something for you.”
Nick rushed forward to shake the man’s hand politely as Velvet dug in her pockets for the correspondence.
“Nick Jessup,” he said.
“I’ve heard tales about your exploits. The both of you. You’re quite famous now.”
Velvet pressed the envelope into his palm. “Well, I don’t know about that.”
Barker retraced his steps to the short table, picked up an opener and slit the pink envelope open like he’d skewered an opponent. He read the letter silently, closing his eyes once he’d finished and holding the note to his heart.
Just as Velvet suspected. A love letter.
It was difficult to imagine Manny cultivating any sort of relationship, with all of her responsibilities as an agent, but clearly there was something going on between these two. If she’d had any doubt, the expression of complete serenity on Howard’s face confirmed the truth.
Velvet wasn’t sure what to say—she couldn’t just ask if they were getting it on—so she opted for the next best thing: changing the subject entirely. Scanning the room, her eyes lit on a desk and behind it a wooden chair on rollers. She cocked her head, layered on the most sympathetic expression she could conjure and said, “Oh, that must be Abner’s chair.”
Amie began to giggle immediately.
“Whatever do you mean? Abner’s chair?”
Velvet should have caught on, but by the time Amie’s giggle had turned into full-blown and very mean-spirited laughter, she’d already started to speak. “You know, the one he’d roll around in, what with his ... handicap?”
“I assure you, there’s no such thing as a disabled spirit,” Barker gruffed. “If you’re looking for some reason to pity the boy, then I’m not sure you’re the right one for the job.”
“I ... uh ... I,” she stuttered, glancing again at Amie’s hideous grin.
“Well.” He slipped the folded piece of paper back in the envelope and trapped it in his pocket. “You’ll be needing to get some rest, I suspect. As you’re clearly suffering from exhaustion.”
Nick, thank God, intervened. “It must have been the fumes from the Boondock Holler bogs or something. Velvet will be fine in a second, sir. I swear.”
Barker softened, brows lilting in a clearly paternal way. “Of course.”
Velvet glared at Amie, raising her fist threateningly as Barker turned away and sank onto his knees in front of the table again.
“I take it Amie has filled you in sufficiently?” he asked, fluffing the silk cushion before settling in.
“I have.” Amie’s stare dared her to disagree.
Velvet smirked—vengeance would be hers like a new pair of combat boots. No one pulled a prank like Amie’s without retribution. “She’s told us the bare minimum, I’m afraid, and about some things there’s likely been a misunderstanding. What we do know is you have an undertaker on the haunt and a need to reel him in.”
“True, true,” Barker said. “Mr. Conroy has been in the daylight for several weeks now. His team started noticing his absences and, when confronted, he’d lie that he’d been taking a walk or welcoming the recently dead. Later, we found that he’d been missing for hours on end. Those hours turned into days. Those days into a week. Not to mention the shadowquakes, but I don’t have to tell you about those.”
Velvet shuddered. They were still rebuilding after the last big shadowquake in the Latin Quarter. They were just lucky to still have a dorm to house the team—half of their block had crumbled like Gorgonzola on a salad.
“How long has he been earthside this time?” she asked.
Barker turned to Amie for the answer.
“Nine days or so,” she sighed, a look of concern on her otherwise miserable face.
“That’s a long time,” Nick said.
“Yeah, it is. We really need him back, too. Abner’s absence has had a disheartening effect on both Amie and our poltergeists.”
Velvet’s team had a pair of poltergeists, too. Logan and Luisa were a brother-and-sister act known for their impressively vicious fighting skill and dogged loyalty. In that moment, Velvet missed the two terribly. Not least of all to have some other friendly faces to offset Amie’s near constant venom.
“Can we speak to them? Your poltergeists?” Velvet asked, ignoring Amie. From the corner of her eye, she saw the girl shift, her hand propped on her hip like a warning.
“Tomorrow,” Amie intervened. “They’re probably sleeping just now. Don’t you think, Howard?”
Barker shrugged. “How would I know?”
The girl rolled her eyes and then stared back into Velvet’s scrutinizing gaze.
“Could we check?” Velvet pressed.
Amie huffed and turned to the two boys who had lugged her trunk from the platform. “Put that in my room while I take these strangers to meet Ho and Charlie.”
Velvet thought she heard the boys mumble the word “witch,” though it was undoubtedly and deservedly something a little harsher. Either way, they were right and Amie deserved it. They stumbled off in the direction of one of the little residences, and Amie stomped off in the other, neglecting to say good-bye to Howard or even direct Nick and Velvet to follow her.
Amie was right though, Ho Min was asleep, but the other team poltergeist, Charlie, was up playing cards with a table of grouchy-looking men. He was a kid of no more than ten when he died, if he was a day; most poltergeists were small and nimble—perfectly suited to their profession as troublemakers. Charlie brightened when he saw Amie approach and, grinning devilishly at the gathered men, tossed his cards on the table.
“Ace-high flush, gentlemen.”
The men groaned, slapped the table, and cursed.
“That’s called getting your ass handed to you.” Charlie gathered the stacks of pressed-paper coins in the center of the table and shoveled them into a cloth sack he produced from the pocket of his robe. “And with that, gentlemen, I’m off to see what my friends want.”
More groans.
Velvet liked the kid instantly. She liked any kid that was a little rough around the edges and didn’t mind showing it. Filled her with a sense of warmth. “You cleaned them out,” she said. “Respect.”
Charlie nodded proudly and looked her up and down. “Thank you, and respect right back. That body is slammin’.”
Velvet gulped. Despite being dead for three years, it always slipped her mind that the “kids” in the City of the Dead might not actually be so child-like. Take this little card shark, for instance.
“So you’ve been around, I take it?” Velvet smirked.
“Long enough.” Charlie slipped past, patted her on the butt, and kept walking.
Velvet leaned in to Nick’s ear. “I’m liking that kid less and less.”
“I think he’s pretty funny.”
“Whatever.”
Amie stood where she was, not even attempting to stop the boy’s retreat. Velvet had to dodge around her to follow Charlie, sprinting down the stone path between the outer wall of the compound and a row of well-appointed houses with gaslight instead of candles, casting warm glows against the painted stone walls.
“Hey,” she called, Nick beating the ground with his feet as he caught up. “Wait a minute.”
The boy ducked into the last house on the left, letting the canvas fabric in the doorway flap close behind him. Velvet poked her head in without knocking.
“Dude, that was too rude.” She pointed at herself and Nick. “Guests here. You understand that concept?”
“Yeah. Yeah. What you want?” He emptied out the sack and started to count the coins on his unmade bed, the covers coiled up on the floor like a dog’s chew toy.
“What can you tell us about Abner Conroy?”
“He’s an okay guy.”
“Okay?” Nick asked. “But he’s a dirty haunter.”
Velvet glanced at Nick, brows raised. He shrugged. His heart wasn’t in those words and never would be. In
