The orange lights flowed together into a manlike shape again, this time straddling the lemur’s prone form. The being of light rained blows down on the lemur’s head, over and over, striking with the speed and power of a motor’s pistons. Within ten or twelve seconds, the head of the lemur had been crushed into ectoplasmic guck, and his sparkles of light—his memories—and the same odd, tiny gems began to well up from his broken form.

The light being rose from the form of the fallen lemur and scanned the area around us, his featureless face turning in a slow, alert scan.

“What the hell!” Butters said, his eyes wide. “I mean, what the hell was that, man?”

“Relax, sahib,” said a young man’s voice. It was coming from the fiery figure, which nodded and made hand-dusting motions of unmistakable satisfaction. “Just taking out the trash. Scum like that are all over these old mortal cities. Part of the posthuman condition, you might say.”

I just watched. I didn’t feel like doing anything else.

“Yeah, yeah,” Butters said. “But he’s safe now?”

“For now,” the being said, “and as far as I know.”

Butters crunched through the snow and stared down at me. The little guy was one of Chicago’s small number of medical examiners, a forensic investigator who analyzed corpses and found out all sorts of details about them. A few years ago, he’d analyzed corpses of vampires that had burned to death in a big fire someone started. He’d asserted that they obviously were not human. He’d been packed off to an institution for half a year in response. Now he treaded carefully in his career—or at least he had when I was last alive.

“Is it really him?” Butters asked.

The being of light scanned me with unseen eyes. “I can’t spot anything that would suggest he was anything else,” he said cautiously. “Which ain’t the same as saying it’s Harry’s ghost. It has… more something than other ghosts I’ve encountered.”

Butters frowned. “More what?”

“Something,” the being said. “Meaning I’m not sure what. Something I’m not expert in, clearly.”

“The, uh, the ghost,” Butters said. “It’s hurt?”

“Quite severely,” the being said. “But it’s easily mended—if you wish to do it.”

Butters blinked at him. “What? Yes, yes, of course I wish it.”

“Very good, sahib,” the being said. And then it whipped and darted through the night air, gathering up all the floating, glittering gems from the vanishing remains of the lemurs. It brought them together into a single mass and then knelt down next to my head.

“Bob,” I said quietly.

Bob the Skull, formerly my personal assistant and confidant, hesitated beside me as I said his name. Once again, I became aware of his intense regard, but if he saw anything, it didn’t register on his featureless face.

“Harry,” he said. “Open up. You need to restore these memories to your essence.”

“Restore what?” I asked.

“Eat ’em,” Bob said firmly. “Open your mouth.”