IN A city like Ashenport, the only time I got some sort of peace was in my own home. It was the one area where the living and the dead alike both know they aren't welcome.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the spirit whom I'd learned was named Hannah.

"You have to go back!" She shouted at me. "Corbin's there all alone. You have to help him—"

"What I need to do is sit down before I get arrested and what you need to do is get out of my house."

I didn't have the patience for this. My home was my only refuge—a castle that sat at the edge of Ashenport which I shared with my three brothers. It was large enough that I didn't have to deal with the constant noise associated with werewolves or the brooding of vampires. It was perfect.

Hannah sulked into the corner of the room like a child denied candy.

She didn't sulk for long. Spirits don't exactly respect boundaries. Hannah hovered over the couch, all pale light and unfinished business, and laid into me with the kind of guilt that could make a saint feel petty. "He's human," she said. "He's terrified. Please."

"There aren't many humans here," I told her.

"Which is why you have to help him!" She said, exasperated. "Look, I-I don't know what's happening and I don't know what you are or how you can see me yet nobody else can, but what I do know is Corbin needs help. He was a mess when we were in that truck."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and counted to three. It didn't help. It never did.

"I'm not a rescue service," I muttered. "I'm a medium. I deal with ghosts, not the living."

Hannah's glow flared brighter, like my refusal had struck some invisible nerve. "So you're just going to leave him there?"

"He's in police custody. He's fine."

Her nostrils flared and she went silent. For a second I thought she'd given up, but then she let out a banshee-like scream. Her energy surged causing my lamp to shake and a glass vase to shatter almost instantly.

Shards of glass scattered across the floor, catching the faint glow of her form like tiny, glittering accusations. My jaw clenched.

"I just bought that," I muttered, though we both knew I hadn't. It had been a flea-market find from three years ago, one of the few things in this house that wasn't claw-marked, bloodstained, or haunted.

"You're infuriating!" Hannah hissed. Her form flickered like a bad signal, surging and dimming in time with her temper. "Do you even have a conscience?"

I exhaled through my nose slowly, trying to stifle my growing irritation.

"You think guilt works on me?" I said, leaning back into the couch cushions. "I'm immune."

Hannah hovered closer, her glow dimming now, softer, more human. "Please," she whispered, and this time it wasn't banshee-wail desperation—it was something small, cracked. "You said you don't help the living, but I'm...I'm dead, right?"

"You are," I confirmed, watching the way her face crumpled slightly, telling me it must've been a sudden death.

Her translucent hands twisted together in front of her chest. "Then help me," she said. "If you won't help him for his sake, do it for mine. Please. He doesn't even know I'm gone."

I stared at her. I'd seen every kind of spirit: the vengeful ones, the clingy ones, the ones who didn't even realize they were dead. But this? This was different. Hannah wasn't haunting out of malice.

"Do you know how many 'last wishes' I've been handed by people on your side of the veil?" I asked, voice flat. "Do you know how many of them I've been able to fix?"

Her gaze dropped. "No."

"Not many."

I rubbed my temples, feeling the echo of her scream still buzzing in my skull.

"I'm not promising anything," I said finally. "But tell me everything you know about Corbin. Names. Faces. Why Grimwade had him. Anything you can give me."

Her head snapped up, eyes wide, light flaring again. "You'll go?"

"I said tell me everything you know," I corrected. "Don't make this into a Hallmark moment."

Her energy shot up. "I don't remember much, but we were at a club...celebrating my birthday when it happened. Well, we were leaving. We were heading to the car when a girl approached, frantically asking for help. We stopped a moment—just a moment—and then there was a sting. Like a needle. And then nothing until the van." Hannah's voice trembled, the glow around her flickering. "I don't know why they'd want him. They didn't say anything."

I frowned. That wasn't exactly much to go off of, but this wasn't like Guinevere's case where we needed to find and free her granddaughter. Corbin was already free.

"What exactly are you asking me to do? Get him home? Let him know you passed? Find out why Grimwade wanted him in the first place?" I asked. "Because those are three very different jobs with three very different price tags."

Hannah faltered. "All of them," she whispered. "If you can. Please. Just...don't let him disappear."

I sighed just as footsteps emerged behind me. I turned to see my older brother, Severin, standing behind me with a slightly curious expression.

"Is one of them in the house?" The vampire questioned, frowning.

"Unfortunately."

"I can hear you," Hannah snapped.

Severin was by far the eldest of us and technically the owner of the house we lived in. He tended to keep to himself which meant doing god knows what. Meeting him had been an accident, really. I was a child on my own, struggling to control the 'gift' I'd been granted and he was a vampire with a house far too quiet and large for one person. It wasn't a stretch to say he raised me.

Severin's eyes flicked toward the couch where Hannah hovered, though of course he couldn't see her. Vampires could feel a lot—blood, breath, heat—but ghosts weren't on their radar. Still, he tilted his head slightly, the way he always did when he sensed me in a mood. "You're brooding," he observed.

"I'm not brooding," I said, rubbing a thumb along my temple. "I'm being harassed."

"Same difference." His voice was mild, but his eyes were sharp. "You're not supposed to bring them here."

"I didn't."

"She followed you?"

"She's persistent," I muttered. "And loud."

Severin walked further into the living room, the soft click of his shoes a reminder of how immaculate he kept himself compared to me. He folded his arms, the faint scent of old iron clinging to him. "You're taking on another case," he said flatly. Not a question.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

Hannah made a frustrated noise that passed straight through him. "Tell him you're helping Corbin!" she snapped. "Tell him you're not heartless!"

Severin's eyebrow rose at my expression. "She's angry," he noted.

"She's dead," I corrected.

"Dead, angry. In Ashenport those are synonyms."

I exhaled slowly. "Do you want something, Severin?"

"Octavian said to tell you to stay away from police business, but..." he shrugged. "That's just not my problem."

"Octavian can kiss my ass," I muttered more to myself than to him. It hadn't been my decision to adopt a werewolf in the first place. They were notoriously territorial, loud, and irritating, which made Octavian's constant reminders more of a headache than a help. At twenty-three, only a year younger than I was, the man was more of a bother than the ghosts I dealt with half the time.

"Can we get back to my problems now?" Hannah pleaded.

"Fine," I sighed. "I'll do it. But you're going to have to be quiet while I think."

"Really?" She beamed. "Thank you, thank you—"

"Quiet," I reminded her.

"Right. Quiet. I can do quiet."

Humans were always difficult to work with, considering the very idea of anything remotely paranormal scared them. I had no doubt this one would be the same. It was a constant game of trying to convince them you weren't some crazy person trying to take advantage of them. Paired with the fact that he'd just been kidnapped and didn't know of his friend's death, this case was going to be an uphill battle.

"I'm taking on a new case," I confirmed Severin's previous statement. "I'll start tomorrow—"

"No!" Hannah interrupted, proving she couldn't be quiet. "We need to start now. He could be anywhere!"

"He was in police custody last time I saw him. They probably have him somewhere safe, or at least processing the paperwork," I said, trying to reason with both the ghost and myself. "Chances are he's being fed, clothed, and more importantly, not in immediate danger."

"Paperwork doesn't protect him," Hannah shot back, her glow sharpening again, jittery at the edges. "Ashenport isn't safe. You know it. You've said it. Just because they have him in some room with a clipboard doesn't mean—"

"I know what it doesn't mean," I snapped, a little sharper than I meant to. Her voice cracked, and the lamp nearest to her flickered. I pinched the bridge of my nose, dragging in a slow breath. "Stop rattling my house, Hannah. I'm not the enemy here."

Severin's eyes flicked between us, or at least between me and the space where she hovered. He'd always been curious about my abilities. Never quite understood them, but I liked to think they, ironically, brought some life into his monotonous existence.

"Are you going out?" He asked.

"No," I replied.

"Yes!" Hannah exclaimed.

"He can't hear you," I snapped.

Hannah puffed out her cheeks, frustrated.

"Fine," I grumbled. "Fine, fine, fucking fine. We will go out for a little bit and try and find him. Emphasis on little. If we can't then you stop hounding me until the morning."

Hannah brightened. "I promise! Just—just this once!"

I ran a hand down my face. Ghosts weren't supposed to be this persistent, or manipulative, but Hannah had mastered both in her brief time haunting me.

"I'm going out," I told my brother.

"Be safe," Severin told me and ruffled my hair—probably the only remotely "warm" gesture he was capable of doing.

"Come on!" Hannah barked.

I stretched my muscles and sighed, already regretting agreeing to her.