II.

When she'd accepted Alma Gilchrist Segura's offer, both of work and a place to stay, Stasi hadn't intended to stay long. She'd been grateful, not least because she needed to lie low for a while, and she actually liked these people. But she certainly hadn't seen herself settling down in Colorado Springs for the rest of her life.

She hadn't seen herself falling in love, either.

Having a fling, absolutely. But deeper emotions only got you killed, or worse: found out. Found out, stripped bare of all those carefully built personae she'd cultivated and needed for survival. Yet somehow, it had happened. She'd fallen for Mitch, only it hadn't felt like falling as much as it had felt like dancing, depending on each other for each exhilarating step and twirl, and on all the mutual work it took to make those twirls look effortless. When he'd asked her to marry him after that incredibly satisfying first night, she'd said yes, and hadn't regretted it yet, but three months later, there were times when she looked at herself and saw a stranger. What had happened to never wanting to be tied down again? And to a man who managed to be both wholesome enough to be someone's childhood hero and so deeply damaged that she'd once found him in a fugue state where he had barely recalled his own name.

The way he smiled at her warmed her from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair, but there was something in her that whispered, too, whispered: Run. Run now. This can't last, and if you don't leave now, you'll only have more poisoned memories.

The thing was, he'd run with her. For all that he gave the impression of being reliability incarnate, there was a crazy streak in Mitch to match hers. Just look at him now, enthralled at the prospect of doing some stunt flying above the icebergs, and maybe that was just for the joy of flying, and maybe it was because he had a shot at proving he could match an old enemy in skill, but he'd wanted to do it even before Henry Kershaw had added that story about possible possession and a Dybbuk.

"How about it, Miss Stasi?" he said, when they were alone. "It could be our honeymoon."

"Among icebergs and polar bears," Stasi said. "Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

Truth to tell, it did appeal to her, and would have in most circumstances, but there was something she hadn't yet decided to tell Mitch about. He thought chances were the actress Henry's friend was worried about wasn't possessed, but it couldn't hurt to make sure, and Stasi could do that while Mitch would have a go in Ernst Udet's apparently famous plane called "Moth". Stasi, on the other hand, was already as sure as she'd ever be that Leni Riefenstahl was entirely Dybbuk-free, and the reason she was so sure before ever meeting the woman was that there'd been a dead person standing next to Henry Kershaw the entire time Henry had pitched this job at them. It hadn't been easy, carrying on two conversations at the same time, but then, Stasi had practice.

"Look," the ghost had told her, speaking German with a strong Berlin accent, "all I want is a ride to Greenland. I don't have anything against Paul Kohner, he's a nice guy, but he was my one chance to make the trip, that's why I kept whispering in his ear, and it was enough of a connection so I could go with him from Berlin to Los Angeles. Then I switched to this Fritz here, because he's practically reeking of being usable. He's been used before, right? Anyway, there's something I need to do before I can move on. There really is. So what do you say, doll? Give a guy a break."

Stasi was used to bargaining with the Dead. She did the occasional favour for free, too, if she felt like it, but she didn't do so blindly. What the ghost had been done with Paul Kohner and Henry, and what he just asked her for, wasn't possession, it was the psychic equivalent of hitchhiking; her past experience warned her, though, that this might not be the end of his demands.

"When and how?" she asked, meaning when and how did the dead man from Berlin die, though both Henry and Mitch thought she was enquiring about travel arrangements. While Henry proceeded to explain that because the production had already been delayed and was running over budget, Mitch and Stasi would not, like the rest of the film team, be able to take the boat to Greenland but would have to fly, in the latest Terrier model that Republic, Henry's company, had to offer, the ghost grimaced. "Got killed while visiting a dancing palace," he said. "Would you believe that? Me and my mates were just having a good time, and in storm these thugs to beat us up. There were about twenty of us who got wounded. Three died. Including me. Thing is, I want to get justice, and believe it or not, travelling to that damn film set will get me that. Be a pal, take me with you. You and your man here, you're practically beacons, you can give me a lift without raising a sweat."

Stasi knew when ghosts were lying to her. This one wasn't. She could have told both Henry and Mitch right then and there, of course. But holding back information was the habit of a lifetime with her. It had literally saved her life more often than not. And besides, she suspected Henry Kershaw still held something of a grudge about that time when she'd relieved him of a cursed necklace. If he thought she was doing him and his friend Kohner a favour by investigating an actress for possession by a dead spirit, well, it would soothe any remaining feathers, surely, and given that he got Gilchrist Aviation their most lucrative gigs, that was all for the best.

She could tell Mitch. But Mitch wasn't a good liar and might think the whole thing underhanded. Also, she wanted to prove to herself that falling in love hadn't changed her that much. She was still herself. She was.

"Well, then, darling," Stasi said. "I suppose it's up, up, and away!"