Nyssa disappeared through a curtain of heavy velvet, her jewelry jingling faintly with each step. The sound faded, leaving the shop eerily quiet. I leaned on the counter, staring at the folder she’d left behind but not really seeing it. Instead, my mind ran circles around her warnings. Void energy. Dark Matter. Veils collapsing like some cheap stage prop in a two-bit magic show. What in the hell was I walking into?

  Before I could spiral any further down that rabbit hole, a blur of motion caught my eye. I turned toward the shop’s door, and there it was—Slim’s face smushed against the glass like some overeager kid outside a candy store. His nose bent awkwardly, his mouth stretched wide in a lopsided grin that only made him look more ridiculous.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “Of course.”

  Slim waggled his eyebrows, his breath fogging up the glass—a feat that shouldn’t have been possible for someone without lungs, but Slim always found ways to defy logic when it annoyed me most.

  “Fine,” I muttered to myself before heading for the door.

  As soon as I stepped outside, Slim peeled himself off the glass and straightened his tie, looking far too pleased with himself. “Well, well,” he drawled, floating lazily alongside me as I descended the steps of Vale Antiques. “Gideon Shaw, cavorting with a woman of questionable origins in an antique shop of all places. If I didn’t know better—”

  “You don’t,” I cut him off flatly.

  He clasped his chest dramatically, spinning in midair like he’d been mortally wounded. “Oh, you wound me! And here I thought we had no secrets between us.”

  I didn’t bother dignifying that with a response as I strode toward my car parked at the curb.

  “You know,” Slim continued as he drifted beside me, hands tucked behind his back like some kind of spectral professor, “I’m surprised you didn’t hear my dulcet tones earlier. Or see me come through the wall with my usual panache.”

  “That’s because you didn’t,” I replied without looking at him.

  “Correct!” He pointed a translucent finger skyward like he’d just cracked a major case. “The place is warded to hell and back—no phasing allowed for little old me. But pressing my face against the glass? Now that’s a novelty! Never had an excuse to try before.”

  “You’re lucky she didn’t see you.” My voice came out low and tired as we reached the car.

  “Lucky?” Slim clutched his nonexistent pearls again. “Gideon Shaw actually worried about little ol’ Slim? Someone write this down—it’s historic!”

  I ignored him and unlocked the driver’s side door, sliding into my seat to wait for Nyssa.

  Slim leaned through the closed passenger door because of course he did, grinning like he owned the place. “So,” he said with far too much enthusiasm for my liking, “what’s next on this merry little escapade of ours? A trip to Disneyland? A séance? Ooh—donuts?”

  "We're waiting for Nyssa," I said flatly.

  "We're what now?" He replied, moving around and through the dashboard to look at me directly. "This is the Slim & Shaw beat, man! No one invited Veil!"

  Sighing deeply, I explained the situation. Then after some more complaining, explained the important parts again to really drill them into the reporter's head.

  "Alright, Shaw. I hear you. I just don't think that warrants us welcoming one of the Void-touched onto the team." The spirit looked positively despondent.

  "Complaint noted, filed, and forgotten," I said, waving a hand through his face. "Now behave yourself; here she comes."

  The passenger door creaked open, and Nyssa slid into the seat like she belonged there, her jewelry chiming faintly as she adjusted her coat. Rain beaded on the dark fabric, glistening like tiny jewels in the dim light spilling through the windshield. Her violet eyes swept the interior of my car, lingering for a beat too long in Slim’s direction. She tilted her head, as if listening for something just out of reach.

  “Your... companion is here, isn’t he?” she asked, fastening her seatbelt with deliberate grace. “I can feel him, but I can’t see him. How curious.”

  Slim looked me from over the steering wheel, his arms crossed and his expression a theatrical pout. “She can’t see me? What kind of second-rate mystic is she? I’m practically oozing charm and ectoplasm here.”

  I groaned under my breath. “She doesn’t need to see you, Slim. You’re plenty obnoxious without the visuals.”

  “Obnoxious?” Slim pressed a hand to his chest like I’d stabbed him with a ghostly dagger. “I’ll have you know I bring levity to your dreary existence, Shaw. Levity!”

  “Yeah, well, levitate yourself into the backseat and stay quiet for once.”

  Slim gave an exaggerated sigh before drifting fully into the backseat, slumping dramatically like a teenager dragged on a family road trip. “Fine,” he muttered loud enough for only me to hear. “But don’t come crying to me when she pulls some Void voodoo on you.”

  Nyssa’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she adjusted her gloves. “He doesn’t approve of me, does he?”

  “No one asked him,” I replied tersely. "But I suppose it's good to know that he really is that good at masking his presence. When he wants to, anyway."

  I heard Slim blow me a raspberry from the backseat. I didn't bother to look, instead ignoring him and starting the car. The engine coughed once before turning over—a sound that perfectly matched how I felt about this entire situation.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “So,” Nyssa began smoothly, her voice like velvet wrapped around steel, “shall we discuss our arrangement?”

  Arrangement. The word sat sour in my gut. It implied partnership—something this wasn’t.

  “Here’s how it’s going to work,” I said as I pulled away from the curb and onto the slick streets. The wipers squeaked across the windshield, adding to my already frayed nerves. “You’re backup. My backup. We do this my way, no exceptions. I call the shots.”

  Nyssa turned slightly in her seat to face me fully, one brow arching in amusement. “And when your way leads us headlong into a brick wall?”

  “It won’t,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Confidence,” she murmured appreciatively. “I like that well enough in a man… So long as it's well-founded.”

  In the rearview mirror, Slim made an exaggerated gagging motion before flopping back against the seat with both hands thrown up in despair.

  “Are we on the same page?” My fingers tightened around the wheel as we hit a red light.

  Nyssa was silent for a moment that stretched too long for comfort. When she finally spoke, her tone was light but carried an edge that made my skin crawl.

  “I agree... within reason,” she said delicately. “You may call your ‘shots,’ but let’s not pretend either of us can predict every variable we’ll encounter.” She folded her hands neatly in her lap and looked out at the rain-speckled city beyond the glass. “Consider it more of a mutual understanding than strict command.”

  Slim perked up at that and leaned forward between us—well, as much as his incorporeal state allowed—shaking his head furiously at me like some overzealous sports coach signaling a bad play.

  “She’s already wriggling out of it!” he hissed in my ear. “You’re getting rolled like a cheap cigar! Say something!”

  I ignored him because engaging with Slim mid-conversation would only make me look more unhinged than usual.

  “What does ‘within reason’ mean exactly?” I asked evenly.

  Nyssa tilted her head slightly but didn’t look away from the rain-slick streets ahead of us. Her voice was honeyed, but I knew Nyssa well enough to not get stuck.

  “It means that if your ‘shots’ jeopardize our goal or unnecessarily endanger us both,” she replied smoothly, “I reserve the right to act accordingly.” She turned back toward me then, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “Surely even someone as... particular as you can understand that.”

  From behind me came another dramatic sigh from Slim—a ghostly hurricane of frustration compressed into sound.

  “Oh sure,” he muttered sarcastically under his breath but loud enough for me alone to hear clearly. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

  I clenched my jaw and focused on keeping my grip steady on both the wheel and my temper. This wasn’t ideal—not by a long shot—but we were running out of options faster than gas money at this point.

  “You’re still playing by my rules,” I said after a long pause, though even I could hear how thin my authority sounded now.

  Nyssa’s smile returned—not mocking exactly but far too knowing for comfort—and she inclined her head ever so slightly in what could’ve been mistaken for deference if you weren’t paying attention.

  “As you wish,” she said softly.

  Slim threw up his hands behind us like he was watching his team lose by twenty points in overtime.

  Inside my own head though? I knew better than to take Nyssa Vale’s agreement at face value—or anything else about her for that matter—but with Esmond Fane loose and holding what might be one of history's deadliest artifacts? Distrust would have to take a backseat—for now anyway.

  "So, my dear Rule-giver, where are we going?" Nyssa asked, eyes still on the road.

  “First,” I said, flicking the turn signal and merging into traffic, “I’m getting coffee. A real one. None of that gas station sludge I had this morning.”

  Nyssa tilted her head slightly, a glimmer of amusement in her violet eyes. “Priorities, I see.”

  “Call it fuel for survival,” I muttered. The streets gleamed under the rain, streetlights casting jittery reflections in the puddles. My knuckles tightened on the wheel as I angled my head just enough to speak toward Slim in the backseat. “Speaking of survival, or lack thereof, what’d you dig up with your spook pals?”

  Slim materialized fully into view—maybe he wanted to make a point to Nyssa. If so, it landed, because I saw her flinch, even if she'd never admit it. He was perched sideways on the backseat, arms crossed and legs stretched out as if he were sitting in some invisible recliner.

  “Oh, now you’re interested,” he said, voice dripping with faux indignation. “Took you long enough. Didn’t seem too keen on hearing my ghostly gossip earlier.”

  “Just tell me what you found,” I snapped.

  Slim grinned wide enough to show every translucent tooth before launching into his report like a newscaster covering breaking scandal. “Turns out our boy Fane’s been making waves among the dearly departed. I tracked down two shades loitering near a property in—get this—the Accord’s stomping grounds.”

  I raised an eyebrow but kept my eyes on the road. “He stayed in Red territory?”

  “Bingo.” Slim snapped his fingers—or tried to; it came off more like an airy pop that only made him look smugger. “There's a shotgun house that the vamps own—the place is used for Accord members who need to lie low or... ‘work through their issues.’ Real discreet spot, though apparently not so discreet lately.”

  Nyssa leaned forward slightly, resting her gloved hands on her lap as she listened intently.

  Slim continued with gusto. “Both ghosts swear they saw a guy matching Fane’s description hanging around there two nights ago. Real jittery, real desperate-looking—you know, typical criminal-on-the-run vibes. Oh! And here’s the kicker: the house? Broken into. Doors smashed clean off their hinges.”

  I felt a muscle twitch in my jaw at that last bit. “And you didn’t go inside?”

  Slim made a face like I’d just suggested he take up knitting underwater. “Are you kidding? That place is crawling with residual wards and probably half an angry spirit tethered to boot! No thanks.”

  I sighed deeply and drummed my fingers on the wheel as we hit another red light. Rain pattered against the windshield in rhythm with my thoughts. If Fane had been at that safe-house—and judging by Slim’s intel, he had—then it was our next logical stop.

  “Well,” I said finally, glancing briefly at Nyssa before returning my gaze to the road ahead. “That settles it. We’re going to check out that house.”

  “After coffee?” Slim asked pointedly from behind me.

  I smirked faintly despite myself and nodded once as the light turned green.

  “After coffee.”