Bailey was already hustling me out the door. “No problem, Summer. Hope it goes well.”

  Once we were safely back out in the hall with the door between us and the chatty reader, I turned to Bailey, wide-eyed. “Jeez Louise, isn’t there some kinda confidentiality between a person and their fortune teller?”

  Bailey pushed some of the hair that had come out of her braid off her face. “That’s Summer Solis,” she answered on a laugh. “She’s our resident high-maintenance psychic.”

  I gave a low whistle, bewildered by the shameless gossip. Hanging around Steamboat could get me an earful about the comings and goings of Haven Hollow’s residents, maybe even stuff that hadn’t happened yet. Hmm, so maybe she did have her use.

  We headed down a hallway lined with offices. The first door on the left was open when we passed. A guy with shaggy blond hair and glasses sat behind a desk, turning a silver and emerald earring over and over in his mitts. He pursed his lips as he stroked his thumb over the center stone and picked up a calligraphy pen.

  “I don’t know by what stretch anyone could consider the 1960’s to be Victorian. Nice try, though,” he muttered as we walked by.

  I shot Bailey a questioning look.

  “Adam is a psychometrist. He can read objects and know where they’ve been, or when they were made. He gets asked to verify the provenance of a lot of artwork and jewelry for collectors.”

  The Spook Society was amazing. High-maintenance tarot readers with lots of ‘Ss’ in their names, clairvoyants, mediums and empaths, all working under one roof.

  The next door was closed, but I coulda sworn I heard music when I passed. The sound was real faint, but beautiful, like a choir of people singing in perfect harmony. I didn’t realize I’d stopped to listen until Bailey tugged me forward again before pointing at the window and motioning to the broad sitting at the desk.

  “Giselle is an angel reader.”

  I blinked, wide eyed. “No kidding?”

  “Come on. We have an appointment.”

  The office that Bailey led me to had another of those brass nameplates on the door, but this one read in real prominent, important like letters: “Blaise Howard”.

  And there we were.

  It was now time for my meeting with the big cheese of Spook Society, the high pillow himself. My screws were so tight, my kisser went dry and my fingertips prickled.

  Bailey laid a paw on my back, either in support or ‘cause she thought I might actually leg it.

  “Are you ready for this?”

  Heck no, I wasn’t! How was I ever supposed to impress the big man when this was my first gig in a hundred years? I ain’t tryin’ to pull no tear jerker, but the opportunities are pretty slim when you’re a spook.

  Once upon a time, the whole world had been my oyster. I’d come to the city of angels to take my shot at making it on the silver screen. I coulda made it, too—I had the talent as well as the looks. I was all set to be the next Lillian Gish or Mary Pickford. I met all the right people, went to all the best parties.

  And that was what sunk me.

  Well, more pointedly, that no good grifter, that rotten dog, Frank—he was the one who sunk me.

  He’d been fun at first with his real swanky clothes and his glitzy moves. I’d been stuck on him something fierce for a little bit. Sure, he had him a bit of a temper, but what fella didn’t? It wasn’t like I was looking to slap on the handcuffs anytime soon, but he was up for a good time. But it turned out he had him a jealous streak to go along with that temper.

  I’d stayed out late at a party one night, tipping a few, and talking to people in the know who said they could help me land the lead in one of the most anticipated talkies. The champagne and gin had been flowing like water, the music like a second heartbeat. I’d never felt more alive.

  Well, Frank thought me being out late meant I was stepping out on him, and the rat bastard welcomed me home with a bullet between the peepers, then bumped himself off with the same piece.

  If I’d thought Ol’ Frank had a temper when he was alive, that was nothing compared to after he was pushing up daisies.

  While we both ended up stuck in that little dump in Silver Lake for the better part of a century, Frank terrorized, attacked, and drove off anyone who tried to live there. He’d twisted into the most dangerous kinda ghost there was: a poltergeist.

  The last family to move in was a single broad and her kid. At the time, it looked like things was gonna follow the same script: smashed belongings, broken windows, terrorized family, but this time was even worse ‘cause that poor kid could somehow see Frank and me.

  But the kid’s ma, Poppy, wasn’t just any dumb Dora. Nope, she was a gypsy with a trunk full of magic potions, and she sent Frank packing to whatever was waiting for him on the other side (and I hope wherever that was, it was full o’ little demons with real sharp sticks). Poppy and her kid still fixed to move out, though, but I wasn’t about to lose the only people who could see me since I’d kicked the bucket, so I tagged along.

  I swear, hitching my wagon to that old wooden pencil case so I could stow away was the smartest thing I ever did in my life. Or death, as it were.

  I haunted Poppy’s new digs in Haven Hollow for a while, but things was real different. Poppy made friends with other people and they could see me too! It wasn’t as good as being alive, but it sure as heck was better than being stuck with only that rat, Frank, for company for over a hundred years.

  Now,

  I could talk to people again!

  Including Henner Tayir.

  Henner’s a choice bit of calico, who’s also real swell, and he just happens to be a friend of Poppy’s. His grandmother was a witch, and while he didn’t inherit her talent for magic, he got just enough of it that talking to ghosts was a snap in the dark. I mighta been carrying a bit of a torch for him. Maybe. Though I wasn’t in any rush to jump on the next man locomotive that came my way, given how well my last one worked out.

  So how was it that I went from spook to unspook?

  One night, when the gang was all together, me and Henner were goofing around like we usually did. We startled Wandamama while she was in the middle of a spell and I got hit by one of her unpredictable hexes. The next thing I knew, my daisies were un-pushed.

  I think Wanda might have been even more frazzled than I was—I mean, I wasn’t too frazzled considering I was alive again and bein’ alive beats bein’ dead six days outta the week. Maybe seven.

  I’d only been in my twenties when I’d kicked the bucket, but once I was back in the world of the living, time started catching up with me. Unfortunately, that meant I was heading for about a quarter past dead again, and fast. Poppy, the absolute doll, realized what was happening and whipped up a potion that stopped the process, so now I was a hundred-year-old gal with a body that looked just south of forty. My fake birth papers said I was thirty-eight.

  No, it wasn’t real swell to age ten years in a couple days, but it still sure beat the big sleep.

  So, here I was, back to the land of the living, but it wasn’t all rainbows and kittens. Because I’d lived over a hundred years ago, the Darla of yesterday couldn’t be the same Darla of today so I had to become someone real proper. That’s why, on paper, I became Darla Rowe, a relative of Lorcan Rowe’s—the vampire dentist in town and the paramour of Wanda. And I do have to say that Wanda is one lucky witch because although Lorcan’s a stiff, he’s also a looker. And after I’d taken on his surname, he also became my daddy—well, in a manner of speaking, anyway.

  The door opened, and I just about jumped outta my new skin.

  Blaise Howard was an impressive hombre, on a lot of levels. Hotsy totsy? Sure. I mean that blade of a schnozzer, those chiseled cheekbones, the dark brows. His hair was graying, mostly at the temples, but they were distinguished silver streaks—like the kind Clark Gable favored in his older years.

  Mr. Howard walked with a bit of a limp, like he thought he was Lord Byron. And with the help of the silver topped cane in his right mitt, he had this air of importance. Faint scars lined the back of his cane hand, and I had to bite my lip to keep from blurting out some real nosy questions. (Wanda told me on more than one occasion that I worked my jaws too much and was real annoying, so I was working on that habit.)

  It was more than just Blaise Big Cheese’s physical appearance that made him impressive, though. Standing a couple feet away, I could feel the aura of power that surrounded him, buzzing at my skin, making it harder to draw a full breath. And when he turned those true-blue peepers on me, it felt like I was staring down the sun. Honest to goodness—‘cause if I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’.

  I had to fight not to duck my chin under his silent scrutiny.

  “Well, I’ll leave you both to it,” Bailey said as she gave me a little smile and then hightailed it outta there. Not that I blamed her, this fella was intimidating and then some.

  Mr. Howard’s voice was surprisingly deep when he finally spoke, rumbling in his chest like the first hint of thunder.

  “I know what you are, Darla—a dead girl walking.”

  I froze, and the butterflies in my stomach started doing the foxtrot. I swallowed, hoping my voice didn’t squeak as I fought for the right thing to say, but not entirely sure what that right thing to say was, I settled for, “I think you’re tooting the wrong ringer.”

  Apparently, that wasn’t the right thing to say because Mr. Howard’s face was grave, his narrowed peepers locked on mine.

  “How it is that you’re standing here, talking to me, is a mystery I’ll have to solve another time,” he continued, real serious like. “But… it’s also the reason I’m hiring you. I need your help.”

  Chapter Two

  How it was that I’d gotten hired before I ever even interviewed, I didn’t know.

  So, I choked on a nervous laugh, wheezing like a dying cat, because I wasn’t sure what in the heck he was gabbing on about and then it occurred to me that maybe he had me confused with some other moll. “I think you’re a little behind the eight ball, Mr. Howard.”

  He stared at me, deadpan, and I squirmed in my chair, which he’d just insisted I take, trying to play the conversation off like this was just a case of mistaken identity.

  “I don’t think so,” he answered and the way his peepers narrowed on me, I felt like a little fieldmouse getting eyed by a very hungry owl.

  Trying to find my courage, I told myself to focus on anything in the room but Mr. Howard, the very hungry owl. But looking at all the priceless objects in his office didn’t do nothing for my overactive heart. Everything around me was the kinda fancy that works hard not to be gaudy or over the top but still requires lots of cabbage. And I was more than sure Mr. Howard had cabbage coming outta his ears.

  Long, scarred fingers wrapped around a fountain pen and Mr. Howard drummed it against the blotter on his enormous mahogany desk.

  “I assure you, Miss Fenton, I am quite serious.”

  I froze at the name as my heart tried to jump into my esophagus.

  No one from my second life shoulda known that name, my birth name, my death name. I was now Darla Rowe in every registry and government agency, and I had a very costly birth certificate to prove it, even if the ink was still a little wet.

  Merciless blue peepers searched my face, and that hungry, old owl began methodically reciting facts about my old life, drumming his pen in accompaniment, like it was the tolling of a bell marking my funeral.

  “You were Darla Fenton, an aspiring actress who moved to Los Angeles to star in Hollywood movies and who died nearly a century ago. You’ve recently returned to this side of the veil, an unprecedented event that has left you immensely sensitive to the spiritual side of things. And that’s precisely why I need you.”

  I swallowed real careful like. It probably wouldn’t help first impressions if I vomited all over the big cheese’s desk.

  Mr. Howard’s face wasn’t exactly inhospitable, but there was something cold about it when he sat back into his chair with a soft sigh of gray leather. “You’re only beginning to scratch the surface of what you are capable of, Miss Fenton. Your connection to the other side has turned you into a uniquely powerful medium.”

  “How do you know all this?” I blurted the question out, panic rising in my chest like a second heartbeat. As far as I knew, Wandamama had gotten me this interview through Bailey and it was more a favor Bailey was doing for Wanda than it was about me actually being a capable psychic. I mean, I’d had brushes with information I really shouldn’t have known and I certainly had a connection with the spiritual world, no doubt owing to the fact I used to inhabit it.

  But, as far as I understood it, Mr. Howard was doing us all a favor in interviewing me… now it appeared such wasn’t actually the case.

  Going back to the fact that Mr. Howard somehow (and I had no idea how) knew about my dastardly beginnings, that was cause for concern. I owed everything to Wanda and if the truth got out about how I’d come to be, it could mean curtains for her. The other witches would put a hit on her if they found out she was going against the natural order, however unintentionally, and bringing ghosts back to life. Well, they woulda killed her, but that was before she formed her own coven and then put the smack-down on her mother. But I still didn’t imagine this was information that just anyone should know.

  Blaise Howard locked gazes with me, and a flash of gold around his irises gleamed like wildfire. I coulda sworn that gold wasn’t there a second before. His peepers were hypnotic, like I was being drawn into a reverie, and even though we were inside, I could suddenly smell rain in the air and the earthy scent of decomposing leaves.

  Something sparked in my memories.

  Something that said this whole situation was all vaguely familiar, but still just outta my reach—like a whisper from a past life that greets you so quickly, it’s gone before you ever realize it was even there.

  I opened my kisser to say something. But then he blinked, and his peepers were normal human blue again. The air conditioner came to life with a hum, an intrusion of reality that jolted me, and the room smelled of leather and wood oil once again. I had to wonder if the boss man was also some kinda magician?

  “The point is that I know, Miss Fenton. How is irrelevant.” His hands resumed drumming the pen against the desk, a light tap, tap that permeated the otherwise quiet of the room like a gunshot. “I only have one other medium in my employ who could do what I require, but I don’t believe Bailey could do so for as long as needed and this case will require quite a bit of spiritual mojo, as it were.”

  Well, wasn’t that just a kick in the pants? Or maybe it was my saving grace. The head honcho needed me. Therefore, I wasn’t in trouble. Yet. “Okay,” I said cautiously, feeling like I was being grilled by the law. “What is it exactly that I’m supposed to do?”

  Mr. Howard tapped his fingers on a slate gray file folder on top of his desk. “The Society has been enlisted by Taliyah Morgan to aid in a recent investigation. The investigation is so recent, she needs our help right away—before word gets leaked to the press.”

  “Wow, that sounds real important.”

  “This case could perhaps be the most important case that’s come our way.”

  My eyebrows shot up so high, they darn near touched my hair line.

  Taliyah Morgan was the boss woman of Haven Hollow’s copper department. What she was doing hiring Spook Society to solve a case, I didn’t know. Last I’d heard, Ms. Morgan didn’t exactly have an affinity for things that went bump in the night.

  “I’d love to help out, Mr. Howard, but I’m no gumshoe.”

  The frigid look he gave me had my kisser closing so fast, my teeth clicked together.

  “Chief Morgan,” he continued, like I’d never said nothing. “Needs access to information possessed by the late chief of police, her brother, Cain Morgan. He will need to be on call, as it were, and available to consult whenever she needs him.”

  I frowned ‘cause I weren’t quite following him. “But he’s a stiff.”

  “He’s dead, yes.”

  “Then how’s he gonna be on call?” Maybe it wasn’t so much me that was confused. Maybe it was more like Mr. Boss Man had a screw loose.

  “That’s where you come in.”

  From what I’d heard through the supernatural grapevine, Cain Morgan had been a good copper, if a bit of a stick in the mud. He’d died in the line of duty, trying to save Haven Hollow from an honest to goodness demon, which was something I didn’t want to think about too hard. Demons and me… I just didn’t think we had much in common. Anyhoo… Cain being dead certainly made talking to his sister a bit tricky. Hence Taliyah Morgan’s request for Spook Society’s assistance. But how I fit into this, I still didn’t know.

  Blaise Howard fixed them narrowed peepers on me, and I fought not to squirm. This was worse than getting called to the carpet in grade school, and there’s nothing more terrifying than a disappointed nun with a rod.

  “In order for the late Chief Morgan to be able to communicate with the current Chief Morgan, they require the assistance of a medium,” the bossman continued. “Your… unusual connection to the other side means you’re the only one who could be possessed for the length of time required without suffering serious consequences.”

  “Whoa, wait just a minute, time out.” I held my hands up in a ‘T’ position like I’d seen referees do on the tele. “You don’t just want me to talk to the ghostie, you want me… to let him… possess me?”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but all signs pointed to “not great”. Sharing a house with a poltergeist had been a nightmare, and that was when I was a fellow ghost. I wasn’t too keen to experience the whole situation from the house’s side.

  “That’s right,” Mr. Bossman answered.

  “Well, I appreciate the interview,” I started as I gave him my best ‘sorry-but-I-don’t-wanna -be-possessed’ look.

  Hmm, maybe the Dairy Queen was hiring.

  “Bailey can’t walk around a crime scene, talking to Chief Morgan’s spirit in front of non-magical types,” Mr. Howard continued, like he didn’t care whether or not the Dairy Queen was hiring or that I was attempting to blow this joint. “So, that means Cain will need to be able to take refuge in a body.”