I blew out a breath, opened my eyes again, and caught a glint of something in the flashlight’s beam. But when I kneeled down, found nothing but rock and grit from the road.

Deflated, I walked back to the scene.

I found Connor crouched on the asphalt studying one of the divots in the road. He traced a finger across the broken edge, and I could see the concern in his eyes. The fear that I’d faced down magic strong enough to make that mark. I knew he was proud of what I did, but also that it cost him not to object to the danger.

He rose as I walked toward him. “Anything?”

I shook my head. “There’s a trail about a quarter mile to a dirt road. But nothing on it. Anything here?”

“There’s no sign of her.”

Guilt crept in again, even though I knew it wouldn’t be useful. But that didn’t make it any less potent.

* * *

My screen beeped the moment Connor turned on the vehicle.

I answered it. “Hello, Ariel.”

“So, what exactly happened with the ghosts?” she asked. She didn’t sound irritated, but eager, so I laid it out for her.

“So something tried to grab your girl, and you have unspecified ghost emissions.”

“Emissions,” I decided, was worse than “ooze.” But basically, she was right. “Yes. Petra dated it, or the magic or whatever, to 1872. So there’s something very old in it. But we don’t know what. Or who.”

The line was quiet for a moment, but I heard gentle scratching in the background. Nail file, I bet. I was getting very good at detecting.

“I’ll try to raise one ghost, but that’s it. I have other things to do tonight.”

“I’m not trying to raise an army,” I said. “Just find a girl and identify a poltergeist.”

“Not a poltergeist,” she said. “Not based on your description. Regardless, I have a client.”

That had my attention. “A client?” The last time I’d seen Ariel, she’d been working in a bar for a woman who turned out to be a murderous coven leader.

“It’s community service,” she said. “Part of my agreement . . . after the coven.”

The barkeep/coven leader had been convinced the murders she perpetrated would help prevent a coming apocalypse. Ariel, who’d nearly been a victim herself, had gotten probation for failing to report the leader; she and the other coven members had been under the leader’s magical thrall. I hadn’t seen Ariel since we’d rescued her, and I hadn’t known she’d gotten community service, but was glad to hear it. Ariel had always been self-involved. Maybe doing the public some good would do her some good, too.

“You’re doing free séances for your community service?”

“Yep. They gave me the official training and everything. Mortui vivos docent.”

My brain finally clued in. “You’ve joined the MVD,” I realized. The phrase she’d said meant, roughly, “the dead teach the living.” It was the motto and namesake of the MVD Association, which was the professional group for necromancers—those who spoke to the dead. There were regional MVD groups across the world.