“Six o’clock,” he said again.

He looked at me for a moment, lips drawn into a near smile, daring me to argue with him. But I knew when to pick my battles, and this wasn’t a fight worth waging.

“Okay.”

He nodded, the deal done.

“And since I was in the neighborhood, I went by the Supreme Court. I wanted to check out the grounds in daylight, see if there was any sign of the wraiths, anything they might have left behind.”

“What did you find?”

“Looks like they’ve been sleeping in the building. The ground was pretty soft, and I found footprints back to one of the boarded-over windows. No longer boarded over, of course. There’s a corner where it looks like they bedded down. Couple of blankets, some food wrappers. They’ve probably been foraging.”

That made sense. There were probably still a few houses in New Orleans that hadn’t been cleaned out of food and supplies.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean it was wraiths,” I said.

“It could have been humans,” Liam allowed, “but I don’t think so. There aren’t many tracks, and the few that are there lead to the spot where the wraiths emerged.”

“Does that mean Containment didn’t check it out?”

“Why would they?” Liam asked. “Their resources are limited. If they think wraiths are animals, and their only goal is to bring them in or take them down, there’s nothing to investigate.”

The bell rang, and we both glanced back at the door. I was expecting Mrs. Proctor, one of my regulars, who always came by on Sundays to see what the convoy had brought.

It wasn’t her. Instead, a man walked in—tall, light skin, dark hair—and he searched the store, ultimately settling his blue-eyed gaze on Liam.

But Liam was facing me, his back to the door. “Behind you,” I warned quietly, keeping my gaze on the stranger, waiting for him to reveal whether he was friend or foe.

Liam turned back, his shoulders stiffening at the sight of the man who strolled toward us like he was on a personal mission. He reached Liam, then punched him square in the face with a cruel right cross.

“Son of a bitch,” Liam roared, and jumped forward. They met like rams battling for territory: arms pushing, fists swinging, and mouths bleating with anger and four-letter words.

I rushed around the counter, one hand on the wood to keep my balance, ducked to avoid a swinging elbow. When they made a dive toward a lawyer’s bookshelf that held antique canning jars, I jumped in. I’d rather have a black eye than lose the merchandise. I’d foraged those myself.

Besides, Liam had saved my bacon the night before. We were practically friends now.

“Jesus, break it up!” I said, putting an arm around Liam’s waist—the devil I knew—and yanking him back. Or trying to—it was like trying to move a mountain.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I said, a half grunt with one arm still around Liam’s waist. “Step back! There’s no fighting in my place. And definitely no sucker punches.”

The man dropped his double-fisted grip on Liam’s T-shirt. Liam stepped back, the anger pulsing off him, hot as sunlight on the August asphalt.

Chests heaving, muscles tensed, they stared at each other.

“It’s only a sucker punch if you don’t know the entire story,” said the new guy. I wasn’t sure if there was amusement or challenge in his eyes. “And if you’re smart, cher, you’ll step aside and let me and your man handle this little dispute.”

“He’s not my man.”

“I’m not her man.”

Our answers had been quick, simultaneous. Not flattering for either of us.