Bones and I pulled up to the Washington, D.C., strip mall right as the sun was setting. Lights were still on inside of Helen of Troy’s Garden, illuminating the various floral arrangements the shop sold. More importantly was the African-American man I glimpsed among the flowers, his vermilion shirt tight enough to look painted on.

“Good, he’s here,” I said.

We hadn’t called because I wasn’t sure if Tyler would agree to help us. The last time, it almost got him killed. People tended to hang on to that sort of thing, but a good medium was hard to find.

As we approached the shop, a dog began to bark. Seconds later, a furry, drool-bedecked face pressed against the lower portion of the glass door, his whole butt shaking from how hard he wagged his tail.

“What’s gotten into you, Dexter?” Tyler muttered. Then he came closer and saw Bones and me on the other side of the glass.

Oh HELL no, bolted across his mind.

“Is that any way to greet old friends?” Bones asked dryly.

Tyler drew his shoulders back, further stretching the strained fabric of his shirt.

“That’s not a greeting, sugar. It’s my answer to whatever you’ve come here to ask me to do.”

“Hi, Tyler, you look great,” I said, biting back a grin as I came inside his shop. “Love the shirt. Is that Dolce?”

He preened for a moment before catching himself. “Robert Graham, and don’t try sweet-talking me. I had to dye my hair to take out the gray you two caused the last time I helped you!”

I ignored that, petting Dexter and cooing to him. The stout English bulldog vibrated with joy as he covered my hands with sloppy kisses.

“Traitor,” Tyler said in exasperation.

Bones clapped Tyler on the back. “No need to fret, mate. We only want you to contact her uncle for us.”

“Don?” Tyler let out a scoff. “Why do you need me for that?”

I glanced up. “Because we can’t waste more time waiting for him to show up on his own. Madigan’s done something to our friends.”

At the mention of his name, a spate of insults raced across Tyler’s mind. Madigan tended to make more enemies than friends.

Still, suspicion narrowed Tyler’s chocolate-colored eyes.

“No trap building or getting wooden objects poltergeisted into my throat by murdering ghosts, right? I contact Don, and we’re done?”

“Promise,” Bones said at once.

Tyler’s gaze raked over him. “You’re too pretty for me to refuse, Bonesy,” he said with a regretful sigh. Then he winked at me. “But not so pretty that I’m doing it for free.”

I snorted, used to Tyler’s flirting as well as his greedy streak.

“Deal.”

That’s how two vampires, a medium, and a dog came to sit around a Ouija board in the back room of a floral shop. It sounded like the plot to a SyFy Channel Saturday night movie, but sometimes “weird” was the key ingredient to getting things done. When in the hands of a skilled medium, Ouija boards opened doors to the other side. The urn containing Don’s cremated remains was to ensure that we didn’t have to weed through other spirits before getting to Don.