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We leave the same way we came. I keep my head down on the way out.

Cars come and go from the parking lot and the sides of the road. When I see the chauffeur with the gun under his jacket, I whisper some Hellion hoodoo. A trash can nearby explodes in flames. When he runs over to investigate, I key the Rolls-­Royce.

CANDY CALLS JULIE in the car. She makes it to Bamboo House an hour after we do. The four of us have been doing more drinking than talking.

The funny thing about the ghost killing was that you couldn’t smell anything until the fight was over. Then we all got a stinging whiff of ozone as Dash’s spectral body dissolved into nothing. The smells of the arena downtown were intense and maybe that’s why I can’t get the warehouse scene out of my head. It feels like a scene from Hell, not a recent memory but one that’s been sitting in the back of my brain so that the details start to fray. Like the lack of smell. It makes the fight feel more real, like I’m down there, part of it. With each drink, the sensation lets up a little. But I know I won’t be sleeping much tonight.

“I followed the car out to a warehouse off Sixth. There was a party or some kind of gathering going on inside. I got photos of some of the guests. Not a savory crowd,” Julie says.

“That’s hysterical. That’s a goddamn Hallmark card,” I say. “We were inside. We probably just missed each other.”

“Too bad. I wish I’d been able to get in there.”

“You’re better off using your imagination. You don’t need that shit in your head for the rest of your life.”

Julie quietly grunts, not convinced.

Candy says, “It’s the White Light Legion’s headquarters. There was a show going on. A kind of fight club, only it wasn’t ­people fighting. It was ghosts.”

“Those were the tickets Tykho gave you?”

“Yes.”

Julie takes a sip of her martini. On the jukebox, Esquivel is doing “Limehouse Blues.”

“Did it occur to you that if Tykho is mixed up with these ­people, she might have called ahead and had God knows what waiting for you? And your friends.”

Candy loo

ks at me, then at Allegra and Vidocq.

“No. It didn’t occur to us.”

“Tykho is smart and doesn’t let things slide,” I say. “If she didn’t sell us out, it was for a reason.”

“What?” says Julie.

“Maybe she’s as sick of the White Lights as I am. What are they into? Money crimes to keep their white-­power playpen stocked. Maybe they’re into Tykho for something. Like protection money? Aiming us at them might have been her way of trying to get them off her back.”

“The Legion does have a reputation for extortion. Tell me what else you saw and heard.”

We run down the whole thing. The crowd. The fight. The bets. Mr. Burgess talking about new deaths and promising fresh blood soon.

Julie turns her glass around with the tips of her fingers.

“Burgess was telling the truth. There are reports coming in of deaths all over the world. It was up well over a hundred by the time I got here. It’s causing as much chaos in Washington as when the deaths stopped. ­People at the top still think it’s all terrorism related. The craziness is even hitting the world stock markets.”

“Wall Street doesn’t like a mess,” says Allegra.

­“People in power never do. They feel insecure. It reminds them of their own mortality,” Vidocq says.

Julie sighs.

­“People exhaust me sometimes.”

I finish the Aqua Regia and wave my glass at Carlos for another round. He gives me a thumbs-­up.

“Does Evermore Creatives have overseas offices?” I say.