Stars and stones. When Molly insisted on going, why didn’t I just tell her, “Of course you can come, grasshopper. I’ve always wanted to create a mentally mutilated monster of my very own.”

Man. It wasn’t the legacy I’d wanted to leave behind me. I mean, I hadn’t ever thought much about leaving a legacy, truth be told, but an apprentice with a crippled heart and mind who was probably going to get hunted down by her own people was definitely never in the plan.

“Oh, kid,” I breathed to no one. “Molly. I’m so sorry.”

It turns out ghosts can cry.

“Over here,” said a familiar voice. It was later, but not much later. Sometime after noon, maybe? It was hard to tell from the grave.

“You’ve never even been here before,” answered another. “I was at the funeral. How the hell would you know where his grave was?”

I heard Fitz let out a sigh front-loaded with so much drama that only a teenager could have managed it without hurting himself. “Is it the gaping hole in the ground over there, with the big pentacle on the headstone?”

There was a brief, miffed pause, and Butters answered, “Okay. Maybe it is.”

Footsteps crunched through wet, melting snow. Fitz and Butters appeared at the edge of my grave and peered down.

“Well?” Butters asked. “Is he there?”

“How the hell should I know?” Fitz replied. “I don’t see dead people. I hear them. And I don’t hear anything.”

“Hey, Fitz,” I said.

The kid jumped. He was wearing his newly laundered clothes and had added one of Forthill’s old coats over the top of everything. “Christ. Yeah, he’s there.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Butters said. “Hi, Harry. Here, man. Help me down.”

“Help you down? It’s, like, five feet to the bottom, if that. Just jump down.”

“Jump into an open grave? What kind of idiot are you?” Butters replied. “I might as well put on a red shirt and volunteer for the away team. There’s snow and ice and slippery mud down there. That’s like asking for an ironically broken neck.”

“Are all doctors whiny girls like you?” Fitz asked.

“Hey. This whiny girl is still alive because he doesn’t do stupid crap.”

Fitz snorted. “So I help you down, my foot slips, we both fall in and die.”

Butters lifted an eyebrow and grunted. “Huh. True.”

I pinched at the bridge of my nose. “Oh, Hell’s bells, guys. Either get a room or stop flirting and get down here.”

“Ha-ha,” Fitz said toward me crossly. “He just called us gay.”

Butters blinked. “For not jumping into a hole we might not be able to climb out of? That’s kind of insensitive.”

“Not for that, for…” Fitz let out a sigh of vintage teenage impatience. “Christ, just give me your hand, okay? I’ll swing you down.”

Butters fussed for a moment more, making sure that Fitz had a solid place to plant his feet, and then he swung down into my grave. He was wearing his winter gear again and carrying the gym bag. Once he was down, he made sure he was out of direct sunlight and started opening the bag.