“That doesn’t seem odd to you?” I said.

“Odd, certainly,” Dr. Kolb said, his face a mask of excitement, “but think about the scientific implications of this. This is on par with King Midas or the myth of the philosopher’s stone . . .”

Before I knew what was happening, Connor had reclaimed his bubble gun from the base of the tree and fired it at the jogger, blasting him with the spirit binding. The ghost’s face went slack.

“What the hell?” I asked.

“Sorry,” Connor said, not really looking like he was. “He was rambling. I need him a little more sedate than that—I’m certainly not going to argue with him whether he’s dead or not.”

Connor had a point. Back when we had found the ghost of Irene Blatt in the coffee shop, she had been pretty adamant that she was still alive, too.

“You were attacked yesterday,” Connor said to him. “You died.”

The jogger, although much more sedate now, still shook his head. “I don’t see how that’s possible. I mean, you are talking to me.”

Connor pulled out his cell phone. He flipped it open and called up one of the pictures he had taken at the scene of the crime yesterday.

“Not to be harsh or anything,” Connor said, “but do you recognize that guy lying there half covered in a sheet?”

The jogger squinted at the tiny screen. His eyes widened, and he nodded. His wet hair fell from its perch and hung off the side of his head again like damp seaweed.

“Hate to break it to you like this,” Connor continued, “but the good doctor? He’s out . . . for good. Someone or something did this to you. Can you think of anyone who would want you dead?”

Dr. Kolb laughed at that. “Want me dead? You’re kidding, right? I’m a scientist. My specialty is developing polycarbonate thermoplastic resins for communications and buildings. Who’s going to want me dead? Someone from a rival nerd consortium?”

Connor looked agitated, but pointed at the camera phone. “Well, scientifically speaking, something made you dead, Doctor. Personally, I’d like to know who. I would think you’d like to know as well.”

Dr. Kolb looked at the picture on Connor’s phone again. He screwed up his face, struggling to remember. If he could recall who had done this to him, or why, I was fairly certain it would be a huge step toward figuring out our case, not to mention helping Dr. Kolb pass on to the next life.

“Anything you can give us,” Connor continued, his voice less harsh this time. “Anything at all, no matter how insignificant.”

“I can almost see it in my mind,” the dead jogger said, still struggling.

While Dr. Kolb gave it a good think, I watched the water for any signs of the crabs, even though the spirit that had been mechanizing them now stood before us. I shuddered at the thought of them crawling back up to shore.

“It was like . . . like a dog,” he said with conviction.

“A dog?” I repeated, then looked to Connor, raising an eyebrow. “Werewolf?”

“Doubtful,” he said. “We’re not even close to having a full moon right now.”

“I said like a dog,” Dr. Kolb said, clearly irritated that he was dealing with two people he felt were his mental inferiors. “Not an actual dog.”

I tried to keep him focused. “Why don’t you describe it to us, then?”

The dead jogger’s attitude morphed as he recalled the creature, his face full of fear.

“Like I said, kinda like a dog, only hairless . . . with sunken red eyes . . .”

Connor perked up at this. Dr. Kolb started to stutter, his fright overtaking him as if he were reliving the experience.

“I couldn’t look away. I wanted to, God knows, but I was paralyzed with fear . . .”

“This creature,” Connor said, “was its back kinda spiny?”

Dr. Kolb nodded. His arms were held out in front of him, trying to push something invisible away.

I moved closer to Connor.

“You know what it is?” I whispered.

He nodded and hit the speed dial on his phone. haunts-general popped up on the display.

“Could it have been a vampire?” I asked. “Can’t vampires take canine form, do that whole shape-shifting thingie?”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Don’t believe everything you see on the SCI FI Channel, okay? Believe me, kid, it ain’t vampires.”

20

I was freezing by the time Haunts-General showed up twenty minutes later. They started going about the business of releasing Dr. Kolb’s spirit. Whatever that entailed, I really didn’t know. My last encounter with them had been over Irene’s spirit, and the paperwork for dealing with a spirit like hers sans body had been enough of an excuse for them to leave her case in Other Division hands. Haunts-General had simply walked away from it. Tonight, thankfully, we already had the body and now the spirit of the late Dr. Kolb. Hopefully they’d be able to send the poor guy off to wherever it was that spirits were supposed to go after death, and Dr. Kolb would be one less apparition running through the park.

As Haunts-General took over the scene, I described what had happened while Connor walked off for a bit. When I was done, I searched around for him, only to find him alone heading toward the nearest exit of the park.

“So, if it’s not vampires, then what is it?” I asked when I was by his side. Connor really didn’t look like he wanted to talk, and when he finally spoke he sounded pissed.

“Dammit, kid. You shouldn’t have reported it as vampires. You said it was vampires in the vision.”

“I know,” I said.

Connor stopped and turned to me. “Now the Enchancellors are probably going to come down on you for blowing the call. I’m sorry—come down on us. You were so quick to call it. Is that what they teach you F.O.G.gies? To make rash judgments? You know, for a secret society, you sure seem pretty keen on showboating.”

I gave up. Connor started walking again, and I followed him.

“So are you going to tell me what type of creature we’re dealing with or not?”

Connor sighed. “Well, from what our dear dead doctor had to tell us—red, hypnotic eyes, a doglike creature with pronounced spinal ridge—I’m guessing we’re looking for a chupacabra.”

I knew the name from the D.E.A.’s three-hour seminar entitled “Fee Fie Foes: A Refreshing Look at Cryptozoology from A to Z.” There had been handouts, but I was sure mine were lost somewhere in the paperwork scattered across my desk. What I did remember of the chupacabra was one key factor. It, too, was a bloodsucker.

“They’re from New Mexico,” I said. We were at the edge of the park now. Connor walked though the gate, moved to the edge of Fifth Avenue, and hailed a cab. “Why would there be one of those in New York City?”

A cab pulled over and Connor got in. He made no effort to move over, leaving me to stand, wet and freezing, on the curb.

“Maybe you’d better read up on them, then,” he said, sullen. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you fill out the paperwork for reporting the missing crab statues? Maybe next time you’ll think before causing a stir in the Department.”

He slammed the door shut and the cab sped off as the horror of more paperwork filled my head.

I stood there, soaking wet, wondering if I’d ever again be able to go a whole day with dry pants. The odds weren’t looking good.

By the time I got back to my apartment, I was shivering involuntarily, thanks to being soaked through. I barely had control of my hands as I went to unlock my door, but I finally managed to get it open on the third try.

Thankfully, Mina was already passed out in my guest bedroom, so I wouldn’t have to deal with her. I considered that my luckiest break in the whole of my night—well, morning. I hadn’t really thought about what I would have told her had she seen me coming in like this anyway. She never would have bought a made-up story about the old version of me getting mugged, but since she held the straight-and-narrow version of me in such low esteem, maybe she would have bought it. It was no matter—she was busy sleeping, something my body desperately wished it was doing.