Free Blood, Ash, and Bone by Tina Whittle

of Savannah-themed trinkets, a stand of guidebooks. And there, perched beside the cash register, a cage containing a familiar wad of feathers and fluff. It croaked at me, a crooning demented noise.
    “You’ve still got Jezebel, I see.”
    He snorted. “Damn bird won’t die.”
    The parrot glared at me, then trilled in exact mimicry of a cell phone. The bird was violent emerald green splattered with white and blue, one eye cocked like a lunatic peeking through a keyhole.
    Winston grimaced. “Stupid bird. I swear it’s possessed.”
    I pulled a pack of gum from my pocket, shoved two sticks in my mouth. “So how are things with you?”
    Winston leaned against the counter, firmly between me and the box. “Pretty good. You looking to get your old job back?”
    “Jeez, no. I’m here for the Expo. Got a new gig now.”
    “Doing what?”
    I told him. He laughed. But he didn’t move from his spot in front of the counter.
    “How about you?” I said. “Still making money hand over fist?”
    “Not so much. Lots of competition now—tour buses, tour carriages, tour hearses. Tourists are getting too lazy to walk.”
    I remembered hanging out with the other guides. We often held contests to see who’d spun the biggest sensationalistic lie and passed it off as fact. Tourists would believe any story, it seemed, if it had a bloodthirsty rogue slave or star-crossed lovers in it. And the tips would increase accordingly.
    I tried to look nonchalant. “You haven’t seen Hope around by any chance?”
    “Hope? Is she back in town?”
    He delivered the line smoothly, his eyes wide. I realized then that I didn’t need Trey at all—Winston’s lie glowed like the Vegas strip on his round innocent cheeks.
    I shrugged. “So I’ve heard.”
    “I’m surprised you’re still speaking to her.”
    “I’m not. But we have some business.”
    Winston frowned. “You’re not looking to beat her up, are you?”
    “No. It’s a long story. I figured if she really were back in town, you’d have been her first stop.”
    “Why would she come looking for me?”
    “Because that’s what people do—they stick with what they know. Here I am, after all, back in Savannah. Back in this shop, talking to you.”
    “Sorry. Haven’t seen her.” He gave me a curious look. “I heard Boone got out of prison. Is that for real?”
    Boone again. I was wondering when people would forget we were connected. As long as he was a local legend, however, I guessed that would be never.
    “It’s for real.”
    “You been to the compound since he got out?”
    “It’s not a compound, and no, I haven’t. I have no reason to see him, and if he wants to see me, he’ll let me know.”
    Winston’s eyes gleamed. “I heard he keeps a gator pit out back, just in case he needs to make somebody disappear.” He clapped his hands like two jaws snapping together. “And that on the night of the full moon—”
    “Never mind Boone. I have another question.” I pulled the old man’s photograph from my tote bag and handed it to Winston. “You know this guy?”
    Winston examined it. His perplexed expression was genuine this time. “No. Who is he?”
    “Vincent DiSilva, of Jacksonville. He might be connected to my situation with Hope.”
    “How?”
    “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
    Winston examined the photograph deliberately. Good. If Hope had been keeping secrets from him about the origins of that Bible, he might have some questions for her when she showed up again. Because bet my bottom dollar, she was showing up, and soon.
    I jabbed my chin at the box under the counter. “That didn’t break, did it?”
    He paled. “What?”
    “Whatever it is in that box. Sounds delicate.”
    He laughed nervously. “Souvenir shot glasses. You know how tourists are, always wanting something with a shamrock.”
    I kept the smile plastered on my face. I didn’t believe a word coming out of his mouth. But there wasn’t much I could do about it at the