It’s almost sunset before there’s a knock on our door. Surprising, because I figured that Floyd would want to talk about the case pretty much as soon as he was awake.

But maybe I was right. When I open the door, he looks drowsy, like he only very recently woke up. He’s wearing the same clothes he was in yesterday, smiling from ear to ear, and most surprising of all -

“Oh!” I lift my eyes way up over Floyd’s face to find Spencer’s. “Um - hey, man!”

Spencer spreads his hand in a shy wave. “Hey.”

Both Floyd and Spencer look very different than they did yesterday. There’s something shining in their eyes. Some shared, radiant light. It completely changes their faces, glows out through every subtle nuance of their expressions.

You don’t need Sharpshooter eyes to see it.

“Hi, Jamie!” Floyd pushes up his glasses to rub his sleepy eyes as he steps inside. “Don’t suppose you have any coffee going?”

“In this house? Constantly.” I shut the door after Spencer, then set off for the kitchen, trying to catch Floyd’s eye. “So, um-?”

“Spence wanted to meet the ghosts,” Floyd explains.

Spence, I notice, biting back a smile.

“If the ghosts wouldn’t mind meeting me,” Spencer rushes to add, adjusting his rectangular glasses. “I promise I didn’t bring any salt, or anything.”

“Salt doesn’t actually have any effect on ghosts,” I tell Spencer, whose eyes widen with interest.

“Really?” He slips a small notepad and pen out of the pocket of his shirt, scribbles that down. “None at all? Are you sure?”

“Very sure.” I bend to give Luna’s ears a quick scratch as we go past her. “We ran tests, double-checked everything.”

Spencer looks up at me, and I find myself seriously pleased when I catch the approving expression in his dark brown eyes.

Despite how shy and timid and anxious Spencer is, I’ve read his work. I know that he’s quietly brilliant beneath it all. Much like Floyd.

“Are they here?” Floyd asks eagerly, speedily rebraiding his loose silver hair. “The ghosts?”

“Sure, they can be. Hang on - Kasey! Will!”

They’re waiting in the kitchen when we step through the door. Will sitting on the countertop, Kasey standing between his parted knees with her elbows resting on his thigh, watching us curiously.

The ghosts know about what happened during yesterday’s trip to Port Sitka, and they instantly put two and two together to figure out who Spencer is. The twin expressions of surprise on their translucent faces tell me that right away.

Still, I feel like I should make some introductions.

“Kasey, Will, this is Spencer Shin. Owner of Shinbone Books, operator of a kickass blog about magic, mysteries, and the occult. He’s Floyd’s…”

I trail off, realizing I’m not sure at all how to finish that sentence. But Spencer beams happily at me, blushing a little.

“Y-yes, Floyd’s!” He fixes his nervous, smiling gaze on where I have mine, even though it must look like empty air to him. “Hello.”

“Spencer, this is William Clarke, and that’s Kasey Lavoe.” I point at them to give him a better idea of their location. “Ghosts, dear friends of ours.”

I wouldn’t think Spencer would be shy meeting two people he can’t even see or perceive in any way, but apparently the fact that they can see him is enough. He clutches his hands close to his chest and twists his fingers together, then looks at me for help. Blushing deeper, like he’s not sure what to say.

“Will used to be on the beat crew with a lumber company that operated in Ketterbridge a long time ago,” I add.

Spencer is steadily losing the battle against his curiosity. “Is - is it rude if I ask about his lifespan?”

“I - guess not?” I look to Will for confirmation, and he shrugs his broad shoulders at me. “He was born in 1797, died in 1822 during an earthquake.”

Spencer stares in the approximate direction of Will, fascinated. Will hops down from the counter and gives him a friendly nod, his thumbs hooked loosely into his suspenders.

“Kasey is a lot more, um - recent,” I go on. “She’s an unstoppable historian, though. She can probably tell you just as much about history as Will.”

“Really!” Spencer says enthusiastically. “Well - it’s very n-nice to m-meet both of you!”

He looks unsure of the proper way to greet a ghost, much less two. He starts to raise a hand to wave, lowers it, starts to give a slight bow, then stops himself, blushing deep with mounting embarrassment.

Will and Kasey are smiling at him, slowly starting to break into matching grins.

“No need to go puttin’ on all them airs for us,” Will tells Spencer warmly, his low voice full of laughter. “Any friend of Floyd’s is surely a mate ‘o mine as well.”

I can’t tell if Spencer or Floyd is more delighted by this when I relay it. It’s a close call. They both briefly look ready to explode with excitement. Only grabbing each other’s wrists tightly and grinning hugely at each other seems to diffuse the impending detonation.

Spencer’s eyes go back to where Kasey is standing, a few beams of late afternoon sunlight falling through her.

“Does Kasey have a specialty area within history?”

“She’s interested in everything, honestly. And she’s got a mind like an encyclopedia. She knows a lot about archaeology, just like you.”

Spencer hesitates, then says tentatively - “I wonder if she’s had time to read about the excavation of the Crocifisso del Tufo?”

I turn to Kasey uncertainly, but her dark eyes have already brightened with recognition.

“She says yes, and that she loves all the mystery surrounding the Etruscans,” I translate, a few seconds later. “She’s been particularly interested in the site you mentioned, since it’s a literal ancient necropolis.”

Spencer’s silver eyebrows shoot all the way up.

“That’s… yes,” he says, so surprised that he’s answering without thinking. “I thought it was strangely sweet that the Etruscans built their tombs to look like comfortable homes for their lost loved ones.”

I listen to Kasey’s answer, then turn back to Spencer and repeat it word for word. “It is sweet. They even carved stone pillows for the stone beds.”

Spencer stares at me, blank-faced, then narrows his eyes behind his glasses.

“I wonder,” he says slowly, “If Kasey saw the picture of that tomb fresco depicting Lelwani, the goddess of the underworld?”

Silence - at least to Spencer and Floyd’s ears - for a few seconds while I listen to Kasey’s response.

“She says nice try, but Lelwani was a Hittite goddess. The Etruscan god of the underworld was Orcus, with Charun to guide the souls.”

Spencer blinks hard at me, his eyes very wide. “Um… do you know a lot about history, Jamie?”

“No, not really.” I hold my hands up to show him the topsoil on my wrists, left there from the shift I just finished. “I work in a flower shop. And I’m a science teacher.”

Spencer stares at me, struggling to follow. “Well, that’s wonderful… so many unsolved phenomena to explore in science… I was just reading something about how earthquake lights still remain unexplained, and…”

He fades off, his eyes huge behind his glasses, then looks back to the part of the kitchen where Kasey is standing.

I think he came into this the same way that Floyd did. Not sure whether or not to really believe in ghosts, but intrigued and excited purely at the possibility. Determined to be polite and take it seriously, just in case. But he definitely didn’t expect Kasey to sail through his historical pop quiz.

He’s blinking rapidly, looking twice as hard at the place where she’s standing, his mouth slightly open.

“S-s-so - the - the - she - w-what…?” He drops his staggered gaze to Floyd. “Floyd?”

“I…” Floyd shrugs slowly, then looks up at Spencer, his over-magnified eyes bewildered. “She always knows the answer, when we have history questions. I guess I - stopped thinking about it, but yeah, it’s like she’s really…”

Floyd stops. He and Spencer both turn to look with wide-eyed, awestruck wonder in Kasey’s direction.

“This is fun,” she giggles.

“What’s happening?” Floyd takes off his glasses, polishes them vigorously, and jams them back onto his face. “There must be an explanation, there - is anything the way I thought it was? Oh my god, that reminds me - Jamie! The owner of the paper Spencer and I worked at - Spence thinks he was on the take!”

“Oh, shit!” I draw my head back sharply, my eyes widening. “Did he ever go down for it?”

“Yeah, wait - what happened to him?” Floyd whips around to face Spencer again. “Do you know?”

“To Jordan?” Spencer runs a dazed hand through his silver-black hair, trying to pull himself together. “He was arrested a few years after we left the paper. Turns out he had connections to a cartel that was trying to expand into the territory.”

Floyd freezes, staring up at Spencer, thunderstruck. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Mhm. Jordan went down with a whole bunch of his associates. It was a major bust, and it gutted the cartel. Larissa broke the story. Front page.”

Floyd’s stunned expression melts into a huge, surprised smile. “Larissa did? Really?”

“She was the one junior reporter they let me and Floyd train,” Spencer explains, when he sees me looking at him with questioning eyes.

“Oh, wow. Guess your legacy lived on at the paper in the end, huh? It even broke up a cartel!”

I said it casually, but this makes both Floyd and Spencer stop and look at each other, something complicated happening in their eyes.

“Well, that - is something,” Spencer says unsteadily, after a moment. “Although that territory is still pretty firmly in the hands of a major crime syndicate now, just like it was back then.”

Floyd is immediately interested. “Which syndicate?”

“It doesn’t have a name. But the ringleader is someone called the Warlord.”

I narrowly avoid dropping the coffee pot onto the ground, but it was close.

Floyd snaps his fingers, then taps his temple. “Oh, I’ve heard of him! No one knows what he looks like, right?”

“Nobody knows anything about him, apparently. But the truth is nobody who does is willing to talk. Nobody fucks with him. Crime actually goes down when he takes over an area, because no one wants to take on that fight. There are some pretty wild stories about him, though. Supposedly he makes all of his lieutenants cut off their own index finger, as a loyalty test.”

“Well, I doubt that’s true!” Floyd is already in theorizing mode. “The man is smart enough not to give his organization a name, I doubt he’d make it that easy to tell if someone works for him! All you’d have to do is check their hands!”

“Mm.” Spencer considers, then gives his shoulders a concessionary shrug. “Yeah, probably not.”

“I’ve actually heard that the Warlord is ten different people who run the different territories of the op,” Floyd tells Spencer. “All working under one name.”

“Are you sure? There’s been a recent rumor that he got a wolf cub as a pet, so that makes him sound like one guy.”

“A wolf cub!” Floyd lets out a sputter of disbelief. “Where would he have gotten that?”

I’ve been focused on trying not to laugh, but I blink and glance at the door when I hear faint voices in the front garden.

The ghosts stay in the kitchen, but Floyd and Spencer follow me to the front door. I pull it open to find Aiden standing outside, still in his work clothes. Chestnut hair and bronze skin glowing softly in the dusky, fading sunlight.

And - Ralph is with him. Smoking a cigarette, half-laughing at something Aiden is saying.

He and Aiden both look up when we step outside.

“Hey, you,” Aiden rumbles warmly, his blue eyes brightening. “Oh - all three of you.”

Ralph gives me a nod, tossing his blonde hair out of his eyes. “What’s up, Keane?”

Oh, god.

“Um - nothing! Floyd, Spencer, this is our friend Ralph.”

Spencer waves timidly, and Floyd fixes Ralph with a broad, friendly smile.

Ralph gives them each a handshake, takes the cigarette from his mouth and tilts his head slightly to the side, his grey-green eyes searching their faces. “Nice to meet you.”

Aiden folds a muscled arm around my shoulders. “What are you guys doing?”

“We were talking to Jamie about some true crime stuff,” Floyd answers enthusiastically, before I can say anything. “Discussing the identity of the Warlord!”

I expect a serious reaction from Ralph, but he only blinks, once. Then he looks at me, perfectly calm, and has another drag on his cigarette.

“That so?” he asks me, in an even, unconcerned voice.

“Yep,” I answer desperately, and then, all in a rush - “Just about how he chops off people’s fingers, and how he’s raising a wolf, and how he’s actually ten people, not one.”

Ralph pauses, arching an eyebrow. He breathes out some smoke, then nods slowly.

“There’s some truth in that,” he informs Spencer and Floyd. “Between us, I’ve crossed paths with the guy. He’s actually got three black wolves. You can correct anyone you hear saying it’s just the one. But you didn’t hear it from me, yeah?”

Floyd and Spencer stare at Ralph, fascinated. They both open their mouths at the same time, and I can almost see the impending avalanche of follow-up questions.

“Alright,” Aiden cuts in firmly, slapping Ralph’s back. “Thanks for the ride home, man.”

“Sure.” Ralph turns towards the bushes at the edge of the garden, which are rustling with movement. “Tycho, let’s go!”

She comes bounding out from the greenery and runs right for Ralph, but then notices Floyd and recognizes him. She trots forward more slowly, wags her tail in a cautious way.

“Oh, Tycho!” Floyd beams at Ralph with obvious delight. “You’re the one who ended up keeping her, Ralph?”

“Mhm.” Ralph lets out a slow stream of smoke through his nose, a half-smile turning up his mouth. “Thanks for that, by the way. Didn’t know she was from you.”

“Thank you for giving her a home!” Floyd gestures to himself and Spencer. “We can’t keep her. We’ve already got a dog, and a turtle.”

Aiden and I look sharply at Floyd, caught off-guard.

Ralph gives Floyd and Spencer an interested look. “Sweet. What kind of turtle?”

“You want to stay for some coffee, Ralph?” I offer, pulling myself back together. “We can have a turtle talk.”

“Ah, wish I could, but can’t. Got a work thing I have to get to, actually.” He checks his watch, then gives us a nod goodbye. “Cool meeting you guys.”

He beckons with a toss of his head for Tycho, who stops nosing around in the flowers and goes to him. She canters at his feet as he strides across the garden. Keeping to the shadows, leaving a twist of smoke in his wake.

Floyd and Spencer watch the Warlord go, smiling warmly.

“What a nice guy,” Floyd says brightly.

Spencer blurts out in a quick, shy rush - “I have a picture of Naomi I can send him, if he wants to see!”

“Please let’s get some coffee first,” Floyd groans, through a deep yawn. “I need it.”

Aiden ruffles my hair, then leads the way inside. Spencer follows after him, but I catch Floyd’s arm before he can go into the house. I draw him back out into the garden and plant a hand on my hip.

I’m waiting for an explanation, and Floyd knows it.

He hesitates, glancing into the house. Spencer and Aiden are already almost to the kitchen, chatting away with each other.

Floyd slowly turns back to me, takes a breath, then looks right up into my eyes.

“Jamie, I - I want to let Spencer in on the case.”