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The moonlight didn’t reach inside, so Tom pulled an etheric torch from his overcoat pocket, once again choosing technology over magick. According to everyone in the Order, Tom was a powerful mage. Only he didn’t always seem to trust himself.
    “There’s not much else to search.” The rectangular room, perhaps ten by twenty feet, held only a few rough benches, a water barrel and a tiny hearth in addition to the counter. While Tom slipped behind that, Nell wandered away from his light and sat on a bench. She lifted her face toward the rafters and opened her senses. “Anybody here?”
    An apparition began to coalesce from the dust motes reflected by Tom’s torch and the weak shafts of moonlight through narrow windows. Nell waited, and within moments, a pudgy, balding man in a derby hat settled onto the bench beside her. “Boo,” he said congenially. “Aren’t you frightened?”
    Nell chuckled. “Sorry. Ought I be?”
    The ghost laughed. “Well, most ladies are. I’ve gotten used to it. About the only conversation one has these days.”
    “I can scream and run if you like, but I’d rather sit and chat,” Nell said. “If that’s all right with you.”
    “Of course, of course. Never say no to a pretty girl.” He doffed his hat and crossed his ankles. “Not from around these parts, are you?”
    “No, I’m from London.” Nell smoothed her skirts and lifted her chin, doing her best imitation of the dowager Duchess of Trowbridge, a close family friend. “Was it my accent that gave it away?”
    A bark of laughter erupted from the ghost. “Good one, girl. Not as foreign as you look, eh?”
    “I’m afraid not,” Nell said. “How about you? Do you travel the rails or are you always hanging about this little station?”
    “This side or t’other,” he said with a snort. “Don’t know why. The farthest I can get is the livestock pen. How is it you can see me? Nobody else knows I’m here unless I tickle their neck or something.”
    “It’s just who I am,” Nell said. “Some people can paint portraits or sail ships. I can see ghosts.”
    “Huh. Sounds like the short end of the stick if you ask me.” He spun his hat on one finger. “What’s your young man doing over there at the ticket desk?”
    “He’s not my young man, but we’re looking for a boy,” she said. “One of my students at the Glenbury School. We believe he was kidnapped.” She didn’t respond to the “short end of the stick” comment. If her power could help Charlie, she wasn’t going to complain about it now.
    “Kidnapped? Well, now, that’s hardly cricket, is it?” He crushed his hat in his hands, but the wrinkle popped right back out. “What did the boy look like?”
    “Tall for an eight-year-old.” She held up her hand to indicate approximate height. “Fair hair, blue eyes. He can’t see, though, so his eyes look a little odd to most people. They’re not always pointed in the right direction. He’d have come through first thing this morning. He was taken last night.”
    “Why take a boy at night, then wait for a morning train? Doesn’t sound like a very logical plan.” He scratched his rather bulbous nose, likely a habit leftover from his lifetime, since according to all the ghosts Nell had talked to, they couldn’t actually feel anything, which included itching. “Make more sense to get away by road.”
    “Yes, it would.” Nell rubbed at her temple, trying to push aside the looming headache. “But we thought checking the station was worth a try. Thank you for your time.” She started to rise.
    “Now wait a minute, missy. I didn’t say I hadn’t seen anything. Just that it wasn’t the best plan.” The ghost chuckled. “I like to look at the pretty girls as they pass through, you know. One of the few pleasures left in my life, uh, state of being.”
    “Then you did see Charlie?” She dropped back onto the hard wooden bench. “Was he all right?”
    The ghost pursed his lips. “I didn’t see the