“What surgery?” Gus said.

“Nothing you have to worry about now,” Shawn said.

“And that’s in large measure because Tara fought so hard for you.”

Gus felt the familiar pang of guilt he experienced every time he caught himself judging another human being on physical appearances. And then he felt the equally familiar pang of irritation at feeling guilty about making that kind of judgment. Ever since his mother had caught him making fun of Bobby Fleckstein’s new glasses in second grade and made him sit in the corner for ninety minutes, Gus had felt guilty every time he made a snap judgment about another person. And since his careers as a pharmaceuticals rep and a detective both depended on his ability to size up a new contact immediately, Gus spent a lot of his time feeling guilty. And irritated.

“Okay,” Gus said. “I guess she isn’t really here to regain her powers so she can return to Hell and battle her father for the kingdom.”

“Glad we got that out of the way,” Shawn said. “You can come back in now, Tara.”

Even after his gracious concession, Gus half expected her to materialize before them in a puff of sulfur. Instead she clacked her way in, spike heels turning the floor into a cribbage board behind her.

“I didn’t realize how amazing you were,” Tara said, waving the newspaper.

“Not many people do,” Shawn said. “But I’ll be happy to make sure that you are one of the select few.”

“I mean what you did at that trial,” Tara said. “You told me you were there to give justice a helping hand. But this is much more than that.”

“I start out trying to lend an appendage, but once I’m involved, my whole body gets into it,” Shawn said. “If you’d like a further demonstration of the principle, I’m sure it can be arranged.”