Rose’s place looked like a Victorian dollhouse. Not much more than a thousand square feet, it’s a narrow two-and-a-half-story house with a tower, balconies, and plenty of gingerbread. It’s not in the best shape—I suspect Rose figures as long as it’s structurally sound, it’s good enough. The yard is another matter. It’s a perfect English garden with a manicured lawn and flowers in blossom that shouldn’t be out for weeks yet.

The front door opened before we even climbed the steps. Rose may not sit on her porch like Grace, but she knows just as much about what’s going on outside her door.

She filled the doorway nearly as well as her great-nephew. She’s in her late fifties, a few inches taller than me, buxom and sturdy. She’s a karate brown belt, but I wouldn’t have tangled with her even before I knew that. She shares her nephew’s dark hair—hers laced with gray—and his blue eyes, hers light but not as startlingly so.

Ricky extended a hand. “Rick Gallagher.”

“Isn’t it Ricky?”

He smiled. “Yes, thanks, though I learned to stop introducing myself that way when I passed my twelfth birthday. Thanks for giving Liv a place to hang out for a while.”

“She’s welcome anytime.” Rose turned to me. “I’m sorry to hear about James, Olivia. More sorry you were the one to find him.”

I nodded and was about to reply when I caught a movement behind her. A black cat had stopped halfway down the stairs. Rose stepped aside, and we went inside.

“Hey, TC,” I said. “I’m back.”

His tail twitched once, as if to say, Oh, it’s just her, and he headed back up.

“Good to see you, too!” I called after him. “We’ll catch up later.”

“He missed you,” Rose said.

“I’d be shocked if he realized I was gone.”

“He did. Now, take Ricky into the parlor and I’ll make tea. Gabriel should be here momentarily.”

The parlor doubled as Rose’s office, and it was my favorite room in the house. It’s like a museum of folklore and spiritualism, filled with antique tools of the trade. There’s a wall of books, too, with a shelf of British and Celtic lore, and as I looked at it, I made a mental note of everything I’d been wanting to ask about since I’d seen her a few days ago.

“I have no idea what most of this stuff is,” Ricky said, looking around. “But . . . wow.”

“Yep,” I said. “It’s an amazing collection of occult paraphernalia. Over there is—” I stopped myself. “Sorry. Get me started and I won’t stop.”

“Did I mention my nana and her stories? I might not be able to identify anything except that Ouija board, but I’m definitely interested.”