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“That’s what that shiny thing means?” One looked taken aback. “I thought it was a costume.”

“You get a lot of people like us in costume—” I cut myself off, remembering where we were and how often masquerades were held in the city. “The point is, we can see you, hear you, and punt your asses into the great beyond if you don’t cooperate.”

“Chill, man.” Two shook out his shoulders, glaring at Kierce. “Ain’t no need for violence.”

“Let’s talk,” Three agreed, like they hadn’t been the ones who started it, “like civilized people.”

With that, Kierce released them, but he stood close enough his threat never wavered.

Happy they saw reason so quickly, I pressed, “What are you guarding?”

“Mumbo jumbo that didn’t move in the last auction.” One knocked against the nearest vault. “Leftover junk is always sold at cost to a dealer. He’s coming through to pick it up tomorrow or the next night.”

That was one way to keep inventory fresh, but trusting spirits to deliver was risky. “Who’s the dealer?”

“Dunno.” Three shrugged his beefy shoulders. “Boss don’t like it when we ask questions.”

Picking up where I left off, Kierce took a menacing step closer. “Who is your boss?”

“Desmond Patel.” One flinched when Kierce’s attention fell on him. “He writes them children’s books.”

Desmond Patel? Dis Pater’s pen name? That was nearly as bad as using Kitt Gato as an alias.

Either this was a spectacular frame job, or Dis Pater wanted to get caught.

But caught doing what, exactly?

“Um.” A laugh got trapped in my throat. “I think you mean cozy mysteries.”

“They got kitties on the cover,” Four argued. “They must be for little kids.”

“Sure. Fine. Doesn’t matter.” Dis Pater’s branding choices weren’t our problem. “Do you remember the last auction?”

“Yeah.” One tapped the side of his head. “We gotta have sharp memories to do our job, don’t we?”

Now that was interesting, but it did make sense. I wasn’t sure how you could grant a soul the ability to perceive time without driving them insane in the long run, but Dis Pater wouldn’t be concerned with any fallout over his gifts, and this group wasn’t quick enough to fear what that type of awareness might do to them as decades slipped past. Perhaps that explained why their energy signatures mirrored the vault.

Thanks to the nekomata, I already had an idea, but I asked them anyway in the hope they could offer more insight. “What was the big-ticket item?”

“A finger bone.” Two shuddered. “Came from a saint or something.”

“But it was cursed.” Three tried to cross himself, but it looked more like a square to me. “Nasty thing.”

Plenty of religious icons ended up cursed from a misuse of their powers, so that didn’t surprise me. “What kind of curse?”

“Dunno,” One said, checking with the others, who had no clue either.

“Walk me through it.” I rolled my wrist in a circular motion. “What, exactly, did you all do that night?”

“We handle security for events the boss attends,” Two explained, pensive. “We protect his interests.”

“How does that work?” I didn’t want to come off as rude, but it was a valid question. “You’re all…”

Invisible to most. Intangible too. Not a great combo for deterrents.

“He makes us so we can touch people. And things. That’s how he pays us.” One slid a hand through his hair. “We can even eat if we want, but the food don’t taste like nothing.”

“That’s right.” Four snapped his fingers. “The boss wanted help with refreshments this time. Not our job, but sure. Whatever. He told us to make sure everyone had a drink in their hand for some toast or another.”