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“What if I never get back to myself again? I can feel myself getting weaker. My spirit is settling into this body. I feel like I’m losing all connection to the eternal.”

“From what I hear, the guy who’s taken your place is getting stronger. That’s probably what you’re feeling. Don’t worry. We’ll stop him.”

“Thank you.”

“Why don’t we go back inside. I’ll introduce you to some annoying customers downstairs. They deserve a good scare.”

“All right.”

VINCENT HEADS DOWN to see Kasabian and I stay upstairs with Ca

ndy. She ignores me, wrapped up in her cartoon. I walk around the table and take a peek at her laptop. The screen saver is running, blocking my view of whatever she’s been working on.

“You researching the White Light Legion?”

“Yeah,” she says. “They’re interesting. Why?”

“Just curious. Wikipedia says they used to publish books and pamphlets. Do they still do that? Maybe I could go over and get some.”

Candy pauses Yakitate!! Japan and looks at me like I just lied about eating the last cookie.

“Do you have my brass knuckles?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Then forget it. Julie said not to tell you anything, and she’s right. We need to understand them, not clunk their heads together like coconuts.”

Damn. Candy has gone reasonable on me.

“Listen to you, Nancy Drew. I thought we could pay them a visit together, like old times. Put a nice scare into them.”

She looks back at the frozen image on the screen.

“You struck out with the Cold Cases and Cherry?”

I sit down on a stool by the kitchen counter.

“No. I got some information. Little scraps. I think Tamerlan is up to his ass in this thing. But I’m sick of tiptoeing around. Come on. Let’s go break things.”

“As much fun as that sounds, you should just sit down and write your report for Julie. You’re the one always saying how much we need the money.”

“Can I use your laptop?”

“Sure. All my work files are password protected, so don’t bother snooping for the White Light’s address.”

“That’s a hurtful thing to say.”

She puts out her lower lip in a mock pout.

“Poor dear. Want me to run you a bubble bath?”

“Fine. If you insist on being no fun, I’ll do it your way. But you’re going to regret walking away from hilarious mayhem.”

“I’m trying to watch my show,” says Candy.

I sit down at her laptop, open a blank text file, and start typing. I’m pretty much a two-­finger typist. With a good tail wind, I can sometimes work in a third finger. Let her listen to me hunt and peck my way through this report. By the time I’m done, she’ll be begging to kick someone’s ass.

Candy picks up the remote and cranks up the volume on the TV, drowning out the sound of my crude key smashing. Outsmarted again.