I FINISHED UP with Mulligan and left with a business card, as he jokingly promised to set me up with a “real bike” if I ever got tired of the Triumph. I had about an hour before my dinner with Michael Kennedy, so I retreated to the motel to do some research. I started with a call to Jaime, my necromancer contact, to see whether this ritual sounded like anything she knew.

Jaime Vegas was a celebrity spiritualist. She mainly did live shows these days, where she contacted the dead to reassure the living. Great gig for a necromancer ... except most times, Jaime faked it. She had to. The messages that the living need aren’t necessarily the ones the dead want to impart.

There’s one ghost whose messages Jaime does occasionally pass on. My mother’s. Some necromancers have spirit guides, and my mother is Jaime’s. She’s not supposed to convey messages to Mom’s loved ones—it’s considered disruptive to both the living and the dead—but we bend the rules ... just not often enough to get Mom reassigned.

I consider Jaime a friend, even if she’s over twice my age and I’ve known her since I was a kid. That’s how it is with most of my really good friends. I grew up with these people. I sat backstage at Jaime’s shows. I went to art galleries with Cassandra DuCharme, a four-hundred-year-old vampire. I spent summers with the werewolf Pack—Elena and Clay and Jeremy. It’s a strange way to grow up, but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

Jaime answered on the fourth ring. She sounded out of breath. I waited, not too worried that she was fleeing mortal danger or anything. If Jaime’s out of breath, it’s from overdoing it on the treadmill.

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with Paige,” she said. “Has she already left for Hawaii?”

“Yep. Anything I can help with?”

“No, just council business. Hold on.” I heard her muffled voice talking to someone. She came back with, “Sorry about that. So are you holding down the fort alone?”

“Actually not holding it down at all. I’m off on a case.”

“Really? That’s great. Where?”

“About an hour from Portland.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed, like she’d been hoping I was close enough to visit. “So you’re going home at night, then?”

“No, staying in a motel. Getting some experience living on the road.”

“That’s a good idea. A great idea,” she said, with more enthusiasm than it warranted. “With everyone else gone, you might as well have some fun. Take your time, too. You deserve a break.”

“Uh, okay. Speaking of breaks, we’re still on for New York later this month, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Great, now if you have a second, I’ve got a question for you.”

“Sure.”