We drive without destination, leaving behind the towns close to the river and heading into the prairie. At last I spot a sign for a nature preserve. I point.
“Romance Prairie State Nature Area,” Malcolm says. “Are we allowed to drive in?”
“Will it matter?”
His sigh sounds as weary as I feel.
“I have cross-country skis,” I say. “I can ski to a secluded release point.”
“You’re not going alone. You have rules about necromancy? Well, I have rules, too, and one of them involves not wandering into a deserted nature preserve alone.”
He’s right, of course. It’s a foolish thing to do, especially in the winter with a dangerous ghost along for the ride.
“You’re not dressed for this.” I’m wearing boots, at least, and I have the ski gear in the back of my truck.
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t think w
