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didn't I take more notice of her? Why
hadn't I confronted her and discovered her intent? "Nor do I know where to
find her now. I'm so sorry, Jacob, I wish I was more useful."
    He touched my
hand and warmth instantly infused me, despite the coolness of his skin. "It's
all right, Em. It's not your fault. We'll find out what's going on soon
enough."
    But not before Wallace
Arbuthnot and the spirit inside him had done something terrible. Why else would
a ghost of questionable morals possess someone in this realm if not to do harm?

 
    CHAPTER 3
    The coach turned
into Druids Way and rocked to a rhythm set by the cobbles and the wind. It made
for an uncomfortable ride. "I think I should pay George Culvert a
visit," I said.
    "Why?"
Jacob asked.
    "To learn
more about possession."
    "George is
a demonologist, not a spiritologist."
    "I'm quite
certain that's not a word."
    His gaze slid to
mine. "I can tell you all you need to know."
    George was an
acquaintance of Jacob's—or had been when Jacob was alive—and a supernatural
enthusiast specializing in demons. He had a vast library filled with ancient and
somewhat strange books collected by his late father. Surely there'd be a tome or
two on possession. It would be a good avenue to start our investigation, considering
locating the girl and Wallace would be like finding two needles in two
haystacks in a field full of haystacks.
    I decided to
call Jacob's bluff. "Very well. How does one get a spirit into a live
person's body? And how does one then go about getting it out again?"
    He crossed his
arms. "I'll have to speak to the Administrators in the Waiting Area."
    "Good. You
do that while I visit George."
    His lips thinned.
"Why do you want to see him?"
    "Why do you not want me to see him?"
    The coach stopped
and rocked as the footman hopped down. He opened the door for me, but I said, "There's
been a change of plan. Please take me to Wilton Crescent, number
fifty-two." The coachman would know it since it was not far from Lord and
Lady Preston's house. The footman bowed and closed the door again.
    "It seems
you are determined on this." Jacob spoke to the door rather than me, his
rigid jaw giving him an imperial aloofness that invited no friendship.
    I reached out to
touch him, but he flinched and I dropped my hand. "I am, but I fail to see
why that is a problem."
    The coach rolled
off again, jerking us both. Jacob made a small sound in the back of his throat,
half-groan, half-sigh. He tipped his head back, resting it against the cabin's
wall. "You're right. Of course you are." He turned a sad but gentle
smile on me. I should have smiled back, but there was something very, very
wrong with the way he looked at me. "Go see George and ask for his help. He's
a good man."
    "Yes. Yes
he is, but—"
    "I have to
go." He blinked off.
    Now what could
he have meant by that little exchange? First he acted jealous and then he
praised George? It didn't make sense. Unless...
    Oh. Oh no. He
wouldn't dare try to pair me with George. Not after all we'd been through, all
we'd said to each other.
    Would he?
    ***
    George carried a
black and burgundy leather-bound book as long as my forearm and as thick as the
drawer in the desk at which I sat. It made a solid whump as it hit the
leather inlay on the desk's surface. There was no title on the plain cover so I
opened it. The earthy smell of disuse and age wafted from the yellowing pages. It
was pleasant, comforting, homely.
    " The
Rapture of the Spirit and of the Mind: A Treatise on Dispossessed Spiritual
Influences ," I read.
    "First
published in the seventeenth century." George stood behind me and leaned
over my shoulder. "Just like old times."
    "The
book?"
    His face, so
near mine that I could feel his breath on my cheek, colored. "No, I mean
you and me. Here in my library. Doing this."
    "Oh."
    He pushed his spectacles
up his nose and smiled. It was what Jacob had wanted—me to get close to George,
to have him look at me as if I was a potential sweetheart.
    It