Second Grave on the Left (Charley Davidson, #2)

by Darynda Jones

We were like those people who meet and just seem to know each other.

“I guess you could call it that, but I didn’t do it on purpose. I heard an entire conversation in an instant, like it just appeared in my head. Yet I knew I wasn’t supposed to hear it. I knew the information was dangerous. I learned the name of a being powerful enough to bring about the end of the world.” “The end of the world?” I asked, gulping when I did so. “I know how it sounds, believe me. But they were talking about this being that had escaped from hell and was born on Earth.”

“Did you just call me buddy boy?” “Damn straight I did, and if you know what’s good for you,” I said, taking another step toward him, “you won’t insult me for not coming up with anything better on such short notice.”

My face must have shown my alarm. Garrett leaned into me. “Charley, what’s going on?” Reyes glanced at him then back at me. “Tell it to shut up.”

I heard a distant growl as I searched out my favorite mug, the one that said EDWARD PREFERS BRUNETTES.

Titsoak

“I know. I suck at all of this supernatural stuff. But I fry a mean chicken.” “Oh, good. I hate it when the nice ones get fried.”

A grin threatened the corners of his mouth. He was too young to be jaded and too old to be naïve. A darned good age, in my book.

Man, she liked that Bible. I’d read it and could definitely understand its appeal, but I didn’t have time for this. My three minutes were probably up as it was. “No offense, but—and I mean this in the most respectful of ways—you’re not helping.” I closed the door, a little saddened by the confusion on their faces.

I guess it worked. I cut him. He cut me. I could live with that. “If you’re not going to tell me where you are, if you’re not going to trust me to help you, then why are you here? Why bother?” After the room reverberated with a soft growl, I felt him leave. I felt his essence drain from the room, the cold stillness that lingered in his wake. A split second before he vanished completely, he brushed past me, whispered in my ear. “Because you’re the reason I breathe.”

“It’s two white men,” he said. Worry strained his voice. “What do they look like?” “White men,” he said with a vocal shrug. “You guys all look alike.”

got shot in the shoulder you’re leaning on.” “You’re on pain meds,” I said, patting his head roughly. “Suck it up.” “Sanity’s not really your thing, is it?”