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goddamn Wheelwrights lineup, whatever works.” I straightened. “Go on. I’m going to look around.”
    “What for?”
    “For signs of what he’s mixed up in. You don’t just trip and fall and get a spirit in you, you know.” Even Possessors had
     to spend weeks of effort to worm their way into a human host.
    “Ha ha. I suppose you’re not going to help me carry him?”
    “Saul will.” I glanced over at my Were again. He nodded slightly, and his jaw was set. I couldn’t think why, until something
     warm and stinging dropped into my eyes. “Shit.” I touched my forehead, discovered a shallow slice. “I’m bleeding.” I actually
     sounded surprised.
    Avery rolled his eyes. “Hanging around you is a never-ending adventure.”
    It’s that way for me too.
“Shut up and get this guy locked up before he does anything else.”
    Bare fridge, bare cupboards—only a can of refried beans and a paper bag of Maseca, as well as a bottle of vinegar, for some
     reason. Threadbare clothes, two uniform shirts with the victim’s name embroidered on them. A pair of busted sneakers in the
     closet. It was like a monk’s cell.
    I poked at the remnants of the cot. Was standing, staring at the twisted curlicues of metal and sharp sheared-off ends, when
     Saul reappeared, closing the door with a slight click. “Anything?”
    “Nothing. If he’s a follower, he’s got it well hidden.”
    “That wasn’t a Possessor.”
    “Nope, it wasn’t. It was an
orisha.
Or a
loa.
Six of one, half a dozen of the other. Whatever branch of magic this guy’s into—”
    “He didn’t smell like magic.” Saul paced forward, stopped at my shoulder, and looked down at the mess of the broken bed. “Why
     didn’t it cut the leather?”
    “Leather was once living. And it has a greater elasticity when it comes to that kind of load. No, he didn’t smell like magic.
     And the Twins don’t usually take people without—”
    “The Twins?”
    “Yeah. You’ve heard of voodoo, right?” I glanced up. He looked blank. I tried again. “Santeria? Candomblé?”
    “Santeria? A little. Popular down in the barrio.” A shadow of a grin eased the tension in his face. He hadn’t even had time to smear warpaint along his beautiful cheekbones,
     we’d been running so hard and fast. “I suppose now isn’t the time to admit I’m behind on my reading.”
    This is why Weres run backup—they don’t have the breadth of knowledge a hunter does. They’re busy with their own spirits,
     their own particular sorceries. They rarely mess around with human magics.
    Or human predators.
    “Well, forget what you’ve seen in the movies. Voodoo is different. People don’t just make bargains with hellbreed—there’s
     a bunch of other inhuman intelligences out there. They make contact for all sorts of reasons. We have things spirits want,
     they have things we want, and everybody trades.”
    “Got that. So, voodoo in particular? Santeria? Candomblé?” His pronunciation wasn’t off by much.
    “Basically they interact with the same
species
of intelligence, but not the same
groups.
There’s some crossover, but they’re like different families. Spirits halfway between us and God, they say.” I had to choose
     what to tell him, boiling a complex subject down to a few sentences. “They’re not from Hell, and generally a practitioner
     is safe from being contaminated by a Possessor.” I frowned down at the shattered bed. “Though they’re not immune to physical
     harm from a hellbreed. Hell generally doesn’t mix with voodoo.” Now I was thinking out loud, good to do with him in the room.
    “That’s not what’s bothering you, though.” His fingers touched my hip. He crowded a little closer, his heat wrapping around
     me. It felt nice.
    I let out a long breath. “What’s bothering me is that the
loa
don’t step in where they’re not invited. At least, not without a good reason. And that was the Twins. At least, I’m reasonably
     sure it was