Look at your arms. There are no scars are there? You appear as you want to appear.” The ghost scrutinized the front and back of her arms and hands; when she’d completed the exercise, the Necromancer knew she was gaining the girl’s trust. Just short of seven years old when she died, her parents had survived, grieved and moved away. The girl could not. She was tied to the place where her earthly body had succumbed to the smoke and fumes of the fire. Her name had been Sophie.Juliet stared at her with pseudo motherly concern; the ghost stared back, her eyes daring to register hope; someone could see her... someone could... could someone help her...?Juliet could see that the spook’s face was struggling to calibrate an alien expression of optimism. She sighed internally; they always thought she was here to help. Was she helping? Who knew? She was a rat catcher on an ethereal scale. Her job was pest control. She was here to get rid of it, period. That’s how she got paid. That’s how her economic wheel kept turning.It was time...Juliet focused on a spot in the corner of the room and concentrated.
