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He nodded. “That was a few years ago,” he said, seemingly trying to piece something together. “You're not a member of the Order.”

It was a statement, but I could hear the uncertainty in it, the question.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Well,” he said, “that's a relief.” But he looked almost disappointed, which made no sense. “So, what do you want?”

“Just to talk,” I said again. “There aren't many of us who can…” I hesitated, glancing at the cell-phone store employees, who were watching us with unabashed curiosity. “Not many who can do what we do.” Assuming he was legit, which I still wasn't sure about. But if he was, he might have some major skills worth learning. Like how he'd managed to ignore the ghosts in his office so completely.

“No, no.” He shook his head. “If you figured us out, someone else isn't far behind, and I can't take that chance.” He slammed the van doors shut and headed for the front of the vehicle.

I followed him. “I didn't figure anything out. Your name was on this paper my dad left, that's all.” I pulled the page from my pocket, unfolded it, and held it out to him.

He glanced at it, his face tightening.

“I was hoping you might have some answers,” I said.

He laughed, but it sounded bitter. “Kid, the day I have anything other than questions, you'll be the first to know.” He pulled open the driver's-side door and levered himself into the seat.

Kid? He wasn't even ten years older than me. I'd thought it was bad when the Order had been bent on recruiting me as some kind of prodigy. But it was infinitely worse, as it turned out, to be treated like a nonentity, someone not important enough to talk to. I'd expected that in high school, from people who didn't understand. But from this guy? No way.

“Look, I don't need the mysteries of the universe explained,” I said, getting pissed. “I just want to know how you keep from being overwhelmed.” I wanted to ask him about Alona's situation, too, but I wasn't stupid. He was a stranger with potentially shady business practices and an overly aggressive spirit guide. Caution seemed like the smarter route, at least until I got a better feel for his character. He might not be a member of the Order, but I couldn't be sure that he wouldn't trade information on us to save his own skin.

He shook his head at me again, like I was speaking Japanese despite having been told that he wasn't fluent. “Don't you have anyone else to ask about this? Where is your dad?” he asked.

“Dead.” I folded up the page from the phone book and tucked it carefully into my pocket. “Killed himself. Almost four years ago.” Those words came out more readily now, after so much time, but they were never easy to say.

Malachi sat back in his seat, startled. “I'm sorry,” he said after a long pause. “I didn't know.”

It wasn't something discussed openly at our house, obviously, and I doubted my mother had given much information publicly, in an obituary or anything, if at all. I didn't like bringing it up now, feeling like I was somehow using what had happened to get sympathy or manipulate him into giving me answers. But it was, in fact, the truth. I couldn't go to my father because he was dead. And he was dead because he'd wanted it that way.

So I made myself wait, squelching the intense urge to say, “Forget it,” and walk away.

Malachi gave a heavy sigh. “All right. He did me a favor once. I suppose I owe you the same.”

Guilt and relief competed for priority, with relief winning out only by a slight margin. “Thanks,” I said.

He stepped down from the van. “Five minutes. That's it.”

The back room in Malachi's storefront was decidedly utilitarian and boring, not at all what I'd expected. Walking through the door, I saw a small kitchen/storage area to the right and a tiny bathroom to the left. The main area, where'd Malachi had obviously performed his spirit “consultations,” was a wood-paneled room with cheap white shelving lining the walls and a table and chairs in the center.

There were signs, though, that the decor had once been more exotic, or at least aimed to be. Puddles of purple candle wax stained almost every square inch of the shelving. The metal curtain rod that hung behind the door to the waiting room still held a strand or two of dark beads.

“Crystal ball is already in the van,” Malachi said from behind me, as if all too aware of how mundane the space appeared now.

I couldn't tell if he was kidding.

He pushed past me and dragged a chair away from the table and gestured for me to sit in it. “Ask. Let's go.”

He hadn't been joking about the five-minutes thing, evidently.

“Uh, okay.” I sat down, even though his nervous/twitchy energy was enough to make me want to pace instead. “When I was here the other day, you had me fooled. I would have sworn you were a fake. It was like you didn't even hear or see the ghosts in the waiting room. Where did you learn to do that? To tune them out like that?”

He gave me a tight smile. “I'm not sure that's something I can teach.”