Eddie’s voice cut through the memory and the icy pain. “Now take your palm and rub it on the wood shavings. Then get out your lighter and fire it up. Lifting your hand, blow across it into the flame and onto the body, keeping that picture in your mind.”

Jim did as he was told… and was amazed to see a blue glow coalesce on the far side of his Bic, like the thing had magically turned into a blowtorch. And the hey-check-its didn’t end there. The flare settled around the body, blanketing it in a shimmer.

“You’re done,” Eddie said.

Jim flicked his Bic off and just stared down at himself, wondering what Matthias was going to think.

There had been a time, long ago, when he and the guy had been tight. But as the years had passed, the bastard had gone one way, Jim another. And that was before the whole being-dead, fallen-angel thing.

But this wasn’t about him and Matthias.

Jim pulled the sheet back into place, covering his own face and wondering how long it was going to take for the spell to call Matthias here and for Jim to see the guy again.

He slid the table into the refrigerator and shut the door, cutting that phosphorescent blue glow off. “Let’s blow this joint.”

He was quiet on the way out, lost to the bad memories of what he’d done and who he’d killed while in XOps. And what do you know. In addition to his adrenal glands, it seemed like his personal demons had also survived his death. In fact, he had a feeling his regrets were eternal luggage: The not-so-hot part about being immortal was that there was no endgame to be had, no prospect for getting off the ride that you could hold on to when things got rough and overwhelming… and you despised yourself.

As he and his comrades reemerged onto the funeral home’s side lawn, it was back to the hunt for Isaac Rothe.

“I’ve got to find that man,” he said grimly. Although it wasn’t likely they’d forgotten what they were doing.

Closing his eyes, he summoned that which would carry him over the miles between Caldwell and where Isaac had been seen last…