I scooped up a tiny leather-bound copy ofPride and Prejudice. I flipped it open and was surprised to find delicate oilskin pages within, but the excitement of the moment flipped my mind’s eye into yet another vision. It was always odd to be female, but that’s who I was. Short reddish hair, “copper wire” her mother had called it years earlier, and tiny oval frames adorned her face. She was a writer, pigeonholed as a fantasist, but her true loves were the classics. As she discovered this volume of Austen, she could hardly believe it was only forty dollars! She adored its perfect little form, so compact yet so full of wonderful language that she could barely contain herself.

As I came out of the vision, the weakness hit again, harder this time, but Connor was waiting. He slammed a large floppy paperback into my arms and the only word I could make out on the book’s spine wasCookbook. I braced myself, expecting some boring scene of a homemaker crockpotting soup or perhaps images of a family settling in for Thanksgiving dinner. I was not prepared to find myself in the back of a bookstore. I was a greasy-haired teen in a long black coat. I checked the book in my hands and saw that, upon closer examination, it wasn’t a cookbook in the traditional sense.The Anarchists Cookbook, the cover read-a modern-day guide to urban survival, full of such fun stuff as growing your own weed or making a pipe bomb. The teenager checked to make sure that no one was nearby and quickly stuffed the book down the back of his pants, pulling his sweater down over it to hide the bulge. His heart raced as he walked past the cashier and toward the door, sure that he’d get caught…

When I pulled out of the vision, Connor was waiting with another book, but I waved it away weakly. “Enough. Are you trying to kill me?”

My heart raced and my palms were thick with sweat. I had depleted whatever reserve of sugar the donuts had built up in my bloodstream. I fished a roll of Life Savers from my pocket and consumed the whole roll in two sections.

“Just trying to toughen you up,” he said.

I knew the drain was making me cranky, but I couldn’t help snapping at him.

“Why don’tyou try it for a while then?”

“Hey!” Connor fired back. “Easy there. I’m just trying to get us ready to investigate your precious Ms. Blatt’s apartment. If we’re out in the field and your body craps out on me like this, it puts both of us in jeopardy. I’m trying to build you up. I want you at your peak.”

I guess he felt that was apology enough and fell silent.

“Remind me why they’ve got you teaching me again?” Already I could feel my body processing the sugar, the dizziness fading.

Connor put the books back on the table. “It’s simple,” he said. “Those who can do, do. Those who can’t do, teach. Those who can’t teach? They get stuck teaching psi-science.”

“That’scomforting,” I said.

“You want the truth?” he asked. He sounded pissed off so I nodded. “City Hall…again. Why else would they put a spook specialist in charge of you? The pay’s not good enough to get more experts on psychometry in here even if we could find more people like you. There’s no one left who’s remotely qualified to teach you, not for the money we can offer, unless you’d rather apprentice to Mrs. Teasley?”

I shook my head.

“All our most promising parapsychologists have left either to film their own infomercials, become a Psychic Friend, or run a psychic retreat in the Bahamas on some cruise ship.”

“Ooh! When do I get my own infomercial?” I asked. It didn’t sound like a bad deal. “I could stand a bit of the tropics.”

“Look,” Connor said soberly. I heard the Lecture Switch click over in his voice. “There’s about a million better ways to make money with the abilities you have, and I can’t stop you from choosing a route that’s going to give you a big fat check, kid. But I guarantee you won’t find any other use of your powers more gratifying. You’re learning to do Good, with a capital ‘G,’ for Goodness’ sake. Helping people like Irene. No amount of money beats that.”

Usually, I only half listened when Connor went into this mode, but I was a captive audience while I regained my strength.

“Weare poorly paid,” I said, “and on top of that, the other more ‘legitimate’ arms of civil service and law enforcement hate us. They laugh at us behind our back and think we’re all certifiable.”

Connor nodded.

“Still, kid,” he said, “when I think of the people we help in the face of all the red tape and bullshit, how many Irenes might fall through the cracks and get lost in the system otherwise? Well, without well-intentioned people like us around-”

I squirmed at the thought that my intentions with Irene might not be purely good, and cut him off.

“It’s frustrating,” I said, as I started back toward the exit. “I definitely had no idea what I was getting into when I joined the Department…”

Now it was Connor’s turn to interrupt. “But you were surprised to find that you liked helping others, right? Doing Goodis its own reward, kid.”

I smiled. It was a very Hallmark moment.

“Besides,” Connor continued, “you could always fall back on whoring out your powers to Dionne Warwick if you have to-once you do hone them, that is.” Connor put his arm around me as a means of support. “C’mon. Let’s go check out Ms.Blatt’s address…”

Connor’s phone rang, playing a digitized “As Time Goes By,” and he pulled it out and flipped it open. “Yeah?” he said, then after listening for a few seconds. “Got it.”

He looked at me. “Sorry, kid. Your dead lady friend is going to have to wait. We’ve got a Code Gray. Jesus, first all the increased lingering spirit activity and now this!”

“Code Gray…” I repeated, trying to remember what the hell it was, then it hit me. “Zombies?”

Connor nodded. “Whole nest of ’em. Bring your bat. Should be fun.”

I wanted to get to Irene’s, but I knew the rules. If another department called a code like this, everyone scrambled. Zombies were an insidious infection, and if you didn’t cut them off quick, Manhattan was fucked. I felt surprisingly chipper as we headed out; I could use the batting practice.

10

By the time we finished helping out the Things That Go Bump in the Night Division exterminate the zombies, I was exhausted. I nearly fell asleep as I cabbed it back to the Lovecraft Cafй. It had been a long day of psychometric pop-quiz training, bookcase combat, and a grueling round of Whack-a-Shuffler. My bat reeked of rot from the Code Gray and I couldn’t wait to clean it. Once again, the Department’s “business as unusual” motto had held true.

I was too exhausted and repulsive to even contemplate investigating Irene’s place tonight. But then, the thought of investigating Irene’s home tonight or even things at my own-the clutter of packing crates in the living room, deleting Tamara’s latest volley of berating messages from the answering machine-all these thoughts further exhausted me.

As I entered the offices, I was so distracted with thoughts of zombies going squish and sorting out the women in my head that I ran smack into Director Wesker. Unfortunately, I had just pulled off one of my gloves and my hand slammed into a Moleskine notebook that Wesker was carrying. I recognized it as one of the many that were kept down in the Gauntlet, the Department’s ancient records archive. Before I had a chance to react or restrain my power, the electric charge of connection kicked in and images concerning the necromantic history of Benjamin Franklin started to fill my head. The images of a near-skeletal version of one of our nation’s heroes filled my brain. The sudden shock of seeing it was too great, and with my exhaustion, I couldn’t will myself out of it.

The vision snapped away suddenly and I came around to find Wesker holding the book protectively away from me. Having an object taken away from me was far more disorienting and draining than when I completed a vision myself, and all I could do was stare at him for a minute while I tried to steady myself. God, psychometry could be a bitch.