Magic in the Blood by Devon Monk

when I had forgotten something in my past but the person I was with had not. Fantastic. I’d not only forgotten I was friends with Grant, but had also forgotten I’d given him tickets to the opera.
    “You sure you’re feeling okay?” he asked.
    I rubbed at my eyes. “Sorry, Grant. Things . . . The coma did weird things to my memory. I have a lot more holes. I think I lost your birthday.” And damned if that didn’t make me feel like a heel.
    “Hey, that’s okay. I’ll remind you. The Phantom of the Opera ’s coming to town, and I do like me some Phantom .” He patted the edge of the table and it suddenly felt like we’d just sealed a deal. We were officially still friends.
    “So, tell all, girl. What’s going on?”
    I am not the kind of gal who falls for every nice smile she sees. But Grant’s smile was like the shop— warm, friendly, comfortable. I smiled back, and for the first time in what must be years regretted not putting on at least a little mascara.
    Not that it would matter with Grant. Women weren’t his thing.
    “I just, well, I took a new job—”
    “Hounding?”
    “Right, for the police, and I guess my mind’s on that.”
    “So, you’re not hurt?”
    “No.”
    “Not in trouble—No, let me rephrase that. Don’t need me to call the police for you?”
    “No.”
    “And you’re feeling a little better now that we got you out of the rain and wind?”
    “Uh-huh,” I agreed. I took a drink of coffee and closed my eyes as it rolled hot all the way down to my belly. Hot, dark, rich. Heaven.
    “Trust me,” I said. “After a cup of this, I’ll be perfect.” I took a bite of scone. “Wait,” I said around a mouthful of pumpkin spice goodness. “I’ll be perfect after the coffee and the scone.”
    “Good.” He straightened and put both his hands on his knees, ready to push up onto his feet. “ ’Cause you looked like you’d seen a ghost out there.”
    I choked on the scone and coughed uncontrollably.
    “You okay?”
    I nodded and thumped at my chest to try to get the bite of scone either up or down. I picked up my coffee and took a slurp. That got me a burnt tongue and scalded the roof of my mouth, but at least the scone slid down my throat. I coughed a little more and then sneezed.
    How graceful was I today?
    Grant calmly handed me the towel again, which I used to wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes.
    “Maybe I should stop filling those things with gravel,” he said.
    “What did you say?”
    “Gravel. The scone. It’s a joke.”
    “No. You said something about a ghost.”
    Grant gave me a long look and then leaned his forearms on the table, folding his fingers together. “I said you looked like you’d seen a ghost,” he said calmly. “Standing out in the rain all pale and spooked. Why? Did you?”
    I didn’t want to talk about this. Not to Grant. As far as I knew, he didn’t use magic, didn’t really understand it, and wouldn’t even care if I had seen ghostly glyphs or a whole herd of ghostly people stampeding outside his door.
    “Did you see one?” he asked.
    “What?”
    He wiggled his fingers in the air. “A ghost.” Those dark, dark blue eyes still held the echo of his smile, but he was not joking around. It was a serious question.
    I took a drink of coffee—a little more carefully this time.
    “Get Mugged used to be an old saloon and boardinghouse,” Grant said. “It was built over the Shanghai Tunnels—did I ever mention that? Some people—especially people who use magic a lot—see things here. Spirits. I had a local ghost-hunting team come out and check into it a while back. Said there was a lot of activity. Ghosts of the men and women who were knocked out, locked up, killed, or sold onto pirate ships heading to China.”
    “You had ghost hunters in here?”
    “Sure. Why not? You don’t believe in ghosts?”
    “I just—” I took a breath, exhaled. “I’m surprised you do.”
    “Well, now that I’ve shared my secret, it’s your