“Yes.”

Tamara’s attention returned to Aisling’s face. Old eyes stared out of a pinched, young face. “But then they brought you here instead of taking you back home. They want something else from you. Others have gone missing. Henri couldn’t find them. And then he was gone, too.”

“Father Ursu stopped by this morning to check on me. I asked him about Henri. He told me Henri died in service to the Church. He admitted the police have found sacrificed remains, but he didn’t tell me anything more.” Aisling’s hands curled into fists as she remembered the fear and embarrassment that had assailed her. “Do the police and the Church spy on those who live in this section?”

Tamara shrugged. “I’m sure they’ve got informants. But considering how many of the wealthy and powerful find their way here, what do they gain from knowing who visits which home or shop? It’s not illegal to visit and do business with us. It’s not even considered a sin any longer-not if the Church wants to keep its influence in Oakland.”

Aisling felt foolish for pushing, but she couldn’t let the subject drop. “What about cameras and listening devices?”

Tamara’s laugh was genuine. “Did you find them hidden in Henri’s house? I’m surprised either the Church or the police would waste their time installing them. They don’t work in this area. The signals are jammed by technology from The Last War.” She flinched and rubbed circles lower on her swollen belly.

“When is the baby due?” Aisling asked, noting the small basket for collecting leaves and roots that had been left near one of the pentagram’s points.

“In another week. It’s a boy. He’ll be born gifted. My great-grandmother’s never wrong when she does her scrying using fire.” Tamara glanced sideways at Aisling and worried her bottom lip. “Are there any plants you’d like from the garden?”

Aisling shook her head. There were only a few things she recognized, but nothing she wanted badly enough to incur a debt for. “I have everything I need. Thank you for offering.”

Tamara pushed her dark hair behind her ears, making her look even younger. “Do you have a healing amulet? One that’ll draw the poison from even the most venomous snakebites?”

Aisling startled, wondered briefly if Tamara somehow knew about Zurael and his serpent form, then dismissed the thought. Healing amulets were a common enough offering of witches, since few could afford to see a trained doctor.

She skimmed her fingertips over the bills folded in her pocket. It would be wise to have an amulet, but she couldn’t afford one, not when her cabinets held little food and the silver coins were set aside for the dream of security for her family.

Tamara removed an amulet from around her neck. It was circular and multitextured, a hard disk made completely of intricately woven strands of dried plants. Aisling had never seen anything like it, though she recognized some of the sigils stained on it.

“My great-grandmother made this one. It’s like the ones that saved my ancestors during the plague. None of them died, even when all of their neighbors and most of Oakland did. They steeped the amulet in tea as soon as the first symptom appeared, and kept doing it for three days to rid their bodies of disease. For things like poisonous snakebites or gangrene, the skin can be cut open and the amulet pressed against the wound so it’ll draw out the toxin as it’s absorbed by the blood.”

“I don’t have the money for such a powerful amulet,” Aisling said.

Tamara hugged her extended belly. “I want to trade it for your services. My son’s father is missing.”

Sadness filled Aisling. “You think he’s one of the sacrificed?”

Thin shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I don’t know. When I’m able, I slip off to the library and check the newspapers for word of him. His family is influential. Even if I could approach them, what would I learn? He was a black sheep for his interest in sorcery. They’ve threatened to send him away plenty of times. If he told them about the baby…”

Her hands trembled as she stroked her stomach. “He wasn’t happy about the baby. I knew he wouldn’t be, so I didn’t tell him until it became impossible to hide it. I didn’t tell anyone-I was afraid of what my family would do. He used to meet me here or in an abandoned house we’d pretend was ours-where he was a great sorcerer and I was a powerful witch.”

Tears trailed down her cheeks when she looked up to meet Aisling’s eyes. “He was angry about the baby. For months and months he was angry. He didn’t leave notes for me or answer the ones I left in our hiding places. Then a month ago I saw him and… We agreed to meet at the house.” She wiped angrily at the tears. “I waited there so long it wasn’t safe to come home until the next morning. He never came and I haven’t seen him again. I just need to know if he’s still alive. Will you help me?”

Aisling glanced at the offered amulet and was tempted. Surely Aziel had led her here for this purpose. Her family’s survival depended on her being able to find whoever was selling Ghost. She couldn’t afford to let injury or sickness stop her.

“You’re offering the amulet in exchange only for learning if your child’s father is dead?” Aisling asked, making sure Tamara didn’t want or expect more.

Tamara wiped additional tears off her cheeks. “Yes.”

“I’ll look for your answers in the ghostlands.”

A pale hand curled around Aisling’s forearm. “Will you do it now? Here? The garden is warded and I don’t want anyone knowing I’ve asked you to do this. I don’t want my family to know I’ve given you his name.” Her grip tightened. “You’ll promise on your soul not to reveal it to anyone in this world.”

“I promise.”

“On your soul.”

“On my soul.”

“You’ll do it now? Here?”

Aisling hesitated for only a moment before agreeing, then found a spot beyond the pentacle of the garden and sat cross-legged on the ground. She smoothed the surface of the dirt as Tamara filled her gathering basket with ash-rich soil and returned with it.

“I’ll need the name,” Aisling said, looking around quickly when a hot breeze tugged at her braid and filled her lungs with the exotic scent of spice underneath a desert sun. And though she didn’t see Zurael, she imagined he was with her, then realized as she should have earlier, that a demon needed no form to be present in this world.

“Christopher. Christopher Alan Cooper,” Tamara whispered, pulling an inexpensive ring from her pinky finger and offering it to Aisling. “He bought this for me. It’s the only thing I have that was once in his possession.”

Aisling took the ring and placed it on her own finger. Her heart raced as it always did when she was about to enter the spirit world.

Instinctively her hand curled around the hidden pouch containing her fetishes. She thought about calling on one of the fetish-linked spirits, but the price was always high, and after her last trip to the ghostlands, she was afraid of what they might demand.

Aisling took a deep a breath. She wished Aziel would appear and crawl into her lap. But nothing stirred other than the breeze-bent plants.

She used her fingertip to draw a circle around her in the dirt, adding the necessary symbols of protection. When the circle was closed, she dug her hands into the ashy soil, let it sift through her fingers like baker’s flour as she got a feel for the weight and fineness of her drawing material. She pictured the sigil she would draw, one suited for the task, and a name she could call upon whose price for aid had never been more than she could pay.

When the soil was as familiar to her as what she used sitting on the floor of her family’s barn, she slowly, painstakingly drew the sigil, one small handful of dirt at a time, the lines formed with the minute opening and closing of her fist.

By the time she was nearly done, her hand ached and a thin sheen of sweat covered her face. But looking down at her work, Aisling was satisfied. She felt calm as the last line fell into place and the gray swirling mass of the spirit winds rushed to meet and claim her.