaf shadows moved over his face as a gust of wind shook a tree, spattering drops of rain on us, and I could just make out the edges of that familiar scowl.

“Why didn’t you do that before?” I demanded.

“I thought you were leaving before!”

“Do you two want this or not?” the ghost asked, hands on insubstantial hips. He’d stopped in front of the image of a bored-looking woman leaning on a tombstone. Enough moss had grown over her granite gown that it was practically green. Green and slimy, I discovered, after the ghost directed me to tap her knee three times. Nothing happened.

“Now what?”

“You have to say the magic word.”

“Please!”

He laughed. “No, I mean a real magic word. To get the statue to move out of the way.”

A spell exploded in the branches of an overhanging oak and a bunch of burning leaves dropped around me, threatening to set my hair alight. “What is it?!”

“Don’t know.” The ghost shrugged negligently. “It’s not like I need it.”

“What’s the problem?” Pritkin demanded, sending his whole arsenal of animated weapons at the advancing line of dark shapes. His knives swooped and danced, striking sparks off their shields with every pass, but it didn’t look like they were slowing our pursuers down much.

“The ghost doesn’t know the password!”

Pritkin shot me his best edge-of-murder glare and muttered one of his weird British swear words. I don’t think it was the open sesame, but the spell he cast with his next breath worked almost as well. The statue split straight down the middle to reveal a gaping cavern.