“You don’t think she followed us, do you?”

“No, darling.”

“But why, Alion? She’s a spectre, if she wanted to spy on us right now, she could and we’d never know.”

“I’d know. You’d know too.”

“I’m still mortal – I don’t know if the tickle down my spine is her presence or just the evening wind through this blasted cashmere. I should have worn the wool, springtime hates lovers by the sea. You leave the house in a sweat but let an hour pass and you’re clutching your armpits to keep your fingers from trembling off the knuckle while--”

“Darling.”

“Oh, don’t use that tone with me, Alion.”

“Darling?”

“You know the one. ‘Darling, a spectre is nothing to be frightened of. Darling, it’s just a broken fang, it’ll grow back, I’m fine. Darling, why waste a silver bullet on a werewolf when peanut butter’s on sale?’

“Is that what I sound like?”

“Only when you’re speaking. Oh don’t try to hide your smile, you bastard, as soon as that little fang pokes out between your lips I know you’re crushing a chuckle. Go on, call me crazy.”

“I would but… for a necromancer, you’ve quite the temper on you.”

“The dead are angrier than the living, trust me. They’ll tell you all about it while you’re trying to knit their souls back in their grave-sweet bod—Oh, you! Don’t change the subject.”

“It was worth a try. I’m getting better at it – I led you down a whole half of a tangent.”

“Aliot.”

“Hmm?”

“No, don’t suddenly take an interest in your steak. That slab of meat’s been sitting cold on your plate for an hour – you’ve spent most of the evening balancing that blasted coin on your knuckle. Answer me.”

“It’s raw, darling, it was cold when the waiter brought—ow!”

“Tickles, doesn’t it? You know how much dead skin is on a living body? Keep it up and I’ll reanimate the skin between your toes.”

“Yes, yes, darling, fine. To answer your question: no, I don’t think my mother followed us. She’s a spectre, not a ghost.”

“Branches of the same tree.”

“It’s more like comparing leaves to fruit. Ghosts are dead, you can’t kill them again, only put them to sleep for the odd century. Spectres, however, are born. You can douse one in holy water and move on with your life.”

“I’m well aware, I was there when she tried to drown me at my own wedding – in front of the Pope, no less! Oh, don’t shrug like you’ve explained everything. What happens to a spectre when it dies?”

“It becomes a ghost.”

“Aliot!”

“It’s true!”

“I will snap that fang out of your gums and tip the waiter with it, I swear to… you know Who.”

“Pardon me, darling, I only wish I could frame your face. I didn’t think you could turn pale as death.”

“It’s no laughing matter, it’s just… we haven’t talked about her since the wedding. Our honeymoon’s over in two days and I don’t want us to go back to our normal lives--”

“As normal as they can be for us.”

“—with this… thing, hanging over our heads.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh don’t brood, you know I hate it when you grow sombre.”

“Sombre? God no – oh, pardon, darling. Did that sting?”

“A little.”

“I meant no. Not sombre, just enjoying this moment.”

“Don’t sidestep, Aliot.”

“Oh, I’m not. This beach is one of three places in the world where Heaven and Earth fit at just the right angle to balance our powers. You couldn’t animate a corpse here with Michael’s own toolkit at your side, and I can’t even smell the blood in my own nose. I also like how the sunset doesn’t reflect in your eyes, but that’s beside the point.”

“Oh I do wish you’d get to one.”

“Of those three places, this is the only public one. This honeymoon alone would have bankrupted a megachurch.”

“You told me the Vatican sponsored it.”

“A papal coupon goes far in this life, but the food bill is still on us. Luckily, I know how much I’d like to tip.”

“What are you doing with that coin? Hold on, Aliot what’s that, I can feel something inside it. Aliot. Aliot, is that…”

“She didn’t exactly follow us… hard to follow anyone when you can’t even fight your way out of a wallet.”

“Oh, you hound. You insufferable little lovely hound.”

“Like I said, you can kill a spectre but can’t do much when it becomes a ghost. I suspect mother’ll be visiting us a couple times a millennium but we’ll have plenty of peace in between.”

“You were seriously going to hand an imprisoned, vengeful spectre to the waiter?”

“Why not? This coin is good for three hundred years, it makes no difference if I stuff it in my pocket or a papal vault. What would you do with it? Oh, I know that smile. Do you know you drum your fingers on your collarbone when you’re thinking something wicked?”

“Wicked? Aliot, please. I was just trying to remember if there’s a wishing well on the walk back to the hotel.”