“You're just going to stand there?" I asked.Uriel folded his arms and tapped his chin with one fingertip. "Mmmm. It does seem that perhaps she deserves some form of aid. Perhaps if I'd had the presence of mind to see to it that some sort of agent had been sent to balance the scales, to giver her that one tiny bit of encouragement, that one flicker of inspiration that turned the tide..." He shook his head sadly. "Things might be different now."And, as if on cue, Mortimer Lindquist, ectomancer, limped out of the lower hallway and into the electrical-junction room, with Sir Stuart's shade at his right hand.Mort took a look around, his dark eyes intent, and then his gaze locked onto Molly."Hey," he croaked. "You. Arrogant bitch ghost.”

“Hey," He croaked. "You. Arrogant bitch ghost.""I'm not really into this whole hero thing," Mort said. "Don't have the temperament for it. Don't know a lot about the villain side of the equation, either." He planted his feet,facing the Corpsetaker squarely, his hands clenched into fist at his side."But it seems to me, you half-wit, that you probably shouldn't have left a freaking ectomancer a pit full of wraiths to play with.”

“Karrin smiled faintly and shook her head. "He always said you knew ghosts. You're sure it was really him?"Mort eyed her. "Me and everyone else, yeah."Karrin scowled and stared into the middle distance.Mort frowned and then his expression softened. "You didn't want it to be his ghost. Did you?"Murphy shook her head slowly, but said nothing."You needed everyone to be wrong about it. Because if it really was his ghost," Mort said, "it means that he really is dead."Murphy's face...just crumpled. Her eyes overflowed and she bowed her head. Her body shook in silence.”

“Whatever had killed him, it hadn't been human. His face was gone, simply torn away. Something had ripped his lips off. I could see his bloodstained teeth. His nose had been torn all the way up one side, and part of it dangled toward the floor. His head was misshapen, as though some enormous pressure had been put upon his temples, warping his skull in.”

“What's with that?” Butters screamed, his voice high and frightened. “Just covering his head with his arms? Didn't he see the lawyer in the movie?”

“No one was standing in the shadows smoking a cigarette or looking about with a shifty-eyed gaze. I couldn't see anyone quickly hiding a bloody knife behind his back or twirling a moustache, either. That ruled out the Dudley Do-Right approach to finding the killer.”

“I found him in a Dumpster one day when he was a kitten and he promptly adopted me. Despite my struggles, Mister had been an understanding soul, and I eventually came to realize that I was a part of his little family, and by his gracious consent was allowed to remain in his apartment. Cats. Go figure.”