"Supposed psychic ability," he said with a wink. "Name, psychic ability, and town, how's that sound?"

"Better than being bored," I laughed. "Let's do it."

"Right, then. The psychometrist and Mr. Brand both like their tea without milk. The telepathist from Newberry and Mrs. Floring, the medium, don't get along well. The mind reader comes from St. Bartleby."

"Wait, wait, wait," I said, scrabbling around in my purse. "I need some paper to write this all down. Telepathist and Floring, medium, don't get along…St. Bartleby…OK, go on."

"Now then, Susannah, Mr. Bitters, Michael, the Ouijist, and the person from Learing-on-Bent all usually arrive together. Mrs. Lee and Timothy are always late. Daniel the channeler and Carol sing in a local choir."

"Oh man, this is getting good," I said, writing it all down. "It's just like a logic class I had eons ago in college."

"Daniel Richings doesn't live in Bartleby. Carol doesn't live in Leewardstone."

"England has the best town names…got it. Any more?"

"Just one. If you asked Mrs. Lee if she had been with the club longest, she'd say no, that was her friend from Edmonds, with whom she'd grown up in her town of Newberry."

"Hmm. OK. Let me see here…" I eyeballed the info I'd written down, decided it was nothing more than mathematics disguised as words, and assigned each bit of information a numerical value, then began to arrange them in equations that made sense.

"Take as long as you need, although it looks like the meditation is about up," Milo said, one eye on the group.

"I almost have it…no, wait, that won't work…hmm…she can't be there and there at the same time…aaaaah." I looked up with a smile.

"Figured it out, did you?" Milo asked, a twinkle in his eye.

"I think so. I am cheating a bit in that I can see there are only two women in the group, but even so, it makes sense that since the telepathist is from Newberry, and Mrs. Lee claims the town of Newberry, Mrs. Lee must be the telepath. Since she doesn't arrive with Susannah, then by the process of elimination, Mrs. Lee's first name must be Carol, which means that Mrs. Floring, the medium, is Susannah. She can't come from Newberry, St. Bartleby, or Learing-on-Bent, but could live in Leewardstone or Edmonds."

Milo smiled. My confidence rose.

"Since Mrs. Lee's friend is from Edmonds, and Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Floring don't get along, that means she's from Leewardstone. Daniel Richings doesn't live in Bartleby, nor can he live in Newberry or Leewardstone. Thus he has to live in Edmonds or Learing-on-Bent."

"What on earth are you doing?" Sarah frowned at me. "You're playing games while we are trying to conduct a very serious scientific investigation?"

"Just passing a little time," I said hastily, shoving my sheet of paper at Milo. "Are you all done with your humming?"

"It isn't just humming, it's opening ourselves up to…oh, why do I bother? Honestly, Portia, I'd think you could display a little more respect for what we're doing here, given the fact that you are what you now are," she said with a vehement whisper as she pulled me after the assembled group.

I tossed Milo an apologetic smile. He read over my paper, and gave me a thumbs-up, which I interpreted to mean I'd figured out the rest of the puzzle correctly. "Milo and I were just amusing ourselves while you guys were opening up and such. He's some sort of puzzle enthusiast. Did you know that his wife and the other woman don't get along?"

Sarah rolled her eyes and grabbed my wrist, hauling me along after the group. "Come on, we have a room to investigate. Mr. Richings says he has recorded a temperature drop of eight degrees there on three separate occasions."

"Probably just a draft," I muttered, but kept my voice low. I had promised Sarah I'd spend the evening with her temporary ghost hunting group in exchange for her help finding out what happened to Hope, and despite my wishes to be elsewhere at that moment—Theo's arms came to mind as a good alternative—I'd do what I could to see to it that Sarah had an enjoyable evening.

Why do I sense a profound feeling of martyrdom from you?

I smiled at the voice in my head. I'm feeling particularly saintly tonight.

Is it that bad?

Nothing I didn't expect. A bunch of people running around with equipment measuring drafts and electromagnetic flux, and jumping at every creak and pop.

It's only for a few hours. I'm sure you will triumph over such exacting circumstances.

Indeed. Why are you talking to me, not that I'm complaining? I thought you didn't want me bothering you?

Sweetling, you never bother me. You do, however, distract me from matters at hand. It's your breasts. And thighs. And lips, and legs, and all the other bits in between. Theo's words were accompanied by such erotic mental images that I found myself getting aroused right there in the middle of a cold, mouse-riddled mill.

If you don't want me running out of here, hunting you down, and wrestling you to the ground to have my way with you, you'd better stop sending me those sorts of thoughts.

Would you really wrestle me to the ground? he asked, sounding intrigued.

Absolutely. How goes the info-hunting?

He sighed. Not so good. The nephilim I contacted knew nothing.

Crap. So we don't have any leads?

No, we have one. My nephilim friend mentioned a vessel who evidently was very tight with Hope. But I can't find the man—he seems to have run to earth just like Hope.

A vessel is a person?

In this instance, yes. Vessels serve mortals, under the direct rule of the principalities, who in turn take their orders from powers, and the powers, as you know, are directly beneath the mare.

Sounds very much like the little old woman who swallowed a fly.

Pardon?

Nothing, just a joke, and not a very good one. So what now?

I'm going to continue to try to locate the missing vessel. I'll meet you at the pub after your ghostly group is finished, all right?

I suppose so, although I'd be happy to help you—

Sarah would be hurt.

"Portia?"

It was my turn to sigh. You're right. Saint Portia it is for the night, then.

His laughter was warm and made me smile despite my cold, uncomfortable surroundings. You're no saint, sweetling. But we can discuss that later tonight.

You're on. Take care of yourself, all right?

"Portia!" Sarah shook me, her face suspicious. "You look all moony-eyed again. You must be talking to Theo. Did he find Hope?"

"Not yet, no. He's trying to find some Court member who supposedly is friends with her."

"Ah. Smart man." She flashed me a smile, waggling her eyebrows. "In more ways than one, eh?"

"Absolutely. So what's up with the cold spots?"

Her face lit up. "Oh, it's so exciting! Mr. Richings has measured a drop of eleven degrees in the corner! Come see it!"

I admired the cold spot, keeping the thought to myself that the lack of insulation and patchy repairs in the wall were more likely to contribute to the chilly air than an unseen ghostly presence. While the group excitedly took more measurements and made furious notes, I sidled over to Milo.

"So, is your name Lee or Floring?"

He smiled, holding out his hand. "I don't think we ever were properly introduced, were we? It's Lee, Milo Lee. And Carol, my wife, is over there, but you've already deduced that. It must be all that work in physics that gives you an analytical mind, eh?"

"Oh, I don't know, I think people tend to be born left-or right-brained. You're pretty left-brained yourself. What do you do? As an occupation, that is."

"Customer service for a large corporation. I live to serve," he said, with a hint of an eye roll and a mock bow.