“Is it my wife?” Libor asked intently, and this time there was a bit of growl in his voice.

“I don’t talk about ghosts,” I told him. “I don’t describe them. I don’t name them. I don’t look at them if I can help it.”

We had ourselves a little bit of a stare-down again. Three more ghosts, one of those I’d seen in the main room of the bakery, drifted in. I was busy staring at Libor, and it weirded me out that I still knew they’d come in. Usually I have to use my eyes (or ears or nose or some normal thing) to know when they are around. Evidently not today. Stupid golem.

“Look,” I said. “It isn’t safe to pay too much attention to ghosts. They start to linger, and they pull you in the wrong direction.” My half brother had told me that it was less safe for someone of our lineage to pay attention to the dead than it was for regular people. Too much attention tended to strengthen ghosts and anchor them in the world of the living. Attention from one of our kind was apparently even more energizing.

“I am very old, little girl,” Libor told me. “If ghosts were going to get me killed, they would have done it a long time ago.” He frowned at me with consideration. “You will tell me what I want to know—and I will give you your three days.”

“You want me to describe the ghost I see here?” I asked him. “Though I have clearly stated that it is a bad idea. But after I do this, you will grant me sanctuary for three days.”

“Yes,” he said, sounding half-irritated, half-amused. “Talk for two minutes, a description and maybe a little conversation. Then I and my pack will protect you for three days. I give you the better end of the bargain.”

He was going to get the bad end of the bargain, that was for certain. Fine. I’d warned him, and it was on his head. He was so certain he wanted me to do this—I was going to do it right for him. I closed my eyes and tried to draw upon the power that I’d only touched a time or two on purpose.

There were a lot of ghosts here in the courtyard of Libor’s bakery. More than I’d sensed before. When I reached out to them, it felt as though I were breathing them—bits of pain and fear and terror, most so faint that they’d lost any touch of personality or coherence.

I opened my eyes and looked around. I might have been a little ticked with Libor for not listening to me when I told him it was a bad idea, but I was also concerned about adding any power to the woman who was still petting him. If she could get into my head enough to talk to me without an accent, then she was powerful enough to affect things in the real world. And if I gave her more power while he was still here loving her, I might never be able to get rid of her.