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casual and teasing.
    She shot an unpleasant green glare in my direction and turned back to her cooking. Once she'd plated the food and slapped it on the table, she sat and stared at me, finally saying, “Well, what did she say?”
    “I think…,” I started, taking a large bite of my omelet and chewing slowly and methodically, garnering another icy glare. Laughing lightly at her annoyance, I said, “I think she was trying to tell me that she has no concept of time and comes when I need her.”
    “What the hell does that mean?” Billy said thoughtfully as she shoveled a rather unladylike fork full of food into her mouth. Once she'd chewed and swallowed, she said, almost to herself, “So she's connected to you through your mother, and showed up just in time to help fight Vokkel and his surge of demons.” She waved her fork around. “Maybe she's back because of what happened in Marin…to help us with that kid….” Her brow furrowed. “But why wait to show up? These attacks have been going on for more than a week now.”
    It was a good question…I'd have to try and ask GG. Regardless, GG had displayed extreme power by bringing a surge of good ghosts to fight Vokkel's demons, and God knew we could use that sort of help now.
    We finished our late breakfast in silence. After Billy put her dishes in the sink, she turned to face me, leaning against the counter and saying, “I have a few things to do today. Tell Phil we'll meet him at three, and I'll let Justine know that dinner is iffy at best.” Then she left.
    I spent the next hour cleaning up my apartment, and then walked next door to Justine's to collect Billy and head over to Seymour's.

Chapter 8
    As usual, Margie answered the door. “Hello, George.” She paused and looked at my face. “Oh my, it looks like you took the brunt of it last night.”
    “Hi, Margie,” I said, smiling lightly. “Yeah, Billy got off easy…,” I let out an exaggerated sigh, “as usual.”
    Margie chuckled. She found the antagonistic banter between Billy and me very amusing.
    “Yes, I'm sure she saved all the really bad ones for you,” she mocked. “Come, they're waiting on the terrace with bated breath.”
    I followed Margie through the living room and out onto the terrace. Justine gasped lightly at my condition, and I went to her, kissed her lightly powdered cheek, and said, “Honestly, Justine, it looks much worse than it feels. There's no need to worry.” I finished with the biggest smile I could produce…it hurt like hell, but my smiles, big or small, usually put Justine at ease. This time she glanced at Billy and shook her head dismissively; Billy was probably in for a reprimand later on.
    “Would you like some coffee, dear?” Justine asked.
    “Please. Did Billy fill you in on last night?” I asked.
    “She did, and it is very disturbing. Have you learned anything more about this boy…teenager?” Justine asked, concern wrinkling her otherwise smooth brow. Justine was in her early eighties, but she'd aged beautifully and I thought it would be hard to convince most people that she was a day over sixty-five.
    “No, but Aris had his people on the kid's trail all night, so hopefully we'll know more when we meet them in an hour,” I answered.
    “Billy tells me that the devil who did that to you was a Revolutionary War soldier. That is quite old.”
    “Yeah, it is. But not as old as the kid's demon…that guy was mid-17 th century.”
    Justine's eyes lit up. She was fascinated by the oddity of the age of the ghosts and demons, but even more fascinated with the clothing styles they wore and the fact that they all wore round-rimmed glasses. We frequently discussed the topic. We had spent hours over the last few months poring through websites and books, educating ourselves on men's and women's fashions decade by decade as far back as the 1400s. As far as the glasses were concerned, Justine and I hadn't made any more headway than anyone else. The only reference anyone