"You don't need to repay me for something like this. Consider it my karmic payback."

"Uh-uh. Pay as you go, that's my way."

Jaime studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. So what will you do with this last partner? Get her to tell you about the Nix?"

I slid onto the seat cushions. "Bit more mystical than that. The hosts are still linked to the Nix. They see images of her, what's she's doing, stuff like that. Those images can then be passed to me through an angel."

She stopped drinking her water, mid-chug, and frowned. "A what?"

"Yeah, that's what I said, too. Demons I understand. But angels?"

"You're breaking up," Jaime said, her frown deepening. "Damned cosmic editing."

I twisted to look at her as she recapped her bottle.

"That's what I call it," she said. "There are things ghosts aren't supposed to talk about, so I just catch words here and there, like a CB transmission breaking up."

"Oh, that's right. Necros can't ask about the afterlife. I guess angels cross the same boundary."

"You're cutting out again."

She stripped off her tank top and streaked on deodorant.

"What if I spell it?" I said.

She pulled on her shirt. "Never tried that. Could get you in trouble, though."

"No place I haven't been before."

She smiled. "Go for it, then."

"A-n-g-e-l."

"Nope. Not even a letter."

"Charades, anyone?"

I stood and pantomimed a wings and halo.

"Oh, weird," Jaime said. "You blinked right out. Disappeared."

"Damn, they're good."

She chuckled. "If only my e-mail spam filter worked so well."

"Ah well, it isn't important. Speaking of e-mail, we'll need a computer." I looked around the room. "I'm assuming you have one."

"I do. Only one problem." She checked her watch. "I have a show in Milwaukee tonight, and I need to check out the theater before noon, which is why I'm up bright and early. But my afternoon is free, so if you can tag along, or meet me there…"

"Better tag along. Less chance to lose you." And less chance for Jaime to change her mind. "We can find an Internet cafe. Libraries usually have free access, but this isn't something you want to be seen researching in a library."

She pulled on her jeans. "Internationally—well, okay, nationally renowned spiritualists can get away with stuff like that. Catch me researching murders, and people just assume I'm on the job." She raked her fingers through her hair. "Trouble is, they also assume it might be newsworthy. Wrong person catches me looking up murders, and it'll be splashed across next week's tabloid headlines. Then my phone will start ringing off the hook, people wanting me to start looking for their loved one's killer."

"And you get enough of that."

She fussed with the button on her jeans, gaze downcast, answering with an abrupt nod. "I think we can manage part of the search without the Internet." She rooted around in her purse and pulled out her cell phone. "Direct link to a discreet journalist."

I gave Jaime my list of criteria. She wrote it down, then made her call. I waited on the sofa. Though I was too far to hear someone answer on the other end, I knew the moment someone did, by the look that crossed Jaime's face—half delight, half abject terror.

"Uh, oh, Jer—Jeremy," she stammered. "It's me—it's Jaime. Jaime Vegas, from the, uh—" A short, embarrassed laugh. "Right. Well, just thought I'd make sure, in case you didn't recognize my voice—er, not that I'd expect you to recognize it, but you might know other Jaimes… or you might have forgotten who I was since the council meeting, uh… oh, I guess that was just last month, wasn't it?"

The moment Jaime said "council" combined with "Jeremy" I knew who she was talking to. Jeremy Danvers, Alpha of the werewolf Pack. Never met the guy. Never even heard of him until after I was dead. Now Savannah spent an increasing chunk of her summer vacations hanging out with the werewolf Pack, so I'd come to know all the players. Jeremy was as far from the stereotypical werewolf-thug as one could get. He not only tolerated my kid running around underfoot, but paid attention to her, always listening to her problems and helping her with her art. Savannah adored him. And judging by the cringe-inducing display I was witnessing right now, she wasn't the only one.

"So, uh, oh, right, I was calling for Elena," Jaime finally managed to get out. "Is she there?"

Slight pause.

"Oh, umm, yes, I have her cell number, and I could call, but, uh—" Nervous laugh. "Well, if she's out with Clayton, it can wait. Or it had better wait. Not that he's—well, you know—"

A pause, and a high-pitched laugh. Jaime closed her eyes and mouthed an obscenity. The only thing worse than acting like a fool is hearing yourself do it and not being able to stop.

"So I'd better not disturb them if I want to stay on his good side—well, assuming I am on his good side, which, of course, I can never tell, but I figure as long as he's not paying much attention to me one way or the other, that's probably not a bad thing." She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, wincing.

"Anyway, I'll let you go and I'll call Elena later. I just wanted her to check the newswire for me—"

Pause.

"No, past stuff. Well, recent past. Murders. Not the kind of thing you'd read, of course—"

Another pause. Another spine-grating laugh.

"Oh, right. That's exactly the kind of thing you read. Gotta keep your eye out for those brutal wolfy slayings—er, not that all werewolves are brutal or, uh, well—" Deep breath. "Let me run it by you."

Within ten minutes, she had a page filled with cases, a few complete with names, but most with just locations or details that would make further searching a snap.

"Wow," she said. "You're amazing—I mean, your memory is amazing. Not that you aren't—Oh, someone's at the door. Thanks so much. I appreciate it. Really appreciate—"

She winced and I could see her literally chomp down on her tongue. She signed off quickly, then slumped forward, muttering under her breath.