But ghosts ask for more than an autograph or a handshake. Am I obligated to provide it more often than I already do? Am I obligated to at least listen more often than I do?

Jeremy arrived and I started to get up, but he waved me down again and told me Hope had taken a cab and I should finish my coffee. He got one for himself, then started to sit on the sofa.

"Uh, not there," I said.

He looked over his shoulder at the seemingly empty seat. "Hello, Eve."

"Tell him I said hi… and bye," she said. "I need to check a few things, then I'll come by the gardens."

AFTER WE left the coffee shop, Jeremy told me the results of their break-and-enter. He had hoped to uncover the name of the lover Botnick had shared with a member of the magic group, and he had found a book with dozens of women's names, all classified by codes. Find the key to the code and he might find the right lover but he suspected that key had existed only in Botnick's head. Eve was trying to gain access to Botnick, but those first few postdeath days were difficult.

Hope hadn't fared any better. As she'd feared, the vibes she'd picked up were old. She'd finally tapped into the chaos enough to see what she'd been sensing-a vision of a man killing his wife with an axe, back in the twenties. A gruesome reward for all her effort, and one with no bearing on our case.

I hesitated for a minute, then told Jeremy about the women in the coffee shop and how they'd reminded me of my mother.

"I guess I was feeling sorry for myself, thinking of how other parents handle supernatural things so much better. But you didn't have it easy yourself."

A half-shrug. Did that mean he didn't want to talk about it? Or just didn't want to complain? After a moment, though, he said, "I just wasn't what Malcolm hoped for in a son." He often referred to his father by his first name, which said a lot about their relationship.

"You weren't a fighter, you mean." I flushed. "Not that you aren't-"

"I'm not. I can be, but it's not who I am. A wolf instinctively wants to pass on what he knows to his son. I just wasn't that son. He tried transferring his attentions to Clay, but-" a shrug, "-that didn't work out so well."

"Your father and Clay?"

"At first, Malcolm wanted nothing to do with Clay. But as he grew, my father interpreted his strong wolf side as…" He paused, as if searching for a word.

"A violent streak?"

"Sadistic, even, which I'm sure any psychiatrist would say was projection. Malcolm liked to kill. There's no other way to put it. He wanted to train Clay to fight. I knew that as long as I supervised, it was what Clay needed. Clay hated Malcolm, but he was astute enough, even at that age, to take what he could from the lessons. As for a father-son bond, it never happened."

"Is that all yourfather wanted?"

"I'm sure he hoped to turn Clay against me. Malcolm vacillated between ignoring me and planning petty revenges. He hated being beholden to me."

"Beholden?"

"His father left Stonehaven and all its assets to me. While my grandfather intended to protect me, the result was that I was then responsible for Malcolm. I had to dole out an allowance and hide his killings, because if the Pack found out, he'd be banished, and become an even greater threat."

I was silent for a moment, then said, "That's the real problem, isn't it? You're tired of being responsible for others."

He looked over sharply.

"Your father. Clay. The Pack. Elena after Clay bit her. You've always been responsible for others, and now that you're hoping to retire from Alpha-hood, the last thing you need is a relationship with someone else you might need to protect."

"No. That's not true, Jaime. Clay and the Pack were responsibilities I wanted. Even with Elena and my father, there were other options available. I like being responsible. I like helping. I like protecting. And I'm sure that says something less than admirable about my character, but I can't help it. If anything, with you, I struggle not to overdo it. I want to give you advice, to help you, and I know that's not what you need from me."

"Sometimes it is," I said softly.

A crooked smile. "In small doses, yes. If I gave free rein to my impulses, you'd run screaming the other way." He eased back in his seat, smile fading. "I am a leader, Jaime. I like to be in control and be responsible for others, and I take that responsibility very seriously. That means I don't take chances. Ever."

I met his gaze. "Well, maybe it's time to start."

A long pause. Then he murmured, under his breath, so softly I had to read his lips to hear it, "Maybe it is."

BY THE time we returned to the house, it was past midnight. Jeremy and I snuck around to the garden.

I sat under a gnarled dwarf tree, the long twisted branches tickling my arms, while Jeremy… got ready. Overhead the nearly full moon brightened the garden to twilight, casting a yellow glow. Some night bird or owl gave a mournful cry, raising the hairs on my neck. The faint smell of wood smoke drifted past.

"Nice night for grave digging," Eve whispered as she sat beside me on the bench. "Did you know you have a ghostly audience already?"

I glanced around. Tansy and Gabrielle were almost hidden behind a fountain. Tansy lifted her fingers in a sheepish wave. I waved back, but my stomach clenched. Was she still waiting for me to talk to her?

"There are more," Eve said. "Probably a dozen of them. They seem to be trying to stay out of your way. Just curious. But if you want me to shoo them off-"