I popped over to Portland to check on Savannah. She was at school, poring over a math test. Math has never been her best subject, and I hovered there for a few minutes, trying to mentally communicate the answers, but the truth is that math was never my best subject, either. If I succeeded, I’d probably only guarantee her a failing grade. I kissed her for good luck, and went back to the cemetery to wait for Jaime.

It was a dark and stormy night…

Actually, the skies were crystal clear and, with the three-quarter moon overhead, it wasn’t even that dark, but if you’re going to conduct a graveside séance, you have to set the scene properly.

I’d been sitting on a grave marker for over an hour now. It was one of those double headstones, for a husband and wife…only the wife hadn’t died yet, so the stone just bore her name and date of birth. Downright creepy, if you ask me. The woman’s husband died twenty years ago. Every time she came by to tend his grave, she had to see her name on a tombstone, that blank date-of-death space just itching to be filled in. Talk about a memento mori.

At least they had a tomb. I was buried somewhere in a forest in Maine. The upside to that, though, is that no necromancer could contact me unless they did it the hard way, which, as Jaime said, was damned hard, and rarely successful. So far my afterlife had been interference-free.

At the stroke of midnight, a cowled figure leapt over the cemetery fence. Well, okay, it was probably closer to twelve-thirty, she was wearing a full-length coat instead of a cape, and she more tumbled over the fence than leapt, but I’m really trying for atmosphere here.

Jaime spotted me and strode over, coat flapping. Under it, she wore a black bodysuit. It would have been a great disguise…if not for the flaming red hair that flashed through the darkness like a firebrand.

“Oooh, love the coat,” I said as she drew closer. “Is that lambskin?” I looked down at my jersey and jeans.

“Hmmm, underdressed as usual.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about being seen, except by our ghost.”

“Ah, but that’s the problem. If our ghost sees me dressed like this, he’ll know right away that I’m a spook. Better not give him any clues.”

I closed my eyes and changed into an all-black outfit—a turtleneck, snug-fitting jeans, cropped biker jacket, and knee-high boots. If you have to skulk around a cemetery, at least you can look good doing it.