“This is the cemetery?” I said.

Lucas nodded. “It’s hardly conducive to graveside visits, but the alligators tend to discourage trespassers.”

“Alligators?” Jamie tugged down her blindfold. “Jesus, we’re in the middle of the f**king Everglades!”

“The periphery, to be precise. The Everglades are comprised primarily of saw-grass plains, not swampland as you see here. This would be Big Cyprus Swamp, which is technically located outside the Everglades National Park.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that, then. Jesus, we’re in the middle of a f**king swamp!”

“Actually—”

“Don’t say it,” Jaime said. “We’re not in the middle of a swamp, we’re at the edge, right?”

“Yes, but we will be going into the middle, if that makes you feel better.”

“Oh, believe me, it does.” She peered out into the dark tangle of trees, hanging moss, and stagnant water. “How the hell are we going to get to the middle?”

“We need to take the airboat.” He glanced at me. “If you do see an alligator, your new shock spell should be ample deterrent.”

“Great,” Jaime muttered. “And what are us nonspell-casters supposed to do? Run for our lives?”

“I wouldn’t advise it. The average alligator can outrun the average human. Now, Paige, if you could cast a light spell, we’ll work our way down to the boat.”

Sorry, No Virgins Here

AFTER HOT-WIRING THE AIRBOAT, LUCAS PERSUADED US IT was safe to come aboard, and we set off for the cemetery. The trip reminded me of a Tunnel o’ Horrors ride I’d taken once, the kind where you’re traveling along in pitch black. Nothing jumps out at you, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying, because you spend the whole time tensed, waiting for the big boo. I’ve never much seen the attraction of intentionally scaring yourself silly, but at least with those rides, you know nothing in there can hurt you. Not so with the Everglades. It’s dark and it stinks, and you’re zooming under tree branches hanging with moss and vines that tickle across the back of your neck like ghost fingers. Everywhere you look, you see trees and water, miles of them in all directions. Of course, there’s not much danger of drowning. The gators’ll get you first.

Don’t ask me how Lucas knew where he was going. Even the combination of my light spell and the boat’s headlight illuminated no more than a dozen feet in front of us. Yet, despite the lack of obvious markers, Lucas expertly guided the boat through twists and turns. After about twenty minutes, he eased off the throttle.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“We’re here.”

“Where the hell is here?” Jaime said, leaning over theside of the boat. “All I see is water.”

Lucas steered another few yards, inched the boat sideways, then hoisted up a tie line. I directed my light-ball over his head and saw grass leading up onto a hillock that rose from the water like the back of a sleeping brontosaurus.

“Can we get out?” I said.

He nodded. “Stick to the path, though. And try to avoid stepping in the shallow water.”

“Let me guess,” Jaime said. “Piranha?”

“Not this far north. There are, however, water moccasins, coral snakes, and cottonmouths.”

“Let me guess: They’re all poisonous.”

“Very.”

“Anything else we should know about? Lions and tigers and bears, maybe?”

“There are, I believe, still a few black bears in the swamp, but not in this immediate area. As for feline predators, while I’ve heard of bobcat sightings, I’ve personally only seen a panther.”

Fortunately, we didn’t encounter any alligators, water moccasins, bears, or panthers. I heard a splash now and then, but it was probably a large fish. If not, well, sound carried at night, so it was likely miles away…or so I told myself.

The path wound through a few acres of soil just dry enough to walk on, like ground after spring thaw, when you can’t decide whether to switch to shoes or stick with boots. The perimeter was ringed with cypress trees, those gnarled, drooping, moss-festooned specters that characterized the Everglades. As the ground rose and dried, the plant life gave way to grasses, hardwoods, and the occasional cluster of white orchids.

Lucas pushed back a curtain of willow branches and ushered us into a semicleared patch.

“Cabal cemetery number two,” he said. “Reserved for executed criminals and the unfortunate victims of what the Cabal likes to call ‘collateral damage.’”

“I see they saved a few bucks on headstones,” I said, peering over at the unmarked ground. “How the heck are we going to find—No, hold on, there’s some freshly turned earth, so that must be where they buried Weber. Oh, wait, there’s another new grave over there…and that stuff looks pretty fresh, too. Damn. They must employ full-time gravediggers.”

“The ground here dries very slowly, so most of these aren’t as new as they look, though I suspect all three have been dug this month. As for finding Weber’s grave, it isn’t really necessary. In communicating with the recently deceased, relative proximity is as satisfactory as absolute.”

“‘Close enough’ counts in horseshoes and raising the dead.” Jaime wiped her palms against her jeans. “Okay, time for the gross stuff. Can you guys take a walk while I set up?”