I should have called the chief from the cemetery—well, I should have called him before I left it the first time, but a summons from Hel takes precedence—but being alone out there under a full moon, knowing there were ghosts and/or zombies in the offing, creeped me out.

So I drove home to my apartment. I could really have used some feline comfort while I made the call, but apparently Mogwai was out hunting.

Chief Bryant was none too pleased to hear from me—I had a feeling he’d already gone to bed or fallen asleep on the couch watching the evening news—and even less pleased when I reported that Letitia Palmer had succeeded in unleashing a duppy and that Hel had informed me that there was a good likelihood that Pemkowet was going to be haunted in the near future, if it didn’t turn into something out of The Walking Dead.

“Goddammit, Daisy!” he said. “I thought you had this under control.”

I winced. “I’m sorry, sir. So did I.”

“You should have let the department pick them up.” He sounded disgruntled. “They’re under mundane authorities. We could have held them on something, at least long enough to confiscate any dangerous materials.”

I wanted to say, “Like an empty pickle jar?” but I didn’t. “We’re talking about a judge and an Oxford-educated lawyer, sir,” I said humbly. “Two women of color, a mother and daughter. I didn’t think it would be good for Pemkowet’s public image if they were picked up on trumped-up charges.”

Well, that was half true. I hadn’t known Letitia would show up, but it was why I’d decided not to involve the department in confronting Emmeline.

Chief Bryant offered a noncommittal grunt that suggested he agreed, but he wasn’t prepared to give me credit at the moment. “All right. I’ll get the word out. So this spirit lantern . . . you’re ready to tackle the restless undead?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Well, as soon as I stop at the hardware store for a hammer and nails.”

“Do it first thing in the morning,” the chief said before hanging up.

Feeling hollow, I poured myself a few inches of scotch and put Big Mama Thornton on the stereo to tell me everything was gonna be all right. It didn’t work. Big Mama may have felt it in her bones, but not even the blues made me feel any better tonight. Not even with Muddy Waters on guitar.

I’d screwed up.