He gave Lon’s hand a hearty shake. “How’s life been treating you?”

“Can’t complain,” Lon answered, running a hand down my back.

“And I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to know I’ve played cupid so successfully.” Father Carrow had introduced us several months ago.

One side of Lon’s mouth tilted up briefly. “We agree.”

Father Carrow grinned in reply.

“Are you, uh, working here today?” I asked.

“They often ask me to lend a hand for big events. I’m helping out at the gravesite. Did you know Mr. Merrimoth personally?”

“I did,” Lon answered.

“I’m so sorry,” Father Carrow said, his brow furrowing.

Lon shook his head. “We weren’t close. I’d go so far to say that we almost enemies, unfortunately.”

Father Carrow leaned in closer. “Then you won’t mind me saying that there were some nasty rumors going around about his knack before he died. Folks say he set fire to his own house.”

I’m not sure why that surprised me. I wondered if it was Dare who yapped, or one of his henchmen. Word spread fast in a small community like this. I hoped there weren’t accompanying rumors about some silver-haloed witch helping him jump to his death.

Lon grunted. “You hear similar rumors about anyone else around town?”

Father Carrow squinted. “Setting fire to things? Or . . .”

“Knacks being stronger than they should,” I clarified. “Way stronger.” I quickly filled him in about Tambuku being robbed, touching on Noel Saint-Hill’s grim death. I didn’t think it was a good idea to volunteer the bionic drug information, so I skipped over that detail.

“That’s definitely unusual. And to your question, Lon, there is a rumor that comes to mind now. Do you know Peter Little?”

“Former city councilman?”

Father Carrow nodded and explained to me, “He has a luck knack. Folks say that’s how he got his position.”

“Among other things,” Lon agreed. From the dour look on his face, he wasn’t a fan.

“But have you heard that his luck has gotten . . . luckier?” Father Carrow asked.

Lon’s melon-green eyes narrowed. He waited for more.

“He won the lottery.”

Not a surprise for someone with a luck knack, I thought to myself. It wasn’t a common ability, but I knew a Tambuku regular who won a lot of bets at the horse track.

“I heard about the lottery win,” Lon said. “Three hundred grand, right? Last week.”

“Yes, but that’s not the only instance. He’s won three times this month. First was five thousand on a scratch-off ticket. Second was that three hundred thousand you mentioned. And the third time was two days ago.”

“Huh.”

“I’m surprised you don’t know,” Father Carrow said. “It was all over the news. He won the Mega Millions jackpot. Fifty-nine million.”

“Holy shit,” Lon mumbled, then quickly apologized to Carrow, who made a shooing motion with his hand.

“Seems a bit odd,” Father Carrow said. “Even with a luck knack, how many people win the lottery three times in two weeks?” He glanced at the door. “They’re waving for me. Service is about to start. Maybe we’ll talk again later?”

Lon nodded.

Father Carrow patted Lon on the shoulder before squeezing my hand. “Come visit me, Cadybell. I miss chatting with you.”

I did too. I hugged him, then watched his blue halo trail behind him as he left.

“Peter Little,” Lon murmured.

“Is he into drugs?” I asked.

“He’s a dirty politician.”

“Hellfire?”

“No. He doesn’t live far from here, though. We could drop by. Congratulate him. Ask if he’s bought any strange red potions lately.”

Follow the drug, find Telly.

“Couldn’t hurt, I suppose.”

Lon pulled me back against his chest and wrapped his arms around my waist as the organist walked across the stage behind the altar at the front of the sanctuary. I let out a long breath, thinking about Peter Little’s knack, and about Telly’s bottle of bionic juice. Several heads turned when someone walked into the sanctuary. Curious, I glanced to see who was causing all the hubbub and spotted Dare’s shiny bald head. My muscles turned to stone.

The Hellfire leader slowed his already casual gait as he glanced in our direction. I flinched but didn’t look away. Not even when his black, hate-filled gaze drilled into my skull. It only lasted a moment, that look he gave me, before he turned and continued on to the front of the church without another glance.

I knew right then and there that Ambrose Dare damn well hadn’t forgiven me.

I half expected someone named Peter Little to reside inside a toadstool in Smurf Village, but after the funeral, Lon drove us to a fancy condo overlooking the La Sirena boardwalk. The building that housed the condo was five stories high and secured by gate. Instead of stopping at the guardhouse, Lon drove the silver Audi to the striped gate arm and typed four numbers into a little metal box.

“How do you have a security password to get inside here?” I asked as the arm began rising.

He gave me a faster-than-light sideways glance. “Used to date someone who lives here.”

Ah-ha.

“Megan Pierce,” he elaborated, surprising me. “She laughed like a hyena at every damn thing I said. Drove me crazy.”