As we entered the building, my familiar stuck close to his best friend, but not too close. Travis's cowboy boots were like sleepy kryptonite to him. He also wasn't speaking. I wondered if that was because Travis was here or because he'd entered stealth-cat mode.

The funeral home was dark and quiet, exactly as it should be if no one alive were here. A computer sat on each of the three front desks lined up across the room.

"Three desks? Really?" I whispered.

Travis ...