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"We can't bother ghosts in purgatory?" I said. "What the hell is purgatory for, then?"
The middle Fate took over before her sister could answer. "Most wouldn't speak to you anyway, Eve, and those that did would only try to lead you astray with lies and half-truths."
The youngest Fate cut in. "What about--?"
Her sisters cut her short, and the three of them flipped past as they discussed something. Then the middle Fate returned.
"We have a possibility," she said. "Someone who may be inclined to help you, and who will be truthful. However, like the others, she's not a supernatural, so she isn't within the realms we govern. We must make arrangements for you to speak to her, and this may take some time. Leave it with us."
The Fates sent us to my house. I stood on the front porch and looked at the pair of wicker rockers. I'd picked them up shortly after moving in. They conjured up images of lazy afternoons whiled away sipping mint juleps and reading trashy novels. And just as soon as I had time for lazy afternoons, mint juleps, and trashy novels, I'd use them. For now, though...
I looked over at Kris. "The Fates and Trsiel think this is all about following clues like tracks in the snow. But to catch your prey, you need to understand it."
"You want to better understand the Nix."
"Exactly." I w
aved him to the twin rockers. "I need to speak not to a partner, but someone else who was there, who saw what was happening. Someone who'd have a reason to talk to me. Maybe a victim..."
"Possibly, but outside of movies, I doubt many killers share their thoughts and motives with their victims. Those women the Fates showed you both had male partners. The first man is still alive, but the later one died in prison about ten years ago. From what I dimly recall of the trial, he and his wife didn't present the most united front. After his sentence was read, they dragged him out cursing her name."
I grinned. "So he might be up for a little tattletale pay-back?"
"Let's hope so."
Jaime lifted her eye mask to peer at me. "The first night off I've had in two weeks, and you're asking me to spend it in a cemetery five hundred miles away?"
I dropped onto the armchair and pulled my legs under me. "Forget the graveside version, then. Let's go for the long-distance ritual."
"You mean the one that will zap my powers for a week, and knock me flat on my back for three days? Even if I cared to do that--which I don't--the long-distance ritual never works on anyone who isn't in a normal afterlife dimension."
"Well, there is an alternative."
"Good."
"We could contact the ghost of Amanda Sullivan's five-year-old daughter, ask her if she noticed anything strange about Mommy before she drowned her."
Jaime glowered at me, then plucked off her mask and tossed it across the room. "I'll pack."
It took me a couple of hours to get to the cemetery, first transporting as near as I could, then walking the rest of the way. While I waited for Jaime to arrive, I laid a marker and returned to the ghost world, to check on the Fates' progress. The wraith-clerk receptionist assured me the Fates were working on my request, but couldn't provide an ETA for results.
I popped over to Portland to check on Savannah. She was at school, poring over a math test. Math has never been her best subject, and I hovered there for a few minutes, trying to mentally communicate the answers, but the truth is that math was never my best subject, either. If I succeeded, I'd probably only guarantee her a failing grade. I kissed her for good luck, and went back to the cemetery to wait for Jaime.
It was a dark and stormy night...
Actually, the skies were crystal clear and, with the three-quarter moon overhead, it wasn't even that dark, but if you're going to conduct a graveside seance, you have to set the scene properly.
I'd been sitting on a grave marker for over an hour now. It was one of those double headstones, for a husband and wife...only the wife hadn't died yet, so the stone just bore her name and date of birth. Downright creepy, if you ask me. The woman's husband died twenty years ago. Every time she came by to tend his grave, she had to see her name on a tombstone, that blank date-of-death space just itching to be filled in. Talk about a memento mori.
At least they had a tomb. I was buried somewhere in a forest in Maine. The upside to that, though, is that no necromancer could contact me unless they did it the hard way, which, as Jaime said, was damned hard, and rarely successful. So far my afterlife had been interference-free.
At the stroke of midnight, a cowled figure leapt over the cemetery fence. Well, okay, it was probably closer to twelve-thirty, she was wearing a full-length coat instead of a cape, and she more tumbled over the fence than leapt, but I'm really trying for atmosphere here.
Jaime spotted me and strode over, coat flapping. Under it, she wore a black bodysuit. It would have been a great disguise...if not for the flaming red hair that flashed through the darkness like a firebrand.
"Oooh, love the coat," I said as she drew closer. "Is that lambskin?" I looked down at my jersey and jeans.
"Hmmm, underdressed as usual."
