Other people came into the building that housed Priest & Hawthorne’s offices, and Morgan felt every one of them, each a tickle in the back of her mind. On the street, passers-by each left a feather-soft caress on her awareness, while those nearer - not only in proximity, but in other sorts of intimacy - pressed against her otherworldly senses more intensely. Part of her felt each mind as a tiny constellation of desires, bright sparks she need only let her breath brush against to build into brilliant flame. Every one with their own beguiling temptation, a tantalizing morsel that she knew she had to ignore. So Morgan felt each quiet touch, and she dismissed them from her mind in their turn. For her, and for now, there really could be no other choice.

Morgan turned as the first of the other investigators came in, her bright eyes smiling at their corners. Punctual, as always, came the Professor, her hair down, her eyes with dark hollows beneath and wearing a clean, pressed outfit. A long night then, but one in her own home. There were times that Morgan didn’t care to be right - if the woman wanted to date, she deserved more than disappointment and an empty bed. She nodded back to Em’s greeting, taking another sip for her coffee, saw the way the other woman’s spine stiffened, even if she didn’t mean to. Some day, they would have to talk, and Morgan might have to tell uncomfortable truths. But not today.

Jacob came next, and Morgan needed no special intuition to see the marks of how the man’s life revolved around his daughter. Morgan liked the girl, Amanda, and found a vicarious thrill in the childish exuberance she herself had never known. As for the elder Mcalister, Morgan could smell burned tobacco with just a hint of liquor around the man, the miasma of a man slowly losing himself. She wished he would talk to someone, spend time away from the office, away from darkness and chases and silver bullets in the night. Maybe Mcalister wished the same thing. Maybe-

As Morgan pulled in a breath to answer Jacob, the door banged open again. Robert Miller, another former member of law enforcement, and someone she did [i]not[/i] get along with. His easy charm had run around against her, and despite occasional attempts from both sides, the two would barely pass a dozen words in a given week. She respected his talents, and she had never found a surveillance bug in her car or desk, which either meant he was better than she thought or he had the courtesy to at least keep that professional distance. Still, she saw something she didn’t like in Robert’s eye when he thought she wasn’t looking. 

Finally, the faerie girl. Or, half-faerie, anyway, her mind a swirl of subtly alien desire and excitement. She liked the girl, Mandy, the firm’s most recent addition. People tended not to come to PHI often, (and more than a few left in ways they had never thought of), and new faces always made Morgan smile. The fact that being in room with her could be like a subtle, spicy drug - if she allowed herself - was only more lovely. Mandy had proven herself to be a very useful young woman, as well - but Morgan felt that some of Shiloh’s brassiness would do well to rub off on her. 

“Ah,” Sol said, his dark eyes roving over the group, “Excellent, and all on time. Even Miss Blackwood, which I must say is likely some kind of miracle. As we are also blessed with a new client this morning, I would ask that you all take your seats at the conference table, as I expect she will be here,” and the front door rattled at a quiet knock, “presently.” 

——

There’s no such thing as beautiful grief. The woman at PHI’s conference table sat, her legs curled underneath her, back bent, eyes rimmed with reddish-pink, a tear stain still marking one lens of her glasses, making her look ten years older than her apparent early-twenties. She sniffled as she sat, her clothes rumpled, and wore a sweater several sizes too large with “University of Washington” on the chest. Her eyes were green, shocking, vibrantly green, and even behind her several-days-unwashed red-blonde hair and rimed glasses, they stood out like electric jewels as she looked from face to face around the table.

“Good morning, everyone,” Tanner said as he sat down himself, “This is Catherine Baker, from Capitol Hill. Miss Baker, would you care to share why you’re here?”

“Um,” the woman said, “Most people call me Cat.” Her hands slipped out the sleeves of her sweater and light glinted off the edges of a familiar gold-edged business card. She started fidgeting with the card, flipping it around, scratching at the gold before pressing it down on the table, pushing the little cardboard square away from her with nervous fingers. She took a deep and shaky breath.

“Um,” she started again, “So, um…I know this sounds kind of crazy but…I…I see ghosts. Sometimes. Like around some of the old parts of town usually.” She glared around the table, as if daring someone to contradict her, “And sometimes I can talk to them. Sometimes they tell me what they want, usually they just ignore me. Um.” She fidgeted again, stopped herself, “And I had a sister. And…”

Cat paused, her eyes squeezing shut. She took a few shallow breaths, quick and forced, “And…and she died. A little while ago. We…well, she really went missing and the police never said but…” She sniffled, “But then she showed up, when I was at her old apartment, cleaning it out. Weeks later. And I couldn’t tell anyone, and after a little while I didn’t want to. She could hear me, and sometimes even talked back. Slow words, and sometimes they made sense. Not always though.” She sniffled again.

“And later we had a funeral and she was there, and I went back to my apartment and after a while, she came there too. Like she was following me. Like she had something she wanted to say,” Cat’s voice trailed off, and those brilliant green eyes wandered the room at random before she spoke again, “I never found out what, though. And after a while I just liked having her nearby - or part of her, anyway. She smiled when I put up the shitty Christmas tree I have, and I’d never seen her smile before. And  I could tell, I could [i]tell[/i] that she was going to say something important when…when…”

Sol reached one shovel-sized hand over to the girl, settled it on her shoulder with an improbable gentleness, and Cat started to sob. Quietly, but with heavy tears falling down her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, then rubbed at her eyes under her glasses, leaving them slightly askew on her nose when she looked back up.

“Then I…she…something felt [i]wrong[/i],” Cat said, her voice a whisper, “All…tight, like the air was too close all the sudden? And my sister - her ghost - she looked frightened, and it was the first time I’d ever seen her that way, scared, you know? And then…like, pieces of her started peeling off, like she was just paper being torn up, disappearing. And she looked so scared, and I couldn’t stop it, and I couldn’t hear what she was saying and then…then she was gone. Just….like she was never there. And the tight…the close feeling went with her. Like nothing ever happened Like she was never there.”

Cat looked down at the table, scrubbing tears out of her eyes agains with the back of her hand. She took first one breath, then another, each one a little more steady than the last. 

“Um,” she said after a long moment, “I want to know what happened. I want to know who did this. My sister…she looked like she was in pain but,” she paused, “…that doesn’t make any sense. I think…I think whatever happened is…bad. And I think…maybe she’s not the only one. When I walk around the city now, I don’t see as many ghosts as I used to. But I feel…holes, in the world, sort of. Like empty places. Places there should be something, but now there isn’t.”

She looked up, looking again at each of the agents, her eyes wet and shining. “Are you…do you think I’m crazy? Do you believe me? I’ve heard of…of sort of a firm that takes weird cases, like with monsters and werewolves and…” She sniffled, “And then I got the card and a phone number and…um. I guess…now I’m here.”