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“I don’t know if her magic was black, but her soul turned dark. That’s what I meant about ­people changing. First figuring out that she was a real bruja. Then finding out she wasn’t the only one. Then seeing her go to darker places. I didn’t know what she was looking for, but I knew I didn’t want any part of it.”

I say, “You knew about our funny little world, but played innocent this whole time.”

He shakes his head.

“This? Lurkers and zombies and shit? I didn’t know any of that. And it’s cool at the bar. But home I like boring. The only magic I want there is in games and bad movies.”

“It was cruel of your wife not to tell you who she really was,” Brigitte says.

Carlos cocks his head.

“We had some good times. And anyway, my brother-­in-­law and me get along fine. Want me to send him a picture?”

“Go ahead.”

Carlos takes out his phone, clicks a picture, and thumbs in a message.

“I’ll let you know what he says.”

“Thanks.”

Carlos moves on to other customers.

Brigitte looks at me.

“Stark.”

“What?”

“Chihiro needs to come home.”

“It’s not the right time.”

“She said you said that, but I’m here to tell you that caution be damned. You’ll lose her if you keep pushing her away.”

“I told her we can do something around the end of the month.”

“She’s a dead woman. She lost her identity. She needs to be around the things that matter most to her.”

“We’re going to be working together for the agency.”

“And you’ll send her home alone every night. Your time in Hell might have taught you to plot strategy and when to strike, but it hasn’t helped you understand how ­people work. Chihiro isn’t a strategy and she isn’t someone who makes plans. She’s spontaneous and intuitive and more easily hurt than you might understand.”

That go-­for-­broke quality is one of the things I always liked about Candy. She went all in when she got into something, whether it was anime, being Doc Kinski’s assistant, or hooking up with me. I never thought of myself as a brain person, but maybe I’m turning into one. Like I said, it’s been a funny year.

“Let me think about it.”

“Don’t lie to me or her, and especially don’t lie to yourself. If you’re going to think, do it fully and soon.”

I want to change the subject, but I can’t ask Brigitte about her love life. Her lover, Father Traven, is dead.

“Has either of you seen a Fiddler in here tonight?”

Carlos looks around.

“How about Christopher Marlowe over there?”

Marlowe is by the jukebox chattering at one of Brigitte’s friends. The lady doesn’t seem interested.