Category: Books

I kind of like these characters.

“I would have thought the wages of sin would have stretched farther,” I observed as Curwin and I assessed the late David Shane’s apartment. No, that is not true. I sniffed, and regretted it instantly. I have an inclination to dismiss, and I dislike that about me. It is a bad state of mind for a necromancer to fall into.

Fortunately, Curwin did not notice. Or else he agreed with me, because indeed this was not a very imposing domicile. This part of Boston was hardly fashionable; a hundred years ago it was just past the edge of the suburbian wildness that we are still clearing, seven hundred years after the end of the First Republic. Now it was a collection of badly-aging cheap apartments and stolid factories, providing shelter, wages, and nothing more. Not the sort of place I would associate with an antiquarian, however self-taught.

Curwin chuckled when I pointed that out. “Think of it this way, Mistress Dexter. For every dollar he saved on rent, he could buy another book.” He opened the door to what I thought was a bedroom, and whistled. “Many, many books.”

Surprise tuckerization!

I took another stool, and poured myself a cup of tea. “It’s not a ghost, for one thing. No focus.” That got his attention, I noted. “Yes. Quite. I’m assuming a murder spirit, if only to save myself some time.”

“Ah. Is this related to the David Shane case?” He shrugged at my raised eyebrow. “I dig through different passages than you do, Sun. Some of them are all abuzz with news of a ghostlegger being slain by his prey. If it’s any consolation, the general sentiment about that news was ‘good riddance.’”

“Not well liked then, was he?”

“Ghostleggers rarely are, even by their colleagues. Shane in particular was a bit vexatious. He had money and knowledge, but few ethics and even fewer scruples. And he was not especially personable. That can all be a highly unpleasant combination.”

“Ah.” I sipped my tea. “This sounds like a personal observation.”

“Oh, it is. I don’t partake of ghostweed — filthy stuff, that — but the man was a regular customer of mine. Shane fancied himself an antiquarian. I suppose I should be fair to the dead, and admit that he was quite sound on the history of Boston.” Gallagher sipped his own tea. “Certainly the man bought enough books from me, both preserved and reconstituted. He didn’t care much about how they looked, as long as they could be read.”