“Ghost claw,” I said sheepishly, as everyone else leaned in. “Come on,” I muttered. “Would a treatment room be too much trouble?” I wasn’t especially shy, and these were my friends and colleagues, but being medically inspected in front of them was different.

“Every room is occupied,” she said. “Wait here. You’ve got ooze in it, and I want to clean that out.” She clipped efficiently into the back.

“Ooze,” Roger said with a wrinkled nose. “I don’t care for that word.”

“Roger has a weak stomach,” Petra said, pulling a contraption—a chunky piece and some sort of wand—from her leather messenger bag and futzing with the dials.

“Not weak,” Roger said. “Just . . . particular.”

“What is that?” I asked, gesturing to the contraption.

“It looks like a toothbrush made love to a toy car,” Connor said.

“It was a dental drill,” Petra said, lips pursed as she frowned at the screen, tapped some buttons. “I call it a ‘spectrascope.’ And the patent on this bad boy is going to keep the office in doughnuts and coffee for . . . Well, a fortnight at least.”

“A fortnight’s worth of coffee,” I said. “You really know how to woo a girl, Petra.”

“I do,” she said with a gleam in her dark eyes. “Anyway, when I heard there were ghosts, I brought this along. It’s in the testing phases and doesn’t provide nearly as much information as I’m hoping it will someday, but it should at least give us some basics.”

Petra pressed a button on the machine. If it was supposed to have done something . . . it didn’t. The machine remained silent and still. Frowning, she pressed it again, got nothing. So she whacked it against the back of a visitor’s chair.

Two of the nurses’ heads popped up, both frowning.

“Sorry,” Roger said with a smile and a light wave. “We’re just having equipment problems.”

Anderson came back with a small tray, put it on a side table. “Sit,” she said, and pointed to a chair.

“I’m really fine.”

“Or you’ll turn into a ghoul because you’ve been infected with something.”

“That’s a joke, right?”

Her stare was steady and level. “Do you want to test the theory?”

I obviously didn’t, so I waited while she cleaned the punctures with something that stung, then something that cooled. Then she put a light bandage on it, put my shirt back into place.

“Keep that clean,” Dr. Anderson said, putting the implements back on the tray, including gauze that glittered green.

I felt my gorge rise again, had to look away. Maybe Roger wasn’t the only one with the weak stomach. At least where ooze was concerned.

Petra’s spectrascope started humming, finally operational. She held the wand over the bit of gauze, and it chirped merrily. “Hmm,” she said. She repeated the procedure twice, then dismissed her cousin with a flick of the hand. “You can take that back. We’re done with it.”

Dr. Anderson rolled her eyes, but left us.