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Flicker makes a face.

“Of course not. I mean the king below our feet. Land. Soil. The thousands of miles of stone between here and the center of the Earth. We drive and build and walk on him without giving him a thought. We owe the King offerings as much as any god.”

“Can he stop earthquakes?”

“He is the earthquakes. They’re his restless dreams.”

“Has he tried Benadryl?”

“I thought you of all people would understand.”

Flicker turns and walks away.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I can barely deal with Mr. Muninn and the mess in Heaven. Now I have to worry about getting the damn earth mad at me?”

“Just give the King Below a thought or an offering every now and then and you’ll be fine.”

“Like what?”

She kneels on a lawn and calls me over. After she digs a shallow hole, she pulls something from her pocket. It’s a churro.

“Flour and cinnamon grown from his soil.”

“You’re fucking kidding. I never pegged you for a pagan.”

She keeps digging.

“I’m as pagan as they come.”

“But not a hippie Wiccan.”

“And you’re not just another dumb punk. We all find our place in the world however we can.”

She buries the churro and pats down the dirt.

I say, “Is that what the ghosts are doing? Finding their way in the world?”

“The ghosts—most Stay Belows—are really pretty simple. They’re like lost children. Instead of fighting them, find out what they want. Boredom can bring the dead back as much as trauma.”

“Trust me. These ghosts aren’t bored. They’re having a grand old time. And the one I’m looking for is definitely traumatized. Not just murdered. Cut in half.”

“A Black Dahlia?”

“Worse, he was famous for about ten minutes.”

She shakes her head.

“That’s a lot of pain to deal with.”

“You think that’s what brought him back?”

“I doubt it. But now that he’s back he’s acting on all that anger and fear.”

We walk side by side down the street. I pick up a hubcap and Frisbee it back onto a lawn with an overturned Miata.

“Do you think it might be deliberate?”

Flicker looks at me.