Securing the phone receiver with her chin and shoulder, she reached up, poked another match stick in her hair and rolled her eyes. Sheesh. Somewhere, there were zillions of sightless little newts, bumping into logs and running amuck. At least the tails would grow back...

She slid a glance to the fifty-gallon tank in the corner of the shop. Martin, her pet newt, blinked at her through the glass. "Don’t look at me that way. Yours was an accident." Besides. She only used tails from the unfortunate and recently deceased.

The telephone sales clerk sighed into the receiver, then relented. Jessie answered the uppity little woman with unshielded victory. "Yes! I’ll pay the difference. Fed Ex will do. Can you get them here by tomorrow?"

Several minutes and a credit card number later, Jessie had secured her order. What a pain. How she loathed dealing with other herb and potion merchants–-especially over the phone. If Giselle didn’t hurry back from her sister’s in Charleston, she’d be forced to find her own damn newts.

As if she had that kind of spare time.

Whether in response to her thoughts or by sheer coincidence, the alarm on her watch let out a series of shrill beeps. She glanced down. Six forty-five p.m.

Crap. She was late.

The heels of her sandals clacked across the wide-planked pine boards of the Quarter Moon’s two hundred year-old flooring as she hurried to the door. Flipping the sign to closed, she threw the latch then dashed to the back to get her bag. If she didn’t hurry, she’d miss him.

Rather, she’d miss it.

Grabbing her pack off the back counter, she then unzipped it and dug through the contents. Her gaze searched the room. "Salt, salt...where’s my salt?" Damn! She’d just had a whole box of Morton’s. She wasn’t going anywhere without it.

Just then, the cordless chirped, echoing through the store. The voice mail could answer it–-she didn’t have time. She skittered around, blowing out candles as she looked for the Morton’s. She spied it across the room. "Ah ha! Found it!"

"Sika? Pick up the phone." A pause. "I know you’re in there. I can see you through the door, goof."

Jessie spun around to find her twin brother peering through the glass, holding a cell phone to his ear, a grin plastered to his face. Sika–-his two year-old version of sister. He’d called her that since they were toddlers.

With a sigh, she pushed the salt into her pack then hurried to the door, flipped the latch and threw it open. "Jack, your timing sucks. I was just about to leave." She pulled on her Braves baseball cap and turned off the Earthly Sounds CD.

"Where you going?" He eased into the store and crossed his arms over his chest. "Gotta date?"

Lord Jesus, please forgive me for all the white lies I tell. "Um, yeah. Sort of. And you’re making me very late for it." Blowing out the rest of the candles, she then turned off the stone waterfall in the center of the store, grabbed the box of matches and shoved them into her bag. "Come on." She headed for the door. "What do you want, anyway?"

Green eyes, identical to her own, stared down, unblinking. Searching. Studying. Suspecting. He cocked his head and reached for her pigtail. "Did you know you have a match stuck in your hair?" He held it up, twirling the red-tipped piece of wood in front of her face.

Jessie gave a forced laugh. "Gosh, I wonder how that got there?" She took it from him and pushed open the door. "Now come on. Shoo. Move it. I’m later by the second, big brother."

Jack allowed her to guide his six-foot plus frame out the narrow French doors. Shoving the key into the lock, she then secured the shop, set the alarm, and stepped out into the humid Savannah summer evening.

"I know what you’re up to, Sika."

Jessie froze. Jack knowing would be a bad thing. She turned and flashed him a smile. "I’m not up to anything, silly."

Older by six minutes, Jack studied her with such depth it made her squirm. He’d always been able to do that. Tall, broad shouldered and rugged, he had a seriousness about him–-a strength that made people writhe under his intense scrutiny.

Finally, his expression softened. "Let it go, baby. Enough’s enough. There are no monsters. Only people." Lifting her chin with his forefinger, he ducked his head and examined her face under the bill of her cap. "You look like shit. When’s the last time you had a good night’s sleep, huh?"

Um, that would be ninth grade...

"Sika?"

Jessie gave her brother a smile and punched his arm. "I’m fine, Jack. Honest." She hated with a passion that her beloved brother, like the rest of Savannah, thought she was nuts. It’s why you push so hard to prove monsters exist...

She peeked at her watch. Six fifty-eight. Crap! She was going to miss her chance if she didn’t hurry. "Is that the only reason you came down here? To nag me and tell me how awful I look?"

His eyes narrowed and he flicked her pigtail. "Yeah. That, and I wanted to see if you felt like taking a boat ride. Giselle missed the ferry to Sapelo. She’s waiting for me at Scurry’s Crab Shack in Thunderbolt."

"She’s back? Finally." Great. She’d just spent sixty-eight bucks on store-bought newt tails. Non-refundable newt-tails. Grrr.

"She’s back, and anxious to get out to the island, so if you can’t go, I guess I’d better run before I’m out of daylight. I’ll be on low tide." He kissed her nose then regarded her with a frown. "Get some rest, Sika. For me?"

Jessie sighed with relief and stared as Jack pulled his old Wrangler out into the Bay Street traffic. Within seconds, he disappeared into the sea of vehicles heading to Thunderbolt. God, she had to be more careful around him. It wouldn’t bode well for Jack to find out about her nightly activities. Not yet.

She glanced at her watch, secured her pack, and turned up the sidewalk. The sky had darkened over the last hour. Overcast with a hint of breeze, the swirling gray clouds threw Olde Savannah into a hazy, surreal world. Mammoth oaks filled the squares, and the moss hung from their limbs like long, ratty unkempt hair. Like witch’s hair.

With that thought, she pulled the matchstick she’d taken from Jack’s hand out of the pocket of her overalls and poked it back into her braid.

One could never have too many matches. Heck, she’d put the whole freaking box in her hair, but it would draw too much attention and that was something she just couldn’t afford. Four could remain hidden in her braids and would suffice tonight. Besides. This ‘Peculiar’, as she liked to call them and their ilk, wasn’t a witch. In fact, she wasn’t quite sure what it was–or whether or not it had bad intentions. But she’d soon find out.

At the end of the street she waited her turn at the crosswalk. With nine blocks to go, she’d have to run to make it to O’Donnell’s.

She’d spotted the Peculiar five nights earlier entering the popular two-hundred year old Irish pub. Since then, she’d followed the thing there each night. And each night, it had arrived at seven twenty-five sharp. Each night, it never left.

The rumble of several voices made her look over her shoulder. A lake of tourists flooded in behind her, wearing flip-flops, backpacks, cameras, and crisp new ball caps with Savannah emblazoned on the front.

One man made eye contact and grinned. Jessie’s gaze dropped to his tee-shirt. The Truth Is Out There.

Yeah, she thought. And it’s right under your freaking nose.

She gave a polite smile, turned back around and awaited the light.

The crowd began to move over Bay Street and onto Drayton. Jessie hurried ahead, maneuvering around a walking Haunted Savannah tour group (boy, if they only knew) then breaking into a trot. As she ran through Chippewa Square, she heard her name called out.

"Hey, Miss Jessie. What’s the hurry?"

Jessie threw a smile over her shoulder and waved to the lone saxophone player, standing at his customary location near the statue of James Ogelthorpe. "Hi, Deke. Catch me later, okay?" Deke, Giselle’s cousin, was not only the finest of saxophone players, but he’d taught her how to mix more Gullah potions than she could count. He’d come looking for her tomorrow, just to see what she’d been up to.

Stopping once more for a horse-drawn carriage city tour, Jessie then zipped across the street, the clop-clop of the horse’s big hooves echoing off the cobblestone. Once the Peculiar was inside the pub, she’d wait a few minutes, observe, then go in and get a booth. No way was it going to elude her tonight. She wanted her freaking life back.

Leaning back against the oyster shell and mortar tabby walls of the old pub, Jessie waited. She unzipped her bag, pushed the container of graveyard dirt aside and pulled out the digital. She double-checked the other items: two empty specimen tubes for blood, a few syringes, a couple of needles. Flashlight. Extra batteries for the digital. The remaining vial of newt tail potion was extremely low, but she had enough for one use–-if she needed it. Of course, the graveyard dirt (never go anywhere without graveyard dirt), matches (Peculiars hate sulfur). Pocket knife, water pistol filled with sea salt water, condoms--

A sudden pop of thunder made her jump, bumping her head against the tabby. "Ouch." She rubbed her skull through the ball cap.

As she kept her eyes fastened on the crowd, she stared in the direction the Peculiar would come. Slipping the digital into a cargo pocket, she then zipped her bag and waited.

An hour and several slow, fat raindrops later, Jessie muttered a curse. "It’s not coming. I should have known."

Even though it’d grown dark and drizzly, people continued to move about. They stared into the windows of closed shops and stood outside the various pubs, reading outdoor menus. They all walked around, happy, care-free, their only apparent worry being which curious historic eating establishment they’d fill their bellies in. Or, which passerby would take their picture, which tourist shop they’d find their treasures in.

No one saw what she saw.

What monsters moved amongst them.

A long time ago, Jessie realized she was the unlucky, unfortunate one–-the one single person who could see them as their true beings. To the general public, Peculiars looked like normal, average, everyday Joe Blows. Bankers. Lawyers. Nurses. Teenagers. Soccer moms. Nuns, even.

Oh. And don’t forget ninth grade Algebra teachers, or government employee research facility department heads.

They all made up Savannah’s paranormal. Monsters. Specters. Peculiars. And they were everywhere. Unfortunately, they didn’t appear all at once. How easy it would be to gather her proof if they were. Instead, they showed up sporadically, as if they knew she sought them out. Lately, she wondered if they’d found a way to disguise themselves. Ugh, frustrating.

Lifting her head, she checked down the lamp-lit cobbled street.

Finally! There it was, coming straight at her. Flashes of its human form projected her way–-male, tall, athletic, complete with a very expensive-looking Armani suit. Female passerbys turned to stare with appreciation as it walked by. Eww. If they only knew.

As it grew closer, its form shimmered until the image blurred, then dissipated, revealing only to her, its true nature.

A monster. A Peculiar.

No matter how many times, or how many different forms she’d seen, they always made her shudder. This one was tall and sinewy, with skin the color of...damn, was that even skin? Ugh. A grayish, bumpy, leathery substance covered its body. Long, long bony fingers. An exaggerated mouth that didn’t seem to close properly sat crooked on a face only a mother could love.

Or not.

A coldness crept through her pores and settled under the surface of her flesh, causing the skin to goosebump. Damn, how she hated Peculiars.

Jessie busied herself and pretended to dig through her bag until the tall creature turned into the pub. It never failed to fascinate her, how they could show one form to the whole world, make everyone believe.

And everyone thought she was nuts.

After zipping her bag, she peered around the corner and into O’Donnell’S street-side bay window.

Eww! It was meeting a woman. Tall, leggy, and blonde, she offered her cheek up for a kiss, which it gave (gross!). Another man appeared–-it looked like the owner, Seamus O’Donnell-–who shook its nasty monster hand. A second or two passed, then they all moved out of view.

Just the sight of those long, bony gray fingers with raggedy nails pulling the unsuspecting woman close gave Jessie the chills. She took several deep breaths, adjusted her Braves cap and thought out her plan. So, the Peculiar knew Seamus. Strange. Or, maybe not so strange. Seamus wouldn’t think anything of it. He only saw a snappy looking guy in an Armani. Probably a big tipper. Seamus couldn’t possibly know the truth.

Should she go in? Or wait? She’d waited all week–-until closing time–-and not once had it left through the front door... She resisted the urge to bang her head against the wall. Of course! The Peculiar had been leaving through the back door. Could it be that simple? But why would it leave through the back door? Ugh, she was a ding dong. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?

With her mind set, Jessie watched the pub from across the street until the hour before closing, just to make sure this wouldn’t be the one night the Peculiar decided to leave out the front. Finally, she left the dim lights of Drayton Street and slipped around the corner to the back of O’Donnell’S.

As she crept into the darkened alleyway, a shiver screached across her spine. Had she not been armed with the Gullah mixtures and protective spells and charms–-not to mention the talisman around her neck--she’d never have the nerve to do this alone. Probably not at all. But once Giselle and Rooster–her Gullah godparents--saw she had the sight, they’d taught her to believe in the unexplained, had secretly taught her how to fight them, if they were the evil sort (which they all were, in her mind). They’d taught her how to banish them, to. Which is where the newt tails came in.

In all fairness, she wasn’t sure whether this Peculiar reeked of evil, or was just plain gross. She hadn’t noticed it doing anything illegal. It didn’t matter to her. She needed proof of its existence. That’s all. And this was the first one she’d been able to consistently track in over a month. Elusive things, Peculiars.

The back entrance to O’Donnell’S creaked as the door swung open. Jessie sunk back against the wall, allowing the shadows to swallow her. A woman’s giggle spilled out into the humid August night, followed by footsteps crunching across the gravel. Easing forward, just a little, Jessie looked for opportunity.

Damn it. Having the woman present was going to make the job a bit more difficult. She wouldn’t see what Jessie saw–-not a monster, but a gorgeous Armani suit-wearing stud-muffin. The woman would start screaming, or maybe even take a swing or two at Jessie.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to put her down. It would certainly be a lot easier. But no way would she let this opportunity slip by. Not after all this time. Not after spending hours in the lab perfecting what she hoped would be a solvent for the Peculiar samples.

Easing back against the wall, she reached into her bag and pulled out the stiff, six-inch blower Rooster had designed out of turtle shell. She’d already loaded it with the tiny, hollow quills containing the potion which would render its recipient motionless. She’d have to work fast if she planned on putting them both down.

With the spare quill in her hand, Jessie drew a breath, lifted the blower to her mouth, and aimed for the Peculiar’s neck. She blew.

The big, Armani-suit wearing monster immediately hit the ground.

The woman, to dazed to scream, dropped down beside him.

Jessie loaded the blower and blew. The woman slumped over the Peculiar. Both lay motionless.

Wasting no time, Jessie hurried to the two bodies and pushed the woman clear. Then she turned her attention to the Peculiar.

Gross.

As fast as she could move, she whipped out her digital and took a few shots. That done, she clipped the tip of one, jagged claw from its nasty finger and dropped it into an empty vial (eww!). Almost done, girl. Hurry.

An eighteen-gauge needle, syringe, and three empty specimen tubes came next. She’d draw some blood (if it had any) and obtain a tissue sample--

A large hand clamped over her mouth and dragged Jessie back, pressing her against a rock-hard body. Kicking and trying to gain some sort of footing, she then found herself lifted off the ground, two arms of solid steel wrapped tightly around her.

A deep, graveled, accented voice whispered against her ear. "Be still, witch, and be quiet. Hold your breath and close your eyes..."