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“Yes, sir.” Norman nodded, his expression severe. There was zero indication that he’d been picking a fight only seconds before. Without further argument or even glancing at me, he turned and trudged around the parked cars.

“As for us”—Damen put his arm over my shoulders, my heart skipping at the contact as he turned me toward the patio—“we’ve got a crime scene to investigate.”

I allowed him to guide me, but I glanced back before we passed through the doorway.

Norman had stopped beside a white Buick and was now glaring at me—at Damen’s arm around my shoulders. When he caught me looking, he sneered and made a ‘watching you’ motion with his hand. Then without further ado, he ducked and disappeared into the vehicle.

Even though he hadn’t been very nice, I felt sorry for him. The man seemed lonely, and I could feel that his history was sad.

Before I could delve any deeper into those thoughts, Damen began to guide me through the yellow tape. “It’s my job to evaluate crime scenes and build character profiles.”

He trailed his palm down my arm, shielding me from the sudden chill in the air, and captured my elbow in his warm grip.

“They say…” he began, lowering his head near me. I couldn’t look away from his full lips as he spoke. “I’m somewhat of an expert in human emotions.”

Why did he have to be so close?

“What?” I asked.

“I thought you might want to look around,” he said, sounding pleased, and something was unsettling about his creepy grin. “But, of course, you’re welcome to stay and watch me instead.”

Now, why would I want to do that?

“No thanks.” My voice tripped into an odd, warbled pitch. He was supposed to act like a professional, not a silly fool. “I’m going to go…” A few people in uniforms milled around the open living space we’d just entered, and I looked past them.

What was the furthest from where Damen might be?

Across the room, away from the crowd, tape, and the chalked body outline, was an empty doorway. I pointed to it. “I’ll look over there. It seems much more interesting than anything here.”

Damen’s grin faltered. My pulse skipped. Had I failed to keep the nervousness from my voice?

I had to persevere. This was outside my realm of experience. We were friends, and I could not let Damen think I was remotely attracted to him in any way .

Before he could speak, his attention suddenly snapped across the room. Someone must have said his name. The playboy persona was gone instantly, and the cool, collected cloak of confidence fell heavily around him.

My mouth went dry. Now, it would be even harder to ignore him.

“Just take a look around,” he told me, touching my head. The sparkle had returned briefly to his eyes as he addressed me, but casual professionalism oozed from his posture. This calm, assured person took my breath away.

“I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” he said.

Then he turned from me and crossed the room, joining the others.

I looked after him, and my skin began to grow clammy. I was in trouble—this feeling was much easier to ignore when he was flirting.

I had to get out of here.

I crossed the room, stumbled through the small kitchen and out onto the patio without a second thought. The backyard was overgrown, and the deck was unsteady, but at least nobody was around.

The cool air helped soothe my nerves, but the tightness in my chest refused to go away. My mind began to clear as I knelt in the grass, and a long moment passed before the secondary reason for my unease came to light.

I’d been distracted enough to overlook the most obvious thing of all.

An indiscernible voice cut through the silence behind me, and I turned to see an old man standing on the porch. He watched me with a mix of confusion and irritation.

“How did you get into my yard?” he demanded with a scowl. He moved toward me, heavily leaning on his cane despite his ghostly state. How he carried himself indicated that he was unaware of his current situation.

I should probably let him know.

My nerves sparked as my thoughts raced. I wasn’t the greatest at delivering bad news and this was sure to upset him. But something must be said.

Was this why Damen wanted a medium?

“Well—” I began.

“And where in the world are your chaperones?” the old man sharply asked. “Running around like this, without a care in the world? Back in my day, we had respect for ourselves and others. It’s like you’ve got a death wish.”

I bit my bottom lip.

I wasn’t sure why my state of aloneness so perturbed him, but he didn’t seem the sort to take news of his demise lightly. Plus, if he were this disturbed about my presence, the other people milling about his house would surely set him off.

The last time this happened, things had been very messy.

“Are you daft?” he asked. “Answer me. I’ve got better things to do than babysit a clueless youngster. Who’s supposed to be looking after you?”

“I’m sorry!” My face burned. I had to calm him down before the rampaging began.

But he wasn't forgiving. “That doesn’t answer my question,” he said. “Whom do I need to contact?”

A sense of foreboding warred with my concerns. Why would he need to call anybody?

“The police!” he answered his own question. My heart pounded as he began to turn toward the house, and when that happened, chaos would ensue. Ghostly tantrums, blood writing on the walls…

What could I do? What could I say? If he went inside now, he’d probably figure it out. Damen would be blindsided by the aftermath of a raging spirit. And gosh…

While it was true that he caused my heart to race and enjoyed saying weird things that made me want to bury my face in a pillow, I still didn’t want to see the ceiling collapse onto his head.

This had to be Caleb Weaver. Hadn’t Norman said that he’d been a professor at the school? We were somewhat close to campus, and it wasn’t that large of a school. I was sure the professors must know each other.

“Or Bryce might possibly know,” Mr. Weaver continued loudly. I ignored the pang of irritation that shot through my heart.

How could Bryce be this popular even with the staff?

Mr. Weaver ignored my non-response as he continued, “He’d be better than the cops, for sure. He’ll take responsibility—”

“Wait!” I called after the ghost, and he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. What could I say? “I’m so sorry! When I saw Ms. Protean earlier, there was news that Cécile had escaped. She might be here.”

“Cécile?” Mr. Weaver grew pale, even for a ghost. He stared at me with a mixture of shock and horror. “How did it even get on my property? Did you see it, you say?”

Well, no, I hadn’t said. But I let him continue.

“I told those fools to keep that abomination away from me!” He spun and moved toward the door with even greater urgency. “I want nothing to do with their crazy idea. Let me get my rifle.”

I scrambled to my feet, rushing after him in a panic. My brilliant plan had backfired, and he was more frenzied than before.

“Wait!” I stepped after him, my arm outstretched. My only hope was to keep him from the house as long as possible. Hopefully, Damen was on the alert and his shikigami was already on the watch to prevent any nasty surprises.

I hadn’t noticed it, but I wasn’t sure if the shikigami was a spirit or something else. I wasn’t entirely confident in my skills, to say for sure, and we hadn’t really talked about it. Did it even have a name? What do you name a bird-spirit companion anyway? Polly would be too obvious.

Come to think of it, Damen couldn’t see ghosts without it being present—so it had to be a different type of spirit.

Maybe it was a demon who had taken the form of a bird. It might have leeched on to Damen’s life force to remain in the human realm and do his master’s bidding.

I shook my head sharply, bidding the unwelcome, intrusive thought to disappear. I had much more important things to address. I’d have to ask Damen when I could.

Focus. Ghost now, questions later.

In seconds, I was beside Mr. Weaver. My fear that he would float through the door or do something equally dramatic had urged my body forward with a speed I didn’t normally possess.

I didn’t stop to think before I reached for his arm.