The early afternoon sun glistened off the snow and painted the front of the cottage-style home in warm, welcoming hues. Reg stood frozen in terror along the white picket fence line, feeling neither warm nor welcome. This should have been easy. All he needed to do was unlatch the frozen gate and make his way up to the front stoop and knock, but his courage failed him. He waited instead, like a dithering fool, all while the tips of his ears and fingers gradually turned to ice.

  Several irritated joggers were forced to skirt around him on the freshly shoveled sidewalk. It was remarkable how quickly their side-eye glares shifted to something softer when it clicked why his ugly mug looked familiar. One daring individual even stopped to ask for a selfie.

  Recognition was going to take some getting used to. Until then, Reg would continue to hate his sudden rise in popularity with every reclusive bone in his body.

  He found himself longing for his former days of anonymity. It had come with dirty looks, snippy attitudes, and the occasional half-breed slur, yes, but at least he’d known where people stood. Everyone’s sudden, overwhelming politeness felt fake. Reg could no longer tell whether someone was genuinely nice or pretending for the sake of brushing shoulders with Haven Burrow’s latest celebrity sensation.

  He blamed his success on the reapers, personally. Not that he could prove it, but somehow multiple videos of the pivotal moment Nick went vengeful had surfaced online within minutes of the incident. The footage sparked immediate interest and, from there, snowballed into an overnight sensation. Reg had lost track of the interviews, articles, and viral soundbites. Nick had even stuck around a few extra weeks to tell his side of the story—also part of the reapers’ undisclosed plan, Reg suspected. Not that they would ever cop to it, but he knew. His success meant they got exactly what they wanted: an Earth-bound half-reaper capable of tackling the cases they could not.

  Their master plan had revealed itself during one particularly painful media interview.

  ‘They say dead men tell the best tales,’ Nick had joked with the host. ‘Take myself, for example. My story had it all. Murder, mystery, and monsters, and yet, there was no one to listen. That is until I found Reginald.’

  That wasn’t even the worst thing he said. No, that came moments later, when Nick blatantly faced the camera and proclaimed for all of the world to hear: ‘And now, finally, all lost souls have someone to listen. Reginald Harrows will make your unfinished business his business!’

  That statement was the final nail in the coffin. Reg’s aspirations for an uncomplicated life as a small-time medium went up in smoke before his eyes. Suddenly every ghost, spirit, and apparition in the entire city was beating down his door, demanding he take their case. What’s worse, the influx of popularity came with the tantalizing allure of money. Not mere chump change, either, but good money. The kind of money that allowed one to splurge on a side of guacamole for their nachos without having to check their bank account first!

  Thanks to Nick’s interview, the world had finally learned the plight of the lost soul and was eager to help. Already, multiple charities and otherworldly organizations had reached out to assist with funding for Reg and Tera’s new venture.

  Tera was on the phone with one of them now, pacing back and forth in the street next to her truck, utilizing her best polite person voice. There was a worn track in the dirty snow by the time she finished. “Sorry,” she said to Reg, shoving her phone into the outer pocket of her topcoat. “You know that you could have gone on ahead without me, right? I said I would catch up.”

  Reg’s gaze swept over the imposing white-picket fence, past the regrettably short walkway, and settled on the looming doorstep. “Over my dead body.”

  “Well, from the looks of those ears, that’s not too far off, is it? Come on. Let’s get this over with.” Tera swung open the frozen gate and got halfway to the house only to realize Reg had yet to follow. She turned back around, lifting her eyebrow at him curiously. “You said we were expected.”

  “We are.” Reg’s hand unconsciously slipped into his jacket pocket, triple-checking that the sealed envelope was still safely tucked inside.

  “Then why do you look like you’re expecting to get punched in the face?”

  “Old habit, I think.”

  The real answer was more complicated, of course. Reg felt as if he’d already been sucker-punched, for one thing. Except in the gut, not the face. He knew he would feel better once it was over. But that required pushing through the uncomfortable part first. Exactly the reason he’d been putting this particular case off for as long as he could.

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  The front door swung open and a woman called out to them. “Is that you, Mr. Harrows?”

  Reg flinched, both in embarrassment at being caught dawdling and slightly taken back by the use of his last name and not the usual slew of colorful insults. He hurried to catch up with Tera. “Yes?”

  Why did you say it like a question? You know your own name! They’re expecting a professional, for goodness sake! Buck up and act like one.

  Reg gestured to Tera. “This is my associate, Ms. Jones.”

  Tera curled her lip at him, equally as unnerved by the formal introductions as was he.

  “I’m Lucille,” the woman said. “We spoke on the phone. You mentioned you had a letter from my son, Spencer?”

  Reg saw the way the edges of her eyes crinkled at the mere mention of Spencer’s name. Once more, Reg wondered if this was the right thing to do. He’d tried to soften the blow. Instead of mailing the letter outright, he’d sent a message of his own, explaining who he was and how he’d come to meet Spencer. Reg had made it clear that he didn’t want money. He included his contact information along with the assurance that if the couple never wanted to hear from him again, all they had to do was ignore the letter. He was caught off guard when they reached out, willing to meet.

  “Yes, I have the letter here.” Reg took the sealed envelope from his pocket and held it aloft as proof that he was not some money-grubbing charlatan. Tentatively, he approached, feeling every ounce like an unwanted trespasser. He half expected to see a rifle poking out between the curtains in his direction.

  Oddly, Reg arrived at the doorstep safe and sound. He offered Lucille the letter. “I don’t know how you want to do this,” he admitted. “Considering the private nature of the letter, would you prefer it if I left it with you and Tera and I went on our way?”

  Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.

  “Heavens, no!” Lucille held the door open for them. “Come inside, please. We insist.”

  Reg tried but his feet refused to budge on their own accord.

  “We’ll be right in,” Tera said. She waited for the door to close. “You good?”

  He wanted to say yes but the lie refused to roll off of his tongue. Reg settled for stomping his feet instead, ridding the underside of his shoes of the stubborn bits of snow that clung to the treads. Like the rest of his attire, the shoes were new. It was a strange feeling to have appropriate footwear for the season. He had to admit, not slipping and sliding on threadbare soles was a small upside to their meteoric rise in popularity. That and a bank account with digits on the left side of the decimal point.

  “I will be,” Reg said. “I think.” Once he got over the imposter syndrome. That, and his aversion to talking to ghosts.

  “It’s not too late, you know. We could call the whole thing off right now.”

  “Are you suggesting we call off the meeting or our careers as a whole?” The question was rhetorical. While Reg’s answer would most definitely have been both, Tera’s answer was neither. She was thriving in their new line of work. The people person was finally getting to help people, both the dead and the living. It was nice to see her happy again.

  “We could go into something else,” Tera suggested. “Open an exotic reptile pet shop, maybe?”

  “Do not try to use my love of turtles against me. Lilly is my one and only and you know that.”

  Tera lifted her hands in defeat. “Alright. Heard you loud and clear. Does that mean you’re ready to put your big boy pants on and get this over with?”

  He was tempted to remind her that he’d already done so. All that remained was to get him and his big boy pants into the house and fulfill his promise to Spencer. And then, just like that, another case of unfinished business could be marked complete. Although he’d resolved many such cases recently, this one felt different. More final. It was both the start and the end of a chapter. Reg wondered if a small part of him would miss the long afternoons spent squirming like an eel in the emergency waiting room.

  He took one last look at the outside of the welcoming home, pretending not to notice the dark shapes hovering on the edge of his peripheral vision, spying on him, before signaling for Tera to go first. She bounded up the icy steps ahead of him only to slip upon reaching the top. Reg lurched forward and caught her, saving her from a nasty spill.

  “I told you heeled snow boots were a bad idea,” he grumbled.

  Tera merely laughed it off. Regaining her balance, she opened the front door and disappeared inside.

  Reg watched her go, unable to fight the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Who was kidding? He didn’t need a fortune teller to know there would be no shortage of trips to the emergency room in their future. Change didn’t mean everything had to go. He would always be the same panicky curmudgeon as before. Tera, similarly, would remain the fiercely independent spirit whose recklessness would singlehandedly keep the hospital afloat. Reg could live with that, even if it meant talking to ghosts more than he cared to. It certainly beat fighting for his life against the unimaginable terrors that went bump in the night.

  A sense of calm enveloped Reg the moment he stepped over the threshold and into the warm, inviting home. For once in his miserable life, everything felt right. As it should have been. The business of unfinished business offered a new, promising start—and boy was business booming!

  Reg turned to shut the door and caught sight of a sickly yellow apparition standing outside of the gate. It looked big, it looked angry, and, worst of all, it was looking directly at him.

  “Don’t glare at me like that!” Reg slammed the door shut on the unknown spirit. “You can wait your turn like everyone else.”

  The Night Rift Manager and .