“Yes, those are the ones. The Norse really knew how to pick their deities. Those crumbling rocks, I should point out, are making more use of that sofa than either you or your late grandmother, just at the moment.”

There followed an awkward pause, punctuated only by the occasional flip of a page or shifting of books on Jackaby’s desk. After a short while, it seemed the detective had forgotten he had been conversing at all. His lips formed words occasionally, silently mouthing private thoughts meant to remain between him and his dusty papers.

The ghost, Jenny, stayed perched on the windowsill, watching the world beyond growing dim. Behind her silvery complexion lay a very human woman. By her features, she could not have been much older than I was. For all her bluster, she looked tired and quietly sad.

“I’m sorry about the room,” I said. “I didn’t know.”

She turned her head just a fraction in my direction. “It’s fine.”

“And about the tea. You just—I wasn’t expecting . . . you.”

“I know. That’s why I did it.” She dropped to the ground, or just above it, and began to drift toward Jackaby’s door. “You wouldn’t have seen me at all, if I didn’t want you to, dear. I didn’t let the last one see me for a week.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. That is—I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Cavanaugh.”

She paused at the threshold and looked back over her shoulder. Her gaze flickered to Jackaby, who remained engrossed in his work, and then turned to me. “Are you, really?”

Now that the initial shock had subsided, I found her growing less frightening and more intriguing. Once one got past her shimmering translucence and weightlessness, it was difficult to find anything really disturbing about the striking, opalescent lady. I wondered, perhaps a little jealously, if she had looked as beautiful in life. Her flowing gown made me acutely aware of my own plain dress, with its muddy green hem and fresh tea stain. For the first time since England, I wished I had chosen to wear something less practical—something with a corset and ribbons. If I had a figure like Jenny’s, I might actually enjoy dressing up and would certainly never need to worry about being treated like a child.

I realized I was staring and held out a hand. “I am charmed.”

She did not return the gesture, but turned away instead and slid through the door. Because it stood ajar, she only truly slid through a small part of it. From the hallway, she gestured for me to follow.

I glanced at Jackaby, whose dark hair peeked over the top of a particularly massive leather tome with Celtic knotwork on the cover.

“Oh, he’ll be at it for hours,” she said wistfully. “Come on.”