This had to end. I needed to figure out what these ghosts were and banish them before they ruined the shoot.

I LEFT the house by the front door and walked to clear my head. Normally, after a block in heels, my feet would have been screaming for me to stop, but if they were, I was too preoccupied to hear them.

Why couldn't I communicate with these ghosts? Spooks do play pranks on necromancers, but if that was the case, the dogwood bark and dried mate should have warded them off.

Souls can also get trapped in dimensional portals, but I'd encountered those and knew that wasn't the explanation here. Nor were they demons or demidemons or demideities. Again, been there, done that. Robert Vasic, the council research expert, always tells me I should keep a journal of my experiences for his records, to help others necromancers with odd cases, since I seem to have encountered them all. I think he's kidding, but I'm never sure. Just as I'm not sure whether my breadth of experience has more to do with untapped power or a talent for stumbling into trouble.

My gut told me these were normal ghosts in an abnormal situation. But how did they get there-in a place where they could touch me, but couldn't materialize or communicate?

One answer: black magic.

When it came to black magic, I had an excellent source of information. A former leading teacher of the art-and one who did not fulfill that "those who can't, teach" cliche. My absent spirit guide, Eve Levine.

Also known as "dark" or "chaotic" magic, black magic isn't necessarily evil. It's a blanket term for all magic with a potentially negative outcome. Like a spell to kill someone. You could use it for evil, but you're more likely to use it in self-defense. But the only type of magic likely to affect ghosts was the darkest of the dark arts: ritual sacrifice.

Human sacrifice is rare. Some dark-arts practitioners never conduct such rituals. Had Eve? It's not something you ask a friend about, but I'd guess that she had, though only when she'd needed to kill an enemy and decided his death might as well serve another purpose. That was Eve-never cruel, but coldly practical in a way I couldn't fathom, just as I couldn't fathom living a life where you had enemies you needed to kill.

When I reached the Brentwood Market, I headed around back, out of sight of passing traffic, took out Eve's ring and tried contacting her again, putting all my concentration into it, hoping that somehow, wherever she was, I could break through. After a couple of minutes, the air shimmered-the first sign of a ghost coming through.

"Oh, thank God! Eve, I need you-"

A man materialized. A big man-tall and solidly built, in his late forties with thinning blond hair and bright blue eyes.

"Kristof," I said. "I didn't call you. I called-"

"Eve, I know." He cast a look around the lot, nose wrinkling slightly, then brushed off the front of his suit jacket, as if it might have been soiled in the transition. "You've been trying to get through to her for a while, and obviously something's wrong, so I thought I should find out what you want." He checked his watch.

"If I'm keeping you, Kristof-"

"I'm in court, but I requested a ten-minute recess."

An afterlife with lawyers, three-piece suits and wristwatches. If I ever needed proof that Kristof Nast had ended up in a hell dimension, this was it.

"Is there some way you can get Eve for me?"

"I can try. She isn't supposed to be disturbed, but if it's urgent, I can petition for a special allowance. I presume it's urgent?"

Something in his gaze begged me to say it was, but with Kristof, it was wise to be wary. "Well, I'm not sure it's urgent-"

"If you say it's urgent, that's all I need."

Ah. So I wasn't the only one Eve was out of contact with. That's why he was here. Certainly not to help me. My only contact with Kristof in life-not in person, but through his employees, naturally- had not been one to encourage friendship. Eve was the only thing we had in common.

"If you did get access and it wasn't for something important, would Eve be pissed off?"

"Hardly. She'd welcome the break." His eyes glittered. "I'd even go so far as to say she'd be grateful."

"So, wherever she is, she isn't there by choice?"

His smile faded. "You know I'm not allowed to discuss that. But if you need her, which you obviously do, I can petition-"

"And if it's not urgent, would Eve get in trouble?"

That stopped him. "There's no way for her to know what you might consider urgent…" Another pause, then a sigh. "Is it urgent?"

It was. To me. But I suspected "saving Jaime Vegas from pestering spooks" wasn't a problem you should petition deities to fix, so I said, "Not really."

He swore under his breath. Then asked, reluctantly, "Is there anything I can do?"

He hated offering. But she'd want him to offer, and that's what counted.

I could ask him about ritual sacrifice. But sorcerers like Kristof Nast don't conduct dark magic rites-they hire people to do them. So I thanked him for his time, then watched him go.

TIME TO reach out to others. Jeremy had suggested Paige and Lucas, and that was the logical next step. Paige was the witch member of the interracial council. At twenty-seven, she was the youngest delegate, as well as the most energetic. Just watching her work was tiring.

For Paige, helping supernaturals was a life mission. Together with her husband, Lucas, she ran a legal-firm-cum-detective-agency devoted to protecting supernaturals from the Cabals-the corporate Mafia of our world. The fact that Lucas's father was CEO of the most powerful of those Cabals made their lives all the more complicated.

They would help, of course… as soon as they could. The spirits weren't going anywhere, and I wasn't in mortal danger. Whomever they were helping right now probably was in mortal danger. So they couldn't be expected to drop everything for me, but I knew they wouldn't turn me down if I showed up on their doorstep and only asked for an hour or two of their time. I could run the problem past them, get their input and ask them to point me to their library or computer files, so I could do the research myself.

According to my schedule, I only had one work obligation today. I was supposed to sit in on some discussions with the parapsycholo-gists-playing "interviewer" as they explained their methods-but Angelique could take my place. In fact, if I suggested it, the offer might go a long way toward easing the animosity between us.

Now for an excuse… I decided to use my mother, claiming she was ill and needed me. Most people would feel guilty using a parent like that, but the way I see it, it's a fair exchange. She used me for years. Still does. Her spot in the retirement village costs more than my condo in Chicago, and she isn't the one paying for it.

Last time I heard from my mother had been when she'd decided she wanted to upgrade her monthly spa package. When I argued, she'd used her usual threat: to tell the tabloids about my abortion at sixteen, conveniently leaving out the fact that she'd arranged it and I'd thought I was going to the doctor for a prenatal checkup. I'd paid for the upgrade, as I always did, not so much because her threat worried me but because it was easier to throw money at her than to deal with her. A coward's ploy, maybe, but with some wounds, slapping on a bandage and pretending it isn't there is easier than dealing with the pain.