I was, too. Finally—finally—some normalcy was returning to my world, which seemed to have gone into a complete tailspin in the past twenty-four hours. Father Dominic was back. Father Dominic would take care of everything. He always did. Just standing there with my arms around him and my head against his chest, smelling his priestly smell, which was of Woolite and, more faintly, the cigarette he’d snuck in the car on his way over, I felt like everything was going to be all right.

“Oh,” Father Dominic said. I could feel his voice reverberating inside his chest, along with the small noises his stomach was making as it digested whatever it was he’d scarfed down for breakfast. “Dear.” Father Dom patted me awkwardly on the shoulder.

Behind us, I heard Dopey say, “What’s with her?”

Andy told him to be quiet.

“Aw, come on,” Dopey said. “She can’t still be upset over that stupid skeleton we found. I mean, that kind of thing shouldn’t bother the Queen of the Night Peo—”

Dopey broke off with a cry of pain. I glanced around Father D.’s shoulder and saw Andy pulling his second-oldest son down the hallway by the rim of his ear.

“Cut it out, Dad,” Dopey was bellowing. “Ow! Dad, cut it out!”

A door slammed. Down the hall in Dopey’s room, Andy was reading him the riot act.

I let go of Father D.

“You’ve been smoking,” I said.

“Just a little,” he admitted. Seeing my expression, he shrugged helplessly. “Well, it was a long drive. And I was certain that by the time I got here, I’d find you all murdered in your beds. You really have the most alarming way, Susannah, of getting yourself into scrapes….”

“I know.” I sighed, and went to sit on the window seat, circling one knee with my arms. I was in sweats, and I hadn’t bothered putting on makeup or even washing my hair. What was the point?

Father D. didn’t seem to notice my heinous appearance. He went on, as if we were back in his office, discussing student government fund-raising, or something completely innocuous like that, “I’ve brought some holy water. It’s in my car. I’ll tell your stepfather that you asked me to bless the house, on account of yesterday’s, er, discovery. He might wonder at your suddenly embracing the Church, but you’ll just have to start insisting upon saying grace at supper time—or perhaps even attending Mass from time to time—to convince him of your sincerity. I’ve been doing a bit of reading on those two—Maria de Silva and this Diego person—and they were quite devout. Murderers, it appears, but also churchgoers. They will, I think, be quite reluctant to enter a home that has been sanctified by a priest.” Father Dominic looked down at me with concern. “It’s what could happen when you set foot anywhere outside this house that’s worrying me. The minute you—Good heavens, Susannah.” Father Dominic broke off and peered down at me curiously. “What on earth happened to your forehead?”

I reached up and touched the bruise beneath my bangs.

“Oh,” I said, wincing a little. The wound was still tender. “Nothing. Look, Father D.—”

“That isn’t nothing.” Father Dominic took a step forward, then inhaled sharply. “Susannah! Where in heaven’s name did you get that nasty bruise?”

“It’s nothing,” I said, scraping my bangs down over my eyes. “It’s just a little token of Felix Diego’s esteem.”

“That mark is hardly nothing,” Father Dominic declared. “Susannah, has it occurred to you that you might have a concussion? We should have that X-rayed immediately—”

“Father Dominic—”

“No arguments, Susannah,” Father D. said. “Put some shoes on. I’m going to go have a word with your stepfather, and then we’re going down to the Carmel Hosp—”

The phone jangled noisily. I told you. Grand Central Station. I picked it up, mostly to give myself time to think of an excuse why I didn’t need to go to the hospital. A trip to the emergency room was going to require a story about how I’d come to obtain this latest injury, and frankly, I was running out of good lies.

“Hello?” I said into the receiver while Father D. scowled down at me.

“Suze?” That all-too-familiar high-pitched little voice. “It’s me again. Jack.”

“Jack,” I said tiredly. “Look, I told you before. I’m really not feeling well—”

“That’s just it,” Jack said. “I got to thinking that maybe you hadn’t heard. And then I thought I’d call and tell you. Because I know you’ll feel better when I tell you.”

“Tell me what, Jack?”

“About how I mediated that ghost for you,” Jack said.

God, my head was pounding. I was so not in the mood for this. “Oh, yeah? What ghost was that, Jack?”

“You know,” Jack said. “That guy who was bugging you. That Hector guy.”

I nearly dropped the phone. I did drop it, actually, but I flung out my hands and caught the receiver before it hit the floor. Then I held it back up to my ear with both hands so I would be sure not to drop it again—and make certain I was hearing him right. I did all this with Father Dominic watching me.

“Jack,” I said, feeling like all the wind had been knocked out of me. “What are you talking about?”

“That guy,” Jack said. His childish lisp had gone indignant. “You know, the one who wouldn’t leave you alone. That lady Maria told me—”

“Maria?” I had forgotten all about my headache, all about Father Dom. I practically yelled into the phone, “Jack, what are you talking about? Maria who?”

“That old-fashioned lady ghost,” Jack said, sounding taken aback. And why not? I was shouting like a lunatic. “The nice one whose picture was in that bald guy’s office. She told me that this Hector guy—the one from the other picture, the little picture—was bugging you, and that if I wanted to give you a nice surprise, I should exer—I should exor—I should—”

“Exorcise him?” My knuckles had gone white around the receiver. “Exorcise him, Jack? Is that what you did?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, sounding pleased with himself. “Yeah, that’s what it was. I exorcised him.”