We wandered over to the opposite side of the graveyard. For the next twenty minutes, we sat in the darkness, doing battle with swarms of mosquitos and near-invisible biting gnats that Lucas said were called, quite appropriately, no-see-ums.

Finally Jaime called us back.

Although we were within a few yards of Weber’s assumed burial site, we had no intention of actually doing anything with his body. Communicating with the dead, fortunately, did not require raising the dead. Necromancers could indeed return a spirit to its physical body but, having seen it done once, I never wanted to witness it again. Instead, most necromancers communicated with the spirit world in other ways. Earlier Jaime had decided she’d use channeling again, as she’d done with Dana. Channeling was more difficult than other forms of communication, but it would allow us to communicate directly with Weber.

Again, Jaime lit a censer of vervain, since Weber probably fell into the category of a traumatized spirit. Beside the censer of vervain was another of dogwood bark and dried maté. This was a banishing mixture, used to drive away party-crashing spirits. When you summon in a graveyard, uninvited ghosts are a definite possibility. For now, this mixture would be kept unlit, but Jaime had an open book of matches right below it, ready to use.

Once we were ready, Jaime closed her eyes and invited Weber’s spirit to join us. It wasn’t a simple “Hey, come on out.” Inviting a spirit required long inducements, and we settled back, knowing this could take a while.

After about two minutes, the ground vibrated. Jaime stopped mid-invocation, hands raised.

“Uh, tell me no one else felt that,” she said.

“The ground out here can be a little unstable,” Lucas said.

I glanced at him. “Like ‘eroding into the swamp at any moment’ unstable?”

“No, the Cabal has taken precautions to ensure the cemetery won’t sink into the Everglades until it reaches full capacity. Minor shifts, though, are not to be unexpected. Please continue.”

Before she could, the earth rumbled again. I pressed my hand to the ground, which vibrated like a twanged piano tuner. Jaime grabbed her matchbook and lit the censer holding the repelling herbs. The ground gave a tremendous shake, so violent I would have toppled sideways if Lucas hadn’t caught me. Behind Jaime, an oak seedling quavered, then vaulted into the air. The ground ripped open, clods of dirt spewing like volcanic lava.

“Jesus f**king Christ!” Jaime said, scuttling toward us. “I know I didn’t do that.”

A strip of turf ripped back, like a peeled sardine can, opening a deep rectangular pit. From the bottom of the pit came scratching, scrabbling sounds.

“I would strongly suggest we don’t wait to see what that is,” Lucas said.

We all scooped up a handful of Jaime’sequipment. As we turned to run, the thing in the pit rose to the top and, despite Lucas’s advice, even he stopped to look. A body levitated over the grave. It was an old woman with long gray hair, dressed in a hospital gown. Her flesh had desiccated rather than decayed, reminding me of those bog mummies from England.

The body rotated ninety degrees, until its feet pointed at us. For a moment, it hovered there. Then, suddenly it sat upright, eyes flying open.

“Who dares disturb my eternal rest?” boomed a deep male voice with a Scottish burr.

Jaime backpedaled past us. I started to follow, then noticed Lucas hadn’t moved. I tugged his jacket.

“Hey, Cortez, I think that’s our signal to run.”

“While I have no aversion to the general concept, it may not be warranted.”

“Dinnae whisper, mortal!” the corpse rumbled. “I asked you a question. Who dares—”

“Yes, yes, I heard that part,” Lucas said. “However, considering that we did not disturb you, but rather you have answered an invitation extended to another, I believe it is you who must identify yourself.”

“Are you crazy?” Jaime hissed. “Leave it alone!”

“I repeat,” Lucas said. “Please identify yourself.”

The corpse’s head snapped back with a sickening crack, then twisted in a full circle, the flesh around its neck splitting, banshee wail ripping through the Everglades.

“Ah, The Exorcist, if I’m not mistaken,” Lucas murmured. “One must admire an entity with a full appreciation of contemporary pop culture.” He raised his voice to be heard above the wailing. “Your name, please.”

“My name is war! My name is pestilence! My name is misery and pain and everlasting torment!”

“Perhaps, but as a form of address, it is rather unwieldy. What do your friends call you?”

The thing stopped its head-spinning and glowered at Lucas. “I have nae friends. I have worshipers. I have devotees. And, thanks to you, today I have one fewer of those.”

“Esus,” I said.

The corpse turned toward me and sat up straighter. “Aye, thank you.” It glared at Lucas. “The witch knows who I am.”

“And, apparently, you know who we are,” Lucas said.

“I am Esus. I know all. I know you, and I know the witch, and I know the necromancer.” He peered over at Jaime. “Caught your show. Nae bad, but it could use a wee oomph.”

Esus’s voice had lost its orator boom and settled into an odd blend of Scottish and American idiom—the speech of an ancient spirit who liked to keep up with the times.

Jaime eased up beside us. “So you’re a…”