Baba paused and frowned. "I . . . can't. Not now, anyway." Her scowl grew dark at having to admit it. It was almost as though the mask of her old, terrible self were partially visible in the expression's cruelty and spite. "I could when it was properly a ghost. Now it is . . . something else. A ghost of sorts, but not right." She shook her head and growled out a curse from a time long past. "I can't even be sure of exactly where it is now. It's muted. Not quite alive, but alive enough to be just another soul. It bothers me," she admitted. "Souls aren't supposed to not remain properly dead." She laughed. "Or rather, it bothers me because I do not know if it is a sign of other problems or just an incident in Hag's cavalcade." She shook her head to clear it at gave Mortimer a sort of smile. "I will set some spirit-traps around. Anyone who becomes a ghost will have explaining to do to us. And so will whoever made the ghost, most likely."