Wednesday morning dawned clear and bright, and Eve only knew that because Harvey had perched on her back and snuffled in her ear until she woke up. Now he sat on her sheet-covered legs looking smug as she sat up, bleary-eyed.

Since she apparently had a cat for the time being, and since that cat liked to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn, she would have to stop going to bed after midnight. She grimaced with her eyes closed and nudged at Harvey until he moved off her legs. The cat trotted happily behind her as she went to the kitchen for some much-needed coffee. Chelsea had left behind a kettle—yellow, of course—but no coffee maker. Eve filled it up and set it down on the stove with a heavy clunk.

While she waited, she made a bowl of cereal and stepped over to the living room. Her few boxes of books, calligraphy supplies, and random fake plants and knickknacks were open and halfway unpacked, but she ignored them to perch on the desk chair. She picked an order off her list at random—a tattoo design written in the elven language from an extremely popular fantasy book. She sighed and turned to a new page in her notebook. It would’ve been easier if they’d just wanted an English phrase written in the elvish script, but no. They wanted it translated and then written in the script.

“Fuckin’ nerds,” Eve mumbled as she got to work.

After a few minutes, the kettle began to whistle. Eve ignored it, finishing up the word she was working on. When the whistling slowed to a stop, her head snapped up. She stared across the room into the narrow kitchen. Harvey was still on her desk, and the open plan of the apartment left no hiding spots for anyone over the age of 8 with a body. Eve scowled and slapped her notebook closed.

The stove had been turned off. She stood in front of it, glaring at the knob as if it might change positions if she bullied it hard enough. It had been on, and now it was off. Eve crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter. She’d been trying, with moderate success, to pretend nothing was happening, to put the thought of ghosts and ghostly occurrences out of her mind. It ruined the effort when the ghost made it impossible to keep pretending.

“Unless you’re also going to make coffee for me, I don’t need you to do shit like this,” she said. “Don’t touch my shit.” She ignored the fact that the kettle and stove were, technically, not hers.

There was no response. Eve sighed and opened the cupboard to pull out a mug. She set it on the beige counter with more force than necessary and set about making her instant coffee.

As she sipped, she packed her notebook and camera in her backpack, then went back into the kitchen. She wanted to go to the North Henge again, though this time she would be prepared.

Eve made another coffee in her thermos and watched the creamer billow up like clouds in a night sky. She was still so tired, even after sleep and caffeine. It felt like she’d slept badly for weeks instead of one night.

Harvey followed her around the apartment as she got ready to leave. He clung to her like her shadow, occasionally mewing and looking up at her with huge, orange eyes. When she went to leave, he stood in front of the door like a furry doorstop, blocking her exit.

“Harvey,” she said. He stared up at her. She sighed and leaned over to scoop him up. He went willingly, purring as she held him to her chest and carried him over to the couch.

“You got separation anxiety or something?” Eve asked. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Harvey gave one last, high-quality meow, which sounded a lot like the plaintive wail of a Victorian orphan child, and then flopped down onto his side.

***

Eve yawned as she turned off the car and sat in the early morning quiet of the North Henge park. The henge looked completely normal in the daylight. Nothing spooky about it. The stones stood in their wide ring, sunlight making the blue in the blue-gray rock stand out. She couldn’t see the intricate, engraved spiral pattern of runes from the parking lot.

She eyed it for a few seconds, daring it to do something weird or magical, and got out. Slinging her bag over her shoulder and sipping from her thermos, she walked through the dewy grass near the henge toward Blackwater Lake. She dodged the dog walkers and joggers that littered the tree-shaded park paths and stepped onto the pebble beach. The cold, tannin-heavy water of the lake lapped at the rubber soles of her sneakers, and a breeze trailed along her neck like fingers.

Eve looked for a place to sit among the bleached white driftwood and larger rocks dotting the beach. Pebbles crunched under her feet as she walked until she came across a seat-sized chunk of driftwood.

As she sat on the wide branch, she looked out at the water. It moved oddly around a large, submerged boulder. Long, stringy strands drifted in the gentle waves around it.

Eve stared at the thing for a long moment, ignoring her coffee. Then she stood and stepped closer. That was not a rock. Rocks didn’t have long hair or the nasty, bloated skin of a water-logged corpse.

“Fuck,” Eve said.

***

The police arrived faster than Eve had expected. She’d barely had time to wonder what to do now before people in uniforms and protective equipment had swarmed the beach. Now she stood off to the side, near the edge of the grass, and watched as what looked like a TV crime drama played out in front of her.

As a couple of people came up and started dealing with the body, she looked away, meeting the eyes of a middle-aged woman with dark brown hair and a trench coat. She was watching Eve as she spoke to a police officer, and now that Eve had looked at her, she said something to the cop and strode toward Eve.

“Hi there,” she said, sticking out her hand. Eve shook it briefly, feeling like a child playing grown-up. “Detective Ishida. You found the body?” Her voice was low and raspy.

“Yeah,” Eve said. “Eve Donnelly.”

“I know you gave your statement to one of the officers, but would you mind telling me again what happened?” Ishida patted several of her pockets before finding a notepad and pen.

“I was trying to find a good place to sit and drink my coffee.” Eve held up her thermos, half-full. She hadn’t much wanted to drink it, what with the body and all. “And there it was.” She hesitated, but curiosity won out. “Is that the girl who went missing?”

Ishida leaned to the side to get a better look behind Eve. She grimaced, and Eve turned to look in time to see the body laid out on its back on the shore. It was pale and dead and horrible to look at, but more importantly, the neck and chest area was a wreck. It looked like something had taken a bite or two out of her. Eve winced and turned back.

The detective smiled sympathetically. “I can’t say for sure until we get confirmation, but yeah. That’s Chelsea.”

“That sucks,” Eve said.

Ishida nodded. “But what brought you to the park this morning?”

Eve looked at Ishida, trying to decide how much she wanted to talk to a cop. “I came to check out the henge, but I wanted to drink my coffee first.” She shrugged.

“And you live in Chelsea Horton’s old apartment, yeah?” Ishida asked.

Eve sighed. How did literally everyone know that? “Yeah.”

“Have you seen anything strange in the area since you moved in? People lurking around? Odd things about the apartment?”

“Conveniently bloodstained, hidden knives?” Eve said. Ishida snorted but gave her a look. “Nope, nothing. I did find her cat, though.”

“I’ll let Pam Horton know,” Ishida said. “Do you happen to go to Lakeside University?”

Eve shook her head. She’d dropped out of college halfway through her first year. Who needed student loan debt for a linguistics degree that didn’t matter? Not like her customers cared, as long as they got their translations and bullshit spells.

Detective Ishida rubbed the curved bridge of her nose and sighed. “Thanks for your time. If you think of anything else or see anything that might be relevant—” she paused, searching her pockets again. Finally, in the back pocket of her dress pants, she found a business card and handed it to Eve. “Give me a call. Even if it’s small, it might be what we need to get a lead.”

Eve nodded noncommittally, turning to leave, and the detective wandered over to the body, now sealed in a body bag and loaded onto a stretcher. It’d probably be a while before Eve could get some privacy at the North Henge. That creepy feeling was back, too, the shadows under the stones of the henge thick and almost solid-looking.

A crunching on the rocks approached her, and Eve looked up. It was the reporter, the one who looked like he’d stepped off the cover of Nerds Weekly. He had out his notepad, and a lanyard reading “Blackwood Review” and his name hung around his neck. He looked more official this time with a tie tucked into his bland sweater vest and his nearly chin-length hair—only an inch or two shorter than Eve’s—better groomed than the last time she’d seen him. The whole ensemble was remarkably gray.

“Look dude,” Eve sighed, “I just want to go home. Can’t we do this later? Somewhere that doesn’t smell like bird shit and dead people?”

Ezra stared at her, hazel eyes hard and searching. “How did you know she was dead?” he asked. When Eve stared back at him, he continued. “The other day you said, ‘It’s always the boyfriend that killed her.’ How did you know she was dead?”

He’d actually flipped back and referred to his notes from their conversation for the quote. Eve scowled. “Not a huge fan of the tone, Groutfit,” she said. Ezra’s face scrunched in confusion. “I didn’t. I was assuming, based on it being fucking obvious.”

“What does that mean?” he asked quietly, more to himself than Eve.

“Groutfit? It means gray outfit,” Eve said.

He blinked and glanced down at himself. “It’s not that bad,” he mumbled before clearing his throat. “Anyway. You also said your apartment was haunted,” he said with finality, like he’d presented the winning piece of evidence at the nerd debate.

“That was off the record.” Eve crossed her arms.

He shook his head. “You can’t just say that to make me stop talking about it. That only means I can’t print it. Also, you’re supposed to say that before the thing you want to leave off the record, not after.”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Eve walked back to her car. “She’s dead, and there’s her body, and I’m not going to give you an interview about it. Bye.”

Ezra followed her, a tight, pinched look on his face. “I don’t care about an interview,” he said. Eve tried to take longer steps to outpace him, but the guy had infuriatingly long legs. “I’m trying to figure out what happened to her. I’m trying to get justice.”

Rolling her eyes, Eve stopped and looked at him. “Optimistic,” she said. “Good luck.”

This time when she walked off, he didn’t follow her.