The last of the sunlight burns off as we step back into the Ghost Office. I reach for the light switch, but Aiden opens his palms and lets out a stream of glimmering golden fireflies. I stop to watch him, remembering how long it used to take him to make even a few of these. Each one slowly and carefully coaxed into existence. Now they burst from his hands like they were only waiting to be let out.

They rise up around his mighty shoulders, lift up into the rafters. Their light dances over us, shifting and flowing, always in slow movement.

Outside, darkness falls fast. Choppy gusts of wind stir the trees, rustling the pine needles. We usually leave the door pushed up when we’re working, but tonight Aiden lowers it. Then he comes over and runs a hand down my back, checking to see if I’m cold. His palm leaves a trail of warmth in its wake, and his heat unfolds all around us, fogging the windows.

Will and Kasey’s appearances have reset. You’d never know how rumpled and guilty-looking they were when they showed up, but Will’s expression is a dead giveaway. He’s wearing a smile that shines like Aiden’s fireflies.

Kasey is no different. She’s glowing brighter than she usually does, her cheeks rounded with her smile.

I love to see her happy like this.

Feeling a surge of affection, I reach for Kasey, and she comes over to me. She feels a little more there, today. She leans against my side for a moment, and doesn’t fall through. Aiden crosses to his bag to get his water bottle, leaving us alone.

“So?” I whisper, dropping my volume very low. “Looks like you and Will found out what ghosts can and can’t do?”

Kasey’s mouth quirks up in a coy smile. “Getting there.”

“Really? Looking at him, I’d guess that you got there already.”

“All I did was take off some of my clothes. Well - some of his, too.”

“Wh-? And he looks like that?” I glance at Will’s expression, then bite back a laugh. “You’re gonna kill him all over again.”

“Yeah, he said something along those lines,” Kasey giggles. “Oh, and don’t think that I can’t tell what you and Aiden were up to before we got here.”

“Okay, well, you can’t blame me. Have you seen Aiden?”

We both turn to look at him. He’s just straightened up from his backpack, taking a sip of water. He only put his shirt back on, not his sweater, so there’s a lot of sharply-defined muscle to take in. His beard is cropped close to his face, hugging the hard line of his jaw, and his eyes turn a light shade of azure as they pick up the golden glow of the fireflies.

He pauses when he realizes that Kasey and I are staring at him, arches a questioning eyebrow.

“See, Kase-face? You see what I mean?”

“Of course I see, I’m not arguing that point, Jamie, I mean - damn. But like, look at mine. You see where I’m coming from, too.”

I look over at Will, who blinks his leaf-green eyes when our attention turns on him. He tosses a blonde strand out of his face, then tips his head to the side, looking at Kasey like she’s the human embodiment of heaven. He folds his burly lumberjack arms over his chest, gives her a shy half-smile.

“Honestly,” I whisper, bending closer to Kasey. “We did good.”

She lifts her hand for a high-five, and we both laugh as my hand sails right through hers.

“What are you two talking about?” Aiden asks, suspicious. “I feel like there’s a secret conference going on over there. Will, do you agree?”

“What?” Will blinks rapidly, tearing his eyes away from Kasey like he only just now realized all the rest of us are here. “Oh, I - yes. Or - no? Apologies, Aiden - what did you ask?”

Kasey fights back a laugh, then crosses to Will. She takes his hand, leads him to the workbenches. Aiden joins us, and we gather up into our full group.

“So!” Kasey says, as I hop up to sit on the workbenches. “Tell us everything! What was Floyd like?”

It would be an impossible task to tell Kasey and Will all of the fine details about the tiny, bespectacled ball of energy that is Floyd Little, so Aiden and I give them the gist of it.

We relay some of the stories Floyd told us about his work. He was humble about it, but it sounds like he was a fearless journalist, back in the day. He tackled cases that no one else wanted to take on. He’s even accused the police of serious things, to the extreme distress of his editor at the paper.

“I had a source in a drug-op who was going to tell me everything,” Floyd told us, talking about a police bribery scheme in Belleville. “He was pinched by the narcs before I could get to him. My editor told me it was probably a coincidence, but I wasn’t buying it for a second! I paid that man’s bail myself. Of course, he scampered without a word, after that. They still haven’t caught him. Good for him, I say, because it’s clear that the fuzz had a grudge…”

When the newspapers turned away from him, Floyd sank all of his savings into opening Body Bag Books. He saw it as a way to keep getting the word out about stories that otherwise might go unnoticed.

He’s a bit of an oddball, but the moment you get to know him, you understand that gleam in his eyes for what it is. Endless, unstoppable curiosity and enthusiasm. When I jokingly told Aiden that Floyd would like Blood Spatter Boy, Floyd overheard me, and immediately said: “Oh, I’d love to meet him! Is he local?”

“It sounds like Floyd has enough energy to power a whole city,” Kasey laughs.

“He’s an experience,” I tell her. “And he made some major headway into the Botswick case before he got yanked off of it.”

“He thinks it was espionage, too,” Aiden pins on.

“Does he?” Will asks. “Knowing now what I do about Mr. Little, to hear that he agrees…”

“It feels like a good sign,” Kasey says, finishing the thought for him. “Yep, I feel the same way, Will.”

“Oh, we’ve got more,” Aiden says. “John Botwsick had an argument with someone before he was killed, and the hotel clerk overheard some of it.”

We tell the ghosts about John Botswick’s argument, and enjoy the matching looks of elation on their faces when we get to the blow this whole operation portion. We also tell them about how Floyd thought someone was following him, the more progress he made on the case.

“And there were other things that made him think espionage, too.”

Kasey looks at Aiden with obvious excitement. “What else?”

“The murder weapon was never recovered, but the bullet was,” I explain, “So Floyd went through some records, looking for anyone who owned a weapon that fit the description. He found out that very few people in Port Sitka kept firearms. There were some farmers who had registered shotguns, that was it. But the cops had reason to believe that Botswick was killed with a single-action pistol. A handgun, not a shotgun.”

Will’s eyebrows furrow. “Who would be walking around Port Sitka with a handgun?”

“A spy,” Aiden and I say together.

“Oh, shit.” Kasey puts a hand to her mouth. “You’re right! A handgun was probably standard-issue for a secret agent!”

“Right,” I say, “So - Floyd’s theory is this: John Botswick himself was a spy. That’s why he checked into the hotel under an alias, and why he was arguing with someone about an operation being blown. And since he was killed in a struggle, by a weapon that a secret agent would have…”

Aiden picks up where I left off.

“Floyd believes that John Botswick was assassinated by an enemy spy, or for some reason killed by an agent who was working the operation with him.”

Kasey and Will absorb that, falling briefly quiet.

“Could it not be,” Will says slowly, “That John Botswick was killed with his own weapon?”

“Possible.” Kasey’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “And if that’s the case, then Floyd’s theory isn’t exactly rock-solid. Anyone could have taken his pistol, and they wouldn’t have to be a spy to do so.” She pauses, looking impressed. “I mean, Floyd’s theory is good, though. Mad respect, Floyd, for putting it all together. He might be a genius. What was his guess about the lights in the sky? We know that they’re from the Guardian, but what does he think?”

“Yeah, well, that’s where we start to go a little off the rails,” Aiden laughs.

“He, um.” I bite my lip, then blurt it out: “He thinks that the lights were some kind of secret agent signaling system, and that Botswick was sending out a message in morse code.”

“Whoops,” Kasey giggles. “Okay, yeah. Floyd walks the line. Appreciate that about him, though. Wish I could meet him.”

“Hey, you can,” I remind her. “As soon as we get the battery. And we’re getting closer, aren’t we?”

Kasey beams at me and Aiden.

“Yeah, we are! But we need to see if Floyd’s theory is right. What’s our next step?”

“He gave us a list of addresses to check out,” Aiden says. “Places of interest to the case. The only problem is that they’re all in Port Sitka, so-”

“Aw, we can’t come!” Kasey groans. “This is exactly why we need the fucking battery!”

“Yeah, and it means we have to wait until the weekend to check them out, because Jamie and I have work.”

Kasey blows out a frustrated breath, but her frown quickly dissipates.

“Well, whatever. We can wait a bit. I think I’ll binge-read Floyd’s blog in the meantime.”

Aiden and I laugh, not because Kasey is joking, but because we know that she’s completely serious.

“I’ll read with you,” Will says brightly. “If you’d like some company?”

Kasey flashes him a warm smile, then turns to us. “What are you two gonna do?”

“We have to go see an artist,” I tell her, hopping down from the workbench. “We’re commissioning a sign.”

~~~~

“Hey,” I call, leaning over to push open the passenger’s side door. “How’s it going, man?”

“Hey!” Ripley climbs into the front seat of my car, returns my smile. He twists around to drop his board in the back, then spots Floyd’s sign. “This the one?”

“Yeah, have a look at this masterpiece,” I tell him, pulling us away from the curb.

Ripley draws the sign up into his lap and takes a look at it. Then he glances over at me, clearly biting back a laugh.

“Oh, it’s - yeah, I can probably make it better.” He points to the singular, all-caps word on the front. “Just - books, huh?”

“Books!” I agree loudly, and Ripley lets out a startled laugh. “Anyways, thanks for doing this. Are you sure you don’t want us to pay you? Aiden and I are happy to do it.”

“Nah, man, just cover the supplies. You said it’s for a friend, right?”

“Mhm.” I look over at Ripley, checking to see if his fingers have their usual colorful stains. They do, so I guess he hasn’t had to scrub away any spray paint recently. “How’s it going with that other project you’re working on, by the way?”

Ripley bites the inside of his cheek, but I catch the devious grin that flashes over his face.

“Think I’m ready to get that one off the ground, soon.”

I smile at him, pulling to a stop at the light. “So, where do we get supplies for the sign?”

“Hardware store should do it.”

“Sounds good. You mind if we pick up Aiden?”

“Nah, ‘course not.” Ripley looks down at the sign again. “Can you tell me more about the bookstore? What’s the vibe like?”

“Oh, man,” I laugh, “Where do I start?”

I fill Ripley in on Body Bag Books. He listens, then spends the rest of the drive in thoughtful silence. I can practically see ideas bubbling up in his eyes, right up until we collect Aiden from City Hall.

The snow lays thick on everything as we roll through town. Christmas lights are starting to go up everywhere. The shop displays have all taken on holiday themes, and the City has done up the street lamps in pine needle garlands, tied at the top with big red bows.

I leave all the windows down, and fresh, cold air rolls in through them. But Aiden keeps the car warm for me and Ripley, who has moved to the backseat and has the sign on his lap.

“Um - do I have to use this specific piece of cardboard?” he asks, to a snicker of laughter from Aiden.

“No, dude. Definitely not.”

“Sweet.” Ripley sits back, relieved. “You guys can keep the original. Some decor for your spot at the river.”

Aiden and I exchange a glance. I suspect that we’re thinking the same thing. We probably actually will keep the sign, add it to the interior of the Ghost Office. Why not? We’ve already got a collection of tokens from our first hunt in there.

“Great idea, man,” Aiden says to Ripley.

“Oh - really?” He laughs, unstrapping himself as we roll into the parking lot. “Okay. I was joking, but that’s cool. Guess we’ve all got our own style.”

Aiden and I follow Ripley into the store, threading through a cluster of people on their way out. Everywhere gets busier as we get closer to Christmas, even the hardware store. People are leaving with bags of Christmas lights and extension cords, mini trees and wreaths.

Ripley knows where he’s going, so we let him lead the way. He gathers up an armful of art supplies, and we make our way up to the front. When everything’s been rung up, I reach into the back pocket of my jeans, then blink in surprise when I don’t feel my wallet.

“Shit. I must have forgotten my wallet in the car.” I double-check my pockets, but come up empty. “That’s so weird, I swear I had it when we came in.”

Aiden hands his credit card over to the cashier, shaking his head like he sees right through my tricks.

“Yeah, right, Keane. You just wanted me to pay, clearly.”

“Shut up, you know that’s not true!” I smack Aiden’s arm, and he lets out a rumbling laugh. “Ripples, back me up!”

“Nope, I’m with Aiden.” He scoops up the bag and heads for the exit. “This was obviously on purpose.”

I let out an indignant laugh. Ripley grins at me over his shoulder, then darts further away when I swat a hand at him. I set off after him, then nearly crash into someone headed into the store. I stop just in time, and we only bump into each other, but my face burns with embarrassment.

“Oh, god - I’m so sorry!” I stammer, flustered.

The person must be pissed. They’ve already brushed past, and they don’t even turn to look back at me.

“Your dignity is taking a beating today, dude,” Aiden chuckles, putting his credit card away.

“Okay,” I groan. “I swear that I had my-”

I break off sharply. I was feeling around in my pockets again, as if my wallet might have magically turned up.

And - it has.

I pull it out of my pocket slowly, then stare down at it. Across the parking lot, Ripley stops, waiting for us by the car.

“You had it the whole time, dummy,” Aiden laughs.

“No,” I answer slowly. “Aiden. No, I didn’t.”

He looks at me, his expression growing serious, puzzled. I open my wallet. Nothing has been taken, but something has been added: a small, folded-up piece of paper, tucked into the cash fold.

I take it out and unfold it. Something falls out onto my palm: a torn strip of a file folder. It’s the little tab where the label goes, and the label is still attached. It has a case number. Next to the case number, a name. Botswick, John.

On the slip of paper that the label was folded up in, there’s a handwritten note.

We need to talk.

Beneath that, there's a time, and an address.

“Aiden - did you see who just bumped into me?” I ask. “Or anyone who might’ve brushed past me on our way in?”

“No, why? What’s going on?”

“The thief.” I hand him the note, barely able to believe the words I’m saying. “She wants to talk.”