Page 4 of Equalizer (Sharps & Springfield #2)

Chapter 4

Owen

I t’s good to see you, Louisa,” Owen said as a tall, thin woman met them at a tea house near the station.

“It’s becoming a habit. St. Louis and now Chicago.” She settled across from them. Calvin had obtained a table in a far corner where they could talk without being overheard.

“Yes. Never a dull moment,” Calvin added. They were quiet as the server brought cups, hot water, and several flavors of tea as well as honey and lemon. After they had filled their drinks, Owen leaned forward.

“You always know the good gossip.”

She chuckled. “That’s my job, isn’t it?” Louisa might not look like what most people pictured as a Pinkerton agent, but she was a highly skilled, well-trained, and very successful operative. Like them, Louisa’s job moved her from city to city depending on the investigation.

“Have you heard anything about the bodies that have gone missing? Or what the local covens are up to?” Owen asked.

Louisa paused to sip her tea. “I’m working in the patent office at the moment, so mostly I see starry-eyed inventors and blueprints for unlikely contraptions. Not a lot of dead bodies, but I’ve met a technology witch or two.”

“A what?” Calvin echoed.

“Someone who tries to combine magic and science, using the magic to fill in the gaps the science hasn’t quite figured out,” she answered. “Fascinating stuff—and a little scary. They can’t come out and call it magic of course, but that’s what it is. And they’re not popular with the old-school spellcasters, so it’s ruffled some feathers in the magical community, so I hear.”

“Interesting,” Owen replied. “Has it caused enough of a dust-up to start a witch war?”

“There are always big personalities who want to be center stage all the time,” Louisa said. “Sometimes they end up leading covens. That’s usually bad for the members and everyone else because they’re more invested in power and fame than in using magic to accomplish something worthwhile.” Her sour tone made her feelings clear.

“I think those types are everywhere,” Calvin agreed.

“Oh, they are. But they gravitate toward callings that favor a bit of showmanship,” Louisa said. “Theater. Music. Government. And magic, because it’s not just what you say and do, it’s how it’s said and done.”

“Good point,” Owen acknowledged. “Any new tensions? How about among the Mob families?”

“Always. It wouldn’t be Chicago without back-alley fights,” Louisa said with a resigned half-smile. “Keeps things interesting. That’s not what I was sent to sniff around about, but I’ll tell you what I’ve heard.

“The covens that are from rival Mob families always have spats going. They usually leave everyone else out of it, but sometimes people get caught in the crossfire. The community reacts very badly to that, and the covens go on their best behavior—at least superficially—until people stop paying attention,” she added.

“For the other covens, it seems to be bad feelings between the traditionalists and the progressives,” Louisa went on. “The traditionalists want everything said in Latin or ancient languages and done exactly the way the old books say. The progressives say magic works just fine in English and that the trappings can be brought into the modern age.”

Calvin couldn’t hide a smile. “That seems to be the battle in every profession, but I hadn’t figured it in witchcraft.”

Louisa nodded. “Sad but true. I have a witch friend I can introduce you to. She would know the players much better. Arabella Munson. I’ll find a way to put you in touch.”

“Much obliged,” Calvin replied.

“Back to the missing bodies,” Owen said. “Has anyone tried to patent any unusual medical procedures or equipment lately? Especially anything to do with electricity?”

She gave them a shrewd look. “What are you really looking for?”

“We think the theft of fresh bodies isn’t about selling them as cadavers for medical schools,” Calvin replied. “We’ve read about doctors wanting to transplant healthy organs for sick ones. Our working theory is that the thieves are selling the bodies for parts that can be attached with some sort of exclusive new technology—or technology magic—that allows them to become replacements for damaged or missing limbs, organs, or even faces.”

Louisa took a moment to let that sink in. Her right hand went to clasp a protective bracelet on her left wrist. “You mean like in that Frankenstein book?”

Owen shook his head. “Not exactly. In that book, it was about reanimating the dead. This would be less grandiose—replacing a damaged part—not the whole body.”

“The doctor in that book used electricity to bring the creature to life,” she mused. “There have been some rather sensational demonstrations of galvanism recently. Dr. Augustus Gordon had a standing-room-only exhibition at the Chicago Coliseum. I’m told that people fainted or threw up at the display.”

Owen’s eyebrows rose. “What could have been that bad?”

“He had a severed monkey’s paw that clenched and unclenched its fist. And a freshly dead calf from one of the slaughterhouses that he got to move in rather ghoulish ways,” Louisa shared, looking sick herself. “The newspapers were fascinated and repelled, in equal parts. Some of them said he was a madman and a danger. Others thought it was the frontier of science. The crowd just loved a show.”

Owen retreated behind his cup of tea for a moment while he thought about what she said. “Do you think Gordon is doing off-the-books experiments in his free time?”

Louisa frowned, thinking, then shook her head. “No. He’s a veterinarian, not a surgeon. He wouldn’t have the knowledge or expertise to do complicated procedures on people.”

“Lots of con men have oversold their expertise,” Calvin pointed out.

“True. But if there’s a whole underground racket going with stolen bodies, there’s got to be money behind this. An investor who either sees a way to make a fortune or has some major personal loss that fuels them,” she replied. “I’ve heard Gordon talking with audience members. He can put on a show, but he isn’t smart enough to be a con man of the scale it would take to convince people to let him operate on them.”

“He’s the front man. He might not even know about someone else doing the actual procedures,” Owen conjectured.

“I don’t think anyone would trust Gordon with that kind of secret,” Louisa said. “If he weren’t making frog legs twitch, he’d be doing a Vaudeville show somewhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s an actor pretending to be a doctor.”

“Just another snake oil salesman,” Calvin replied. “But he’s also popularizing the concept and the possibilities of galvanism. Making people comfortable with it. The more they see it, the more normal it seems. That paves the way for a real doctor to quietly offer an expensive, exclusive procedure to select customers.”

“That’s why they say there’s a sucker born every minute,” Owen agreed. “Because I’ll bet my bottom dollar that there isn’t any long-term research on how long a transplant like that might last. When something gets stitched on and starts rotting, they won’t be happy.”

Louisa scrunched up her face. “Ew.”

“Yeah, Owen,” Calvin teased. “Watch your words. People are trying to eat.” Beneath the table, he bumped Owen’s knee in jest.

“There’s also an academic, a Dr. Humphries, who has a lecture coming up about transplantation,” Louisa told them. “I saw a flyer on a bulletin board. It sounded very theoretical, not splashy, but you might pick up something from watching the audience.”

Calvin made sure to write down the details. “Sounds like it could be worth sitting through. Even if Humphries himself isn’t involved, there could be someone who is a little too interested hanging around.”

They changed subjects after that, sticking to lighter topics. When they finished their tea, Owen and Calvin walked Louisa to her carriage.

“I’ll send you a telegram when I know more,” Louisa said. “And I’ll get something set up with Arabella. In the meantime, watch your backs.”

The sunny day and warm temperature tempted them to walk the rest of the way back to the train station. Owen spotted the usual ghosts on the way. The repeaters never changed or noticed anyone. They were just shadows without memory. Several others retained a sense of who they had been and acknowledged Owen.

“There’s a man behind you .” The tip came from a ghost that looked like he had been a railroad worker in life. “ He’s been following you.”

“Ghost says we’ve got a tail,” Owen said under his breath to Calvin.

They exchanged a look and worked the plan they had devised. Owen broke left, Calvin went right, and Owen called out to nearby spirits to hem in their pursuer.

They found a skinny, dark-haired man cowering behind the trash bins, looking like he’d had a fright.

Calvin dragged him up by his collar. “Why were you following us?” Unfortunately, his touch magic worked less reliably on fabric and barely at all skin-to-skin.

“I wasn’t?—”

“The ghosts say you were,” Owen said with a cold smile. “I sent them for you. Want to see them again? Maybe it will help your memory.”

“No! Please. Don’t,” the man protested.

“Why were you following us?”

The man’s gaze darted around, and while Owen could feel the presence of the ghosts nearby, they were hiding themselves for now.

“A man said he would pay me. Wanted to know where you went. I’m supposed to meet him and tell him what you did, and he’ll give me money,” their captive blurted.

“What did he look like?” Calvin demanded.

“Short. Dark hair and dark eyes. Black shirt and pants. Never saw him before. Listen, I don’t have anything against you. It’s just, I need the money,” the man begged.

“Where were you supposed to meet him?” Owen glanced around them. No one seemed to be paying attention.

“Behind the train station in an hour. Look—if you let me go, I’ll run in the opposite direction. You’ll never see me again, and I won’t report in,” the man offered.

“But he’ll know something’s up,” Owen said. “And he’ll come looking for you. Let’s keep your appointment. All of us.”

They only had half an hour to wait. Owen and Calvin watched from behind the shelter of two stacks of crates while the man paced at the station’s cargo entrance. The ghosts remained nearby, just in case.

Owen checked his watch. “He’s late.”

“Give it time,” Calvin said.

Ten minutes later, the contact still hadn’t shown up. Their stalker looked ready to panic. By twenty after, Owen figured the man wasn’t going to come.

“He stood you up,” Owen told the spy. “Or someone stopped him from coming.” He took some cash out of his pocket and gave it to the man. “Get as far away from here as you can and don’t come back. I don’t know what game someone is playing, but you’re going to be the loser if you stick around.”

“And forget anything you saw about where we were or what we did,” Calvin chimed in. “Make something up if anyone asks. Got that?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll be on my way.” He scrambled to get out of sight, and Owen watched him go.

“What do you think is going to happen?” Calvin asked Owen as they checked their surroundings and headed back to the train.

“Poor bastard is a dead man walking,” Owen muttered. “He’s seen the contact, so he could recognize whoever sent him after us. The guy who hired him isn’t going to want to leave witnesses. I suspect his boss spotted us with him and called off the rendezvous.”

“Seems like a lot of bother,” Calvin said. “Which side do you think it is? Mobsters or witches?”

“Dunno. It could even be someone involved with grave robbing if they think we’re onto them,” Owen replied. “We haven’t been able to follow the money to guess who’s involved in that racket.”

They kept walking to the train car, wary of their surroundings but not noticing anything unusual or anyone who paid them particular attention, and reached the Pullman without incident.

“I’m glad Winston put down wardings,” Owen said as he felt the familiar frisson when they crossed. “I feel like we’re sitting ducks, being in the station and not moving.”

“Hard to do our job in Chicago and not actually be in Chicago,” Calvin replied.

“You know what I meant.”

Owen breathed a sigh of relief once they were inside. He didn’t know whether the informant would have reported their details to a would-be assassin or whether an unknown player decided to keep track of them, but the uncertainty kept him tense the whole way back.

The car smelled of mulled cider and freshly baked cookies, reminding Owen once again that they had the best attaché ever in Winston. Plus he’s a witch and a good shot. We hit the jackpot.

“Oh, there you are!” Winston greeted them. “Get settled and I’ll bring in your drinks. Dinner won’t be ready for a while yet.”

Despite the often hectic, dangerous, and unpredictable nature of their lives, Owen cherished the evenings when they could have an unhurried dinner and relax with the newspapers. His younger self wouldn’t have been able to comprehend the satisfaction of having a home, a partner, and an unusual but dependable found family.

I didn’t know what I was missing. Now that I have this, I’ll never let it go.

The apple cider was still steaming when Winston brought in the cups along with a dish of cookies. An envelope lay beside the plate.

“A letter from Miss Edwards came by courier,” he told them as he set the tray on a side table. “And I’ve put out inquiries among the local covens. A few old friends were persuaded to make introductions for me, and as it turned out, there is a witch here I met some time ago.”

“Is Arabella Munson one of your contacts?” Calvin asked.

Winston looked surprised. “Yes, actually. She’s the witch I met a while back. How do you know her?”

“We don’t,” Owen said. “But Louisa Sunderson, our Pinkerton contact, wanted to put us in touch with Arabella. So that’s a double recommendation.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange tomorrow,” Winston promised. “We still have a little while until dinner. Enjoy the papers, and I’ll call you when the food is ready.”

They settled in on the couch, closer than appropriate, and sipped their drinks in silence. The apple cider picked up extra flavor from a cinnamon stick, and Owen felt it burn away the chill from outside.

Calvin leaned forward to reach for the note and opened the seal. He scanned it quickly and looked up.

“Well?” Owen asked.

“Miss Edwards wants one of us to come with her tomorrow to meet with Miss Dawson, the woman who runs the settlement house,” Calvin said. “That definitely comes through from the resonance I get from the stationery. She apologized for asking for just one, but she thought the both of us might be too intimidating.”

“That’s fine,” Owen said. “I want to see if the ghosts can tell us anything more about the man who was following us. Whoever sent him is likely to try again.”

“Maybe Winston can turn something up with his magic,” Calvin suggested. “We can ask over dinner.”

They leaned back to read the papers and enjoy a moment of not needing to be on guard. Most of the headlines dealt with politics and local issues that weren’t important to Owen, but one jumped out at him.

“There was a death at the Wild West Show.” Owen turned the page so Calvin could see. “They aren’t open yet, so they were setting up, and the performers were practicing,” Owen summarized. “One of the riders was thrown from his horse and broke his neck.”

Calvin met his eyes. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That the body might mysteriously disappear?”

Calvin nodded. “Yeah. Maybe you should have a look while I’m off meeting the settlement lady.”

“Okay,” Owen agreed, silently glad that if they were going to split up, Calvin’s mission for the next day didn’t seem likely to be dangerous. “I’ll have a look around and see if there’s anything strange. Although if the body didn’t get snatched, I’ll have to come up with another excuse.”

“I have faith in you,” Calvin joked.

“Dinner is ready.” Winston poked his head into the room. “Come to the table.”

They sat down to a roast chicken dinner with baked potatoes and vegetables which made Owen’s stomach rumble.

“I learned a bit about the warring Mob factions,” Winston said as they ate. “Some of it is old news—groups vying for more territory or power among their peers. From what I hear, the two most powerful families are always jockeying for power. It doesn’t affect outsiders unless it turns into a shooting war over turf.

“Everyone warned me that a lot of the Chicago cops are on the take, so they look the other way and let the families sort things out on their own,” Winston added.

“Lovely. I’d prefer not to get caught in the crossfire,” Calvin replied, and Owen nodded in agreement.

“Like with the covens, the older families dominate in more traditional areas—like construction, brothels, and the opium trade,” Winston continued. “A few up-and-coming families are betting on new-fangled discoveries like radiation and Tesla coils that aren’t proven but might turn out to be big.”

“What the hell is a Tesla coil?” Owen remembered seeing the name of Nikolai Tesla, the inventor, in the newspaper and had been curious about what he created.

“A way to create very powerful electricity,” Calvin replied. At Owen’s raised eyebrows, Calvin shrugged.

“Unlike you, I read the whole article, not just the headlines,” Calvin replied.

“How powerful?”

“Lightning bolts, according to the reports,” Calvin told him.

“Might someone use it for galvanism? Like the lightning in Frankenstein ?”

“Maybe,” Calvin allowed. “There’s certainly the possibility that someone would try.”

“Looks like we can guess which families the technology witches align with,” Owen added.

“Exactly.”

“The old-school Mob families stick with prostitution, drugs, bootlegging, racketeering, bars—the usual,” Calvin mused. “Maybe even the magically engineered drugs that affect shifters and paranormals. They’ve all got covens that could figure that stuff out. And the Mobs with more forward-thinking bosses look at replacing body parts for a profit.”

“It makes sense,” Owen agreed. “But it could be messy as all hell to shut down.”

“One step at a time,” Calvin cautioned. “If we shut off the supply of new bodies, it gets harder for them to do what they’re doing. We need to find more about this showman doing experiments and the guy at the university.”

“I will chat with Arabella tomorrow and find a way to make introductions and set up a meeting,” Winston said. “In the meantime, please be careful. Witches and the Chicago Mob are a bad combination.”

The next day, Calvin and Owen parted with a kiss before they went their separate ways to investigate. Calvin promised a full report of his time with Miss Edwards and the settlement houses, and Owen pledged to fill them in on anything interesting from his investigation at the Wild West Show.

Owen deliberated over how to approach the show. He could go undercover, dressed as a handler, which might get him inside to hear gossip but wouldn’t help him connect with the people in charge.

Going in his suit would earn him the derision of the performers but might spook the management into answering his questions. Reluctantly, he decided that dressing like an agent was the better option.

“We’re not open to the public yet. Come back next week,” the man at the front gate told Owen.

Owen pulled his badge from his inside jacket pocket. “Secret Service. I need to see your head of security.”

The worker looked at Owen’s badge in consternation. “Wait here.” He disappeared into the small building that served as the event office and returned several minutes later with a tall man whose starched collar and gray waistcoat suggested he was management, not one of the performers.

“What appears to be the problem, Agent?” the man said.

“Are you the head of security?” Owen met the man’s gaze.

“No, I’m the event manager.”

“I need to see the head of security,” Owen repeated. “I’d prefer not to need to come back with the police, but asking to speak to your security person is entirely within my purview.”

He waited out the manager with a blank expression, letting the other man stew.

Finally, the manager muttered a curse under his breath. “Don’t know what good it’s going to do, but I’ll have someone escort you to the security building. Steven should be there. You need to be accompanied at all times when you’re on show property. For your own safety.”

“Of course,” Owen replied in a neutral voice.

“I’ll have Harry walk you over,” the manager growled. “If you go wandering off, I’ll make sure you get escorted out.”

Owen ignored the bluster as Harry, whom he guessed to be a clerk in the show office, walked over.

“Follow me,” Harry said with a sheepish smile.

They left the office, and Harry fell into step beside Owen. “Are you really Secret Service?”

Owen nodded. “Yes. Got the badge and everything. By the way, it’s illegal to impersonate an agent.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Harry said. “I just never met someone like that before. I can’t imagine what brings you to the show, but I guess it’s important—and probably secret.”

The security building was a small wooden cabin not far from the show office. The manager could have easily just pointed it out and let Owen find it himself, but clearly he wanted to make his point.

Harry stuck his head into the cabin. “Is Steven here?” Other voices sounded, and Harry opened the door wider and made room for Owen to enter.

A tall, broad-shouldered blond man bustled into the room, took one look at Owen, and paled.

“Owen?”

Owen found himself staring at a ghost from his past who was very much alive. “Hello, Steven.”

He knew many men with that first name. It never occurred to Owen that this one would be someone he had served with out West, and during one particularly long, dreary winter, been closer than most friends.

Steven shook off his shock. “Thanks, Harry. I’ll take it from here.”

Harry looked from one man to the other, clearly figuring that there was a story here he didn’t understand. “I’ll let the boss know. He’s supposed to be escorted everywhere.”

Steven gave a curt nod. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Once Harry left, Steven glanced back at the security office and frowned. “Walk with me, Owen.” He clearly didn’t want their conversation to be overheard.

“Been a long time.” Steven led Owen toward the center ring, where men on horseback practiced their routines for the upcoming show.

“Looks like you did well for yourself after you got out.” Owen was genuinely happy that his old friend had found a good position.

“It’s a good fit, military background and all,” Steven replied. “But look at you. Secret Service?”

Owen shrugged. “Right place, right time, right opportunity. Like you said, it’s a good fit.”

They were quiet again, listening to the thunder of hoofbeats and the shouts of the riders.

“Did you know I was here?”

Owen shook his head. “No.”

“Would you have come if you did?”

Owen was quiet for a moment. “It’s business, Steven. I need to know about the man who died. What happened to the body?”

Steven startled. “What do you mean?”

Owen could tell Steven was playing for time to figure out how to react.

“The performer who died?—”

“Drew. His name was Drew,” Steven said.

Owen nodded. “Was Drew’s body stolen?”

Steven’s eyes widened. “Jesus, Owen. How the hell did you know that?”

“It’s why I’m here in Chicago, investigating a rash of body thefts. The performer would have been a prime corpse and a tempting target,” Owen replied.

“Do you know who’s doing it? Are you going to bust them?”

“It’s a little more complicated,” Owen said. “And I can’t share details. But it’s bigger than one person stealing and selling cadavers. I was hoping you’d have information about who had access and whether anything was disturbed when the body was taken.

“Someone had to get into your compound, know where the body was being kept, and get out with it,” Owen pointed out. “That’s a lot for one person on their own. Which tells me that they had help—and might have paid off people with the show to look the other way.”

“When Drew got thrown, our show doctor was on scene and pronounced him dead,” Steven said. “It was late in the day, so we wrapped him in blankets and took him to the storage shed, figuring we’d call the cops and the coroner in the morning. But when we went to do that, he was gone.”

“Was the shed locked?”

“Yes. The lock was picked. Whoever did it scratched it to hell in the process,” Steven replied. “Even if it was someone with the show, how did they get a man’s body off of the grounds without being seen? And how did a person who works for a traveling show know that there would be someone in town to give the body to?”

“How they moved him without being seen? That wouldn’t take a complicated spell. As for how they knew who wanted the body, I suspect the folks involved eyed the show coming to town and figured that with dangerous stunts, something was likely to go wrong. Your people go into town now and again, right? They could meet someone in a bar who made them an offer,” Owen said.

“Spells. Like magic?” Steven frowned.

“Yes.” Owen waited him out, wondering whether Steven would mock him or consider the possibility.

“And you believe that stuff works?”

“I know it does, if done right.” Owen paused. “Are Drew’s things still here—clothing, possessions?”

“Probably. I don’t imagine anyone’s cleaned out his bunk yet.”

“Can you take me to it? I might pick up something from his stuff.” Owen had never told Steven about his mediumship, but it hadn’t really had a reason to come up back in their Army days.

They were silent at first as they walked toward one of several large tents erected behind the fence that separated the public area from the staff section.

“How did you end up with the show?” Owen asked.

Steven shrugged. “When I mustered out, I didn’t really have a plan. But I was good with horses and guns. I went to see the show, and there was a poster looking for security guards. This was about five years ago. They hired me, and I came up through the ranks.

“It’s a decent living if you don’t mind moving around. Got used to that in the Army, and nobody shoots at me here.” Steven laughed. “The food is good, and people look out for each other. Except, apparently, when they don’t.” His expression darkened and Owen suspected it was at the thought of someone stealing Drew’s body.

From the noise in the center ring, Owen guessed that rehearsals were in full swing. That left the tents empty, which made Owen’s job less complicated.

“This is his bunk.” Steven stopped at a cot and trunk. “I went through his stuff looking for next-of-kin, but he either didn’t have any or didn’t want to stay in touch.”

Owen looked at the jumble of possessions in the open trunk. People with a traveling show knew how to pack light. The show provided their costumes, bedding, and basic kit. That left just personal clothing and items of sentimental value.

He turned to Steven. “I see ghosts, and sometimes I can get them to answer my questions. It wasn’t something I talked about in the Army, for obvious reasons. I’m better at it now than I was then. There’s a chance that Drew’s spirit is still here, and if he’s not too disoriented, he might be able to tell us who took his corpse.”

Steven’s eyes widened. “You can talk to ghosts? Like a fortune teller?”

Owen winced at the comparison. “Except for real. I work with a branch of the Secret Service where the supernatural is recognized. I’m going to try to talk to Drew, and I need you to keep me from being disturbed and not freak out. If you want to ask questions later, I’ll tell you what I can.”

Steven stared at him for a moment as if seeing him for the first time, and then he blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay. For old times’ sake. But this kind of thing is definitely out of my wheelhouse.”

“Thank you,” Owen said, relieved. He had been unsure whether Steven would help or throw him out.

Owen spotted a braided leather cord that looked like a bracelet and reached for it, braced for whatever resonance it might possess.

He saw a man in his late twenties with shaggy blond hair and a lost expression.

“Drew?” Owen asked silently.

The ghost startled. “Who are you? And where am I? Everything’s wrong. I was riding—and now I’m here. What’s going on?”

Owen’s heart went out to the man. The newly dead were often disoriented and, like Drew, often didn’t even realize they had passed.

“You were thrown from your horse and broke your neck. It happened fast. You’re dead,” Owen said as gently as he could.

“Dead? I can’t be dead. I have a show to do. I was supposed to meet a girl in town tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” Owen told him. “Do you know what happened to your body?”

“My body? I thought that was a bad dream. Oh, shit. Am I really dead?”

But even as the ghost reacted in confusion, Owen could see the spirit starting to realize what had happened.

“I thought it was some sort of delirium. I saw myself lying in my bed, but I was standing next to the cot. I couldn’t touch my body, and nothing woke me up. I thought maybe I had a fever dream. And then a man came in and picked me up and carried my body out. I tried to follow, and I couldn’t,” Drew’s ghost said.

“Did you recognize who stole your body?”

The ghost nodded. “ Frank. One of the stablehands. I didn’t have any beef with him. I don’t know why he’d do such a thing. But he came in the middle of the night and then…I was stuck here.”

Owen’s heart went out to the ghost. “Would you like to pass over? I can help.” The ghost couldn’t testify and keeping him here would be cruel if Owen could give him peace.

“Can you do that? Please, mister. I want to go to heaven.”

Owen couldn’t give him any assurances about the afterlife, but he could help him make the passage. He shut his eyes and recited a short incantation, and when he looked again, Drew’s ghost was gone.

“What just happened?” Steven stared at Owen as if he had never seen him before.

“What did you see or sense?” Owen couldn’t help being curious. Sometimes people who weren’t usually sensitive to the supernatural still picked up a glimpse of a ghost or the frisson of energy from a spirit passing nearby.

“I suddenly got cold to the marrow, and I thought I heard Drew’s voice, but I couldn’t catch what he said.” Steven looked shaken. “You talked to him? You’re the real deal?”

Owen nodded. “Yes to both. If you’ve got some whiskey stashed away, you look like you could use a slug.”

Steven removed a flask from the inside pocket of his jacket and downed a gulp. He held it out to Owen, who shook his head.

“Just another day at the office for me,” Owen said.

“What did…Drew…tell you?” Steven asked.

Owen recounted his conversation with the ghost and his accusation that Frank had taken the body.

Steven thought for a moment. “Frank’s new with the show, just hired on here in Chicago. He’s a stablehand, so he didn’t need to know anything special except how to muck out a stall and not get trampled by the horses. We always hire extra hands when we get to town. They don’t usually travel with us unless they have special skills.”

“Frank might have applied, knowing that with all the dangerous stunts, it was possible someone would die, or maybe he just happened to know people, and when Drew got killed, he saw a chance to make a quick buck,” Owen said. “Let’s go find Frank.”

Steven put a hand on Owen’s arm to stop him from leaving. “Wait. I have questions. You could see ghosts back then?”

Owen knew he meant in the Army when they were close. “Yes, but I couldn’t hold the connection as well or hear them as clearly.”

“So when we were in battle?—”

“It was rough,” Owen admitted. “I drank a lot those nights.”

“I remember. I just thought it was nerves, like the rest of us.” Steven licked his lips nervously. “Did Drew go to heaven? Could you see what happens after?”

Owen shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. I just know that ghosts go on. Where is above my paygrade.”

“The Church?—”

“Has plenty of theories that don’t really work in real life,” Owen snapped, sounding sharper than he intended. “I don’t do black magic, and most of the incantations came from the Church in the first place. If I didn’t lose my chance at the afterlife by shooting men on the battlefield, I don’t think having a chat with ghosts will doom me now.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Steven said. “I guess I thought there would be a lot more fussy stuff.”

“Fussy?” Owen raised an eyebrow.

Steven waved his hand in a vague way. “Singing. Dancing. Woo-woo.”

Owen snickered. “Definitely no singing and dancing.”

They reached the sea of tents that worked as a bunkhouse. Steven asked for Frank, and several of the crew pointed toward a particular location. When they opened the tent flap, the space was completely empty.

“He’s gone,” Steven said.

“I’m not surprised,” Owen replied. “But just in case, you might quiz any other local hires to see if they’ve got friends in low places who might want to pick up a body on the cheap if there’s another death.”

He hadn’t expected that Frank would be dumb enough to stick around, especially if he had used hex bags or other magic to conceal his crime. Owen thought about asking whether the show had its own witch on staff but decided against it. Steven had seemed shocked by his mention of supernatural abilities, and a witch of any real power should have sensed strange magic being done on the show grounds.

“What now?” Steven asked.

“There’s no point in involving the police,” Owen said. “I’m pretty sure they’re paid off by the local Mob to keep this kind of thing quiet.” And one of the Mob bosses is already looking into missing bodies.

“If Drew didn’t have any family, then there’s no one to make inquiries. Pour one out for him and watch your back.”

Stephen looked shaken. “You do this sort of thing all the time?”

Owen nodded. “We travel where we’re assigned a case, wherever the railroads go.”

“We?”

“I have a partner and a valet, who’s also a bodyguard. We live in a train car.” Owen played down the comforts of his situation on purpose. Steven also moved from place to place, but even with extra considerations for being the head of security, his accommodations were considerably less posh.

“Huh. Who’d have thought, back then.” Steven paused. “Look, I can get the night off if you want to meet up in town, have some drinks, catch up.”

Owen read the invitation for what it was: commitment-free but certainly not platonic. He shook his head. “Thank you, but I can’t. I…have someone.”

Steven raised an eyebrow. “I used to be someone.”

Owen gave a sad smile. “That was a long time ago, and we’re not who we were then. We can be friends, but nothing on the side.”

“I’m glad for you, Owen. That sort of thing doesn’t always happen for men like us.”

“But it proves it’s possible,” Owen replied.

Steven looked away. “I’m not sure I’m a one-man man. I think I like the rambling life a little too much.”

“Just be happy,” Owen replied. “And be safe.” He pulled a business card from his coat. “We’re at Union Station. Look for the Pullman car on the sidelines or send a messenger. Or a telegram.”

Steven stared at the card for a moment before pocketing it. “Take care of yourself,” he told Owen. “Sounds like you might make some powerful enemies. Be careful.”

“I always am.” They shook hands, then Owen pulled him in for a tight hug.

“If anything weird happens or you think you’re in danger, I’ll help however I can,” Owen assured him.

“Weirder than today? It would have to be pretty damn strange.” Steven released him and stepped back. Owen could practically see the man’s defenses slipping back into place.

“I guess I need to walk you to the front gate so the boss doesn’t have a stroke,” Steven said.

They didn’t say much as they headed for the entrance.

“Good luck with the show,” Owen said as they reached the exit.

“Thanks. I don’t know if you get time off, but it’s worth a few hours to see the show if you’re interested,” Steven replied. Now that they had covered everything, he seemed a little unsure. Owen hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings, but his relationship with Calvin was far too important to risk.

“See you when I see you.” Owen tried to lighten the mood.

“Not if I see you first.”