Page 39 of How to Survive Your Own Death

“If you read the handbook⁠—”

“I read the damn book,” she snapped. “A chapter on ghosts, ghouls, and on-the-job hazards would have been nice, but no. Not a word. How can I do this job if no one tells me anything?”

She was well aware that she sounded whiny. She was whining. It was well earned. She had to get a scythe back from a wraith and all her knowledge about fighting the supernatural came from tv shows. Throwing salt at it was pretty much her only idea.

“I did not realize management sent you an abridged version.” He tossed a look to the dog, which was baffling, and reached into his robe. He held out his handbook. The leather was worn. The light caught the edge of designs worked into the cover. “Here. Read this.”

“Your handbook,” she said, not reaching for the book.

“You are correct in your assessment that you cannot perform your duties with all the information.”

“How do we fight a wraith?”

“Read and find out.”

She reached for the book, her fingers momentarily passing through the leather before it became solid. It was heavy, requiring both hands to hold. She brushed her fingers over the embossed leather. The gilding had long ago worn away, but she could see flecks of gold paint deep in the crevices.

A quick flip through the pages revealed blocks of text in an old-fashioned font, the kind with the weird f that was really an s in disguise. That would slow her down, but it was readable.

She blinked and the ink reconfigured itself into a more modern font. Benefits of having a magic book, right?

“Thank you. This is helpful,” she said.

Anticipating a long night ahead of her, she required coffee and a notebook for notes.

The handbook was nothing more than rules and regulations. That she could do. She was a professional at navigating multiple insurance companies, none of whom wanted to pay a dime for a patient’s care. She knew all the tricks to billing, the right codes, the right phrases for an appeal, and all the loopholes.

Banishing a super ghost? Piece of cake.

BAZEL

“Do not give me that look,” he told Bones. He kept his voice low, so as not to disturb Geri reading at the kitchen table. “I have broken no rules.”

The dog did not raise her head where it rested daintily on her front paws.

“Geri has identified a gap in her education. She is correct that she needs this knowledge to perform her duties.”

Management would feel differently. They withheld information from Geri for some unfathomable reason. If he had noticed this, then she had noticed long ago. Her mind made connections quickly. It was one of her most appealing qualities.

“She is too curious,” he told Bones. “If we do not give her something, she will ask the wrong questions. It is not a deception. It is survival.”

Bones’s tail wagged slowly, sweeping across the floor. For a moment Bazel hoped that his canine-shaped companion agreed. Instead, the cat crept into the room.

Not wishing to frighten the creature again, he remained still.

The cat ignored him and brushed up against Bones, rubbing her head against the dog’s jaw before leaving for the kitchen. It was self-centered, but he felt as if the gesture were purely to spite him.

He would win the cat’s affection. Eventually. He was a patient being.

A chair scraped across the floor. There was the murmur of Geri’s voice and the cat’s reply.

“Okay, this is what I got,” Geri said from the doorway and proceeded to read from a notebook. “The first step is negotiation. We ask the ghost to leave politely. I can’t see how that works.”

“It can. Often a soul wants to move on but they are unsure how,” he said.

“Right. Or we can finish their unfinished business. Second step, remove or destroy the object of their obsession.”

“A soul concerned with material wealth will not change in death. They will want to protect that which they value. Sometimes it is a person.”