Glinda snuggled next to me in her bed, then craned her neck to whisper in my ear. I liked her apartment. It had the kind of disarray that made me comfortable. I also liked all the old things she kept around. On her desk was an old-fashioned typewriter, carbon paper, and bottles of whiteout.

There was a stack of antique Coke bottles on a shelf mounted on the far wall, alongside a set of tin plates which, she assured me, where over a hundred years old. On the top of her bureau was a set of quill pens and bottles of ink.

"Thank you, for your service, Officer Kard."

"Heh. I thought we weren't doing jokes about our professions."

She laughed softly. "You've heard that one before, have you."

"Eh, once or twice. I mean, no one's said it to me before, but all the guys I work with have stories."

Despite how much I wanted to stay with her, I rolled away, sat up, and started shrugging on my clothing. I took my revolver off the nightstand and slipped it into its holster. Some people say I'm paranoid, but I never have my weapon out of reach if I can help it.

"I've only got until morning, to prove Dark was murdered," I explained. "If I can't prove it, I'm off the case."

"All right," she said. "Mortense should be just about ready to talk."

She shrugged on a robe and, together, we padded out to her living room where St. Mortense stood on a table in a ring of salt and candles. He seemed to be staring at us. Waiting. As I stepped closer, I felt a tingling sensation all over my body.

"What, exactly, does the spell do?"

"It's a purification spell. It banishes demonic interference."

"Demons?" I glanced around. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"I don't know," she said. "But demons have the power to silence entities like Mr. Mortense."

"So you think--" I paused considering. "Wait a sec."

I went through my backpack and dug around until I found the picture of the last judgment from the chapel. I stretched it out on the table in front of Mr. Mortense. "The note said something about a demon behind a statue making Darryl kill people. These demons," I circled my hand about the bottom left corner, "are in about the right place. Do any of them look familiar to you?"

"Well, of course," she said. She pointed. "That one."

"Why, of course?"

"Because it looks just like that devil card you're always flipping between your fingers."

"The card is a King of Hearts and it doesn't look anything like that."

I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. "See? It's--"

But it was a devil card. Instead of my normal King of Hearts, there was a picture of a red-horned demon laughing at me. "I don't get it," I said. "It was supposed to be a--"

The picture winked at us.

"Um," I said. "Did you see?"

"Yeah. This thing is possessed. Doubtless, it's the reason why Mortense can't speak."

Now that I thought about it, I understood why I had a hunch the picture was important. My conscious mind couldn't see past the illusion placed on the card, but my subconscious mind knew that it was the same as the painting from the chapel.

"So what do I do?" I asked.

"Burn it."

My gaze flicked from one candle to another. This card had been my lucky charm as long as I'd been on the force. "But I--"

For an instant I felt dizzy and nearly fell to the floor.

I had to do this.

Somewhere, outside, a rooster crowed. With sudden fear, my eyes flicked to the window. Pale pink light was creeping under the shade. Dawn.

"It's morning," I croaked. "I'm out of time."

"Burn it!" she insisted.

With trembling fingers, I extended the card toward the nearest candle.

"Wait!" the card cried out.

The sound startled me so much, I dropped it. The card fluttered to the floor, laughing. I got down on my knees, scrabbling after it, but it seemed to dodge my grasping hands.

"Show her the crime scene photo," the demon cried. "Please! Glinda knows Darryl Dark. She'll be able to help you figure it all out."

"I do?" Glinda said, sounding puzzled.

I paused, breathless, and stood, keeping my eyes on the card the whole time. The face on the card let out a relieved sigh and wiped a hand across his brow. In that instant I stepped on him, trapping him beneath my shoe.

"Got ya," I said.

"No! Let me go!" the devil card shrieked.

While staring at my feet, I plucked the photo of the crime scene from my pocket.

"I hope you don't mind the sight of spattered blood and brains," I said to Glinda, handing her the paper.

She took it and unfolded it. No sooner did she fix her gaze upon it than she gasped and dropped it.

"I did warn you," I said. "Looking at bodies takes some getting used to."

Trembling, she left the room.

Well, great. I should have known better than to believe a devil card would give me a helpful clue. I bent down, picked him up, and held him toward the flame. He crowded away from the corner of the card, as if he could escape.

I pushed him closer.

"Larry."

I glanced up to see Glinda. She was carrying a hand mirror.

"What is it?" I asked.

Instead of answering, she placed it in my hand. I looked at my reflection and blinked at myself. While I was admiring my handsome face, she picked up the photo of Darryl Dark and handed it to me. I glanced between the mirror and the picture.

"Huh," I said. "I never noticed how much I look like him."

"No," she said. "You are him. Don't you see?"

I stared at her. Not comprehending.

"Think about it. Think about your name."

And suddenly, it clicked. Kard was Dark spelled backwards. My first name and middle initial, Larry D., had the same letters as Darryl.

But how could that be true? My gaze went between the mirror and the photo--and it all started to come back. My first case hadn't been a case at all, I'd set out to kill a man. I hadn't been ready to shoot a person in cold blood back then, so I'd been given a gun and the words to convince my victim to do himself in. That's why the image of the suicide king worked for me.

But it didn't make sense.

I didn't die in the chapel. Instead, I killed the hag demon who wanted me to do myself in.

Still confused, I thrust the devil card into a candle flame. Maybe with it gone, Mr. Mortense could explain what was going on.

The devil shrieked as his small rectangular world caught flame and began to blacken and shrivel.

"Please!" he shouted. "We can make a deal. I'll give you anything you want."

But there was only one thing I wanted, and I was getting it. I smiled as he turned to ash. When there was only a small piece of the card left, I blew out the flame and studied what remained. All that showed was the devil's head. He had X's for eyes, and his tongue stuck out. Satisfied, I put him in my pocket.

"Finally," Mortense said. "I thought you'd never get rid of that guy."

"Sorry for the delay. What's going on?"

"It's simple," Mortense explained. "Whatever you do, just don't fill out the--"

"You're out of time, Kard," a woman's voice said.

I spun around and saw my captain standing there. In this light, she looked different, too. Older than I remembered. And she was holding Glinda by the hair with a gun pressed against her temple.

Blinking, I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

"Your report. Now."

"But I don't--I'm not in the office."

"On the table."

I looked. On the table, partly covering the picture of the chapel and the photo of the crime scene, was a report form. It had already been neatly typed out. All that was missing was the signature.

Still confused, I looked back at my captain. No. I shook my head. She wasn't a captain. She was the hag demon who had tried to make me kill myself.

"Sign the report," the demon said, "Or I put a bullet through Glinda."

Glinda was shaking, crying, and making incoherent sounds.

"Why?" I asked. "Why do you want me to sign?"

She laughed. "Just do it."

"Oh, I see," I said. "It's demonic contract paper. If I sign this, then the past will change. I'll have killed myself, and you'll still be alive."

"Darryl," Glinda said. "Please don't let me die."

"What's it going to be, Dark?" the hag demon asked. "Are you going to be the hero for once and save the good witch here? Or should I put a bullet in her pretty little blonde head."

I stared at the two of them, measuring the distance to my target.

"Don't even think about shooting," the hag demon said. "My reflexes are twice as fast as yours and this little lady here will die."

My fingers tensed. Some part of my mind knew the exact distance I'd have to move to draw my sidearm, down to the millimeter. I knew I had a good enough aim to hit the old woman in the eye and not harm Glinda. Did I have the speed? It seemed unlikely.

"If you have even a speck of decency in you, Darryl, you'll sign the report."

At that I smiled. "Don't you remember? I'm not a good person."

As fast as I could, I drew and fired.

But it was not fast enough.

Glinda and the hag demon fell together. When the hag demon hit the floor, her head split apart and a serpent tried to crawl out from inside her. Five more shots and the reptile ceased to move.

I turned away and met the gaze of Mr. Mortense.

"Get the typewriter and the whiteout," he said.

"I'm way ahead of you. I know what to do with a demonic contract."

In moments, I had both set up on the table between the candles. It took the whole bottle to erase all that nonsense about me committing suicide, but when I was done, the report said that Darryl Dark shot before the hag demon could move.

As soon as it was done, I signed it and penned the name of the person I was making the deal with. There always had to be two signatures on these contracts. I signed my name where the demon's signature normally went. Next to the space for the client's signature, i printed, "Glinda."

It was an old trick. Anyone's name who appeared on a demonic contract would gain whatever health they needed to sign. Viper had used it to raise Doc Holiday himself. In return for his legendary speed, the old gunslinger was to receive ten more years of life. I cut that short.

I heard a gasp from behind me. When I turned, Glinda was rising to her feet.

"You need to sign here," I said.

"What?"

"It's a demonic contract, just like the one Viper signed. I'm giving you half my remaining years in exchange for some of your speed."

"But," she frowned. "I'm not fast."

"No, but however much speed you have, I'll get some of it. I won't be as fast as Viper was, but I'll still be super human."

"I still remember what it felt like to be shot in the head. That's going to--" she sniffed.

While she composed herself, I waited. "I thought you wouldn't shoot, that you'd want to be my hero."

I shrugged. "If I hadn't, the hag demon would have punctured your skull anyway. Really, this was the only way."

She nodded, then quietly stepped forward and signed the contract. At once, it began to smoke.

"Why's it doing that?"

"They always do that when they're signed. Soon it will be gone and the two of us can go about our lives."

"Our separate lives," she clarified. "I like cops, not serial killers."

I sighed.

"But thank you," she added. "For bringing me back, for giving me half your life."

"You're welcome. For what it's worth, one night with you is worth what I'm giving up."

When Mortense and I got to the street outside, I looked up at her window. She was there, watching me. I smiled, waved, and walked away, whistling a favorite old tune of mine: "Somewhere, Over the Rainbow."