There was no return address on the box and I cautiously slit open the tape across the top of it with a letter opener. I used the tip of the opener to flip open the sides of the box and looked inside. A letter was folded neatly across the top of whatever was in the box and I pulled it out to read it.

To Whom It May Concern,

In lieu of delivery of the Sectarian Jane Clayton-Forrester, please accept this token as to the seriousness of my intent to reclaim her as part of my contract. She will be downsized whether you like it or not.

Sincerely,

The Management

I looked down into the box and my face went white.

“What’s in it, kid?” Connor said.

“It’s a clay pot,” I said. “Like the ones we found in the back of Cyrus’s shop. It’s got Tamara’s name on it.”

There was a prolonged moment of silence as we stood there.

“You okay, kid?” Connor said finally.

“He killed her,” I said, stunned. “Theykilled her.”

“Yeah,” Connor said, trying to comfort me. “Well, they wouldn’t be evil if they did nice things, would they?”

27

Connor said he’d have Haunts-General and Greater amp; Lesser Arcana see if they could do anything to free Tamara’s spirit from the tiny clay pot, but I didn’t think anything would come of it. No spirit had ever been successfully recovered from a Ghostsniffing operation. The Inspectre even went so far as to dispatch a Shadower team to check out Tamara’s apartment, but as I feared, there was no trace of her. The Inspectre let me leave early to regroup, as well as look through my trashed apartment for any clues. I was useless at the office and racked with guilt that my cowardly avoidance therapy with Tamara had gotten an innocent woman killed. I returned home, hoping that at least Irene had reappeared, but she was still missing. I busied myself as best I could changing the locks and cleaning the living room-gloves on, of course. Actually experiencing my apartment’s destruction would be even more painful than throwing out the fragments of some of my most beloved possessions. Around midnight, I had only managed to deal with half the clutter but I was tired to my soul and barely stumbled to my bed before passing out.

Sleep, however, didn’t last long, as the sounds of a woman shrieking at the top of her lungs filled the room.

“WHO IS SHE, SIMON?” I heard Irene yelling.

Not the way I would choose to be woken up. I was more of a nuzzling sort as far as rousing goes, but as I rose to consciousness, I was met with the sight of Irene silhouetted by the moonlight in the center of my bedroom. It was more eerie a reappearance than I had hoped for.

“Irene?” The sleep was thick in my voice. “Irene, what’s wrong? You disappeared again. Do you remember what was pulling you away from here?”

“Who is she, Simon?” Irene hissed. There was rage in her words, pure and full of venom. Was this the degradation of the spirit Connor had been talking about? This reaction was so out of place, so over the top, that I almost laughed.

“I know there’s another woman. Who is she?” Irene’s anger caused her to phase in and out and I could see through her to the far wall.

“Calm down. What are you talking about?”

“On your answering machine,” she said. “JUST NOW. Who is she?”

The alarm showed that it was just shy of 3 a.m. I hadn’t heard the phone ring, not even once. But if someone had called, it was either a wrong number…or else Jane calling from wherever she was staying. It certainly wasn’t Tamara anymore. I jumped out of bed and made my way to the answering machine. One message. I pressed play. It was Jane, all right, and from her tone I could tell she had been drinking. I had totally forgotten to call her back and make up with her after I’d left her in such a huff earlier today.

“I keep going over it again and again in my head, Simon,” she said. “So that was it back at the storage place? You just leave me with an armful of balloon animals to fend for myself? I thought you were helping to protect me! You’re not a real man. A real man would have stayed. A real man would have had the guts…”

I didn’t need to hear the rest of it and hit the erase button. The words hurt, even though I discounted them given the drunken slur of her voice. I turned to Irene. “That’s just this girl…she’s part of this project for work.”

“WHO IS SHE?” Irene screeched, causing me to step back. Her reactions were pure over-the-top emotion, with none of the checks or balances that humanity normally provides. She wasn’t making sense. It was true that I had found a lot to like in Irene from our talks. I had even found myself attracted to her, but…she was a ghost. Where could that possibly go for either of us? True, my mixed feelings about both her and Jane were strong enough that I’d been keeping information from Irene. And there was guilt stemming from my attraction to both of them, but even so, this reaction to one tiny answering machine message was way out of proportion. There was no reason for her to behave this way.

“I told you she’s a work thing,” I said. “Not that it should matter. What’s the problem?”

“You have got to be kidding!” Irene said. “You expect me to believe that?”

I was starting to lose patience. “I fail to see how that’s any of your concern.”

Irene’s eyes flared with anger and a cold mysterious force wrapped around me. It lifted me up and flung me across the room. These old buildings were built with endurance in mind and my impact with the solid plaster knocked the wind right out of me. People talk about seeing stars when they suffer trauma to the head. I saw constellations, maybe even a few planets.

My knees buckled when I tried to stand. Dizziness had me and I teetered back against the wall, using what remaining strength and determination I had to keep standing. Irene’s anger was manifesting itself as an unseen physical force, and for the first time, I felt scared.

Still, the fear wasn’t enough to stop me from getting angry myself. Everything was getting to me. I was sick of it. Tamara was dead. Jane’s life was in jeopardy, and right now in the darkness of my bedroom, there was a miniature tornado forming with Irene going all Glenn Close in the middle of it. I had to get control of the situation, and fast.

“May I remind you that you’re a guest in my home?” I said civilly.

“And you’re off running after other women,” she spat out from the center of the room. The bed sheets had blown free and were swirling around her figure hauntingly.

“So what if I am?” I yelled. I didn’t want to, but I was feeling cornered, hurt, and pissed at the same time. I pushed away from the wall, using one hand to steady myself. “So what, Irene? You’re a guest here because ofmy generosity. You’re not my girlfriend, not my wife, not anything. You’re dead! The only thing I owe you is my hospitality, and barely that.”

In the darkness, something the size of my storage bench at the end of the bed-possibly the bench itself-flew within inches of my face and hit the wall with an explosive crash. I squinted my eyes shut as shards of wood flicked across my face, and I felt the tiny sting of several pieces biting into my skin. If I didn’t do something proactive, this was how I would die.

I covered my face and moved for the bedside table. I groped in the darkness until I found my cell phone while I tried to assess the room. Irene was between me and the door, blocking it completely. But before I could decide what to do, a book hit me squarely on the side of my head and another white-hot flash of starlight welled up behind my eyes. Not wanting to endure any further damage, I dashed across the room and into my closet, slamming the door behind me. The heavy clumping of my belongings rained down hard against the closed door. I looked down and was relieved to see that I would be able to hold the door shut by the knob on the inside of it.