Harmony Black by Craig Schaefer

three half-breeds. No, we’re okay, but they got away. Yeah, she held her own just fine. Homegirl knows how to brawl. I know, I know, I have to have the talk with her. Later , jeez.”
    I poked my head into Helen’s bedroom. A bomb would have done less damage. They’d torn apart her bedding, ransacked her dresser drawers, coated the carpet in sliced fabric and empty boxes.
    “Need you to pull any intel you’ve got on the local occult underground,” Jessie said behind me. “Yeah, cast a wider net, like, to the nearest big city. We need a player who can tell us the score around here, help us find these assholes. They’re working for somebody. Also, have Kevin put a flag on all hospitals and emergency clinics within fifty miles of Talbot Cove. Guy with a mangled arm is going to need some serious medical attention, and I think another one’s got a GSW. Hey, hold on. Harmony!”
    “Yeah?” I called back.
    “Did you wing one?”
    “Think I hit him in the shoulder,” I said.
    “You hear that, Auntie? Yeah, shoulder wound. Cool. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover here, so don’t wait up.”
    The door to the nursery was open, just a crack. I pushed it wide, the grainy wood gliding soundlessly under my touch. The cambion hadn’t gotten this far in their search: Elliot’s crib stood by a window, under a dangling plastic mobile. Stuffed animals grinned mutely from a long white shelf, leering in the dark.
    Jessie hung up and joined me. She put her hands on her hips.
    “So,” she said, “witch senses tingling?”
    Something was, anyway. I’d had the oddest feeling since I walked into the room, a nagging suspicion that I couldn’t see the clue dangling right in my face. Then it hit me.
    I closed the bedroom door, then opened it again. Jessie gave me a curious look.
    “What?” she said.
    “The nanny cam video. Right before and after the creature came on-screen, there was a squeaking sound.” I closed and opened the door again. “These hinges were oiled, not long ago. No squeak.”
    Jessie turned to look at the opposite side of the room. I followed her gaze, my heart sinking.
    The closet door.
    “Shit,” I said.
    “Well,” Jessie told me, “you did name it the Bogeyman.”

SEVEN
    Jessie covered me. She took a few steps back, raised the muzzle of her gun to target the closet door, and gave me a nod. I held my breath as I moved close, my fingers curling around the old, tarnished doorknob and squeezing tight.
    As I slowly pulled the door open, the hinges gave a shrill squeal. The exact same sound we heard on the recording.
    Empty. It looked like Helen had been using it for storing linens. A comforter leaned against one side of the tiny closet, zippered up in plastic, and a few old towels sat neatly folded on a high shelf. Not a lot of room. Just enough for a grown man to hide inside, crouching in the dark, waiting for a family to fall asleep.
    A string dangled down, leashed to a single bare lightbulb. I reached in and gave it a tug. Stark white light washed over walls painted sunflower yellow, faded with dirt and time.
    I knocked on each wall. Solid. I figured it would be, but it’s best to rule out the mundane before you go hunting for phantoms. I took a step back and reached into my inside jacket pocket, fishing out a pendant on a long silver chain.
    “What’s that?” Jessie asked, holstering her gun.
    “Belonged to my great-great-grandmother.” My thumb played over the face of the pendant. It was a coin, ancient and tarnished, ringed with an inscription in Greek. A tiny hole, drilled through the edge, accommodated the chain. “First witch in the family, or at least the first to start writing things down for the daughters who came after her. Allegedly this is the first coin ever paid to the first Pythia, the Oracle of Delphi.”
    Jessie arched an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
    “Allegedly,” I said, shrugging. I strung the chain between my outstretched fingers like a cat’s cradle, letting the Pythian