“Ghouls, seriously?” Rianna shook her head. “I always assumed they were the boogeymen of grave witches. You know, horror stories the teachers told us to ensure we always worked within a circle.”

“Apparently not,” I said as she pulled to a stop in front of our office. We were officially closed for the evening by this point, but I needed my laptop and, with dusk approaching, Rianna needed to return to Faerie.

As soon as I climbed out of the car, Desmond crawled to the seat I’d abandoned. I frowned at the barghest, who was little more than a large black blob to my bad eyes. Color was seeping back into the world, but the late evening sun didn’t help. My thoughts had circled back to Kingly and Walters’s strange behavior, and before shutting the car door, I turned back toward Rianna. “When Coleman—”

She cut me off. “Whatever we’re dealing with, it couldn’t be like him. It took elaborate rituals for Coleman to switch bodies.”

And the body thief hadn’t burned through and discarded bodies anywhere near as fast as whatever we were dealing with. There was also the fact the shades were still in the body at death. It didn’t add up. The more we learned, the less everything fit together.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to take you home?” Rianna asked as I slung my purse over my shoulder.

“Make you drive out to the Glen only to have to return to the Quarter so you can get to the Bloom before sunset?” I shook my head, which throbbed with my tangled thoughts. “It’s not worth the risk. What if you hit a traffic jam? I’ll be fine, but it would be nice if you could ask Holly or Caleb”—if he was speaking to me yet—“to pick me up after dinner.”

“Sure,” she said, and I noted the relief in her voice. Shutting the door, I stepped back so she could get to the Bloom. She wasn’t exactly cutting it close, but it was closer than she liked.

I waved at the blur that was my car before letting myself into the offices of Tongues for the Dead. Only the smallest amount of the evening sunlight filtered through the front window, which pretty much left the lobby pitch-black to me. I sighed, feeling along the wall for the light switch when a crash sounded from farther inside the office and a shimmery head popped through the door of the broom closet.

“Hey, Alex,” Roy said, stepping though the door once he saw it was me. “Where have you been? Someone stopped by the office while you were gone.”

Just my luck. “Do you know who it was?”

“She left a note. I put it on your desk.” The accomplishment in his voice at moving a piece of paper from one room to another was so thick that I couldn’t help smiling.

“Good work,” I told him and the ghost beamed.

“So are we on the same case? What can I do?”

“Yes, to the first and as to the second, I’m not even sure what I can do,” I said, my smile falling away as weariness from a day filled with two rituals, a visit from a militant official, and too many questions without any answers settled on me once again.

The ghost’s glowing happiness evaporated. “Oh, well, I guess if you need me I’ll be in my office.” He floated back through his door without another word.

If I could have thought of a single thing I needed that he could accomplish, I’d have gone after him, but I had nothing, so I retreated to my own office. As Roy had promised, a folded note sat in the center of my desk. I picked it up and found it contained a name, Kelly Kirkwood, followed by a phone number and the words please call me in all capital letters.

I woke my computer and squinted to make out the time on the screen—it was quarter till seven. After business hours for sure, but not actually late. But am I up to talking to the widow of a man I identified this morning?

Not really, but it wasn’t like I had much else to do while I waited for Caleb and Holly.

I dialed the number provided. It was answered on the first ring.

“Hello?” the female voice was hoarse, and the single word had the slightest hitch in it, as if the speaker would break into tears at any moment.

“Hi, this is Alex Craft, I’m calling for—”

“Oh, thank goodness. I’m Kelly,” the woman said, cutting me off. “You identified my husband, Richard, today.”

I couldn’t tell from her tone if that was a good thing or a bad one. I mean, sad, obviously, but some people got rather pissy when grave witches raised their loved ones without permission. As I didn’t know which way Kelly Kirkwood would swing, all I said was, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Why did Rick do it? Did he tell you? The medical examiner wouldn’t say, but I have to know. Please.”

I cringed at her please as much as the plea to know why, which I couldn’t answer. Or could I? Didn’t she deserve to know that her husband hadn’t killed himself?

My hesitation wasn’t long, but I also wasn’t the one anxiously waiting an answer. She was.

“I’ll pay you,” she said, “even if the police already paid you, I’ll pay you your normal rate for the ritual you already performed. Just tell me what he said.”

“Mrs. Kirkwood—”

“Kelly.”

Okay. “Kelly, when I raised your husband’s shade today, it was for more reason than to identify a John Doe. He came to my attention in connection to another case I’m working.”

“Are you saying Rick did something illegal? Is that why he thought the only option was…” She trailed off, and though she didn’t make a sound, I was sure she was crying on the other end of the line.

“No, it’s nothing like that.” I paused, uncertain. But if it were me and someone I cared about, I’d want to know. “I’m investigating a chain of murders. Your husband—he was one of the victims.”

“Murder? The police said it was suicide. Are you certain?”

I couldn’t give her all the facts because I didn’t have them. Actually, I had almost no facts. Just a lot of questions and a couple of guesses. “There are certain similarities in several supposed suicides.”

“And? What similarities? If Rick was killed, who did it? And how? When the police first thought that they had found him, I read up on the burn victim. I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that Rick would kill himself, especially not like that. It was too horrible. Then when the dental records didn’t match…” She trailed off. “They never told me why the dentals didn’t match. The officer I spoke to said it might have had something to do with the fire. Do you know?”

“I don’t know why they didn’t match,” I said, not lying because they should have matched. I had no idea what had happened in the missing days that changed his teeth so drastically. “As to your other questions, I can’t really discuss the case.”

“What if I hire you to investigate Rick’s death?”

I frowned, which she, being on the phone, couldn’t see. “As your husband’s death is almost certainly connected to the other cases, once I find the who and the how for my other client, your husband’s case will be solved as well.”

“Yes, but if I hire you, you’ll keep me informed.”

A good point, but she seemed too anxious, too eager. “Mrs. Kirkwood, while I hate the idea of turning down clients, you called to find out why your husband killed himself. I tell you that I believe it is murder, and you offer to hire me to investigate—”

“And you want to know why I believe you,” she said.

“Exactly.”

“Are you married, Ms. Craft?”

“No.”

“A boyfriend, then?” she asked.

That was a loaded question. Thankfully she didn’t wait for me to answer.

“If he vanished one night, and then you were told he’d killed himself in a horrific way, who would you believe: the person telling you the man you know and love killed himself without any warning or the person who told you he was murdered?”

Both the men in my life had a tendency to vanish, and I wasn’t going to touch the love part, but in my gut I knew she was right—I’d never believe Falin or Death would take their own lives.

“Okay. Come by in the morning to sign paperwork. Also, it would be good to have a recent picture of Richard, so bring that with you tomorrow,” I said, and then I told her about the shade’s missing three days and the rapid weight loss. I didn’t mention the contents of his last meal or the change to his teeth, nor did I tell her who the other victims were or my suspicions on how the victims had become infected.

“What could do this?” she asked, and this time the tears were obvious in her voice. “I have a little talent for magic, but Rick was completely null. Half the time the charms I made malfunctioned if he tried to use them. So if it was magic…” She broke off.

So he really was a null. Well, at least we knew Tamara’s Relative Magic Compatibility machine was functioning.

“I’m not ready to speculate yet on the cause, but I’ll keep you updated.” I paused. “There is one other thing you can bring that will help us track Rick’s movements while he was missing. Could you bring a record of his bank and credit card purchases for the first three days he was gone?”

“I haven’t received the statements yet, but I can print them online,” she said, and I heard the unmistakable click-clack of her typing. She gasped, the inhalation sharp even over the phone. “This can’t be. His cards must have been stolen.”

“Do the charges stop on the Tuesday he died?”

“Yes, but—”

“And the charges include five-star restaurants?”

“How did you—? Your other case. Did that case also have the hotels and the…the…” Her voice broke, her pain audibly raw as she said, “It’s printing. I’ll see you in the morning.”

A moment before she disconnected I heard a single, aching sob. Then the line went silent. I stared at my phone for several heartbeats wondering what her trail of “the’s” had led to that she couldn’t bring herself to say. I guess I’ll find out in the morning.