“Well, that’s a little unexpected,” he said. “Spirits are known to be emotional over things, sure, but usually there’s some basis in truth with what’s upsetting them. I mean even though we know Irene’s got a thing for you, it’s not like she had anything to be jealous of…right?”

I pretended to find something at the bottom of my soup bowl and avoided eye contact.

“Simon…? There’s not something you want to tell me, is there, kid?”

“No,” I said. “There’s nothing Iwant to tell you.”

“Oh God.” He sighed. He pushed his plate away, gripped the edge of the table, and leaned across to me. “You’re not involved with that Jane, are you? You realize this is the type of thing I’m supposed to report to the Enchancellors, don’t you? Crushing on the forces of Darkness’s secretary isn’t just frowned upon; there’s a pamphlet expressly forbidding it!”

“I’m pretty sure that wasn’t in my orientation packet,” I offered.

“That’s hardly the point,” he spat out. “The point isn’t about you at all. You’ve putme in a shit situation, kid.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. And I meant it. My private entanglements were just that, private. I didn’t want to drag Connor into this.

Connor’s face softened a bit, but he still sounded angry. “I suppose it’s my fault, really. I should have seen it coming. I’m the mentor, after all.”

“Nothing’s happened,” I said and thought about it. “Okay, well, that’s not entirely true. We kissed, but that was only after I pulled her out of the garbage in my alley.”

Connor simply stared at me. “Oh. Well, if that’s all it was!”

“The Sectarians are probably going to kill her for failing!” I said, my voice rising. The table of punk rockers stared over at us now. I lowered my voice. “Look, feelings aside, I think we have a real opportunity here. She’s scared now. I think we can turn her.”

I watched Connor think it over before he spoke. “I want you to listen very carefully, kid. I’m not going to the Inspectre or the Enchancellors with this…yet. See what you can get out of the situation. I think this whole thing’s a mess, but it’s your mess, and because I’m a generous guy, I’m going to give you a chance to clean it up.”

“Thank you,” I said, relaxing a bit.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, hardening. “I’m doing this for myself as well. You know how bad it will look if I report this while they’re rating my mentoring this quarter? Ineed to give you a chance to fix this if I’m ever going to save face in the Department. Understand?”

I nodded.

“As far as the rest goes, let me give you some mentorly advice? May I?”

I nodded once again.

“You are familiar with the works of Dante?”

“Divine ComedyDante?” I asked.

Connor rolled his eyes. “No, Frank Dante over in Things That Go Bump in the Night. Of courseDivine Comedy Dante!”

I had a passing familiarity with his books, but if his name came up onFinal Jeopardy, I probably wouldn’t bet all my money.

“Dante wrote a lot about Divine Love,” Connor said. “Beautiful stuff. Anyway, he goes on and on about chivalry and, most importantly, forbidden love. That which is labeled wrong or unattainable.”

He stopped to flag down the waiter and made the internationally accepted check mark symbol in the air to get our bill.

“Anyway, when Dante descends into the Inferno, one of the first places he’s taken is to the level of least sin-the lustful. Giving in to the wrongkind of love is the least offensive of sins to him, see? While he’s there, he sees the spirits of famous ill-fated lovers-Paris and Helen, Cleopatra and Antony. Real tear-jerker material. Condemned to the Big BBQ Pit simply for choosing the wrong kind of love, the kind that led them astray from the path of love that leads to the divine, to God. A simple sin, really, easy to make.”

The waiter stopped by the table with the check, and lingered as Connor spoke. Even the punk rockers were listening now.

“It’s notloving that’s the sin,” Connor continued, “but more the act of choosing the incorrectkind. A slippery slope, if I ever read of one. So, you’ll want to think carefully before you make your next move.”

“But what should that be?” I asked. I was exhausted, fearing to return home. Ever since Irene had disappeared-or was pulled away by whatever mysterious force was out there-I had been wishing for her return. Now for my own safety, I hoped that she had disappeared again.

Connor threw down a few bills.

I felt for my wallet. “Can you cover me?” I asked. “I left my wallet back at the apartment when I was running for my life.”

Connor threw down a few more bills. Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a vial of the viscous, patchouli-like fluid he had used on that spirit back in the alley. He slid it across to me. “Use this if she gives you any more trouble, kid. And then call me.” I picked it up and slid it in my pocket, feeling relieved.

“You wanna get your head together and figure out what you should do?” Connor asked. “Let me jump ahead several hundred years to answer that one, if you don’t mind. I’ve come to use it as my personal mantra. ‘Dead is dead and life is for the living.’ Helps me get through the day in our line of work.”

Connor stood. I rose. “Who came up with that?”

“The Master himself,” Connor said as he threw up the collar on his trench coat and stuck a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “Humphrey Bogart.” He lit the cigarette, and then with the worst Bogey impression I had ever heard, he said, “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”

I stood there, shaking my head as he left. Connor walked toward the door, the waiters swarming him angrily for lighting the cigarette in the diner. He parted them like the Red Sea and was gone, leaving me with much to wonder about. One thing I knew for sure. I certainly wouldn’t be rentingCasablanca in the near future.

29

I didn’t go home that night, but sat at the diner, milking free refills of coffee until the owner threw me out. The sun had been up for an hour, and I walked the streets of the Lower East Side, watching the city slowly coming to life. I couldn’t face going home if Irene’s spirit was still trashing the place, and I wasn’t in any shape to head back to the Department, so I let fate be my guide as I wandered, nervously looking over my shoulder for any signs of being followed the whole time. I spent hours thinking about the case and how I could help Irene, but that in turn only led to wondering about Jane. I had walked out on her, and God only knew if she was okay. I was failing everyone right now, and I decided I had to do something to change all that, starting by dealing with Jane. I returned to the last hotel I had moved Jane into, hoping she was still staying there. I also prayed that my abandoning her on the street hadn’t caused her to revert to evil just yet.

When Jane opened the door to her room and saw me standing there, she left it open and walked back into the room without waiting.

“Lookitme,” she said sarcastically. “Not dead yet…survived awhole night by myself!”

Evil I could handle with the retractable bat hanging from my belt. Sarcasm took a gentler hand than that.

“Jane, please…” I said.

“Please what?” she said. “I think I’m in pretty good spirits, all things considered. Do you walk out on all your cases like that, or just me?”

My gentle approach flew out the window, and I couldn’t help but feel a little incredulous.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Jane,” I said. “You seem like a good person here, but you’re not giving me a whole lot of faith in that. You want my help, right? You seem to want me to blindly trust you, but then I find out you’re holding information out on me…”

“What’s it going to take to get you on my side?” she said. “The Sectarians,my own people, want me dead, and that’s not good enough?”