“What the–?” Burnsy steps up, takes the box. “Florence, what the hell is this?”

“The girl gave it to me. Said to protect it. I think those gobs were lookin’ for it.”

“It is Ochre,” Mookie says. The Golden Gate.

Burnsy takes the box, then mists himself with the blue spritz bottle: a nervous gesture if not a necessary one. “Yeah. It is.”

“Why would they want it?”

“No idea. I don’t even know what it does. I just know it opens a gate.”

“To what?”

On this, the dead man says nothing. Does he have an answer? Or doesn’t he want to say? Whatever the case, Burnsy hands the box to Mookie. “Here. Take it. If I’m gonna be looking into this murder thing for you, then someone’s going to need to protect the box. I figure a human cement mixer like you ought to do the trick.”

Mookie takes it. “You sure?” The dead man nods, but then says:

“That means you don’t go after Skelly. I can’t have you carrying this stuff straight to the gobbos. If they were looking for this, then you need to take it up top.” Burnsy lowers his voice: “Mook. Go find your daughter. Quit fuckin’ around down here. If they think she did it, then they’re gonna go after her. And you need to be there.”

“You’re right.” Mookie slides the box of what-may-be-Ochre into his satchel. Next to the container of Vermillion. Golden Gate and Red Rage. Both myths until now. Could that mean that the Death’s Head is real? Maybe, Mookie tells himself, he can still find it. Can still bring it to the Boss and cure him. Especially now that Casimir is dead. He suddenly thinks to ask Burnsy, “What do you know about sacrificial offerings? We found marigolds, mezcal, chocolate on the kid’s body.”

“Day of the Dead-style ofrendas? Sounds like someone’s trying to appease someone. Or something.”

“Found two broken chain links in the pockets, too. Iron.”

Burnsy’s crispy brow furrows. “Sounds like a summoning and binding.”

“What?”

“Someone called up something from the Underworld and then… locked it the fuck down. Bound it. Maybe to the body.”

“That’s bad, right?”

“It’s rarely good.”

“Thanks for your help, Burnsy.”

“We’re not fuckin’ fuck-buddies. But I’ll go do the job. I’ll find the ghost of the grandson. And I’ll keep my barely-there ear to the ground for your girl, Skelly.”

“I can’t leave that task to you.”

“You gotta. Because you have other shit on your plate. But you owe me, Mookie Pearl. You owe me and my family like you wouldn’t believe.”

From Daisypusher to a long unused subway station. Then to a subway tunnel. Then to the 2nd Avenue station. Then up the stairs. To the street.

Into the light. Again.

Everything hurts.