Bayou Shadow Protector. Debbie Herbert

told Tombi that April even knew highly personal things about him, like Tallulah’s rejection. He sure as hell wasn’t going to bring up that fiasco to Tombi. Too embarrassing. “She’s not my anything. And we can’t be a hundred percent sure that she’s a...a fairy or whatever I saw out there tonight.”

      “I want to meet this April tomorrow morning.”

      “Yeah, you should meet. I’m sure she’ll be at her store.”

      “I’ll take my wife along. Annie has amazing insight.”

      “Good idea. And I’ll go with you,” he said quickly, not liking the idea of April being under an inquisition and ganged up on. Three against one was hardly fair. Annie was the epitome of kindness and gentleness, but Tombi could be intimidating and brusque. Chulah frowned, aware that he’d leaped at the chance to shield April. Her feelings should be of no importance in unraveling the mystery.

      “Come if you like.” Tombi folded his arms and studied Chulah. “Let’s hunt. Could you conjure this Fae form to reappear?”

      “Haven’t got a clue. But I can show you the tree where I saw it. Where sound and movement stop around the base of the trunk.”

      He nodded. “Stay alert for signs of Hoklonote. Maybe we’ve grown a little complacent since capturing Nalusa.”

      Chulah lifted his backpack off the kitchen table, where it was loaded with a slingshot and rocks. The familiar feel of the weapons shifting in the pack made him eager for action. “I’ve got an extra one if you need it,” he offered.

      “My backpack’s in the car.”

      “Let’s go, then.” Chulah wanted Tombi to witness what he had. Over the years since the lost-time episode, no one brought up the subject. Not to his face. Yet Chulah wondered if they secretly mistrusted his sanity. Other than an alcoholic, who the hell lost time? Only him.

      “Wait. I want to talk a minute.” Tombi hesitated. “I spoke with Tallulah earlier.”

      Damn. Chulah groaned inwardly. “I’d rather not talk about your sister,” he said stiffly, making a show of unzipping the backpack and checking his weapons.

      “She’s worried about you.”

      “Right. Tell her I’m fine,” he said, avoiding Tombi’s eyes.

      “Are you really?”

      “Yes. Okay? I don’t want to have this conversation.”

      “Might do you good.”

      Chulah didn’t bother with a reply.

      Tombi sighed. “Then let me say one thing and we’ll never speak of this again.”

      “If you must.”

      His friend laid a hand on his shoulder. “The three of us have been friends all our lives and I don’t want that to end.”

      “It won’t.” Chulah started for the door.

      “Hey, buddy,” Tombi called from behind.

      Chulah stopped but didn’t turn around.

      “I would have loved it if Tallulah had returned your feelings and we became more like brothers. I’ve hoped for that ever since Bo’s death. But I guess you and my twin are too alike for a romantic relationship.”

      Chulah slowly faced him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “You’re both stubborn and possessive and set in having your own way.”

      Chulah opened his mouth to object, then snapped it back shut. He remembered their childhood escapades. Even at that young age, all three of them had argued about taking the lead and how they would spend their day. Being a girl didn’t slow Tallulah down a bit. She was a wild tomboy, as fierce and brave and as aggressive as her brother and any of his friends. A real spitfire.

      He had always admired that. She was so different from his stepmother and half sister, Brenda, who complained endlessly and depended on him to take care of everything.

      “You’d be better off with someone not as much like you,” Tombi continued.

      His friend never used to say such ridiculous crap. Marriage had softened Tombi. “If you’re through playing psychologist, I’ll be outside waiting for you to get your stuff.” Chulah stepped into the night and breathed deeply.

      Maybe Tombi was right. Maybe he and Tallulah would have made a horrible couple, who would spend their lives constantly arguing. Maybe he’d be better off with a different sort of woman. A woman with a gentle, soft nature but an electric touch.

      Chulah straightened his shoulders. Enough of such foolish thoughts.

      * * *

      It was like any other autumn night, and they’d hunted the same area hundreds of times. As a child, Chulah enjoyed this season more than any other—the slight chill in the air that annihilated the smothering swamp humidity. But even though winters and autumns were mild, at times the Gulf breeze whipped so fiercely that bits of sand peppered the flesh like BB-gun pellets. It wouldn’t kill or cause serious injury, but it hurt like hell.

      “Don’t expect anything,” Chulah warned Tombi as they entered the woods. “I have a feeling I caught the thing by surprise earlier.”

      Adrenaline coursed through his veins, more than the usual anticipatory hunting mode. He’d never hunted unknown creatures before. Would it appear?

      Chulah led the way, sure of his direction. His eyes adjusted to the dark and his senses heightened. He felt the pulse of scrambling squirrels, the splash of fish, the buzz of skeeters, the retreating tide. Somewhere, someone far away had lit a campfire, and he inhaled the smoke of sweet gum and oak, an autumnal scent that brought back childhood memories of Halloween parties and hayrides. A more carefree time.

      But as an adult, autumn often felt like the earth dying a little every day. Darkness encroaching on daylight, animals retreating to their dens, foliage dropping lifelessly from the trees. A season when green turned to taupe gray and the sun grew cold.

      Unbidden, Chulah again remembered the startling charge of April’s touch. The pleasant burn of her lips on his. Now, there was light and warmth and all the fire a man needed to fight against the encroaching dark of winter.

      They trudged through thickets of saw palmettos, alert for a change in smell or sight, subtle shifts of energy that foretold trouble.

      Chulah surveyed the area, frowning. Where was that damn tree?

      Tombi tapped his shoulder and lifted both palms upward. What’s going on?

      Chulah shrugged and raised a hand, motioning Tombi to stay put. Slowly, he circled several trees, testing their life force. Nothing but the usual calm, steady wisdom emanated from their roots and the spreading limbs draped in Spanish moss.

      He sighed in disgust and returned to Tombi’s side, shaking his head. The creature—fairy—had made a fool of him. Chulah was unsure of it reappearing, but he hadn’t anticipated trouble locating the tree.

      Tombi leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Did you mark it?”

      Damn. He shook his head. Now he appeared a double fool. Even a rookie hunter knew that things shifted out here, defied logic and science. What was before might never appear in the same manner again. A new twist in a path, a slight change in the water’s course or disappearing rock formations. As if the woods were a living organism with their own laws and ways, unwilling to divulge all their secrets to any one person or species.

      Tombi motioned to a fallen log. A place to sit. And observe.

      A strategy that didn’t often work, but had proved helpful a few times in the past. Like grazing deer, sometimes spirits could be lulled into a false sense of security, never suspecting that a hunter lay in wait.

      Patient, silent, at one with the dark stillness. They sat together, absorbing the night