As Jaime opened her suitcase, Lucas’s cell phone rang.

“Yes, I’m certainly interested,” he said after an exchange of greetings. “However, it may be another week or so before we can see it. Will that be a problem?” He paused. “Good. Thank you.” Another pause. “No, I haven’t had a chance yet and, ultimately, it is her decision, but I would very much like to see it.” Pause. “Yes, I’ll let you know as soon as we return to Portland.”

He signed off, then pulled out his Day-Timer from his satchel and made a note as Jaime set up her implements on the floor. This time, she didn’t bother asking us to leave.

“A real séance,” she said as she finished. “Now all we need is sleeping bags and a pillow fight. When I was young, I was never allowed to go to sleepovers, in case the kids tried a séance. Might have given them more than they expected.”

We settled onto the floor.

“I’ll be casting a general summoning spell,” Lucas said. “A mild one, I should say, nothing likely to conjure up anything dangerous.”

“I’ll do my communication spell,” I said. “It’s for mental communication with the living, but it might help.”

“Mental communication?” Jaime said. “Witches can do that? Cool.”

“Not really. It only works if the other party is expecting it and only if they’re some distance away, so really, what’s the point? Save a few bucks on cell phone charges? The reception is crappier than the cheapest cell provider.”

We all settled in, did our thing…and nothing happened.

“Hey!” Jaime yelled at the ceiling. “An hour ago you were tearing apart a bookstore trying to get my attention, and now you can’t be bothered to say hello? Do you know who you’re talking to? The most famous necro in the U.S. of A. Not only that, but a former Coven Leader and the son of a Cabal CEO. Three powerful supernaturals, waiting with bated breath to talk to you.”

Across the room, Lucas’s Day-Timer fell from the table.

“I think that means it isn’t impressed,” I said.

The Day-Timer cover flipped open.

“I believe that’s a sign,” Lucas said. “Shall I…?”

“Go stand by it and watch,” I said. “We’ll keep working.”

Jaime did her invocation while I cast.

“Nothing,” Lucas said before I could ask. “Perhaps—”

The pages started to flip.

“Seems we have a time delay from the ghost world,” I said.

“It’s turned to the first D page in my address book,” Lucas said. “If the spirit is referring to a specific person on this page, I’m not making the connection. My supernatural contacts are coded inanother section. These are all humans.”

My purse slid off the chair by the door, unzipping as it fell and scattering the contents on the carpet. A moment later, my PalmPilot spun.

“A techno-savvy spook,” Jaime said. “Maybe it wants to communicate by text messaging.”

“Or, more likely,” Lucas said, “it’s not techno-savvy or, at least, can’t operate an electronic organizer. I believe the message we’re supposed to receive is that the correct name is located, not in my address book, but in Paige’s.”

“How would it know what’s in there?” I said, crossing the floor to pick up my Palm.

“Perhaps it doesn’t know, so much as assume. Who might you know whose last name starts with a D? Presumably a supernatural.”

“That could be a dozen people, maybe more. There’s—Wait, we’ve had other clues. The bookstore. Of all the books in one section, it only knocked down copies of Salem’s Lot.”

“Witches?” Lucas asked.

Jaime shook her head. “Vampires—but if the spook doesn’t know its pop culture, it might think witches.”

“It was also knocking down copies of Homer’s Iliad,” I said.

“Oh, great,” Jaime said. “We move from Who Wants to be a Millionaire to ‘Final Jeopardy.’ Where are we going to find an egghead who’s read the Iliad?”

“Uh, right here,” I said. “Well, I had to. Required reading for college English.”

“It was on my curriculum as well,” Lucas said.

“Okay, the high school dropout reveals herself again,” Jaime said. “Hey, I knew the Stephen King answer. That oughtta get me a nice parting gift. So what’s the Iliad about?”

“The Trojan War,” I said.

“With the horse,” Jaime said. “I knew that. Any supernaturals in the story?”

“There’s an enchantress, Circe—no, that’s the Odyssey.”

“Unless, again, the spirit is mistaken about its literary references,” Lucas said. “If it believed Salem’s Lot was about witches, and the sorceress was from the Iliad…”

“Let’s start there, then,” Jaime said. “Witches whose last names start with D. You’re a witch, so the ghost might assume you know—”

“Cassandra,” I said, thumping my Palm down. “Cassandra the Prophetess, from the Iliad. Cassandra DuCharme, from the interracial council.”

“Let me guess,” Jaime said. “This Cassandra is a witch.”

“Vampire.”

“Even better.” Jaime looked to the ceiling. “Is that it? Do we win?”