Usually Raziel is much more careful and phrases orders into questions to give me at least the illusion of freedom.

I turn away from him and make my way through the solid oak door and into a neat looking vestibule. A small table sits against the wall with a potted plant and a bowl with a set of keys in it. A couple pair of shoes rest quietly underneath. I walk further in to a larger living space where a leather couch breaks up the room and a tv hangs on the wall. I hear the sound of bottles clinking around and I follow the noise into an open kitchen space where Mr. Hawthorne is in the process of uncorking a bottle of wine.

“Excuse me,” I start trying to not startle the man. “this is rather urgent business-”

“What the hell!” Mr. Hawthorne shouts in surprise at my appearance in his home. “Did you just break into my house?!”

I try my best to soothe him, “No, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood the situation.”

“I’m calling the cops!” He carries on much to my distress. The cops are the last thing Raziel and I need right now.

“Sir,” I take a step forward, “if you would please just listen-” Mr. Hawthorne though decides to not listen and instead hurls the bottle of wine towards my head. I don’t flinch or even bother to try and move out of the way. I watch as the bottle arcs through the air and unceremoniously flies through me only to land with a large crash behind me. “I do hope that wasn’t expensive.”

Mr. Hawthorne’s mouth gapes open wide in shock.

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I watch Raziel try to explain our purpose to Winnifred’s father. They sit together at the dining room table while I mosey around the space and poke around for Winnifred.

“So that young man is really dead?” I hear Mr. Hawthorne whisper as he sneaks a quick look at me.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Maybe for humans I still look like a young adult, but wizards age differently than non-magical creatures and I’d been in my fifties when I’d died. If Raziel could use his magic he would still look like a teenager.

Winnifred materializes herself behind her father as he’s still talking to Raziel and asking questions. She glances over at me in surprise. “You’re here?”

I nod and look over at Raziel. If he senses her presence he doesn’t give in. I take the moment while they’re distracted to leave the room.

“Let’s go somewhere more quiet.” I say when I see her following me.

“My room is this way.” She points up a large spiral staircase and I take her lead.

The bedroom is large and adorned in soft fabrics and ornate furniture. It looks like a room from a dollhouse. Over by the window there are a pair of sitting chairs with a small round table between them and a tea set sitting on the table. As I sit at one of the chairs I wonder if the set had ever served real tea or is merely decoration.

I smile politely, “Sit and perhaps you can explain to me better what ails you.”

She frowns and non-too-subtly looks to me and the chair, “How are you doing that?”

“Doing?”

“Sitting?” She explains. “I’ve been stuck like this for years and I’ve never been able to touch things.”

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I sigh, this is going to take a bit of explaining, “Dear, we’re on the second floor yet we’re not sinking through the floor.” She gives me a ‘No duh’ look which I take as my cue to carry on, “I’m not sitting just like you’re not standing on the floor. We’re floating.”

I see her think on this, “How are you even here? I could barely make it to that wizard store without feeling like a vacuum was trying to suck me back here.”

“That’s because you’re being grounded by your father.” I give in patiently.

Her eyes narrow, “You said that before.” she points out.

“Yes, because it’s true. I’m grounded by what we call a death totem. An item that contains a spirit. In my case it’s a coin that I was buried with. I go where it goes, you go where your father goes.”

She nods slowly, “Okay…” She edges a bit more towards the table even though she makes no action to sit. I don’t blame her. She’s more likely to fall through an item than float over it on her first couple of attempts. “So you think you can really help me and my dad?”

“Raziel and I can certainly try if you’d first explain what exactly the problem is.”

“They’re going to kill that man, the one who’s in prison now. We can’t let that happen!” She asserts fiercely.

“You mean your murderer?” I question dubiously. I realize that I had never looked close enough at the papers to catch the murderer’s name.

“That man didn’t kill me. It only looks like he did. I know he didn’t do it!”

“Really? Because I saw your death and it seems like they caught the right guy.”