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"Well, I'll be!" came her comforting and familiar Southern drawl. She was laughing, and I could actually see her! Ah! Why could I see Jemmy just fine and not this other guy? Was he some sort of new, freaky Symbiont, Daimon, Abysmal thingie?

Oh God . . . is it TC? No . . . he has my voice . . . not a melodic man's voice.

I could hear backslapping and laughing. "Child—where have you been keeping yourself? It's been a coon's age since I saw you around here."

"Eh . . . here and there. Been a little busy since that little mess back in December. I was here briefly in January before things got crazy for me again. Heard what happened to Nona and came to see Zoë as soon as I could."

"Yeah," Jemmy said. "I just got back from my daily visit'n. Not sure I'm so comfortable with Nona being all quiet like that. Just staring at the ceiling."

My mom was soulless, lying in a bed at a long-term facility in Alpharetta called Miller Oaks. Sounded more like a mortuary to me. I knew why she was in a coma, and so did Jemmy. The doctors? Not so much. It was getting more and more expensive to keep her there, and I'd already moved into the shop and given up my apartment in midtown. Medicare and Medicaid only covered so much before the cost bled over into my mom's estate.

And I was not letting them touch her shop. They could drain my accounts before taking what she'd worked long and hard for. But I was about to hit rock bottom with the money—and I still hadn't found Mom's soul.

"Yeah . . . but what is that smell?"

"Burned magic," mystery man said.

I noticed she was coming toward me, and I waved. Her shuffle sped up, and the next thing I knew her cold hand was on my forehead, then she was touching my neck, my wrist.

Uh . . . hello? Who's that in the kitchen?

Too bad Jemmy couldn't hear me.

"Zoë!" Her hands were on my shoulder, and I hissed air. "What you been doing? How did you burn yourself up there? Oh my," she made a "tsk-tsk" noise. "That's gonna need some special care." She placed her cool hand on my forehead again. "You feel really warm. What's wrong with the botanica? It's all hazy and nasty."

"Coyote Flame," came the male voice. He came back to the table with something in his hand. Jemmy moved out of the way, and he pulled up a chair, the metal scraping on the wood floor.

"Apparently our little Wraith here decided to do magic."

"Oh noah," Jemmy said, and moved into the botanica.

"What were you trying to do, Zoë? You know magic's best left to those who can do it. Your momma's one of the best." She sighed and put her hands on her hips. I was looking at her back, then looking at the blurry guy beside me. "Well, there's bandages and rubb'n alcohol on the top shelf in the pantry."

"I won't need it."

"Oh? You got a bit more in those—"

There was a low laugh and whispering. And I could see Jemmy chuckling. And then he answered. "You could say that."

"Well then, you get Zoë all better, and I start cleaning and cleansing. I swear . . ." And she toddled off.

My attention focused on Blurry Dude. He put a hand on my forehead too, only his touch was still as warm as it had been before. And then he put his hand over my eyes.

Why can't I see you?

"Because of the burn. The Coyote Flame touched your skin—and you looked into its heart. Its purpose when summoned is to protect the Portal from intruders. Causes loss of sight, breath, illness, and eventually death."

Death?

He made a heavy sigh. "This would have worked if you'd been OOB, Zoë. Why in the hell aren't you out of body? If you want to build a gate, just do it—the Coyote Flame is for magicians who can't walk astrally, not Wraiths."

I suppressed the urge to reach out and pop this person in the face. Well, nobody told me that. He laughed again. "It's okay. I can fix it."

I rubbed at my eyes and tried to see him. It was like one of those weird films where everything's in black-and-white except for the main focus. Only everybody else was sharp, and he was blurry. It was just damned intolerable.

Mental note: never look into the purple flame.

"You don't recognize me, do you?"

Uh . . . Can you give me a multiple choice?

"You and I traveled through a similar door back in December," he said as he put his hand over my eyes. This time his hand turned cold, and it was like ice against my forehead. I winced—just a bit scared this was gonna turn into brain freeze. "Remember Allard Bonville? He pulled us through the door, but he was more experienced, so the Coyote Flame didn't try to prevent us from traveling. It's sort of a guardian against amateurs—only with a bit more danger."

Bonville. Shadow door.

. . . little mess back in December . . .

. . . was here briefl y in January . . .

This guy was talking about that little Shadow People incident I'd run into with Rhonda and—

He moved his hand away from my eyes. I blinked once, and his face came into sharp focus.

DAGS!

Dags winced, closing his left eye. "Yow—you need to dial down the astral yelling, lady."

I stared at him, taking in every inch of him. I hadn't seen Dags since he'd brought me coffee in the hospital that day when Joseph vanished, his tether to the physical world severed. Dags had disappeared not long after. I'd tried calling him in the two weeks since I somehow released Holmes in the warehouse, but his number had been disconnected.

It'd been over a month since I'd seen him— and he'd changed so much in that time. Something about him was different—physically as well as astrally.

Before Christmas—a week or so after Hirokumi was killed and Susan was saved—and of course I made the deal with TC to become the Wraith again—Dags, Rhonda, and I became involved with a Ceremonial Magician named Allard Bonville. Or rather—Rhonda and I became involved with him because Dags had joined the man's circle of spooky friends. We learned that Dags had received magical tattoos on his hands and could summon a weird light that blasted out shadows.

That little side adventure had nearly cost him his life when Bonville dragged him physically through the Abysmal plane. He'd died briefly in the hospital later— and been revived.

By me.

I admit the events were a bit hazy—and before now I'd been a little uncertain with him even when he'd come to the hospital with Joe to see me.

But that didn't stop me from grabbing him up and hugging him as tightly as I could despite the screaming pain in my shoulder. I also couldn't stop the embarrassing flood of tears that spilled over my cheeks and nose. It'd been so long since I'd had any real contact, especially with anyone I considered a friend— my mom was always a big hugger. And I'd gotten so used to Daniel's smile . . .

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