Ritters series follows R.F.
Jackaby and his assistant, Abigail Rook, who are supernatural detectives investigating the paranormal in 1892 New England.
But things get even more complicated when a new murder occurs thats suspiciously similar to Jennys own.
Leaning heavily on the desk, I caught my breath in shuddering gulps.
I opened my eyes.
One lonely file remained on the desk at my fingertipsa mess of fading newsprint and gritty photographs.
Strange men stood behind him wearing long leather aprons and dark goggles.
My eyes halted, as they always did, on one last photograph.
My vision blurred again for a moment and I forced myself to focus.
Dead ten years, and a ghost the whole time I had known her.
The air in the room shimmered like a mirage and I pulled my gaze away from the macabre picture.
My pulse was still pounding in my ears and I wondered if Jenny could hear it, too.
Im fine, I lied.I am not fine,every fiber within me shouted.
Im ready this time.I am anything but ready.I took a deep breath.
The phantom did not look convinced.
hey, I said.
Try it again.This is a bad idea.
This is a terrible idea.
This is
And then the office vanished into a blinding haze of mist and ice and pain.
Jenny Cavanaugh was dead, and she wasnt happy about it.
Another week would mark the passing of ten years since death had come prowling into her home.
Her carefree attitude and easy laugh had given way to tense silence.
Her eyes betrayed the turmoil inside her, thoughand there were times when the mask fell away completely.
What lay beneath was not a pleasant sight.
Jackaby, my employer and a specialist in all things strange and supernatural, called those momentsechoes.
The further we pursued her case, the more frequently and violently the echoes overcame her.
It would not do to push Miss Cavanaugh too far or too fast.
Im sure shes capable of much more than we know, sir, I told him.
If I may…
You may not, Miss Rook, he said.
Ive done my research: Mendels treatise on the demi-deceased, Havershams Gaelic Ghasts.
We are churning up water we ought not stir too roughly, Miss Rook.
For her sake and for ours.
With all due respect, sir, Jenny isnt one of stuffy Lord Reisfars findings.
What would happen to his subjects?
He might or might not still haunt a small rhubarb patch in Brussels.
Cryptozoology is an unpredictable discipline.
But my point stands!
Sir
The matter is settled.
I dont think my employer realized that Jenny had crossed an internal threshold already.
She had waited long enough.
Which was why she had come to me.
