“You have a problem,” he said to Jaime. “I presume you came to us for help with that problem. But we aren’t going to drag it out of you.”

“You have more important things to do. I know that. But I think it…it might be related.”

“And I assume you are going to explain what ‘it’ is as soon as we get back to the hotel?”

She nodded.

Undelivered Message

THE HOTEL ROOM DOOR WAS STILL SHUTTING BEHIND US when Jaime started talking.

“I’ve got a haunter,” she said. “And it’s a strange one. I was going to tell you guys, but I know you’re busy and I wasn’t sure what was going on—I’m still not.” She perched on the arm of the armchair, still talking. “It started Wednesday afternoon, before my Orlando show. At first I figured it was Dana, that she knew she was dead and wanted to pay me back for lying to her.” Jaime twisted her rings. “I shouldn’t have done that…not that I could have told her she was dead—it’s not my place, right? But I went overboard with the reassurances. They just came out automatically, like I was doing a show.”

She glanced from Lucas to me. When neither of us spoke, she continued.

“That’s what I do with my shows, in case you haven’t guessed. I make it up. No one wants to hear the truth. Fanny Mae wants to make contact with her dead hubby, and the guy’s standing beside me screaming, ‘Worried about me? You f**king whore, you weren’t worried about me when you hopped into bed with my brother an hour after my funeral!’ You think I’m going to tell her that? I tell her the same thing I tell everyone else. He misses you, but he’s happy and he’s in a good place. And you’d think, you’d really think, that after I’ve given the same damned message for the thousandth time, that people would wise up, but they don’t. Tell them what they want to hear and they never complain.”

She inhaled and shifted down onto the seat. “When this spook came knocking, I figured it was Dana, so I came back here to talk to her. But she was gone, and my haunter wasn’t, so obviously it isn’t her.”

“Can’t you contact it?” I said.

Jaime shook her head. “That’s what’s so weird. I can’t make contact. Not only that, but it’s behaving…well, it’s just not following ghost-necro protocol.” She looked at me. “Do you know how this works? How a spirit contacts a necro?”

“Vaguely,” I said. “Most necromancers I know don’t really talk about it.”

“Typical. They act like it’s some big trade secret. Way I figure it, my friends—the supernaturals, at least—should know how it works. Otherwise, they see me mumbling to myself and staring at blank walls,they’re going to figure I’ve lost it. There are two main ways a spook says hi. If he knows the proper procedures, he can manifest, and I get sight and sound. If he doesn’t know the tricks, then all I get is audio—the old voices-in-my-head. Any ghost should be able to do the latter. But this one can’t.”

“So it’s throwing things instead?”

“It is now. Up until today, it’s just been hanging around, like a mental stalker. I know it’s there. I sense it all the time, as if someone is looking over my shoulder, and it’s”—she lifted a hand to show her trembling fingers—“making me nervous. Then to start poltergeisting? That’s just—well, I’m spooked, and I’ll admit it.”

“True poltergeist activity is rare, isn’t it?” I said.

“Extremely rare. When I was younger, I did some ghost-buster work to pay the bills. Number one haunted-homeowner complaint? Poltergeists. I went out on dozens, if not hundreds of calls. I found exactly three real poltergeists. The rest of the time, it was clever kiddies looking for attention. I’d tell the people some cock-and-bull about the ghosts wanting to see the family spend more time together, and that usually fixed the problem. Real poltergeist activity, though, means a ghost has found a way to move things in our dimension, and that’s a very special talent.”

Lucas frowned. “So how does a ghost who can’t even contact a necromancer manage to manipulate objects cross-dimensionally? I see the problem. Have you considered the possibility that this isn’t a human-based entity at all?”

“Maybe a minor demon,” I said. “Or a nature spirit.”

“Could be, I guess,” Jaime said. “But I’m a necro. I talk to the dead, like my title says. If it ain’t dead, why’s it bugging me? You guys are the spell-casters—the conjurers—so it should be trying to talk to you. And I’m pretty sure the message is for you, anyway. Until the bookstore, it backed off whenever you two were around.”

“Because it thought you were going to convey the message,” I said. “But maybe the message is to tell us to start conjuring, so it can communicate. When it realized you didn’t understand, it bumped it up a level in the bookstore. So let’s try some group conjuring. Among the three of us, it has to find someone it can talk to.”

Jaime looked up at the ceiling. “You hear that, Casper? We’re going to try making contact, so you can back off now.”

After a moment of silence, I asked. “Did it stop?”

Jaime shook her head. “I think the contact problem goes both ways. I can’t hear it and it can’t hear me. Let me grab my kit and see if we can fix that.”