"No." His smile broke free. "But it seemed an opportune moment to practice."
He touched a hand to my spine, gently ushering me forward. I snorted softly and headed along the tiled pathway that wove its way to Adeline's front door. Her house was one of those beautiful old Victorians filled with character and age. Two graceful old elms dominated her front lawn, but underneath them lay a riot of colorful flowers that filled the air with perfume. It should have overwhelmed my olfactory senses, but it didn't.
I made my way up the steps and walked to the front door. A little gold bell sat on the right edge of the door frame, its rope cord swaying gently in the breeze. I rang it a couple of times, and the joyous sound it made had me smiling.
Footsteps echoed inside; then the wooden door opened. Adeline Greenfield was a short woman with close-cut gray hair, weathered features, and round figure. She reminded me of the grandmotherly types so often seen on TV sitcoms, and it wasn't until you looked into her bright blue eyes that you began to suspect she was anything other than that. Her eyes glowed with a power that was almost unworldly.
"Risa," she said, opening the security door with a welcoming smile. "Perfect timing."
I raised my eyebrows. "You were expecting me?"
"Of course." She stepped aside and waved us in. "I'm glad your reaper chose to be polite, however. I do so detest visitors popping into my home unannounced."
"Which suggests you get more than your fair share of visitors popping in unannounced." I stepped past her.
"Just head for the sitting room, dear," she said. "And yes, I do. Ghosts have no sense of privacy these days, I'm afraid. It's the new generation. No manners."
I smiled and walked down the hall, my footsteps echoing on the old wooden floorboards. The air inside Adeline's house generally smelled of ginger and various spices, but underneath them this time ran the warm, rich smell of coffee. She reallyhad been expecting me, because Adeline didn't drink it – she preferred tea to coffee. Her sitting room was cozy and dominated by a log fire. Embers glowed within the ashes and lent the room extra warmth. Two well-padded armchairs sat in front of the fireplace and, in between them, there was a small coffee table on which sat a teapot, a bone china cup and saucer, and the source of the coffee smell – a large mug of it, in fact.
"Please, sit," Adeline said. When I did so, she handed me the mug, then glanced at Azriel. "Would you like anything, young man?"
"No, thank you," Azriel said, amusement in his voice. I guess there were a few people who actually called him young man.
"Right, then," she said, sitting down on the chair opposite and pouring tea for herself. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm afraid we're here to ask your brother, Michael —"
"Michael?" she cut in, with a light frown. "He's been dead for forty-odd years now."