Woolrich looked a lot better than the last time she’d seen him. His face wasn’t the deathly pallor it had been during the exorcism. A little color had returned, and there wasn’t any green oatmeal dribbling out of his mouth—that was nice—but she could tell he wasn’t 100 percent back to normal. The left side of his face twitched every now and then like it was trying to make a break for it. It was hard not to stare at, but Bayliss did her best by looking only at Woolrich’s eyes. But that made her self-conscious. She was going to look like a crazy person if she fixed him with a Charlie Manson death stare. Okay. Play it cool. Look at his desk.

On the corner was a small fishbowl, inside of which something like a little human brain with fins was swimming laps.

Fuck it, Bayliss thought, and crossed her legs.

“Thanks for getting here so promptly,” Woolrich said.

“Yes. It’s remarkable for you, Nelson,” said Salzman, Woolrich’s assistant. “Either you’re bucking for my job or this new partner of yours is a good influence.”

Nelson nodded. “You nailed it, Salzy. Punctuality is my new spirit animal.”

“Punctuality maybe, but your timing isn’t everything it could be, now is it?”

Nelson’s eyes narrowed. “Can you say that again, only this time in English?”

Bayliss watched the two men spar, still not sure where to look. She didn’t like Salzman, though it wasn’t anything personal. She was just never entirely comfortable around mooks. Sure, they looked like regular people, but like all the walking dead, their eyes were pale and slightly milky. Bayliss finally settled her gaze on Woolrich’s desk. She knew the problem was hers, not Salzman’s. Prejudice begins at home, her mother would say. Self-improvement every day, in every way, makes the angels smile. Bayliss made a mental note to check the office newsletter for any upcoming seminars. Carpooling with the post-life, or maybe an undead mixer. Something like that.

“May I ask why we’re here, sir?” she said.

“I’m glad someone is interested in the topic at hand,” said Woolrich. He knitted his fingers together and looked serious. “Would you like the bad news or the extremely bad news?”

“Um . . .”

“The bad news,” said Nelson. “I can tell Herman Munster over there is super anxious for us to hear the really bad news. Let him wait a little while longer.”

“I don’t mind,” said Salzman. “I have all the time in the world.”

“Peachy.”

Woolrich cleared his throat. “If you two are finished.” He looked from Nelson to Salzman and let his gaze settle on Bayliss. “The bad news is this: the augury department got it wrong. Not very wrong, but wrong enough.”

“Wrong about what, sir?” said Bayliss.

“This Cooper you’ve been surveilling, been up to anything, has he?”