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use some, but it will have to wait—because they can’t. I don’t want to leave them twisting in the wind, waiting for the moment we’ll barge in and remind them of their loss all over again. We need to get this over with so they can have some peace.”
    “You’re a good man, Charlie,” I said, taking a risk by leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.
    He didn’t run away. He didn’t even flinch. He blushed furiously, but the heated look in his eyes told me he appreciated the gesture—and possibly might be interested in exploring my motivations later.
    Taking one last look at me, he headed for the door. “I’ll see you later, Titus.” I had no doubt that he meant it.
    “Take care, Charlie. Be careful.”

Chapter Seven
    I always hated walking home alone at night on the deserted city streets. But I couldn’t ask my employees to do something I was scared to do myself, so I’d taken the late shift. In the dark, the wandering dead became nothing but sliding shadows and hissing whispers. The phrase 'jumping at shadows' is apt, because there were things in the shadows.
    Those things slithered around me, feeling much more insidious in the murky stillness of the nighttime city. Hands in my pockets, I gripped my four inch pocket knife that I always carried. Fat lot of good it would do me against mule , but there was a killer on the loose after all.
    It was ill-advised, but I still blasted my music inside my headphones. I didn't want to hear what the spirits had to say in gloam. I mostly kept my eyes glued to the sidewalk in front of me— don't stand out, don't make eye contact, make yourself invisible —but I cast glances all around my periphery to keep aware of my surroundings.
    A tall, skinny man approached, heading toward me on the opposite side of the sidewalk. He wore dark jeans and a black hoodie with the hood pulled up, casting his face in shadow. I found that odd, as it was one of those warm, humid nights the Southern springtime was famous for. His dark eyes glittered at me from the empty void where his face should be, obviously a trick of the poor lighting.
    As he passed me, he clipped my shoulder, throwing me off balance. I wanted to turn around and yell, but self-preservation intervened. I could probably take him in hand-to-hand, but he could be packing for all I knew. I put my head down and kept walking.
    I yelped when a spirit appeared in front of me—unlike what movies and television showed, they didn’t usually just pop up. He was a young man, probably about my age, with pale skin, black hair, and eyes so blue they seemed otherworldly… and he was gorgeous. I blinked, hoping he’d disappear. No such luck.
    He turned his head towards the building beside us that was being renovated, the entrance to which was blocked off with caution tape. Stretching out his left arm, he pointed to it, and I could see bone-deep gouges in his wrist and forearm. He glanced at me again. Look.
    “Not tonight, okay?” I mumbled, trying to step around him. In the blink of an eye, he disappeared and rematerialized right in front of me. See!
    “No,” I said, getting angry. I walked straight through him. Usually when I passed through a spirit, I just felt a slick, oily cold sliding through my body—but this burned like a vat of acid had been dumped over me. I screamed and fell to my knees.
    He appeared in front of me again. As I looked up at him, still reeling from the pain, it occurred to me how new he must be. When a mulo first left its body, it still maintained some measure of its humanity. It was able to take and maintain a corporeal form more easily than the older spirits, and the ability faded with each day since its passing.
    He pointed again and this time, his eyes took on a pleading quality. I could practically feel his anguish.
    Struggling to my feet, I brushed myself off and sighed. “Fine, I’ll look. But then you need to leave me the hell alone. I ducked under the caution tape strung across the doorless