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You—you’re accusing me of sneaking out and meeting Dags somewhere? Oh man . . . this is too rich. Of all the people—” And then her words hit me. Time delay. You know—me using my single brain cell to power my mouth and not my ears. “Wait—Dags is in town. And you have people spying on him?”
    Aw, man . . . talk about someone ’et up with guilt. Her face literally flushed pink . . . no . . . make that Day-Glo red. Look out, Rudolph! You got competition!
    “Damnit, Zoë—stop playing the fool on this. If you’re seeing him, then tell me.”
    “Hey, if you got spies on him—then how come you can’t tell if we’ve been together?” It’s not that I really cared—since I hadn’t seen Dags in over a month. So if she claimed at all that’s where I’ve been—I’d call her a liar to her face and explain afterward.
    Maybe.
    But she didn’t accuse me of anything. “Zoë—look, we know he came in at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport at nine or so Sunday morning. So he’s been here for a few days.”
    “Where’s he staying?” Whoa . . . why did I ask that? It just blurted right out. Kinda like vomit. Blap.
    “Not funny—you know where—”
    “I am not seeing Dags!” I yelled.
    Tim sniggered from the back. I pointed at him. You, be quiet.
    We were both quiet for a while, getting close to the morgue.
    Then, “Zoë—I can’t help it. You got a piece of him that I’ll never—”
    “Stop.” I put up a hand. “We already agreed not to do this, Rhonda. What happened between me and Dags was just sex. A onetime thing. Okay? Nothing more. I love Daniel. Yeah—he’s a bit nuts at the moment, but you know we all go through phases in our lives—”
    “I just . . .” She sighed and kept her eyes on the road. The sun was about up now, and I could see everything with a monochromatic overlay. Color, but muted. “You’ve shared something I’ll never have with him. He’ll always hate me—because of what I did to him.”
    When Rhonda referred to what she “did to him,” I was sometimes in the dark about that myself, not having been with her, Dags, and Joe during that little mishap. Where was I?
    Oh, at home, looking for Mom’s soul, unable to OOB, and totally pining away for a man who was already possessed by my darker half and killing people.
    Yeah . . . that was normal.
    “He doesn’t hate you.” And that much was true. Dags had said it. He didn’t hate Rhonda. She did what had to be done, to save him and protect the Grimoire. But—what I wasn’t going to tell her was how he told me he loved me. And he would love no one else.
    Moment of awkward.
    Rhonda pulled into the empty parking lot of the Dekalb County morgue. Well, not really empty. Joe’s truck was there, alongside a Bentley. I stared at it as I got out, taking note of the license plate. D8d Dock.
    How droll. Had to be Lex.
    I followed Rhonda to the building as the front door opened, and Joe stepped out. He was as smarmy as ever, his long face holding the expression of one who has grown impatient. His hair was spikier than usual, and he needed a shave. He wore his usual uniform—plaid shirt, jeans, boots, and badge on a chain.
    How redneck.
    Joe motioned for us to follow—not having a voice to speak with and, noticeably, no dry-erase board. We moved along the halls as we had a month before, and again I caught the smells of disinfectant. And death.
    On that first visit a month ago, I wasn’t Wraith. I couldn’t see or sense anything. This time? Watching the shadows creep and move along the floor made my skin crawl. Their motions weren’t fluid like normal, but jerky, as if frames from the picture had been removed. Great effect on-screen. In real life?
    Not so much.
    As before, we moved through a set of double doors where the polished tile became dingy and worn. The odors changed, and the whole presence felt—
    “Zoë?” Rhonda stopped and looked back at me. I hadn’t realized I’d stopped walking.
    For the first time—I could