With an effort, I made myself see through it. His skin took on an otherworldly pallor and his features came into sharper focus.

I slid into the pew beside Stefan Ludovic. “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked under my breath.

Stefan’s eyelids remained lowered. “Much the same thing you’re doing, I imagine,” he murmured. “Do you mind being quiet? It’s difficult to concentrate this close to the fringe.”

“You’re tasting them?” I whispered in horror. “What happened to not feeding on the unwilling?”

At that, his ice-blue eyes opened. “I am siphoning off a measure of raw grief,” he said with soft precision. “It is an ancient compact, and a service for which a wise and experienced funeral director knows to be grateful. In this instance, I am also sifting through it for unexpected strains of guilt or denial.”

I regarded him. “Since when can a ghoul spin a glamour?”

“Since never.” Stefan touched the pendant that hung from his neck. “The charm is in the stone. It was a gift from a dear friend long ago. Now, if you wish me to share my findings with you, I suggest you heed my words and keep silent.”

Since the service was beginning, I heeded.

It was long and painful. No matter what Thad Vanderhei may have done, he was a young man cut down in the prime of his youth, and those who had known and loved him were grieving deeply. I sat and listened while his family and members of the community offered tributes, painting a portrait of a daring, adventurous, high-spirited boy who had lived life a little too recklessly and paid the ultimate price for it.

As I listened, I scanned the crowd for any twinge or tingle of eldritch presence, but the only two beings present who weren’t fully human were me and the ghoul beside me, who sat motionless with half-closed eyes and sifted through the mourners’ grief, breathing slowly and deeply, his lips slightly parted.

When it was over, the family exited the chapel for the reception room, the crowd following slowly, the chief among them.

As the last mourner passed us, Stefan opened his eyes. “Do you wish to pay your respects to the family?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Beyond the door came the sound of raised voices. Curiosity and prudence warred in me, curiosity scoring a swift victory. “Hang on; let’s just see what’s going on.”

Stefan followed me past the threshold of the reception room, where we found an ugly confrontation between Chief Bryant and Jim Vanderhei in progress, the latter stabbing at the chief’s broad chest with one indignant finger.

“You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve showing up here!” the victim’s father was saying, his patrician face flushed with fury.