THREE: PERSEPHONE
JODI

Jodi crunches through the snowy streets, making her slow way back towards Foster Road and Rick Fawkes' project. Lothian, always the more energetic one, ranges ahead, flying up onto lampposts and the eaves of nearby houses, dislodging showers of snow with the sweep of his tail and wings.

It's been a long day already, and it's barely half ten. Breakfast was weird – everyone staring and trying to hide it – and the walk through town to the library wasn't much better. She didn't pass many people, but she did pass some. Fergus Wright didn't recognise her and stopped to welcome her to town before figuring out who she was and trailing off awkwardly; Carrie Savage recognised her immediately, narrowed her eyes and said good morning Alex in such a cold tone that Jodi didn't have the courage to correct her. Fortunately, she didn't have to. Lothian banked around immediately and landed at her feet, making a thin, needling whine that set her teeth on edge and disrupted the venom radiating from Carrie's head, and Carrie just walked on by with her skiploom, leaving Jodi trembling and trying to stop her heart from pounding its way right out of her chest.

The library was okay, though. Lorna is a librarian right down to the pith of her bones, aggressively sensible in the face of any and all weirdness, and she processed Jodi's new face the way she would a new edition: old one stored away for archival purposes, new one taking its public position. Good morning, my dear, she said. I haven't seen you in a long time. And Jodi said (shaking a little) I know, it's been ages. By the way, can I update the name on my library card? It's Jodi. And Lorna said of course, Jodi, I'll just need you to sign the new one on the back here.

So off she went to find the Pokédex, card in hand, grinning at the clumsy new signature on the back like a kid on Christmas morning. Simone glared at her over the top of her book, but that was fine; Simone glares at everyone. She doesn't mean anything by it. Jodi said hi and Simone mumbled something back before returning her attention to the intricacies of beekeeping.

Then back to the awkwardness. Tacoma is … well, Jodi didn't really expect her to be doing well, given her current situation, but the girl thing and the way they've suddenly been forced out of their estrangement is making things even worse. Frankly, Jodi is a little scared of her. She does her best not to snoop too much in other people's minds – it's kind of rude – but it's hard not to pick up on the violent negativity seething within Tacoma's rock.

If she was any kind of friend, Jodi tells herself, she'd try to talk to her about it. But they aren't friends any more, just strangers shoved into unnaturally close proximity, and anyway Jodi doesn't have the guts to broach the subject with her. So. She walks on through the snow in silence, and tries not to think about how weird it is that she's carrying Tacoma's prison cell around with her in her shoulder bag.

Up ahead, Lothian glides down from the roof of the Mercers' house to land on the skip outside Rick's project. Now, after the weather has driven all the builders away until spring, it sits there looking raw and unfinished, the plastic sheeting covering the scaffolding flapping disconsolately in the wind. It's a familiar sight. A running joke in Mahogany is that Rick Fawkes' house will be just about done by the time the bombs finally fall, though Jodi has always found the humour somewhat limited. She pauses for a minute to lean against the skip and catch her breath, then beams a message down to Tacoma.

We're here.

Okay. Tacoma replies just a little too quickly. Okay, cool. Is it, uh … safe for me to come out?

Jodi looks around. Nobody else is out, although it's difficult to say who might be watching from the windows of the houses.

I don't know, she replies. Maybe?

Lothian starts scratching around in the skip, kicking little flurries of snow over the edge into the street. Jodi would like to oversee this herself, but she really has no way of getting up there to help; she can barely even climb steep stairs.

Huh, says Tacoma. Okay, I'll … can you take the rock out of your bag?

Sure. Out it comes, sitting heavily in her hand. How much do souls weigh? Enough to make this thing far heavier than it has any right to be, it seems. That okay?

Yeah. Yeah, I think, if I just lean in …

Something shifts. Jodi can't tell exactly what without enlisting Lothian's help, but something about the rock is not the way it was before.

Like I thought, says Tacoma, satisfied. I can see out the crack if I concentrate on not pushing all the way out.

Oh. Cool.

I can also hear, by the way. So you can save your energy and just speak normally.

"Okay." Suppressing the urge to look around for watching eyes, Jodi lifts up the rock and turns the crack to face Lothian, digging through the iced-over rubble in the skip. "Can you see?"

Yeah. Pause. Are we expecting to find anything?

"I dunno," says Jodi. "Figured it was worth a shot."

Abruptly, Lothian stops, and a faint hum that Jodi wasn't really aware of until it ended stops with him. He looks at her, and sends a guttural vibration crunching through her gut: nothing.

"Right." She sighs. "Guess they only threw the rock in here, whoever it was. Makes sense. Anything else would stand out."

Sure. Tacoma pauses. So, uh … what now?

What indeed. Jodi chews her lip as she mulls it over. What other leads do they have? Nick, obviously, but you don't need to be an empath to know that going up to a man grieving for his dead niece and asking probing questions is not a good idea. Apart from that, well. There aren't a lot of options, honestly. Maybe if she was a cop she could get away with just outright asking people if they know anything, but given who she is, she suspects that's not going to fly. (She thinks of Carrie Savage, and shivers in a way that has nothing to do with the cold.)

"About last night," she says, turning the rock around so Tacoma can see her. "You said you weren't ready. But, um, are you ready now?"

To talk about it? I guess. I mean, we kind of already are.

"Okay." Jodi glances up and down the street. Someone's walking down from the junction with Shadwell Road, and she decides to move on, to keep up the pretence that she's just out for a walk. Besides, it's cold. Too cold to just stand around like this. "Okay," she says again, "so what I know is that Aaron found you in the river. You were strangled, I think. That's all I've got. Does it maybe jog your memory?"

Um … not really, sorry. I don't remember being strangled.

Pause. Lothian swoops low over her head with a shriek, making sure to swipe at her hat with his tail. Jodi laughs and watches him soar upwards again, wheeling back and forth across the colourless winter sky. So bright today. She has no idea how he stands it up there.

Tacoma's mind darkens next to hers, curdling with sorrow, and Jodi's laugh dies on her lips as it slithers into the recesses of her own brain and poisons the moment. Nikole. Of course. And here she is, flaunting Lothian without a thought in the world for Tacoma and her heartbreak.

Should she say something? She should say something.

"I … I'm sorry about Nikole," she says, looking down at the rock in her hand. "Really. Maybe if we can find where it happened, we can track her down."

Yeah, says Tacoma. Maybe.

Jodi keeps walking. House after house, all as anonymous as each other under their coating of snow. Some of them have shovelled driveways, but most don't. Mahogany is small enough to walk, for the most part, and it's just easier to only clear enough space for you to get from door to pavement.

"Morning, Alex," calls Roger Young, as he steps out of his front door.

"Morning," Jodi replies. He smiles and sets off down the street in the other direction without sparing her a second glance.

Not particularly observant, huh, says Tacoma.

"Better than mean," says Jodi, and then instantly regrets it as a little tremor of concern runs through Tacoma's mind.

Right, she says. Right.

A few seconds' awkward silence. Then:

You know, I … I think I remember where it happened.

"Really?" Jodi stops, hefts the rock so she can look at her properly. "Where?"

In the park.

Jodi scowls, considering this.

"When did your train get in again?"

I didn't say. But four thirteen.

"So the sun was going down."

Yeah. People would've noticed if it had happened on a street …

"But not if it happened behind the trees." Lothian has landed on a wall up ahead, looking back at her expectantly, but Jodi barely notices. "And there wouldn't be anyone else in the park either, would there? Just you, because it's so much quicker to cut through the park if you're going that way."

Even with the snow, yeah.

"Yeah. Okay." Jodi breathes out, sends a plume of her breath steaming whitely through the chilly air. "I guess we need to head over there and see what we can find, then. While it's all fresh."

I guess. Tacoma doesn't sound that enthusiastic, but then, that's probably to be expected. Things didn't exactly go great for her the last time she was there. But, uh, won't your family be expecting you? You came home yesterday, you got up, you went out all morning?

"I'll say I … needed some time. Or something." Jodi shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. They'll buy it, what with – what with me, I guess. And you. And everything."

If you're sure, says Tacoma. I just don't want you to – I mean, you know. You just got home. You should …

Jodi waits, but it seems she has nothing else to say.

"If you're not ready," she says, "then that's fine, we can come back later, or―"

No. No, it's fine. Her mind swirls, dark and ominous. Let's go do this.

"All right, sure."

She doesn't move. Down the street, Lothian shuffles impatiently, and a familiar vibration plucks at her nerves: what's wrong?

"Nothing, Lothi," calls Jodi, forcing her aching legs back into motion. "We're just coming."

She glances down at the rock once more as she goes, like she could see Tacoma's face if she tried, but all she sees is the crack, as dim and lifeless as the stone it is.

Three Pines Park is all but abandoned. The long path cutting across it from the southeast to northwest corners has been ploughed at some point in the past few days – people use it to shave ten minutes off the trip through the town centre – but other than that, the whole thing is one smooth, unbroken sheet of white. The snow must have been building up here for a while; the children's playground on the left is almost completely buried, the upper half of the swing frame standing out above the tops of the rockers and roundabouts. On the other side, Jodi sees nothing at all but snow, all the way out to the railing along the King's Road.

It's always a little unnerving, walking through Mahogany after months in Goldenrod. The city wears the recession on its sleeve: boarded-up windows that have gone unrepaired since the war, smokeless chimneys, the homeless people in every other corner whose naked despair roars against Jodi's mind like a cold flame. Mahogany looks so quiet and comfortable by comparison – but Jodi knows well enough that all you have to do is open a door to see the threadbare coats and pinched faces. There's a reason Ella has been painting over and over the same five canvases for the past six months, and why Lorna lets Simone Weller sleep on the upper floor of the library.

Lothian flies on ahead and lands on one of the trees that line the path, before the snow slides off the branch beneath his claws and carries him with it. He hits the ground with an aggrieved shriek and jumps back to his feet, brushing snow out of his fur and trying hard to look like this is exactly where he meant to end up. Jodi hides her smile and lets him have his moment.

She has to slow down here. Not just because the path isn't as clear as the pavements, but because she's been out for a while now, and there's a limit to how much walking around town she can stand. She does try to take exercise and keep her strength up, despite her leg, but given that most of what she eats gets sucked up by her overdeveloped brain, she struggles to take in enough calories to maintain muscle tone. That was one of the problems she ran into on her trainer journey; she didn't have much money for food, and so she just didn't get any stronger, no matter how much hiking she did. By the time they got to Hawthorn she was actually thinner than when they'd left. Tacoma tried to go slow for her, but Jodi could tell that it was a struggle.

"Anywhere along here look familiar?" she asks, holding up the rock. "You can probably come out if you want a better look. There's nobody here."

Cool.

That strange rushing noise, and then there she is, swirling out from the crack in her purple cloud. Tacoma shakes her head a little, the thread connecting her to the rock flexing and stretching as she moves, and sighs.

"Light," she says. "God. This is so much better than peeking through the crack. Feels more like I'm outside." She looks around. "Right, so. I don't think it was here. Definitely came this way, though."

"Okay."

They keep moving, girl and ghost and the noivern up ahead, between thickets of bare branches and bright white snow. Jodi's hand is getting tired; she shifts the rock from her hand into the crook of her arm, making Tacoma float just in front of her shoulder. This close, Jodi can feel a faint warmth emanating from her mist. It's surprising. She always thought ghosts were cold. Then again – if you compress gas, it gets hot, right? So what if you compress a hundred souls into one rock?

Well, what would Jodi know? She's neither a scientist nor a theologian. She isn't even a proper empath, yet. Not certified, anyway.

"Maybe here, actually." Tacoma glares at a huge, skeletal beech. "I think – I definitely came this way. Might have been here? Might have been further on. I know I passed this tree, but I don't remember passing the, you know, Con Wicke's tree?"

Of course Jodi knows. Nobody will ever let Con forget that before he was a cop, he was a teenager with a pocket knife and an insatiable thirst to carve his name in anything that would take it. Over the decades, time and storms have taken out a couple of the benches that once proudly proclaimed that Con Was Here, but the massive oak halfway through the park is still there, and still scarred.

"Sure," says Jodi. "So, somewhere between here and there." She looks down the path. That might be the oak over there, though it's hard to tell from a distance, and without any leaves. There's nothing immediately obvious lying around, no monogrammed handkerchiefs or bloody handprints or anything else incriminating, but then, she supposed she wasn't expecting any. "Keep an eye out, then," she says. "I'll go slow. Slower."

Tacoma doesn't smile. Not that it was all that funny, really, but Jodi did think it might lighten the mood a little. Probably Tacoma isn't really in the mood for jokes.

They walk on in silence, eyes firmly on the path and the snow banks around it, but there's no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Jodi isn't sure what she expected. Tacoma was strangled, right? A bloodless way to go. Sure, she might have struggled, knocked over her bags or kicked the snow, but it's been a couple of days now. There won't be any evidence of that left.

It takes her a minute to realise what she's thinking, and when she does she's shocked. A bloodless way to go. God. What an awful thing. Jodi imagines thick fingers crushing her throat, and has to suppress the urge to glance over her shoulder. No killers here, she reminds herself. And even if there were, Lothian would hear them coming a mile off.

Okay. She really needs to say something now, or she's going to start imagining footsteps on the path behind her.

"So," says Jodi. "D'you, um … have any ideas?"

"About what?"

"About who – who we're looking for."

"Who killed me, you mean," says Tacoma. Her voice is as bitter and black as raw olives; Jodi winces to hear it.

"I was trying to put it nicer than that," she says. "Sorry. But yeah. About that."

"Right." She does not sound or seem apologetic. "Well. No."

"Nothing at all?"

"I don't know, Al― Jodi, sorry." Tacoma turns her face away, embarrassed. "I mean, nobody hates me that much. I think." She sighs. "I guess I don't know that any more, either."

"Sorry," says Jodi. "Just, if you do have any idea …"

"No. I mean, I don't know. I mean – hell, I guess Harry knew where I was, but he couldn't have known I had the rock, right? And I don't see why he'd care, anyway."

"Right," agrees Jodi, wishing she'd left this can of worms unopened. It's too soon for this. She should let Tacoma adjust before she starts throwing stuff like this at her. "Right," she repeats, and lets the silence grow between them.

At least they can be pretty confident the killer won't strike again. There's only one ghost rock in Mahogany, and as far as anyone else knows, it's gone now.

CON WAS HERE, says the oak, coming up on the left. Jodi sighs and glances at Tacoma.

"Okay," she said. "I guess you didn't spot anything either?"

"Nope." Tacoma won't meet her eye. "Thanks for looking, I guess."

"We're not done yet. Lothi!" Further up the path, Lothian turns, bounds back towards her. Jodi feels a bass hum in the marrow of her bones: what, he wants to know, does she need? "Can you do something for me?" An affirmative hum around the nape of her neck. "This whole stretch of path," she explains, "from this tree to the big beech back there. I need you to tell me if there's anything under the snow. No," she continues, in response to the questioning tilt of his head, "anything weird, okay? Not rocks or twigs, something that shouldn't be here. Got it?"

The affirmative hum returns, and Lothian begins to stalk down the path, ears locked together to form a single panel a radar dish. Every now and then, he pauses to scratch away a layer of snow from the bank at the side of the road and uncover whatever it is he finds, but he doesn't immediately locate anything worth showing Jodi.

She watches him for a moment, then leans against Con's tree to free up her hand to go through her bag.

"Cigarette?" she asks. Tacoma looks uncertain.

"I dunno if I can any more," she says.

"You wanna try anyway?"

Tacoma's face cracks into an unexpected smile.

"Sure," she says. "Just, uh, stick it in there."

Jodi puts one in Tacoma's mouth and one in her own. She's just trying to find her lighter when Tacoma interrupts.

"Uh, hang on, let me get that," she says, and a moment later two tiny purple flames pop briefly into existence at the end of each cigarette, lighting them both.

"Nice!" Jodi takes hers out of her mouth and inspects it. It's glowing purple rather than red, but other than that it seems to be pretty much normal. "So you're getting to grips with your ghostly powers, huh?"

"Yeah, kinda." Tacoma does something that might be called inhaling; a wisp of smoke detaches from her cigarette and swirls around inside her before drifting out in erratic grey puffs. "Not quite beating up a dude with a shadow, but I sure can light a cigarette."

The acid edge in her voice burns Jodi with its touch. She smokes silently for a moment, wondering whether to say something or not, and then Lothian tenses suddenly and she feels the sharp hum of his excitement tingle down her nerves.

"What have you got?" she calls, relieved of the distraction. He makes a squeak without a message, then turns around with something shiny in his mouth.

"Is that …?" Tacoma doesn't finish. With some difficulty, Jodi bends down, and Lothian pushes the shiny thing into her hand.

"It's … a pen," she says, staring at it. An expensive one too, by the look of it – the kind that you inherit, or receive as a gift to mark a special occasion. Blue-black lacquered barrel and cap. Gold clip, gold nib, a little stained with ink. "I mean, it's distinctive," she says, sliding the cap back on. "But I don't know anyone with a pen like this. Do you?"

Tacoma keeps looking at the pen. Something awful is leaking from her mind, so strong and poisonous that Jodi almost chokes on it.

"Tacoma?" she asks, coughing. Her cigarette slips from her mouth into the snow. "Tac― ugh, Tacoma, what's wrong?"

For a long, painful moment, she says nothing, smoke billowing out of her in clouds. When at last she does speak, her voice is smaller and thinner than Jodi has ever heard it before.

"It's Nick's," she says, her cigarette tumbling from her lips to join Jodi's on the ground. "That pen belongs to my uncle."

Tacoma isn't doing well. Jodi had a sense that she wasn't doing well before, but she really isn't doing well now. So she had Lothian clear a park bench of snow, and then sat down there with her, to give her the moment she seems to need.

"How are you feeling?" asks Jodi, after a little while has passed. The question is mostly redundant; she already knows that the initial shock is passing, and now Tacoma is just deeply, painfully sad. But you have to ask anyway. It's just what people do.

"You already fucking know," snaps Tacoma, and then when she sees Jodi flinch she sinks her head down low against the cold slats of the bench. "Sorry," she mutters. "You didn't deserve that."

For a long moment, Jodi can't answer, has to concentrate on fighting the constriction in her chest and throat. Between her own sudden fear and Tacoma's own sorrow, her brain feels like it's going to burst open at the seams.

Lothian puts his claws on the side of the bench and rests his head in her lap, sending soothing vibrations thrumming down her nerves. A second passes, then another, and then, at last, Jodi's throat opens up again.

"It's understandable," she says, in the end. "I'm really sorry, Tacoma."

"You didn't―"

"I mean I'm sorry that this is happening." Jodi hesitates, then reaches out to put her arm around her. Tacoma resists for a second, but then leans in against Jodi's shoulder, mist splashing against her coat. "It's not conclusive," she says, hoping it isn't too soon for this. "Your uncle could've dropped his pen here at any time."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess."

Long pause. Somewhere a long way away, past the trees and snow and the railing at the edge of the park, a car rumbles down a road.

Nick could have dropped his pen there at any time. He could also have dropped it there when he murdered his niece. It's strange, but until now it just hadn't occurred to Jodi to wonder who did this; she was too busy trying to deal with the fact that it had happened at all. But someone did. Someone dug their fingers into Tacoma's throat and pulled until they turned a living girl into a dead body.

Nick could have …

"His plane didn't get in to Goldenrod till my train got in to Mahogany," says Tacoma suddenly, twitching upright again. "He wasn't … God, he wasn't here."

Her relief courses through Jodi's mind like an avalanche down the mountainside, unstoppable, sweeping all else out of its path. Lothian chirps and pulls away from her, unnerved by the strength of this third-hand emotion, and Jodi lets out a long, shaky breath as he goes. Okay. Okay, great.

"All right," she says, not really hearing herself speak. "All right, that's … I'm glad, Tacoma."

"But then why's the pen here?" Tacoma is animated now, twisting to face her, disc spinning faster and faster in her agitation. "Last time he was here was – I don't even know, summer maybe? And he couldn't have lost it then. He would have been complaining about it, I would have heard, like – he loves that thing. Granddad bought it for him when he graduated. So what's the pen doing here?"

"I don't know." Jodi holds out a calming hand, tries to project conciliatory feelings. Lothian picks up on her efforts and joins in, translating her emotion into his vibes and pulsing it outwards at the world. "I don't know, Tacoma. It's just one clue, we don't – we really don't know enough yet."

"I mean sure. I guess." Tacoma makes a frustrated noise, swaying a little on the thread that connects her to the stone. Had she hands, Jodi thinks, she'd probably be gesturing frantically. "I just … I don't know what to think."

"I know. I don't either."

Some of the energy seems to leave her then; Tacoma closes her eyes for a second, lets the thread pull her back into position by the stone.

"Let's just go back," she says. "We're done here."

"Are you sure?" asks Jodi. "We could … I dunno, really. Look around some more."

Even as she says it, she can hear how inadequate it sounds. Look around some more. Like there's anything else to see here.

"We're done," repeats Tacoma. "C'mon, your family will think you died out here."

Jodi stays sitting there for a while longer, watching the branches sway in the icy breeze. Every so often they creak, as the weight of the shifting snow pulls them a little further out of position.

Out of nowhere, the thought comes to her that there's a murderer out there somewhere, beyond the dappled white and dark, and she shivers with more than the cold. Her family will think she died out here, huh? She did promise she wouldn't stay out too long. It sort of felt like the right thing to do, given that one of the friendly faces of her childhood is apparently not so friendly after all.

"Okay," she says. "Lothi, can you grab those cigarettes we dropped? Better throw 'em out on the way home."

Tacoma looks up at that.

"Your parents know you smoke?" she asks.

Jodi shrugs.

"Probably. I'm not a very good liar." Pause. "Yours?"

Tacoma smiles thinly.

"Nah," she says. "I was always a better liar than you."

"You were," agrees Jodi.

The past falls like snow, piling up in thick drifts around them. How many little secrets have they had between them? Broken windows, illicit cigarettes, stolen beers. One time just before they left for their trainer journey, Victor Orbeck was sent home from school with a split lip and Tacoma was sent home for causing it; nobody could ever get her to say why. But Jodi knew. Victor was the kind of boy who found Jodi's frailty objectionable. And Tacoma was the kind of girl who found her fists were a great way to solve problems.

"I never meant for things to work out this way, you know," says Tacoma. "I was gonna come visit."

She's lying. It's okay. She doesn't know she's doing it.

"You were busy," says Jodi.

"I was an asshole."

"You were busy," repeats Jodi. "You needed those results."

"I made time for other people. Shoulda made time for you too."

It's hard to argue with that. Harder still to explain why it is that Jodi doesn't blame her for it. But she really doesn't. Jodi was – well, she was dead weight. Busted leg, mutant brain, an annoying tendency to know how you feel before you do. Meanwhile, Tacoma was whip smart, the scholarship girl, one of just four from their year to go on to university. Jodi wouldn't have got a place at Goldenrod herself if scoring above fifty on the psychic test didn't get you a guaranteed government scholarship for psionics training. But Tacoma got her place – at Saffron's Yellowbrick University, no less, the best school on the Tohjo peninsula – off the back of her own smarts and hard work. And okay, Jodi didn't know she was going to do this back then, but as she got older she saw more clearly that Tacoma was way out of her league. People like Jodi don't get friends like her.

When it happened, it hurt. It really did. But at least Jodi was in a position to see that it was inevitable. Sooner or later, someone like Tacoma was always going to get tired of someone like her, and it was probably best she make that transition as smooth and easy for her as she could.

"Let's not fight," she says, unwilling to explain and risk a conflict that will make her head feel like it's about to explode. "C'mon. You're right, it's time to go."

She gets up. Lothian, who has so far been hanging back, places the two half-smoked cigarettes into her palm.

"Thank you, Lothi." She puts them in the pocket of her coat and turns to Tacoma. "Is it okay for me to …?"

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead."

She picks Tacoma up and tucks her back into the crook of her arm. Maybe she'll finally grow some muscles, if she carries this rock around much longer.

"Should we leave the pen here?" she asks. "I mean, I don't know if it's evidence or anything."

"Dunno," replies Tacoma. "I just … whatever, just put it back. Nick can get it himself."

"Sure?"

"No. I don't know." She sighs. "Look, it's a crime scene, right? You're not meant to interfere with those. And I mean like we are interfering, but we probably don't want to let the cops know."

"Right. Right, I guess so." Jodi gives the pen back to Lothian. "Put it back where you found it, Lothi."

He reburies it carefully, patting the snowdrift back into place around the pen, and looks up expectantly. Jodi transmits a grateful thought and gets a happy vibe in return.

"I guess I better go back in," says Tacoma unenthusiastically, intruding on their wordless conversation. "Don't wanna get you in any trouble."

Right. Someone went to a lot of effort to make sure the spiritomb rock was out of the way; they won't be pleased to discover that someone's managed to activate it. Jodi would like to say it's nice hanging out with Tacoma, that she doesn't have to disappear till they get out from behind the trees if she doesn't want to, but she can't quite make up her mind whether it'd be kinder to say that or to tell her she can go if she wants.

Tacoma's mind is dark, contradictory. No help from that quarter. In the end, Jodi just smiles awkwardly.

"It's your choice," she says, hoping that Tacoma knows what she means.

She doesn't answer. A moment later, she dwindles and disappears.

Jodi stands there for a few seconds, feeling something she can't quite name. Not quite disappointment, not quite sorrow.

She has to fix this, somehow. Really has to. Tacoma can't go on this way. Is there a way to put her back in her body? Probably not, honestly; Jodi's never heard of a ghost being resurrected, and even if there was, she wouldn't be able to figure it out before the funeral came and Tacoma's body disappeared forever. But she might at least be able to get her out of the rock. When it's safe, when the killer is caught …

Lothian plucks at her nerves and nudges her thigh, eyes turned up to her own.

"Yeah," she sighs, pulling herself together. "One thing at a time, right?"

It's debatable whether he knows what she's asking him, but he says yes all the same. Jodi pats him on the head, and sets off for home.

On the way out of the park, they bump into Gabriella Kendrick coming the other way with her shopping bag hooked over her elbow. She stops for a moment when she sees Jodi, looking puzzled, and then Lothian swoops down between them and the penny drops.

"Oh," she says, eyes wide, mind blank with shock. "I … didn't recognise you."

"Hi, Gabbi." Stay relaxed, Jodi tells herself. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. "It's, uh, it's Jodi now."

"Right." Gabriella blinks. It's a very pretty blink; Gabriella is widely reckoned to be the most beautiful woman in the county, with ice-smooth skin and vibrant auburn hair. This doesn't do much for Jodi's nerves. "Okay, Jodi. Nice, to, uh, see you."

The moment when they could have just said hi and walked on by each other is long past. Now they have to actually talk, and Jodi is certain that Gabriella is exactly as uneasy about this as she is.

At least her wingull isn't with her. Pocket description: his name is Jack, but long years of unintentional training mean that he also answers to 'bastard'. Even Lothian is a little afraid of him, and Jodi always finds his raw hostility kind of overwhelming.

"So did you walk all the way in from the station?" Jodi asks her. Gabriella lives with Sam Spade in a bungalow behind their petrol station, out on the edge of town. Sam has always claimed that Gabriella is her cousin from New Bark, and everyone has always pretended to believe her, with the notable exception of Sam's parents, who are only children and also not on speaking terms with their daughter.

"I did," says Gabriella. "Petrol's expensive, even if you own the station. And I thought I could use the air." She smiles. Jodi can tell she doesn't mean it, but she wants to mean it, and that's even sweeter, in its own way. "What, um, what are you doing out here?"

She's making an effort. Jodi appreciates that. She doesn't ask that people to be cool with her right away, she just asks that they try.

"Me? Uh, same, I guess. Getting some air." Jodi pauses. Can't be any harm in probing, can there? "And … and I figure this is the route Tacoma took," she says, letting her gaze fall a little.

"Oh. Right." Gabriella's smile dwindles and dies. "I'm sorry, A― sorry, Jodi. You two were close, right?"

"We fell out of touch a bit. But … yeah." Jodi sighs. "I miss her." She pauses for a moment, long enough to make Gabriella feel awkward, and then hits her with her best hopeful look. "You haven't heard anything, have you?" she asks. "Or seen anything?"

Now Gabriella looks about as uncomfortable as she really feels. Jodi can't imagine she ever thought she'd be having this conversation with her. Normally they just talk about music; Gabriella used to teach Jodi violin, and she is also one of very few people in Mahogany other than Jodi who like the synth-heavy stuff that's started coming out of the Goldenrod music scene in the past few years. From there to dead friends is a hell of a leap.

"Oh, I don't know," she says. You can hear the New Bark in her voice, in the way she enunciates. Whatever life Gabriella really came from, it sure seems classier than anything in Mahogany. "I mean, there have been all kinds of rumours …"

"Yeah?" Jodi doesn't need to feign her interest now. "What have you heard?"

"Well, Sam says there was a car drove into town that evening that she didn't recognise," replies Gabriella. "Blue Crowne with Kantan plates."

Crowne is a Kantan manufacturer; their cars are far and away the most common on Johtonian roads, mostly because they're cheap. But this wasn't a Johtonian car, clearly. And Jodi can't think of any reason why someone would be driving all the way from Kanto to Mahogany, of all places.

"Kantan plates?" asks Jodi. "There was a stranger in town?"

"Maybe." Gabriella shifts nervously on her feet. "Look, Jodi, it's probably nothing. Sam also said that Hester told her she saw someone driving a creepy black sedan with tinted windows that evening, and Jack Flanagan is telling everyone he meets that he swears he saw someone dragging a body down the alley round the back of Green Street." She sighs. "People are worked up, Jodi. You know?"

"Yeah," says Jodi. "I know." She fiddles with her thumbnail through her glove, trying to look like a thwarted kid. It's not very hard. It's basically what she is, after all. "I just miss her, is all."

Gabriella reaches out, puts a hesitant hand on her arm. Her awkwardness hovers around her like an anxious ghost. She can't be any older than twenty-eight; she probably doesn't feel old enough to be playing the role she's suddenly found herself in.

"I know," she says. "We all do." Pause. Jodi can actually feel the tears hovering behind her eyes. Maybe she's a better liar than she thought. "Why don't you go home, Jodi?" says Gabriella, kindly. "Talk to your family."

Jodi smiles weakly.

"Yeah," she says. "You're probably right. Silly idea, anyway."

Gabriella smiles back.

"Come by the station some time," she says. "Say Sunday? I have this new record I think you'll really like. This German band, Kraftwerk? Never heard of them before, but they're clearly going places."

"What's it like?"

"Think Black Peaches, but more so." The Black Peaches are one of Jodi's favourites from the Goldenrod electronic music scene: this is good news. "Sam hates the record, by the way, keeps telling me to put on some real music, so it'll be nice to prove to her that someone else likes it too."

"Sure," says Jodi. "Sounds good. Sunday, you said?"

"Sunday's good. Or any time, really," says Gabriella. "I'm almost always there, you know that." She seems satisfied now that she's dealt with the situation, that Jodi is going to go and do something more healthy than stalk her dead friend's final steps through snowbound parks. "Anyway," she says, holding out her bag. "I need to get to the shops. See you around, Al― sorry. See you around, Jodi."

"Bye!"

Jodi watches her go for a moment, then turns away and starts to move back down the path towards the street.

Blue Crowne, Kantan plates. A distinctive pen at the scene of the crime. Not much, but it's a start, and it's more than Jodi expected from her first morning as an amateur detective. She thinks about asking Tacoma for her thoughts, but given her mood at the moment that seems a little scary, and in the end she just beckons for Lothian to follow and walks on in silence.

"You were out a while."

"Got talking to Lorna," replies Jodi, closing the living-room door behind her. "And, um, you know. Needed a walk. To … to clear my head."

Her mother nods understandingly.

"Of course, chickadee." She puts a hand on Jodi's arm. "Are you all right?"

What can she say? Tacoma's not dead, she's in my bag and probably listening to this conversation? Yeah, right.

Jodi bites the edge of her lip, the way people say she does when she's upset, and shrugs.

"I can't really believe it," she says.

"Nor can I." Her mother pulls her into a hug, and Jodi leans into it as she would if she really were distressed. "I know it's not easy."

The clock ticks. Jodi closes her eyes, feels tears beading on her lashes. Maybe she is upset after all. Tacoma might not be dead, but she's not herself, and she's hurting in ways that Jodi isn't sure how to deal with. Sure, she knows the theory – it's part of empath training – but it's much harder to apply it to your ex-best friend than to a psy-actor in a practical.

"Okay," she sighs, pulling away. "Okay, you probably have more important things to do."

"What's more important than my eldest daughter?" She smiles, and Jodi's breath catches in her throat: that's her, she's her daughter, how amazing is that? "How is Lorna, anyway?"

"O-okay."

"Yeah? How was she?"

Jodi is about to say that she just asked that question, but then she realises that what her mother really wants to know is how Lorna treated her.

"She was good," she says, giving her a meaningful look. "She put my new name on my library card."

Her mother looks relieved, in a way that makes Jodi feel uncomfortable. It's nothing new to find her parents worrying about her – they've been doing it ever since she wrecked her leg – but this is a different sort of worry, and not something she was expecting. She'd thought that once – if – they accepted her, that would be the end of it: life as normal, just with a different name and nicer clothes. But no. No, they're her parents, and they worry, and now she's given them something else to worry about: will our daughter get the crap kicked out of her by small-town bigots?

"I'm glad," says her mother. "Lorna's always had a good head on her shoulders."

"Yeah," replies Jodi. "She does."

"Did you run into anyone else?"

Jodi hesitates.

"Yeah," she admits, in the end. "A few people. Fergus – Fergus Wright, I mean. Carrie Savage. Couple others."

"And?"

Her mother doesn't seem to know how to ask outright. That's fine. Jodi doesn't know how to answer, either.

"And it was … mostly fine," she says. "Think I might be off Carrie's Christmas card list, though."

"Oh." Her mother's face falls. "Did she …?"

"I dunno, Mum." Jodi sighs. "She just doesn't like it, I guess."

"Jodi, I―"

"It's fine. She's not the first." Jodi tries to block out the pain she can sense coming from her mother, but in her haste she fluffs it and it re-emerges elsewhere in her body as a stabbing sensation in her bad leg. She sits down heavily on the sofa, suppressing the urge to swear, and beckons for Lothian to come over and untense her muscles with his vibes. "In Goldenrod, I … look, I promise I'm okay, Mum. I always have Lothian. And my friends, they look out for me."

She's said too much. Now she'll think that Jodi spends her life afraid of every trivial encounter with every passing stranger, and okay, that's not entirely inaccurate, but Jodi's life isn't all bad. Yes, she's been insulted, shouted at, threatened; yes, she nearly got beaten up once in the Goldenrod Tunnel before Lothian screamed the guy into submission so she could get away. But that doesn't mean this hasn't also been the best damn thing she ever did with her life. She loves being what she is, even if she also hates it. That's just how it works.

"Oh, darling." Her mother steps around Lothian and sits down alongside her, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I wish I knew …" She spends a second or two thinking, trying to figure out how to end the sentence, then shrugs. "I wish I knew," she says.

Jodi raises the corner of her mouth, just a little.

"Yeah," she says, resting her head on her mother's shoulder. "I wish I knew too."

Tacoma has probably heard all of this. It's kind of embarrassing, really, the way that having your parents wheel out their affection in front of your friends always is. But not embarrassing enough to make her stop.

"Sarah has pomegranates in at the store," says her mother, after a while. "I saw 'em and thought of you. There are two in the fruit bowl with your names on 'em."

Lothian looks up sharply, eyes alight, and Jodi's half-smile matures into a full one.

"Thanks, Mum," she says. "We'll look forward to those."

She's lucky. Isn't she? Yes. Yes, she's lucky. She really should be grateful, for her mother who loves her, who buys her expensive fruit because she knows that pomegranates are her and Lothian's favourite. For her friend who isn't dead and gone after all. For a world in which even someone as unlikely as her is allowed to exist.

"I have to work this afternoon," says her mother. "Will you be all right by yourself till Ella gets home?"

"Sure." Jodi raises her eyebrows. "Mr Martell can't make it to Monday without someone to write his shopping lists for him?"

"Oh, bosses are like babies, chickadee, you can't leave 'em alone too long or they end up sticking a fork in a plug socket and electrocuting themselves. That's why they invented secretaries in the first place." She gets up and dusts imaginary crumbs off her blouse. "I'm making coffee. You in?"

You in? Nobody else Jodi has ever met says that except her. Like every cup of coffee, every slice of cake, is a little conspiracy. Something to be stolen together.

God, she's glad to be home.

"Yeah," she says. "Thanks."

Her mother leaves. A moment later, Jodi hears the gasjet hiss and the sound of water heating. Lothian looks at her with pleading eyes, and an unmistakeable vibration starts to rumble in her bones: pomegranate?

"You can have one," she says. "The other one's for my breakfast tomorrow, okay?"

He's out the door almost before she's finished speaking, bits of carpet fluff trailing from his claws. There's a thump and a low growl like stones chipping against one another as he collides with Lucille, at her usual post by the kitchen door, and then the sound of something juicy being shredded by three dozen brutally sharp teeth.

"You're cleaning this up, Jodi!" calls her mother.

"Sure, when he's done!" she calls back.

Lothian keeps slurping. The kettle keeps boiling. Jodi leans back in her seat, and shuts her eyes. She can talk to her now. She has the courage.

Tacoma? she asks, but there isn't even the faintest suggestion of an answer.