“Did you hear me?” the important-looking dude asked, and it was clear that even in death, he thought he was the bee’s knees.

“Yep.” Technically, my answer was true. He hadn’t asked if I was listening. I glanced at the timer. “You’ve got one more minute. Anything else?”

“Roger McLaughlin. He works in the Central Park precinct in New York City. Tell him that Jim Miller told you to tell him eight-seven-seven in terminal three. He’ll know what that means. Can you remember that?”

I kept every muscle in my body loose and my face perfectly devoid of expression. If Mr. Criminal knew I’d just gotten that information, whatever it was, I had a feeling ol’ Jim and I would have something in common.

“Can you remember that?” Jim repeated.

“Look, guy, I told you, I don’t deliver messages,” I said with the right shade of annoyance. Mr. Criminal (I still hoped to forget his name after this) leaned forward, his eyes gleaming dangerously. “I’m sure your mother knows you love her.”

Mr. Criminal’s eyes remained alert, but his shoulders relaxed slightly. I’d been down this road a time or two. I was excellent at surviving.

“Will you deliver it?” the Jim asked. “Touch your hair if yes.”

Smart guy, this important dude. He could read people well.

Not well enough, of course, since Mr. Criminal had gotten one over on him.

“All right, that’s time.” I brushed the hair out of my face, because what could I do, not pass his message on? Roger McLaughlin would think I was just some nutter, so it wouldn’t matter, but I wasn’t in the habit of ignoring last requests. It was another reason I tried to avoid using my magic. Each and every spirit seemed to have a last request, and I didn’t have the time or resources to comply with all of them. “Nope, that’s time,” I said into the silence, shaking my head. “I don’t care. You’re done.”

The dead usually only stopped talking once they got their point across. I doubted Mr. Criminal knew that, but I didn’t want to barter with my life.

“Next?” I called.

Time couldn’t go quickly enough for the grueling stories of violence the other two spouted off. They’d each been tortured for information, and they’d been killed after spilling their guts. I couldn’t seem to shut their voices out. They were too hysterical and graphic.

I should’ve asked for more money.

“Stop. I got it all. Please stop.” I pinched the bridge of my nose as Small-Time Criminal Number Two begged me to look after Muffy. “I’m sure your dog is in good hands. I really do. People like dogs. I’m sure Muffy is liked more than you, despite that stupid name.”

“Oh shit…” The words rode a slow exhale from Mr. Criminal. “You really can hear them. You’re not just yanking my chain.”

“Sadly, no.” I didn’t want to know how he knew the dog’s name. “Now shut it. I need to send them across.” I closed my eyes and bowed my head, focusing.

I’d heard other people needed to chime a bell, or light a candle, or say a chant to send spirits across the Line (what some people called the beyond). Some had to do all of the above. I just thought really hard about pushing them across. Had it required any real work on my part, I wouldn’t have been there. These jobs were unpleasant enough without putting in an effort.

“Eight-seven-seven,” Jim said, his voice strangely echoing. I opened my eyes, but I wasn’t in the trance a human needed to be in to see the Line or the spiritual plane. I could only see him cross into it. His body somewhat dissolved, turning translucent. “Terminal three,” he said again, before fading away.

“Johnny Sanderson. He’s the runner. He sold me out.” Small-Time Criminal Number One followed Jim’s lead. “He needs to pay.”

“Muffy was a really good dog. She likes a cuddle in the evenings.” Small-Time Criminal Number Two turned to a wisp and then blinked out.

“See ya.” I gave a last shove before yanking down the divide. I glanced at Mr. Criminal. “You should feel lighter now.”

Mr. Criminal rolled his shoulders. Then his neck.

“No, no.” I waved my finger at him. “Don’t do that here. You paid, they’re gone, now get out.”

His eyes took on a lethal edge. “I’m not in the habit of allowing people to speak to me like that.”

I rubbed my temples. “I can bring them back, if you’d prefer?”

“Don’t mind her,” Daisy piped up. “She’s terrible at customer service. She’s always this cranky. Have a blessed day!”

I was still rubbing my temples with my eyes closed when the client chair squeaked then groaned. Clothes rustled.

“See that you keep this to yourself,” Mr. Criminal said. “I’ll be watching.”

I barely kept from huffing out a laugh as he shuffled off. He didn’t know my name, hadn’t known when I’d show up here, and didn’t know where to find me otherwise. But suddenly he’d be keeping an eye on me?

Get in line.

“Blessed day?” Mordecai asked Daisy.

“I don’t know, he was scary. I figured he’d be less likely to kill religious people. So…” She let the word linger, and I knew they’d both shifted their attention to me.

“So…” I heard shifting on the rug. “You…listen to ghosts and then push them out of this world?” Mordecai asked. “That’s it?”

“I’d thought there was more to it, for some reason,” Daisy whispered.

“It’s plenty, trust me.” I stared out over the water again as the daylight continued to wane.

“Where do they go?” Daisy asked, and I could hear the shiver of unease in her voice.

While the kids did know my magical type, we’d never really discussed it, and they’d certainly never seen me do it. Part of that was because ghosts creeped Daisy out and she shushed me soon after I started talking about them, and another part was that the freak show was no place for a self-respecting teenager, magical or otherwise. It was hard to get a good understanding of my work without actually seeing it.

“Some say it’s a place that is infinitely better. Some rant and rave about how annoying it is. But what exactly that place is, I’m not sure. I’ve never been there. The furthest I’ve gone is to the Line—the gate to the spiritual plane, basically.”

“Could you…” Daisy’s swallow was so loud, I could hear it from a few feet away. “Could you go there if you tried?”

I furrowed my brow in thought, watching that relaxing movement of the water. “I honestly don’t know. Sometimes, when I send a particularly strong and stubborn spirit across, I have to put so much effort into it that I hear a subtle calling from beyond the veil. And when I bring someone back, it’s the same way. My spirit kinda…jumps at it. But I don’t know if I could go over, or what would happen to me if I did. Would I get trapped? Would my body die without my soul? Would my body go with my soul?” I shook my head slowly, curiosity and fear mingling at the great unknown. “When I’m old and senile and wetting the bed, I’ll probably try it. Couldn’t hurt at that point, know what I mean?”

One of the kids let out a breath. No comment came for a few moments.

“But…these spirits aren’t still people, right?” Daisy asked. “I mean, if they were, we’d all see them… They’re…almost a figment of your imagination?”

She sure hoped they were, at any rate.

“They were people, and now they’re…wandering souls?” I shook my head, not used to explaining this. “You guys, I honestly don’t know. They look like living, breathing people to me. They look as real as you two, except I can see past them if I need to. Like Superman’s x-ray vision.”

“Then how do you know they’re ghosts?” Mordecai asked.

“I just…know. When I’m tired, I overlook it half the time, but normally…” I shrugged. “I just know, that’s all.”

“I feel like you should get a firmer handle on your magic. I mean…you just made three hundred dollars!” I could hear the excitement in Daisy’s voice, despite the way I’d made that dirty money. “If you had a better idea of all your…abilities, maybe you could make even more. Because that man definitely seemed happy with your service. The personality behind the service could use some work, but the actual service seemed to leave him satisfied. That says to me that he felt he received value for his money.”

“Well put,” Mordecai said. “That junior CEO class taught you something. I should’ve taken it.”

“You guys, I know this one seemed great and all, but I don’t usually make that much money. Besides, it isn’t fun. The stories I was told—”

“Stocking shelves isn’t fun,” Daisy said. “Cleaning up dog poop isn’t fun. Do you know what the difference is? Those pay badly.”

“Just tune them out like you always tune us out,” Mordecai said.

“I don’t tune you out—I ignore you. Which is easy because you yammer about nothing. People who have been tortured to death are a lot harder to block out. And this usually pays badly.” I rubbed my face. “That guy was an exception. And obviously dangerous. You’re forgetting that I was told sensitive information that could get me in big trouble.”