I adjusted my hat, put away the sword and went to find Jayne Wiskowski.

Her soul, of course, was gone.

There was crime scene tape up around the spot where her body had fallen, and several police officers stood around talking to one another and shooing away the curious. Her body was nowhere to be seen, which meant it had been already transported to the morgue.

Given the trauma of her death, it was unlikely that the soul was still attached to the body. She’d probably broken free of her mortal shell pretty soon after her ectoplasmic self had caught a glimpse of her separated head. Which meant that she was wandering somewhere.

I gritted my teeth, knowing I’d have to hunt for her, and settled in for the long haul. Given all the problems at the Agency, there was no way I could submit paperwork on a lost soul. Of course, the Agency could have helped me out by sending another collector instead of leaving me hanging in the wind.

For half a second I entertained the idea that the Agency had wanted me to fail, and that was why they’d sent me out on my own even though they knew there was a strong possibility this collection would go pear-shaped.

Then I realized that the constant persecution from enemies known and unknown was making me paranoid. The Agency couldn’t be after me, too, could they?

Well, maybe they could, but I couldn’t worry about it. I had enough to worry about. I’d limited the monster’s kills to one, and if—no, when—I found Jayne’s soul, I’d have this pickup all tied up with a ribbon, just the way upper management liked it.

Three hours later the wind had frozen me into a Popsicle, and I was dizzy from flying in circles. Jayne had disappeared, and I hadn’t the remotest clue where she might have gone.

My face was frozen, my stomach was rumbling and Beezle had probably worked himself up into a tizzy, so I decided to head home.

I cut over to Addison and flew straight west toward my house.

Beezle was on the kitchen counter with his beak in a gigantic sack of Kettle chips. His bottom half stuck out of the bag as he burrowed through like an earthworm. Rapid crunching sounds emitted from inside.

I grabbed him by the ankle and yanked him out. Chips skidded all over the counter. He looked guilty for a second, then covered it with defiance.

“What? Nobody else wanted them,” he said.

“I might have wanted some,” I said. “I see you were not even remotely worried about me. Where is everyone?”

“Jude had to meet with Wade about some pack thingy. He called and said he would be back soon. Nathaniel is downstairs sulking, as usual. Or maybe he’s plotting. It’s hard to tell the difference. Samiel is playing Skyrim on the computer.”

“Do I want to know what Skyrim is?”

“Probably not,” Beezle said, dusting chips off his face.

“I need to eat something,” I said as my stomach growled.

“We should get Potbelly sandwiches,” Beezle said hopefully.

“No,” I said. The closest Potbelly was right across the street from the place where Jayne Wiskowski had lost her head. I didn’t need to be reminded of that debacle while I was eating.

“Can we go to Costco and get a hot dog, then?”

“You just ate. I’m the one who needs to eat something.”

“Those chips are mostly air,” Beezle said. “I need something substantial.”

A hot dog did sound good. And there was a bookstore on Webster, near Costco. I could stop and get a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting a Demon Baby.

“Okay, we can go to Costco,” I said.

“Really?” Beezle said. He seemed disappointed that I hadn’t put up a bigger fight.

“Yes, but you only get one item off the menu,” I said as he climbed into my coat pocket.

“Just one?” he whined. “How can I possibly choose between the hot dog, the ice cream bar and the churro?”

“Choose wisely,” I said. “Because I’m not sharing whatever I get.”

Beezle tucked himself under my lapel, grumbling.

The store was packed, as usual. Beezle finally settled on an ice cream bar after much dithering. I took off my coat and laid it over the child seat in the shopping cart so that Beezle could camp under there and eat without attracting notice.

I bought a hot dog and soda and pushed the cart through the store, even though I had no intention of buying anything. I like to walk through the aisles sometimes, looking at things that I’ll never be able to buy. I stopped in front of the jewelry case, but the gleam of diamond engagement rings made me twist my wedding band around my finger in an unhappy way, so I moved on.

In the center of the store was a collection of tables displaying new clothing. One of the tables was covered in baby clothes, pinks and purples and blues and greens.

I picked up a tiny infant sleeper and had a moment of panic. Babies were small. Really small.

“How am I supposed to take care of something this small?” I said aloud.

“What was that?” Beezle said. His voice was muffled by my coat and the ice cream in his mouth.

“Nothing,” I said, dropping the sleeper back on the table and pushing my cart away.

How could I be responsible for someone so little, someone so breakable? How could I ever keep a baby safe? I’d barely managed to keep myself safe so far.

After Beezle had finished eating an ice cream bar as big as his torso, we ditched the shopping cart and flew over to the bookstore on Webster.

I stood in front of the pregnancy and child-care section, awed by the number of books relating to the birth, care and feeding of children.