Mod Skull: Mod Skull, here. Please tell me you've got something.

Mothman: Hey Mod Skull. My contact wants to know if the ghost anchor is damaged at all. Says that sometimes a damaged anchor lessens a ghost's control of itself and its effect on surrounding areas.

Lewis slumped. Of course. His fingers traced the fractured gray surface of his heart-shaped locket.

Mod Skull: Yeah, lots of cracks in it. We saw the ghost's anchor get damaged twice. First time it healed up, not sure why though. Hasn't healed from the second incident, and that time the damage was worse.

Mothman: Think you have your answer. Ghosts don't often have issues like you're describing. Manipulation of their surroundings is usually done on purpose, if at all. So if it's happening unintentionally and the ghost isn't being impeded or harassed by another spiritual entity, it's probably damage to the anchor.

Lewis plucked the locket from his suit and turned it around to stare at the surface. None of the cracks had closed even a little. It still looked like a firm hit might shatter it.

Mod Skull: ...*is typing*... We'll look into fixing the anchor, but …

Lewis paused. But how do we do that? He didn't want to make the Skulls look incompetent. This wasn't Mothman's issue to solve. Whoever Mothman really was, he sounded professional. He had a network and other operatives to draw on while the Skulls were still in the early stages of their career and still fumbling around. First impressions were important.

Mod Skull: ... *is typing* …

Asking what Mothman thought would fix the anchor could easily lead to unfortunate questions about what the rest of the Skulls thought, and Lewis was the only one looking into this. Hinting at discord within the team might also drive Mothman off.

"Delete that," he sighed. The Deadbeat cheerfully jammed the delete key. "Tell him, 'We'll see what we can do for him. Thanks for the tip.'" He had no idea what might fix this. Maybe some brainstorming in a notebook… or with Mystery? Mystery didn't seem averse to talking with him. Lewis just hadn't tried to start a conversation with Mystery since the mediation. Maybe he was awake? Lewis turned toward the door when the chat box dinged.

Mothman: Sure. No problem. Maybe I can come see the ghost? Might be able to help out.

Lewis tensed. There was no way that could happen.

Mothman: Ghosts aren't really my specialty, but I'm hitting a wall in my own field and could use a changeup to expand my learning.

Mothman: Travel isn't an issue, though if we could swing it on a weekend that would help.

Mothman: You wouldn't have to credit me or anything! It's just that some cross-training would be nice.

Mothman had been helpful, but any investigator they didn't personally know could be an exorcist looking for one more notch on their belt.

Still…

No. Too risky. Best give him the "thinking about it" line and think up a polite excuse later. Lewis put a hand on the doorknob, which gnashed at his fingers, chipping its fangs on his bone-plated gloves. "Tell him I have to think about it. I'll be back." Abandoning the doorknob, he phased through the door and drifted into the hall.

He glided past the windows, head turned to take in the evening view. A moon sliver grinned down at him from a pin-pricked sky. In the backyard, Yettle's leaves rustled in a breeze. A greenish yellow glow roamed among the branches. Cicadas screeched out their eerie orchestra in the grass.

Gingerly, he peeked around the corner into the kitchen. Nobody there, but a plate of food and accompanying fork still sat on the counter. He had definitely left two plates of Turmeric pilau and chicken curry sitting there; his second attempt at dinner. Lewis snagged the dish—cold, now—and turned it around and around in his hands. Pink flames gently licked up from his palms, heating the ceramic plate and the food on it. Vivi might be hostile to him, but she'd never turned down his cooking. Highly likely she'd already claimed her dish.

Arthur, on the other hand… he'd never turn down an opportunity to eat per say, but he did have a bad habit of forgetting that he needed food. Especially if he was excited about a project or upset about something.

Wait, Arthur is back, right? Lewis peeked out front, confirmed the presence of the van, and returned to the kitchen. Definitely back, and he hadn't seen Arthur in the backyard, so…

He stared down at the plate, wisps of fire curling around the edges. Delivering the food wouldn't be too intrusive, right? Something that simple wouldn't set Arthur off. If Lewis set the food down a few feet away, it wouldn't fry Arthur's arm or any of his projects either. Too simple to get wrong. Too easy to screw up. It would be fine. It would be fine. It—

Smoked drifted up from the plate. Lewis quickly dissipated his flames, flapping his free hand at the smoke. He scooted out of the kitchen and into the hall, glancing nervously at the smoke alarms. The last thing he needed was Vivi charging out to banish him over a cooking mistake.

The cracks in his locket ached. She really would.

Once the plate stopped smoking, Lewis scooped the burnt bits of chicken and rice from the edges of the plate and dropped them in Mystery's bowl. He didn't seem to care as much. Not that Arthur would, but it was the principle of the thing.

Lewis turned his head slowly, looking down the other half of the hall that led to the bedrooms. The light was on under Arthur's door. Simple food delivery. Making sure Arthur actually ate today, a good hot meal with no burned bits. No big deal. Best friends would do that.

He gave Vivi's room a wide berth as he passed, his form rippling at the unpleasant aura seething off the door. The last time he'd glanced at the door, he'd… actually he wasn't sure what had happened. The next thing he remembered was emerging from the locket and checking the time to find half a day had passed. He was careful to not approach that door too closely or look directly at it anymore.

He carefully set the plate down on the ground in front of Arthur's door. Something loud whirred on the other side, and shadows flitted through the light underneath. He'd have to knock hard enough to catch Arthur's attention. Bracing himself, he rapped his knuckles on the door.

Shave-and-a-hair-cut.

The whirring stopped. Lewis quickly phased upward, concealing himself inside the ceiling. He poked his skull out just enough to see the door crack inward. Arthur peered out, scanning the empty hall for a couple seconds before dropping his eyes down to the floor, where the plate of food waited.

"Oh. Oh! I… Yeah." Arthur leaned down—only one arm?—and picked up the plate, grimacing. He scanned the hallway again, then sighed. "Not sure if you're around to hear me, but… thanks. I forgot."

Lewis felt a touch lighter. I figured.

Arthur remained in the doorway, looking from the plate of food in his hand to the empty hall and back again. After a few seconds of this, he spoke again. "Um. Hey. If you. Y'know. Happen to be in hearing range. Wanna… come sit? With me? I'm just. Um." He jerked his head backward. "Working on the arm. I haven't…" he trailed off, focusing hard on the plate. "...haven't really seen you. Around. Much."

Lewis held very still.

"So." Arthur looked up at the hall once more. "Yeah… door's open." He backed up into his room. "Metaphorically. I'm shutting the actual door for now." With that, he nudged it closed with his foot.

Moments later, Lewis' narrow shoes touched the floor without a sound.

It it really…?

It has to be alright. Arthur says it is.

But there's so much nobody says out loud now. Even before, there were things that went unsaid. Unasked. Does Arthur really want… or is he just trying to be polite? Trying to say what he thinks will keep me from getting upset?

"I haven't really seen you. Around. Much." Doesn't sound like placating an angry spirit.

Hesitantly, Lewis knocked on the door, much softer than before.

Shave-and-a-hair-cut.

Long pause. Then, "Two bits," Arthur called.

Lewis poked the door with a finger, easing it open slowly and peeking around the edge.

Arthur's room wasn't technically part of the house. It was the garage. He'd claimed it immediately, declaring a combination bedroom-workshop was what he'd always wanted and that Vivi should get the single bedroom. He had a metal frame and blanket swathed mattress shoved up against the wall that the garage shared with the house. Dirty clothes tended to collect on the floor around the bed. Lewis put clean clothes in the bookshelf Arthur had dragged in from someone's yard sale. The rest of the garage was dedicated to large machinery Lewis could never hope to put a name to and workbenches littered with medium to small specialty tools. There were one or two lamps per workstation and a space heater per two workstations.

Arthur bolted up from the nearest workstation, dinner still in hand. Bits of rice flew off the edge of the plate. "Hey! Oops. Sorry. I'll, uh, sweep that. Later."

Lewis rolled his eyes. Sawdust and metal shavings already blanketed the ground around the station. You and I both know you'll get distracted and never give it another thought.

Arthur grimaced, setting the plate down. "Eh, sorry. I know I don't do that as often as I should. Usually you end up… you don't have to, you know. It's okay, I can handle it. I'll get to it eventually."

Lewis waved his hands in short strokes in front of his chest. No, no. Not a problem. It gives me something to do.

Arthur hesitated, tilting his head. "Is that 'No, that's okay' or 'sweeping is a virtue'?"

Lewis paused, then lifted one finger. First one.

"Ah. Got it." He sat back on the stool. "I'll get the hang of this. Though." He frowned, forking a piece of chicken and chewing on it. "I haven't heard anything from Vivi in the research department about your talking issue. I gotta… bug her. About that." He sighed, shutting his eyes.

Lewis looked around for something that he couldn't fry on contact. He drifted to a sawhorse, dragging it a few feet further from the workstation, and pointed to it. Can I sit here?

Arthur blinked. "Come again?"

Lewis pointed to himself, then pointed to the sawhorse.

"... you want to possess it?"

Lewis stared at Arthur. Slowly, he perched himself on the sawhorse.

"Oh! Oh, yeah, you can sit there. Not a problem. Thanks for joining me. I haven't seen you around much."

Lewis' eyes shifted to the fork in Arthur's hand. Because he was watching for it, he saw the fork tremble. The cracks in his locket ached again.

You're still scared of me.

Arthur sat down. "Haven't really gotten a chance to say it to your face, but you're still the best cook I know. It's really nice. This." He gestured to the plate. "Thank you. Something else you don't… y'know. Have to do. But thank you."

Lewis dipped his head once. Silence reclaimed the garage as Arthur tucked into the food. With every bite, tension bled away from Arthur, and Lewis warmed to see the food vanish with increasing speed. Still incapable of savoring anything, Lewis noted with amusement. You and Vivi both. Absolute heathens.

Next to the rapidly vanishing meal lay Arthur's prosthetic. A couple panels hung open, exposing wires and circuits. A tiny, expensive looking tool stuck out of an opening.

About three bites from the end, Arthur glanced up. "Hey, Lew? Do you have something else to do right now?"

Is he asking to excuse me from the room? Is he asking because he wants me to do something for him?

"I mean, if you're not busy, and if it's not too boring for you, mind sticking around with me for a bit?"

Lewis relaxed, nodding.

"You do mind?"

He shook his head hard.

"You don't mind. Okay. Got it." Arthur's smile was a little crooked, but it reached his eyes. "I'll get there. Thought it would be nice to hang out, some. Maybe on nights when I don't need total focus?"

Lewis stared at the arm. That doesn't require his total focus? The corners of his eyesockets turned up and he nodded. I'll be by more often. It would be nice.

The cracks ached a little less.

Mod Skull: Sorry, but we're not ready to do in-person collaboration at this point. Team members who don't communicate smoothly can make rookie mistakes, and we're not ready to work with unfamiliar people yet. Really appreciate the tips, though, and I'll keep the blog updated with our progress.

Mothman: Yeah. No problem. Glad I could help. Let me know if you change your mind.