She’s hesitant, but answers, “It’s Winnifred Hawthorne. My dad always called me Winni though.” At the mention of her father a large part of her fades out and I see Raziel’s desk behind her. I wonder if she’s going to disappear completely.

“My name is Henry.” I introduce myself. From her reaction I hazard a guess, “Is your father the one who’s keeping you grounded?”

“Grounded?” She doesn’t understand the terminology right away, but then I see it resonate within her, “Yes. He’s so sad now… He spends all of his money hiring psychic’s to try and speak to me. Tell him to stop. He has to stop!”

I stare at her and think. In usual haunting cases the spirit is trapped by an item, ‘like my coin,’ but when the spirit is tied to another person it become trickier. The living is clinging to the dead, but the dead is also clinging to the living and it creates a circle that can be very hard to break.

“He’s likely hiring those charlatans because he can sense your presence.” I answer.

“They’re not helping!” She snaps. “All they go on about is how I’m happy and at peace. How can I be happy when they’re going to kill that man?!”

I freeze, “What man?” I quickly question her, but before she can answer she disappears from sight. I sigh in annoyance at the abrupt end to our conversation. At least she’d been able to talk though. The Viridian sigil hadn’t been for nothing.

I pace the front entryway while waiting for Raziel to wake up. He hadn’t taken anyone to bed so I don’t have to worry about being seen. It’s early morning when Raziel finally rises, but even then I wait knowing that he won’t be truly awake until he’s drunken his sugar and cream concoction that he calls coffee.

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“Hmm, so did our client show up?” Raziel finally asks after half of his mug has been emptied.

I stare out at the pedestrians passing by the shop on their morning travels to the workplace. No one gives the window with the words ‘Wizard’ spelled out on it even a second glance. “Yes, she said her name is Winnifred Hawthorne.” I turn to look at my charge with a raised brow, “Not a common name I assume?”

Raziel wrinkles his nose, “Common enough to make searching for her difficult. Did she say anything else?”

“Yes, she said her father keeps hiring charlatan psychics to try and speak with her.”

“Oh, so her death must be relatively recent!” Raziel exclaims with relief. “That’ll make things easier. Did she tell you how she died?”

I hesitate for a second and consider telling him that I had actually experienced her death, but decide that it’s none of his business. “She was shot in the chest. I don’t know any of the details beyond that.”

Raziel looks positively excited now, “She was murdered? Why didn’t you start with that?”

I frown, “Why does it mattered how she was killed?”

Raziel looks at me annoyed causing me to bristle in defense, “Because the police will keep her file in the homicide record.”

The word file brings to mind a large dusty tome filled with writing, but I know that Raziel means something different. He’s referring to one of those computer things. Raziel doesn’t

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have one himself, but Tristan had. I remember him on a few occasions being annoyed at the sleek plastic and metal invention.

“So you hope the police will let you see this file?” I ask. It seems too easy. I doubt many people are allowed to look into these files, especially ones involving murder.

“Well, maybe not police in the broad sense of the word, but I might be able to convince Dana to let me have access. She owes me one after that arsonist case anyway.”

“Detective Shaw won’t be curious as to why you are inquiring about a murder case?”

Raziel grins with mischief, “If she does then I’ll just tell her the truth.”

I roll my eyes, no human in their right mind would believe the truth. I can’t fathom an inkling as to why anybody would ever trust Raziel, but he has such a charming smile that many find hard to resist. Raziel brushes past me to the door, but I quickly stop him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I inquire lightly trying to not let my impatience show.

My charge looks around the shop before looking back at me, “No, why?”

I suck in a breath of annoyance, “Your other clients? The ones that are actually paying you?” I scowl at him.

“Henry,” Raziel sighs, “those are just boring potion orders. This is much more interesting.” He gives an infuriating wink before dashing out the door.

No sense of responsibility whatsoever, ‘Where did I go wrong?’ I question myself. I turn back to the shop proper and look at the mess of papers spread across the desk in the middle of the room and then at the haphazardly arranged potions lining a bookcase pushed against a wall.

It’s not like Raziel is wrong though. Potion orders are boring. If Raziel had been a normal wizard he wouldn’t even be living in the obscurity of the human world. He’d be in Lemuria,