Alton and Cook arrive at Doomweaver’s townhouse late in the evening. She answers their third knock, wearing an apron dusted with flour.

“Hush hush, you’ll wake the grandkids.” She waves them out of the doorway and back onto the street. “What do you need?”

“We have some questions about the spells you use,” Alton answers. “We have concerns that Marion Durandal may have been less than truthful.”

“I expect this to come up sometimes. Let’s go someplace we can talk.” Doomweaver steps into a pair of sandals and leaves her apron on the floor. She leads them just down the street to a little all night diner called Mel’s. Her little pig scurries after her.

Mel’s is nearly empty, with only a well programmed skeletal automaton as a line cook. Doomweaver scoots into an empty booth, and the detectives seat themselves opposite. The skeleton mutely plops silverware and cups of hot water in front of each of them. The living pick tea packets from a box provided.

“So, as you’re probably aware, the traditional Speak With Dead casting can only retrieve facts witnessed by the head of a corpse. It does not bring back a consciousness or personality.” She stirs honey into her tea.

“I take it you don’t use a traditional spell then. I’ve never seen something fitting that description in your morgue.” Alton looks seriously through the steam rising from her cup.

“No, I don’t,” Doomweaver admits.

“What do you do then?” Cook demands, impatient.

“I’m a witch, you see,” Doomweaver pats the pig on the booth beside her. “It’s a ritual, a hex, not really a spell as a wizard or cleric might cast it. I actually can bring back a personality, though for a shorter period of time, and fewer times per day.”

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“Does this contaminate our evidence?” Cook grumbles, bitterly.

“Yes and no.” Doomweaver sips her tea. “Talking to the victims I bring back can give you their actual wishes. It’s what allows us to make sure that their desires for their undeath or cessation are carried through. In most cases, they have no reason to lie to us after they’re dead. They want their justice served just as much as we do.”

“So it’s more like an immediate commune with ancestor than a real speak with dead. That makes sense. I guess we’ve finally found a case where the assumed desire for justice is just not true.” Alton sighs and carefully sips her tea.

“Could be.” The unhappy medium stirs her cup. “She was pretty adamant about not being raised. Do you think her family would actually have the money for it?”

“There’s no way they’d have gone with the Ritual.” Cook shrugs. “But maybe they can afford a raise or resurrect. I’m not sure how well it pays to be a paladin in such an oversaturated market as rural Strabthine, but her dad’s surely not having any trouble affording his trip down here to chase her. Might be an actual risk for her.”

“Kid her age probably wouldn’t have a lot of experience with the particulars of resurrections.” Doomweaver takes a slow sip of her tea. “She probably doesn’t know that those all require a willing participant.”

“Are there any that don’t?” Cook asks, legitimately curious.

“Other than my communication hex,” Doomweaver shrugs, “there’s the traditional speak with dead spell, and maybe reincarnate? I think some shadow masters can command ghosts, but that’s very illegal.”

“So there’s really no risk of her dad bringing her back and dragging her home.” Cook taps a long preserved finger on the table’s surface. “Any raise that can be done now wouldn’t end up with something tolerable back in Bandon.”

“Point.” Alton downs the last of her tea. “I think it’s high time we found out exactly why Marion would be afraid of going home with her dad. Just what was she up to in Two Rivers?” She drops a few coppers on the counter and slides out of the booth.

“That will have to wait for morning,” Cook suggests. “There’s noone to ask around now but the dead, and I don’t think we’ll find many of them with anything useful.” He tips his hat to the witch. “Thanks for the help, Lady, we’ll definitely need you when this one goes to trial.”