“You’re a good kid. If you’d work on your pain-in-the-ass tendencies, you’d be real nice.” “Too bad that isn’t going to happen anytime soon,” he muttered. “Real nice doesn’t get you very far.” “Real nice can keep you from getting beat up,” I said. He smiled. “Right. Maybe we should both work on it, then.”

“Horseshit,” Shame said cheerfully. “He can dispossess you and die. Pretty easy, really. Most people die the right way the first time. You’d think a genius like him wouldn’t screw it up so badly.”

“I don’t know what’s happened to you. You used to be such a nice girl. Now you’ve gone all stabby and whatnot.”

“I doubt she likes the idea of seeing him put back in a cage.” “Maybe not,” he said. “But she knows that the Authority are the only people who might be able to help him.” “Or kill him,” I said. “That too. What is life without risk?” “Long?” Terric laughed, a sort of high whooping that made me—and Zayvion, much to my surprise—smile. Contagious. For all he had a serious exterior, Terric was the guy you’d want to sit next to at a funny movie, just to hear him laugh.”

“What the hell?” I muttered. Then I realized it was Jack Quinn’s car. Jack was a Hound and Bea’s boyfriend. The left blinker flashed on for just a second, and then Jack drove at speed again.“Zayvion, I’m sorry to tell you I think I have a crush on another man.”“Who is this unfortunate and soon-to-be-dead fool?” he asked.“Jack. That’s his car. He must have been waiting for us, or maybe he followed us.”“Jack Quinn has been following us?” Shame said.“And now he’s taking us to Collins, I think.”“Or a trap,” Shame said.“He’s a Hound, Shame.”“My statement stands.”“You still don’t get it, do you?” I turned left, following the car. “Hounds are loyal. Jack and Bea told me they’d help me if they could. They’re not going to turn against me while I’m in trouble.”“What happens when you’re not in trouble?” Shame asked.“Don’t know. It’s never happened.”

“I wouldn’t want you to get in the shower and then pass out or some such. How about if I help you get out of your clothes? I’m an expert in platonic undressings.” He gave me that wicked smile. “Give it a rest. I’m not going to strip naked in front of you, and I’d rather pee in private.” “Half the injuries in a home happen in the bathroom. What kind of friend would I be to let you face that kind of danger alone? I mean, sure, you walked out of death, but this is a shower.” “Shame. Get out of my bathroom.”

“Listen,” I said, cool as a 911 operator talking someone down from a ledge, “you’re dead. I’m sorry about that, but I am not going to let you possess me. So follow the light, or go to the other side, or hang around your own house and haunt your accounting ledgers or something. You do not get to stay in my head.”