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“Very tight to your body. Some muddiness in your colors,
     not as clear. Are you frightened?”
    “I’m scared shitless a ghost will eat me and I’ll become part of it and do terrible
     evil.”
    “That’s a possibility?” Desiree asked.
    “Yes. I don’t know how long you’ve been able to see auras—”
    “All my life.”
    “But I just came into my psychic powers twenty-two days and three hours ago.” On the
     way to the airport in Chicago, after finishing probate on her great-aunt’s estate,
     preparing that house for sale, and dividing the furniture and planning how it would
     be moved.
    “Oh, dear. That’s . . .” Desiree’s mouth opened and closed, then she finally said,
     “Tough.”
    “Yes.”
    “I absolutely want you to call me if you need me.”
    Clare didn’t know what the woman could do against a supernatural foe . . . if her
     psychic power could be used offensively as her body could.
    “Thank you,” Clare said.
    “Tony’s here!” Desiree nearly sang. She glided from the room toward the entry hall
     and the front door. Clare followed her. Desiree opened the door without a thought
     of security . . . probably because she believed she could handle anything out there.
     Clare joined her in the doorway.
    A black Mercedes with dark tinted windows parked in Clare’s driveway on the other
     side of her car, and it
was
Tony Rickman. She thought that he often ran after his wife, whom Zach called a loose
     cannon. The car door closed and Mr. Rickman walked around the vehicle. Clare couldn’t
     read his feelings. He strode up to them. “Clare. Desiree, I thought I asked you not
     to come.”
    “Clare’s my friend, Tony.”
    “Right, but she treats me like her boss.”
    “With respect,” Clare said stiffly.
    “Call me Tony.”
    Clare hesitated, then nodded. She still wasn’t sure at all about working for him,
     even as a consultant.
    He nodded back to her, then said, “We can bring the car around to take you to the
     airport sooner. One of my guys will be flying the plane.”
    The latter was rather interesting, but didn’t Tony notice Clare wore the same thing
     she had earlier? “No,” she said. “I haven’t packed yet.” She hadn’t even
showered
yet.
    “Where’s Zach?” Tony asked.
    “He’s not here,” Desiree said.
    Clare wondered how the woman knew. Desiree smiled at her. “He’d have been down, protecting
     you from me. You don’t need any protection from me.”
    “Of course not,” Tony said drily. “Clare is not the sort to go on harebrained quests.”
     He stared at Desiree, still expressionless, but like when she’d seen them together
     before, she thought they loved each other deeply.
    “Where
is
Zach?” More demand than question.
    Clare straightened her spine, stared into the lenses of Tony’s dark glasses. “He’s
     visiting his mother.” The Rickmans were in the security business and had hired Zach,
     they’d have checked him out before offering him a job and discovered his mother was
     in a mental health facility in Boulder.
    “Oh,” said Desiree in a sad little voice.
    “Oh,” echoed Tony. His shoulders rolled as if releasing tension.
    “Zach doesn’t think the . . .” Clare struggled for a term “. . . leave taking . . .
     will go well. I’d rather you not be here when he returns. And I have a lot to do before
     then.”
    “Understood,” Tony said, reaching out and curling his fingers around his wife’s upper
     arm. “We won’t impose. You got all the papers?”
    “Yes.”
    “All right.” Desiree smiled. “It should be a good week for the fall color, the drive
     from Alamosa isn’t hard, and you should pack for winter, as well.”
    “I know.”
    “Have you ever been to Creede?” Desiree asked.
    “No.”
    “We go there a couple of times a year.” She elbowed her husband, who showed no indication
     that he’d felt her. “All work and no play makes this guy a grumpy man.”
    Fleetingly Clare wondered what