Summoned to Thirteenth Grave (Charley Davidson #13) by Darynda Jones

Author:Darynda Jones [Jones, Darynda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Paranormal, General, Fiction, Urban, Fantasy
ISBN: 9781250149435
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2019-01-15T08:00:00+00:00

14

Trust me. You can dance.

—VODKA

Thaniel claimed he had to go to work. He was lying, but he wanted away from the likes of us. I could hardly blame him. Besides, I had the only real answer I’d needed from him. He wasn’t a serial killer. What he was exactly was still up for debate, but that was the only answer that mattered at the moment.

The sun had started to set, so we headed back to HQ, avoiding the Shade like it was the plague. Mostly because it was.

“We have two days left,” I said as we pulled into the warehouse’s gated lot, and just saying that aloud caused a spike of apprehension.

“I know. I just can’t figure out what your mother’s death has to do with anything.”

“Join Club Clueless. Fifty percent off today only. At least we lost our shadow.”

“I’m right here,” Gemma said.

“Not you, hon. The other—”

Reyes cleared his throat and gestured ahead.

“Son of a bitch.”

The Shade demon was still following us. Still hovering. Still being icky. Hopefully it’d stay outside. Keep its stalking relegated to an outdoor activity.

With everything that was happening, we were worried about the team’s morale. I thought about setting up counseling sessions for everyone with Gemma, but she probably needed them worse than any of us. We hadn’t been attacked.

To our surprise, however, the team seemed to be working through their frustrations. We walked in to find a tableful of people with jobs to do eating pizza, drinking beer, and playing strip poker.

Score!

Then I realized nobody was stripping. I hated when that happened. Still, one should always look on the bright side of eternal damnation should the Shade win.

I leaned toward Reyes. “I’m going to call this my homecoming party.”

He raised a brow. “I’m going to call this your bankruptcy proceedings.” His smirk grew wolfish. He went to join the illicit festivities and added, “Hope you brought cash.”

“Hope you brought a pretty box for your ass, because I’m about to own it.”

His shimmering gaze captured mine. “In your dreams, Davidson.”

I almost laughed out loud. He only called me Davidson during competitive activities. He took that shit seriously. My mutilated Monopoly board proved that.

And there was this Twister mat a while back, but that was destroyed for an entirely different reason.

Before I sat down to join the other slackers, I strolled over to Gemma to make sure she was okay.

“Are you going to play?” I asked her, taking a seat at her side.

“No. I’ll just watch.”

“Not as much fun as playing.” I elbowed her but got no response. “Gem, I know you’re worried about Wyatt.”

She nodded. “I can’t get ahold of him.”

“How about we ask Uncle Bob?”

“Okay.” Gemma had always been moody growing up, but this time I understood. Fear for a loved one’s life was rarely a walk in the park. Unless it was Jurassic Park. Then maybe.

The rectangular table on which they’d played would never win the “Best Table to Play Poker On” award, but not all tables sought that kind of attention. That kind of validation.

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