I fell back. "Oh my God! No, please. Not the death body. I'll do whatever you want!"

I recovered and reached through his intestines for my cold cream. "Do you really think you're the first spook who's tried that? I've seen decapitations, burnings, drownings, bear maulings, electrocution ..." I leaned to see my reflection past the rod sticking from his head. "A couple of years ago, there was this one ghost who'd been cut almost in half. Industrial accident, I guess. That one did give me a start. But car accidents? Pfft."

I met his eyes—or the one still in its socket. "Did you see that segment on E! last month? About celebrities addicted to plastic surgery? They talk and it's like watching a ventril­oquist dummy. Only their mouths move. That scares me." I went into the bathroom to wash my face. The ghost followed. He changed back to his regular body, but stood behind me, arms crossed. Now, I've played this game before, and I could usually hold out longer than any ghost. But then my cell phone rang.

Even without the special ring tone, I'd have known it was my boyfriend Jeremy. He always called me after a show to see how it went and he always timed it perfectly, giving me a chance to wind down but catching me before I headed out for a postshow talk with my staff.

The call also reminded me that he was coming to Seattle after my Friday show. Our schedules only allow weekend visits every couple of months, and there was no way in hell I was spending this one with a ghost in residence.

So I told Jeremy I'd call back, then said to the ghost, "What do you want?"

"My cousin died in the same accident as me. I want you to open his coffin."

"I'm not a grave digger."

"He isn't in the ground. Our family has a mausoleum."

"And why would I want to open his coffin?" He looked down his nose at me, not easy when he was no more than my five foot six. "Because I said so. You're a necromancer. You serve the dead. I'm dead. So serve."