Lester looked through the glass walls of his office, into the atrium below.

Cutter and his island of misfit toys.

Enough to give even the staunchest civil servant indigestion all on his own, enough to knock down Parliament taken altogether.

There were days, more often than not, that he very devoutly wished that he were not a necromancer.

Being able to communicate with ghosts and see departed souls was a gift, true.

He just wished that he knew of a spell that could control his underlings just as easily as bones.

Living people were always more difficult than dead ones.