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ghost tour that was conducted four nights a week in Lower Pacific Heights that guaranteed the patrons they'd see or at least experience a ghost. Phil owned the business, and after the tour we talked. He had figured out what I was, because there was indeed a ghost on his tour and I saw it and he knew it. Although Phil couldn't see ghosts—well, he'd seen one or two, but he couldn't do it regularly—he was well versed on them and what they did. Moreover, he was well aware of the ghost killers and the Watchers. He helped me a great deal back then, and now he helped the Watchers. He'd also become a good friend.

Chapter 7
    I stunk—I smelled like salt water and sweat and blood, and I knew that a hot shower would do me a world of good. Instead of getting up though, I rolled over again, closed my eyes, and wallowed in self-pity until I heard a pounding on my front door. That had to be Billy.
    Billy had cleaned the blood and dirt off her face back at the motel, but she still hadn't looked much better than me in the wee morning hours when we parted ways; however, I was extremely annoyed at how she looked this morning. She was scrubbed clean, hair hanging in ebony waves down her back, and aside from the butterfly bandage on her forehead, I only saw two minor cuts on her chin that looked more like scratches. Her short sleeved blouse showed her upper arms, one of which was wrapped in gauze, but she didn't have any bruises anywhere that I could see. She smelled good too, which made my rank disposition all the more difficult to stomach.
    “Whew, you need a shower,” she said, waving her hand under her nose as she shouldered past me to the kitchen.
    “Yeah, good morning to you too—make yourself at home,” I replied sarcastically, and headed to the bathroom. She'd make coffee, and if I was really lucky, she'd make breakfast too.
    Fifteen gloriously hot and steamy minutes later, I stood in front of my bathroom mirror and assessed the damage. There were large swaths of bruising on my ribcage where I'd taken the body blows, but I no longer thought anything was broken, just bruised. The cuts on my chin and lips looked better too, now that they were clean, but there was some swelling and bruising there as well. My hands, however, still looked like minced meat, and I decided to rewrap the palms, where most of the damage was, in a healthy slathering of antibiotic lotion and gauze.
    By the time I was dressed, the strong smell of coffee and sizzling bacon had wafted down the hallway, and I was practically drooling in anticipation. Billy was an excellent cook, and breakfast was her specialty. She was working her culinary magic at the stove when I entered the kitchen, and I moved around her to get at the coffee.
    Glancing at me from the corner of her eye, she quipped, “Well you smell better, but you don't look much better.”
    “If it wasn't for the coffee
and
the breakfast, I'd tell you to leave,” I retorted. “How's Justine today?”
    “She's fine. She had a charity thing this morning, but she was worried about you and asked me to come over and check on you. I called her while you were in the shower, told her you were fine…an obvious lie,” she said as she glanced at me again and frowned. “She wants to know what your dinner plans are for tonight.”
    It was a little after one in the afternoon and it would be another hour or so before we got to the bar, and depending on what was discussed, we might be tied up for the evening. “I'm free so far, but Phil and Aris want an update, and if they need our help, we might not be available. Oh, and I think I saw GG earlier this morning.”
    Billy spun around so quickly that the spatula she was holding almost flew from her hand. “Really?” Billy had taken to GG immediately, and she had been just as distraught as I was when GG hadn't reappeared after our fight with Vokkel.
    “It was kind of dark and I was pretty sleepy, so I'm not a hundred percent sure it wasn't a dream,” my tone was