For security reasons, our crew reconvened in a pub controlled by Cortland's people. Over a few perfunctory objections from Faith, Ash appointed himself chairman of the meeting. (As consolation, she commandeered an entire side of the booth and toppled back across the length of the bench, stockinged legs sticking out like carrots from her lacy petticoats.)

"I suggest that we form a crew with Kamilin and then kill him while he's distracted," Ash told us, his matter-of-fact tone indicating that he'd already spent quite some time weighing our options.

I nodded noncommittally, reluctant to divulge more about my thought processes than strictly necessary.

"We can tell him that someone hired a Whisper miscreant to deal with a haunted house, but the miscreant was incompetent and died. We get Kamilin to take the job."

From under the table, Faith's voice drifted up to us. "That's so delightfully twisty and treacherous. I knew I liked you."

Interpreting that as assent, Ash continued, "We do need to find a haunted house."

When the Whisper of the crew remained silent, I proposed cautiously, "How about somewhere in Six Towers?"

It was, after all, the logical choice, and hence revealed little about myself or the knowledge I'd accumulated. A mausoleum of abandoned estates and manors, Six Towers lurked on the east side of the city, blessedly far from me (or rather, from anywhere I could afford to live). Citizens who were just well off enough to flee the killing fields of Crow's Foot, but who weren't quite bohemian enough for Silkshore, squatted uneasily in Six Towers, where they more or less co-existed with all manner of ghostly echoes and savage specters. Personally, I questioned the sanity of anyone who chose rogue spirits over artist communes.

Striving to sound like any normal – i.e. hopelessly ignorant – resident of Doskvol, I added entirely redundantly, "I'm sure we can find a nice abandoned mansion that's already full of ghosts."

Taking an interest in the proceedings at last, our resident Whisper contributed from under the table, "It doesn't even need to be haunted already. Find one that's good for an ambush, and I'll pack it to the brim with vicious, starving ghosts ready to pounce on whatever deliciously snackable soul walks through the door."

And that was why we kept her around.

"That's a good idea," approved Ash. "We'll need to find someone to pretend to hire us, though. A noble, perhaps?"

Preemptively steering him away from anyone connected to the Iruvian Consulate, I volunteered my sometime employer. "I know a Lady Irimina Kinclaith over in Brightstone."

Faith promptly popped up like a jack-in-the-box. "Why, Isha, you know a lady?" she asked in a sultry tone, suggestiveness practically dripping off her tongue.

I skewered her with my best if-you-interrupt-the-fencing-mistress-one-more-time-she-will-run-you-through glare. Nothing daunted, she giggled, waggled her eyebrows, and flopped back down. "I work the odd job for Lady Irimina," I addressed Ash directly. "I trust her." For some definition of trust, anyway.

After thinking it over for a moment, he nodded and said (guilelessly, as far as I could tell), "Then I suggest we contact her and ask for a favor. Unless one of us is hiding noble blood, that is?"

I gave him a perfectly blank stare.

Passing through busy Nightmarket, Doskvol's commercial district, we scoured Six Towers until we found the perfect trap – a dilapidated mansion whose former elegance still showed in the graceful swoop of its tower and the remnants of delicate wood trim around the eaves. A narrow porch with broken railings ran around two sides of the building, the better to slow our quarry in case he escaped outside, and the battered front door opened onto a cramped foyer that would restrict his movements inside.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Faith, twirling her way up the main staircase and draping herself against the bannister in a business-like fashion. "This is just what I always pictured as a haunted house."

"Shall we leave you to it, then?" I proposed, trying to signal Ash to exit as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, he didn't know my system of hand signals and kept gawking up at Faith. "We can talk to Lady Irimina while you work your Whisper magic."

"No, no, no!" Faith cried, plummeting down the stairs like a fluffy pink storm of ghosts. "I simply must meet this beautiful, gracious lady of yours!"

"She's not my – " I gave up mid-sentence. What was the point? "Please try to behave yourself," I beseeched instead.

"Why, certainly, Isha! Anything for you."

Faith, as it turned out, wasn't particularly impressed by Irimina's estate, which tended towards shabbiness.

The lady in question was even less impressed by Faith's dramatics, but she eventually agreed to trade us a favor for a favor, to be called in at any time. Although I actively disliked the deal, I couldn't even blame any of the others, since they'd let me take the lead in negotiations.

"Tell him to come tomorrow, Glass," Irimina commanded briskly. "Not too early. Midmorning, I should think."

"Yes, milady," I promised. "With your permission, if you write him a note, I'll pose as your personal secretary and deliver it to him."

Without bothering to sit down, she hunched over her writing desk, scrawled out a few lines, and handed me the paper.

Back in my tiny flat, I transformed myself into the very picture of a snooty clerk – pristine white shirt with an aggressively starched collar, jet black jacket, sharply creased trousers, and, to suggest a hint of foppishness, the very latest in tricorn hats. This season's extra-wide brim cast the wearer's face into shadow, which was part of the reason I'd splurged for it over in Nightmarket. Over my shoulders went a heavy wool cloak, just worn enough for Crow's Foot but just nicely tailored enough for a would-be-dandy on a secretary's salary. Thus accoutered, I tiptoed down the creaky stairs and let myself out the back door.

Cortland's spies had already provided us with a reasonably accurate schedule of Kamilin's movements – what an amateur, to have a schedule! – and so I made straight for the Whisper's preferred pub, an unusually classy establishment in Coalridge. Hovering disdainfully in the doorway, I observed that the plain wooden tables and chairs looked as if someone periodically polished them, and the booths actually sported scraggly cushions. Automatically, I counted the patrons, estimated their ages, and guessed at their professions based on accent and attire. The bulk were probably factory foremen plus more experienced and hence slightly better-paid machinists, although here and there I spotted a nervous factory hand out on a fancy date.

And at the very back – there. Through the smoky haze of the pub's oil lamps flashed a metallic glint from a wire loop. At a tiny table crammed into an out-of-the-way corner sat my target, lightning hook propped against the wall. All alone, the Dagger Islander was turning an empty spirit bottle, a crystalline cylinder the size of a demi-baguette, over and over in his hands. From the empty beer mug in front of him and the half-bored, half-resigned expression on his face, I guessed that customers from rural backwaters didn't merit speedy service. I almost felt sorry for the man.

No, I did feel sorry for him.

("Emotions are fine, as long as they don't interfere with your job," Father used to say. "Emotions keep you human," Mother would add.)

Feigning distaste at the low-class clientele, I lifted my chin haughtily, wrapped my cloak tightly around myself as if I couldn't bear to let it touch anything here, less I contract a fatal case of poverty, and stalked right up to my target. "Master Kamilin," I pronounced coldly, executing the tiniest of bows and angling my head so the hat obscured my features.

He jerked to attention, and I watched him register my outfit and draw all the appropriate conclusions. Triumphantly, he scanned the room to check whether the other patrons had noticed his conversation with a real gentleman from not-Coalridge. "Yes, that is I," he replied smugly.

Playing on his arrogance and pitching my voice to carry, I said clearly, "I have a missive for you from my employer." From a jacket pocket, I produced Irimina's note and handed it to him with a flourish.

Then I bowed again, as if it were beneath me not to do so, and stalked back out.

In the daytime, the Kinclaith mansion looked slightly better than it did by moonlight, mostly because the skeletal trees surrounding the property blocked the streetlights from illumining the house itself, and so the darkness of midmorning hid any multitude of cracked eaves and broken shutters. Clad in long robes and a top hat that seemed somehow pointy, our target strode up to the front gate right as we did, his suspiciously good timing suggesting that he'd come early and hidden nearby to wait for us. Probably because the size of the estate overawed him.

Draped as dramatically as Faith over a threadbare satin divan, the lady of the house received us in her sitting room. In that position, the unforgivingly harsh electroplasmic lights set in brackets on the walls highlighted the outdated style of her dress, but I doubted that Kamilin noticed.

"Ah, there you are!" she exclaimed as we executed our bows from the doorway. "Let me have a look at you." Led by Kamilin, we shuffled a little closer and arrayed ourselves before her like properly cowed servants. "You all come most highly recommended!"

"What is the nature of the task you have for us, milady?" Kamilin asked, lifting his chin and trying his hardest to sound urbane. What he accomplished was sounding like an awkward, backwards Dagger Islander trying to sound urbane.

The lady gave him a pointed glance, as if electing to overlook his mauvais ton thanks to her own high birth and impeccable manners. "We – the Kinclaith family, that is – have an estate in Six Towers," she proclaimed haughtily, making "estate" sound like "palace" or "imperial complex." "Tragically, we have an...infestation, you might say." She gave a brief description of the place we'd scouted the previous day. "I will offer six coin for you to clear it."

One coin alone sufficed to cover rent and meals for a month, longer if you skimped on meals. Kamilin's eyes lit up. "Surely milady can see that six coin doesn't divide well," he suggested in such an unctuously oily tone that I longed to scrub out my ears and my brain for good measure. "Eight coin would not be too much for a lady of quality such as yourself."

Irimina frowned at the impertinence and pretended to ponder just how far noblesse oblige extended. In the end, she made a show of gracious assent, and Kamilin looked insufferably pleased with himself.

"Well, no time like the present to start!" said Ash briskly. "Come along, everyone. Let's not keep milady waiting!"

During the walk to Six Towers, he struck up an amiable conversation with the target, flattering him over the quality of his lightning hook and spirit bottles. Faith, being Faith, couldn't bear to be left out and leaped into the game, gushing, "Oh my, I have never seen such negotiating prowess!" Only I noticed when Ash pickpocketed Kamilin's spiritbane charm.

As soon as we arrived at the mansion, Faith trotted right in without a word to the rest of us. Dashing after her, Kamilin scolded her furiously for foolhardiness in an effort to cover his chagrin that a girl had taken point. Ash and I exchanged satisfied nods and followed him up the creaky porch steps and through the front door into the cramped foyer.

I stopped dead.

Our Whisper had certainly done her job.

Dark and peaceful as an U'Duashan cemetery just half a day earlier, the foyer now blazed with translucent bluish-white forms. Commanded by Faith, the ghosts had crammed themselves into the mansion, rank upon rank, compressed so tightly that I could barely tell where one ended and another began. Some specters still looked vaguely human – if mad, hollow eyes and stiletto fingernails counted as human – while others were all gaping mouths and sharpened spines and writhing tentacles. A pack of them prowled around Faith, plastering themselves against an invisible circle that instinct or the remnants of their sanity warned them was a safe distance. They obviously thought she looked delicious, but just as obviously feared the lightning hook in her hand. In the eerie light that they cast, Faith's pale skin and platinum blonde hair turned so blue that she might have been a ghost herself. Seeming completely at ease, she closed her eyes and sank into a meditative trance.

With high-pitched howls just on the edge of human hearing, the entire pack of ghosts dove for Kamilin, darting and tearing at him like ravenous wolves. Ripped robes and tangled hair swirling wildly in the maelstrom, the Whisper raised his lightning hook in both hands and tapped into the city grid to charge the capacitor to bursting. The entire device began to hum and vibrate and crackle. Little flashes of lightning crawled along the metal loop, licking out like snakes testing the air. The hum turned into a steady buzz and a pressure that grew louder and louder, more and more unbearable –

Just when I thought the air itself would explode, Kamilin whipped the staff around and discharged it straight into a knot of specters. Electric blue lightning leapt out in all directions, arcing and sizzling and striking at the ghosts. Dripping and oozing, a few of them lurched backwards and hissed ferociously and bared their teeth as the rents in their forms slowly sealed back up. The rest swooped and dodged madly over and under and around the spears of lightning and redoubled their attack. Sweeping the lightning hook in great circles and turning again and again, Kamilin barely succeeded in fending them off.

I stealthily drew Grandfather and crept towards him, focusing on his torso.

From behind me came a loud bang.

A bullet tore through a swarm of ghosts, which blurred and reformed in an instant, and obliterated a section of bannister on the second floor. Splinters of wood and dust rained down on Faith, who let out a shrill shriek of surprise or delight or warning or all of the above.

I was already lunging forward, Grandfather outstretched – but Kamilin spun around at the gunshot. Eyes wide with shock, he fired a gout of lightning straight at my chest. "Traitors!" he roared.

I flung myself to the side at the last second, dropping nimbly to the floor and rolling under the lightning.

At the same time, Ash fumbled frantically in his pockets for something, and Faith raised her arms beatifically and commanded her ghosts in a rapturous tone, "Attack him!"

But instead of falling on Kamilin and tearing him to shreds, the specters perked up and pressed even closer around her, all frenzied eyes and jagged teeth.

A puff of trance powder shot through the air and struck Kamilin square in the face. Inhaling at exactly the wrong – or right? – moment, he coughed and wheezed furiously but still managed to swing his lightning hook around and fire his last bolt of lightning right at Ash.

Staggering and catching himself on a side table, Ash mostly grounded himself – just as more ghosts came roaring down from the second floor like a tidal wave, screeching and wailing their hunger.

Bounding back to my feet with Grandfather in hand, I screamed at Faith, "How many ghosts are there?"

"A lot!" she yelled back, desperately attuning to the ghost field to hold them back and buy us a little breathing space.

"He's starting to look woozy!" shouted Ash.

Still clinging to his lightning hook, Kamilin swayed a little as he began to recharge it.

I didn't give him the chance to finish. With one swift lunge, I threw myself across the room and rammed Grandfather through his chest. Yeeesss! The blade writhed under my fingers, like a cat arching in pleasure.

Kamilin collapsed to the floor like a broken marionette.

At the sight of fresh life's blood pouring from a living body, the ghosts fought even harder against Faith's grip.

"I need a moment alone with him!" Ash called urgently, dropping to his knees by Kamilin's body and pressing his fingers to the Whisper's neck to check for a heartbeat.

For just a few seconds, the ghosts lost interest in us and started to drift away – but then snapped back to attention and surged forward anew.

"You want us to just abandon you?" I shrieked incredulously, brandishing Grandfather futilely at the ghosts.

I can save you if you just listen to me, foolish child!

No!

Shoving sweaty hair out of her eyes, Faith shouted, "It's his life!"

As if unconcerned by the ravenous specters following his every move, Ash seized the unconscious Kamilin under the shoulders and lugged him down the hallway and around a corner.

I didn't see Faith make a single motion, but all of a sudden, one particularly vicious specter spun around and tore into the nearest crowd of ghosts, rending and devouring them down to the last drop. Ectoplasm sprayed everywhere as the swarm dissolved into a howling, chaotic, swirling miasma. Faith threw her head back to watch with rapt attention.

Still holding Grandfather in front of me and keeping a wary eye on the brawl, I backed away cautiously. From around the corner where Ash had disappeared with Kamilin, a soft blue glow rose for a moment, then went out as if extinguished. A moment later, Ash himself jogged towards us, looking grimly satisfied. "We're done here!" he called.

"Sorry! I forgot something in there!" Faith suddenly skipped down the hallway and around the corner.

"Faith!" I screamed after her, torn between fleeing and going after the madwoman. "We have to go now!"

"She's a Whisper! She'll be fine!" Ash shouted over the ghosts' free-for-all. A howling ball of specters sailed by overhead and smashed through a wall into the next room. More angry ghosts plunged after it. "We need to go!"

My boot caught on a loose floorboard, and I nearly toppled backwards. Ash grabbed my arm to steady me, and together we threw ourselves out of the house and down the front steps and all the way across the yard into the street.

Not until we practically ran into an echo several houses down did we stop sprinting at last. In front of us, a translucent, glowing woman clutched at her chest, wailed silently, and crumpled to the pavement. Her image wavered, blinked, then reformed. Standing once more, she clutched at her chest, wailed silently, and crumpled to the pavement. The scene repeated, over and over and over as I stared at it blankly, panting and fighting for breath. I'd never fully appreciated it before today, but echoes were safe as long as you didn't touch them. By the forgotten gods, I'd never again complain about an echo!

Only then did I realize that Ash was still clutching my arm with his right hand, his pitch-black demon right hand.

It felt perfectly normal, like any other human hand.

Realizing it at the same time, he hastily dropped it and shoved it into a pocket, looking a little abashed.

"Um. Thanks. I – " I stopped, not quite knowing what to say.

Faith rescued me from myself. Skipping down the street after us, she skidded to a halt before the echo and examined it with detached interest. Then she twirled a glowing spirit bottle once before tucking it into her satchel.

"Well," she remarked, "that thing with the ghosts reminds me: We missed lunch! So – who's hungry?"