We met Theo and Petra in the parking lot. They’d driven the Ombuds’ van, the office name stenciled in tall black letters along the side. Someone had stuck a bumper sticker of the same design along the length of Theo’s cast.

“Are we paying for that advertising?” I asked with a smile.

“He really enjoyed the drugs,” Petra said.

“And now it won’t come off,” Theo grumbled, before sticking a finger inside the edge of his cast.

“Quit messing with it,” I said.

“It itches.”

“It can’t possibly itch yet. You’ve had the cast on for one day.”

“So it’s psychosomatic,” he said. “That doesn’t make it itch less.”

I gave him the haggard sigh of the long-suffering work spouse. “Were you able to get some sleep?”

“Yes. Petra was right about the drugs,” he said with a smile. “So no sorcerers in Chicago in 1872? That’s the Cadogan House conclusion?”

“At least not that were known to the Order,” I said. “They’ve got Paige and the Librarian looking into it. You’ll know what I know as soon as I know it.”

We headed for the stand-alone brick building with fluted columns and a gym and a party room sign on glass-fronted double doors.

Petra went in first, and I noticed Theo waited until she and Connor were inside before pausing at the threshold. It occurred to me that I hadn’t been a very good work spouse, which needed rectifying.

“Are you up for this?” I shifted my gaze to his arm and then back again. “And I’m sorry I didn’t ask before now. Petra and I can handle if you aren’t.”

“I’m a little freaked out,” he said quietly, something he’d admit to a partner, but not in front of the rest of them. He lifted his casted arm. “It’s not this. It’s the ghosts and the damn howling and that breeze. Every time something touches me, I think I’m being haunted.”

“I know the feeling. Ariel will be in control during the séance, at least.” I frowned. “Although maybe that doesn’t help much.”

“I’ll step out if I need to,” he assured me, and I was pretty sure he was trying to make me feel better.

“I appreciate a man who can set boundaries,” I said, and opened the door.

* * *

“Is he okay?” Connor whispered when we joined him inside the party room, which had been decorated to look like someone’s den: fireplace, couches, side tables. Counters lined one side, and a swinging door led to a small kitchen.

“He’ll hold,” I said.

“Of course he will,” Connor said. “He’s a fighter, just like his partner.”

Ariel stood in the middle of the room, hands on her hips as she surveyed it. She was long and lean, with light brown skin and dark curly hair that was pulled back into a poof away from her gorgeous face. Her eyes were wide and the color of amber, her lips generous and colored today a somber tint in an eggplant shade. She wore a T-shirt of the same shade with the MVD’s logo in an orangey yellow, boots in that same bright color, and fitted jeans. Credit where credit was due: the woman had style.