Zombie curses, licorice witches and ghost children, oh, my! When Luke Montague was hit by a truck, courtesy of Angharad’s witch magic, I was in shock. But, when he opened his eyes and looked up at me, saying “ma minette,” I knew my life would never be the same again. And I was right. But, even with Drake alive again, everything isn’t daisies and roses. No, far from it. I’m still playing puppet on a string to Guarda (ahem, zombie puppet on a string) and important artifacts are still going missing throughout New Orleans, stolen at the hands of ghostly children. As if that weren’t enough, there’s a witch terrorizing the city with wands of licorice that turn into deadly snakes. And my sudden onslaught of dreams of the Colonial 17th century are somehow related, I’m sure. In my dreams, I’m in a garrison under attack from ghostly invaders and they’re searching for someone—someone who, in turn, is searching for me. Yep, just another day in the life of Peyton Clark, spiritualist, medium and perpetual mess up.