I am pardonably proud of this bit.
He bore up well under the strain — and, indeed, the costly spellcasting had found us a candidate. “This is Mistress Jaquelyn Hawes, Mistress Dexter,” he told me, absently wiping his face with a handkerchief before waving it at the angry-faced young woman he had in tow. “She has graciously agreed to serve her country in this ritual.”
Mistress Hawes glared in my general direction. “I had conditions. You’re not bringing that cheating bastard back to life, are you?”
“No,” I told her promptly. “That would require a body intact enough to be reinvigorated, quite a lot of magic, a decent amount of good fortune, and most importantly: any willingness on my part to resurrect the man. Sending his soul on to its presumed reward is my goal, this afternoon. I presume you and your husband are… estranged?”
“He’s not supposed to be my husband,” she ground out. “The son of a bitch skipped out on me three months ago. I’ve been trying to serve papers on him ever since. The cop said you’d maybe want them?”
I took the proffered envelope and riffed through the contents. “I might, at that. Do you mind?”
“Will it get rid of the son of a bitch, once and for all?”
“Hopefully.”
“Then no, I don’t mind. I’d say shove them down his throat, except he doesn’t have one, because he’s dead.” The smile on Hawes’ face was truly chilling to behold. “Is it gonna hurt, whatever it is you’re gonna do?”
“As little as possible,” I managed to say.
She scowled. “Well, I guess you can’t have everything.”