"Are you sure it's this place?" I asked Mason, as I stared at the giant blood-red sign that read "Kowalski funeral parlor", resting conspicuously next to the mailbox.

If one disregarded the sign, there was nothing to indicate that the charming, two-story Dutch colonial home was housing dead people inside.

Well, except the creepy garden gnome standing watch next to some bare branches which I assumed would bloom into a hydrangea bush during spring. The real kicker was that the thing -apart from being older than Kevin, and looking much worse for wears- had on miniature black robes, along with a scythe. The get-up made him look like a cross between the traditional Grim Reaper and a sneering Leprechaun.

-A Mortician with a garden gnome Grim Reaper.

I didn't know whether to laugh or groan at the originality.

"The hospital morgue guy said his parents took him here," Mason murmured, awkwardly balancing his Ledger and Annual Death report. "Alfredo Brizzi. Is that the guy who had a stroke and fell on his fork while eating at that buffet?"

"I think so. And it was a brain aneurysm."

As I peered at the light shining through the windows, the scene of Mason's aforementioned reap replayed in my head. It was the weirdest, and the grossest job he'd ever had the pleasure of doing. It involved a fifty-something smoker suffering a terrible case of steak-knife-through-jugular when he'd experienced a brain aneurysm and collapsed at a buffet.

"Oh yeah. God damn, did he make it rain. A really gross rain."

I rolled my eyes, shuddering at the memory. I did not need gruesome images in my head at the moment. Or distractions.

"Seriously, do you have to be here? That form is due tomorrow. Shouldn't you be filling it out instead of trailing after me?"

Mason squinted at me, feigning pique. After charmingly eavesdropping on my entire conversation with Archie and Kevin he showed up in Kevin's office and invited himself to my afterlife soirée with Logan Winslow.

"I thought you liked my company. Besides, no reason I can't do both."

"Uh yeah, lots of reasons. Like you sucking at multitasking, misspelling stuff, writing down the wrong serial number."

He tsked. "Wow, your confidence in me is really inspiring. But, then again, all those things pale in comparison to how mind-numbingly boring this thing is. And since my ADHD doesn't exactly get along with boring..."

"You don't have ADHD."

"That I know of. So staying entertained should be imperative for my undead mental health." He scribbled something else onto his crumpled form. I had no idea how he managed to get it so filthy, all within a span of one hour. "Besides, a ghost with enough willpower to resist your saintly knot? Totally worth exploring."

I groaned and opened the front gate of the funeral home, rationalizing that I could use the help.

"Okay, let's go find a dead guy," I murmured and motioned for Mason to follow me up the walkway. Two seconds after we'd rung the doorbell, the front door swung open, and the biggest cliche I'd ever seen walked out.

"Well howdy there kids! How may I help ya this fine evenin'?" a short plump woman exclaimed in the thickest southern accent I had ever heard in my life.

-Holy Jesus.

I'd never been one to believe stereotypes were a thing. Sadly, every once in a while something came along to demolish my previous convictions.

The woman was a shorter, younger Dolly Parton wannabe, complete with tacky pink lipstick and the biggest hair I'd ever seen.

She gazed at Mason and me through her fake eye-lashes, her bedazzled tracksuit blazing like a jewelry store in the dim porch light.

"Well howdy yourself ma'am," Mason said, trying to imitate her accent. I could tell he was doing all he could not to fall over himself and start laughing. "We're looking for a Mr. Kowalski? Is he in?"

The woman's brown eyes lined with heavy eyeshadow widened, and her mouth fell open.

"Oh my, y'all are Kevin's friends?!" she proclaimed.

"Well, I wouldn't say friends. Unpaid laborers is a more accurate descriptor."

"Oh golly, please come in, come in!" She said, her bracelets clanking loudly as she waved us in. "Ronnie said y'all would be comin'. I just wasn't expectin' ya so soon!"

"Yeah, well, this was kind of an emergency," I smiled awkwardly as we stepped into the hallway.

"O'course, I understand," she said, her face flustered. "Please, please, right this way! I'm Rhonda, by the way, Ronnie's better half."

-Ronnie and Rhonda.

Of course.

"Nice to meet you, Rhonda. I'm Mason."

"Hiya Mason. And this lovely lady would be?"

"Violet," I gave her an awkward wave, just as she ushered us into the living room.

"Nice house you got. Take it grandma was the one who did the decorating?" Mason commented, his face twisted awkwardly. He looked half ready to explode, and keel over in laughter.

I couldn't say I blamed him. The place was like a torture chamber straight out of cat lady heaven.

Every inch of the house was capped with pink wallpaper with a floral print on it. The flowers happened to be narcissuses- big, yellow narcissuses on an intense pink backdrop. Whoever thought that was a good idea was either color blind or on drugs. As if that wasn't enough, doilies decorated every table and countertop, serving as pedestals for the real kickers of this story.

Cat figurines. Mountains and mountains of porcelain cat figurines lined every surface, watching us silently, with their dead, button-like eyes.

Even the air smelled weird- like mildew, mold and some horrific garish scent, I couldn't place. Whatever it was, it made my flesh crawl with slimy, wet goosebumps, the like I have never felt before.

"Oh yes, yes we got this house from Ronnie's mama after she passed. Ronnie, the poor softie never had the heart to get rid of all her stuff, even tho' it's some of its the ugliest thangs y'all have eva' seen," She said, pointing her long, fake nail at one of the cat figurines. "I've just barely managed to convince him to do a lil' redecoratin' to get this place in shape. So 'scuse the mess."

She gave us an aloof smile, as she gestured at some broken lampshades, and torn pieces of plaster, littering the floor around the TV stand.

"It's fine, we don't mind," Mason grinned, his face glowing. He was enjoying this way too much.

"That's da spirit! So can I getcha anythang? Some coffee, juice? Oh, maybe a slice of some of the best peach cobbler pie y'all have eva' tried?! It's fresh out the oven!"

"No thank you, ma'am, we..."

"Ah, o'course!" Silly me. What would..." she leaned in, and whispered. "Grim Reapers do with a plate of food?"

-She knows. Why does she know?

Most Morticians knew about us, since our job required us to have access to the freshly deceased in case anything went wrong. Problem was, only the most trustworthy people Kevin knew would meet his crazy list of criteria got to be in Death's special club.

I couldn't for the love of me see Rhonda meeting any of them.

"Oh no, we can eat food just fine," Mason butted in.

"Oh, well, how 'bout I rack ya up a slice..."

"Thanks, but we really can't," I said, cutting Mason off. "We're kind of in a rush."

She smiled and tapped her gigantic bouffant hair.

"O'course, lemme just go and phone Ronnie downstairs, to let him know y'all are comin'."

She practically skipped into the kitchen, her bracelets clanking.

The moment she was out of sight, Mason burst out laughing.

"Christ..." I murmured tiredly. This was shaping up to be the weirdest night of my undead career.

"Man, that is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I mean, I knew Kevin was friends with a lot of weird people, but this... this is just overkill," Mason said, shaking his head.

Exhaling sharply, I hugged myself, "ugh, let's just get Logan and get out of here."

"Yeah, before her army of cats eat our faces," he grimaced at the figurines, his amber eyes filling with queasiness.

Just then, Rhonda reappeared. "Follow me, loves. Ronnie didn't pick up the intercom, so we'll just have to drop in on him."

Exchanging looks, Mason and I followed her back to the hallway. She led us to a staircase that housed a small elevator in their cupboard.

"I'll never understand why we got that thang installed in the firs' place when that man never picks it up when I'm callin'. I swear, he's got his head in the clouds!" She turned, and her face twisted in uncomfortable realization. "Or in the grave I suppose."

Mason and I gave her looks, just as the elevator door dinged open. One awkward claustrophobic ride later, we found ourselves in an underground parlor, illuminated by bright fluorescent lights. The scent alone betrayed it as the morgue- chemicals, embalmment oils and the unmistakable scent of mild decomposition. An unpleasant combination for most, yet to me, it was a comforting reminder that my reap was in fact, dead.

"This way, lovelies," She chirped, and made a sharp turn, before stopping in front of a massive metal door.

"Ronnie, darlin', ya in there?!" She pushed her way inside, her hands on her hips.

"Goddamit, Rhonda, how many times do I have to tell you?! Don't disturb me while I'm working!" a figure in white yelled, hunched over a metal slab. My muscles tensed when I noticed the frigid blue tips of toes peeking from underneath a white sheet.

"Ronnie Kowalski! Watch that potty mouth of yours! We've got guests!"

The man whirled, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Oh. 'Scuse me," he said, adjusting his glasses awkwardly, his skin adopting a sickening greenish tinge. He dropped the needle and thread he'd been clutching and straightened his back. Bad move, since standing upright he resembled a stork in human skin, all reedy elbows and wobbly knees.

-God, how did he and Dolly end up married?

Love was one weird beast.

"Hi chief, how's it going?" Mason said, taking over as usual. "We spoke on the phone."

The man nodded and clumsily fumbled with his latex gloves, before shaking Mason's hand.

"Right, right, Mason is it? Kevin's friend?"

"Why does everybody get the impression that we're Kevin's friends? Or that he has any?" Masson fired back.

Ronnie swallowed. "Ah, yeah, right, of course. Sorry. Just trying to be polite. You're here for the Winslow boy, yes?"

He whirled around, to face the metal slab where Logan Winslow's body lay resting, his pale face frozen in eternal sleep.

-Christ, he looks like Snow White.

An inverted and very twisted version of Snow White. My stomach lurched when I noticed the prominent stitches crisscrossing his bone-white skin. Since he seemed to be the epitome of life itself, death looked inherently wrong on him. Almost sacrilegious or something.

"Ah yes, here we are. I've tried my best to make him as presentable as I can for you. Mind you, it wasn't easy, since he practically got crushed when the ceiling collapsed on his head," he said, his hands trailing the stitches on Logan's arms, as if he was inspecting their quality.

I swallowed a lump in my throat. It was getting way too cold in here.

"Oh Ron, just what are you blabberin' on about?" Rhonda butted in, casting a quick glance at me, "they ain't here for his meatsack."

Once again, Ron made an awkward face, nervously casting a look at Logan's corpse.

"Oh, right, of course, silly me. Do your thing, I suppose."

Taking a deep breath, to stifle the nervous chills prickling my skin, I tuned into the other side and listened intently. All I was greeted by, was silence. No sign of ghostly energy, or Logan Winslow.

-Huh?

"He's not here," I whispered to Mason, confused panic making my heart flutter.

"What?" He mumbled, his brows furrowing.

"Everythang alright dear?" Rhonda inquired, her thin brows lifted high.

"Uh yeah, would you mind giving us a second?" Mason said, his hand brushing against mine.

Both Rhonda and Ronnie exchanged strange glances, before Rhonda turned to us, a smile on her face.

"No problem, take yer time. C'mon Ron."

Ron followed his wife out of the morgue parlor, bolting the metal door after they exited.

"Well, that was... interesting."

"Mason."

"Seriously, if those two aren't secretly hosting weird necro orgies with their Deep Web friends, and those creepy cat figurines, I will be surprised."

"Mason!"

"What?! Geez, V, relax," Mason said defensively, pushing a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"I can't!. The guy is not here! Oh my God. Kevin is going to kill me!"

"Woah, woah, woah, back up. Take a deep breath," He said, his face growing apprehensively serious. Turning to me, he began running his fingers up and down my arms. His attempt to calm me did nothing to chase away the anxiety, or the biting chill vibrating in my bones.

"Better? Don't work yourself up over it. The guy is obviously dead, V," Mason unceremoniously gestured at Logan's lifeless corpse. "He can't have gone far."

"What if he has?" What if he's still at the club, and I'd missed him somehow?"

Mason frowned.

"You said you'd already checked that place. If he were at the club, then there is no way he wouldn't have shown himself to you when you were so close to him."

"Oh yeah? Then where is he?"

At that, Mason seemingly lost his voice. I groaned, and in a fit of desperation, started screaming Logan's name.

"Will you stop that? He's not a dog."

"You got a better idea?"

"Okay, calm down. Tell you what. Try and visualize the knot you tied with him. It might help summon him to you. I'll have a look around Martha Stewart's lair, okay? This asshole's got to be around here somewhere."

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded. With a guttural grunt, Mason stalked out of the room and shut the heavy titanium door behind him.

Unable to stand seeing Logan's pale corpse, I covered him with a white cloth and shrugged out of my coat.

-Okay, okay, let's do this.

Swallowing hard, I let the fear go, and allowed my mind to get flooded with the few images I had of him. His lapis lazuli eyes were the first thing that came to life, glowing in the darkness of the club like two beacons. After that, it was his styled hair. His luscious smile. His sweet and playful flirting.

I suddenly felt the knot between us vibrate. I grabbed hold of it furiously, willing it to thrum with an acute need for his need presence. I screamed his name over and over again in my mind, like a prayer, certain that he would hear me, that he would come.

Yet when I opened my eyes, there was nothing there.

I groaned, wishing I had brought the Ledger with me. I didn't think it had the power to summon ghosts but I thought it could at least help me draw Logan out.

-If he really is here.

Unable to stand being in the same room as his corpse, I stumbled toward the door. Only to nearly butt heads with a grumpy Mason.

"Please tell me you found him?" I asked, my voice quivering. Why was it getting so hard to breathe?

I knew the answer long before he opened his mouth to give it to me.

"Nope. Only thing I found was Sheldon Cooper's office. You know, for a guy that looks like he fell straight out of Reddit's Nice Guys sub, he's into some very unconventional stuff. I think I actually saw some Satanic bibles on his desk in there."

"What does that have to do with my missing dead guy?"

Mason shrugged. "Nothing, but I did run into the Mises in the hallway. She acted super weird about me looking through her husband's office. She practically shooed me away, and gropped me nice and good while she did it. How much money you wanna bet that that's where they've hidden their sex dungeon..."

I grimaced and hugged myself.

"Oh my God. What the hell am I going to do?"

Mason exhaled, concern swimming in his amber eyes. Before I could even react, I was drowning in his embrace, enveloped in the scent of leather, cigarettes, and peaches. The worst part was, I was too tired to even resist.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." He murmured into my hair.

"No, it's not okay!" I sobbed, "I'm so screwed."

"No, you're not screwed," He peeled me off him to grab me firmly by the shoulders. He was so close I could make out the prominent gap junctions in his irises, the black a stark contrast to the honeyed amber.

"We are going to find this guy, even if we have to tear this place apart. Understand?"

We didn't. Not for a lack of trying. Mason and I truly went through every inch of the Kowalski's home, leaving no horribly decorated stone unturned. There was no sign of Logan Winslow's ghost anywhere. As the search progressed further and further with no dead guy in sight, the futility of it slowly dawned on us.

-Jesus. This can't be happening. Not to me.

I'd done everything by the book, followed the rules and tried to stay under Kevin's radar. Minus one mistake, I was practically the perfect employee.

And after all that caution, I had still somehow managed to screw up?

-What else could it be?

Reluctantly, I pitched that option to Mason. At first, he was hesitant to run with it, arguing how I was too thorough to screw up in such a massive way. But when he realized that the Kowalski home wasn't turning up anything, he agreed to go back to Paradise with me, to do one last sweep. He left Rhonda our cell numbers, to contact us in case she or her husband noticed any paranormal activity in their house. After that, we made our way to the club.

As expected, the place was surrounded by red tape. Seeing as how the building was old and posed a toxin risk, a squat car and some guys in hazmat suits were skulking around, diligently taking samples.

Pulling up along the curb, Mason and I exited his Ranger wordlessly and dematerialized.

I wish I could explain what it felt like to lose your physical form, but I don't think I can. I suppose the closest thing I can come up with is an odd feeling of weightlessness that progressively grows weaker and weaker the longer I stay in ghost form.

Unfortunately for me, I had wasted most of my energy on sneaking into Corey Thatcher's gym, to hide his drug stash. So I was stuck with less than half a tank-which got me barely half an hour to find Logan Winslow.

Still, I refused to give up. The thought of having to go back to the Mortuary, to face Kevin with my failure was terrifying enough to make me power through my crippling fatigue. Minutes ticked by slowly, as Mason and I prowled the club until it dawned on both of us that we weren't going to find Logan here either.

The finality of the situation slammed into me so hard, I nearly fell over and lost control, materializing in full view of a hazmat guy taking samples from a charred vent.

Unable to hold my form any longer, I ran back outside to the Ranger, practically collapsing on the hood.

"V!" Mason yelled, jogging out after me. "Jesus Violet, you scared me. You shouldn't run out like that."

Maybe it was the use of my full name without the funny adjectives attached, but whatever it was, it made me start crying.

"Oh, God. It's over. I have to tell Kevin."

Mason shook his head, his amber eyes darkening.

"Oh, uh-huh. You are not telling him."

"I lost a dead guy Mason!" I screamed, struggling to breathe. "How do I keep something like that a secret? I have to tell him."

"If you do that, who knows what will happen," My muscles clenched sharply when he lifted my wrist to expose the marks.

"Two strikes. What if he decides that one isn't enough? What if he..."

"I can't just leave Logan out there!" I jerked back, unable to stand his fingers on my skin. "The longer he stays here, the more he suffers."

Exhaling, I closed my eyes, letting the icy wind bite sharply into my flesh.

"I have to tell Kevin. He might be the only one who will know what to do. The only one who can help save this guy before he gets permanently stuck down here."

Mason shook his head, a panicked look on his face. The vulnerability in his eyes was astonishing, so much so, that it made me take a step back. For the briefest moment, my own panic vanished as I gazed into his eyes, and allowed the warmth of his concern to envelop me in its tight embrace.

The short-lived spell was finally shattered when Mason huffed in frustration, a resentful expression on his face.

"Fine. Call the Almighty Kevin," he said, leaning onto the hood of his car, the devil-may-care mask on his face once again. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

Swallowing hard, I pulled my cell phone from my back pocket.

My finger hovered over Kevin's name, as a million scenarios flashed before my eyes. For all my effort, I couldn't see anyone of them ending well for me.

-No, no, you have to do this. Think of Logan.

I couldn't leave him out there. Logan deserved peace. He deserved all the light and beauty of the world beyond.

I was just about to press the call button when my phone let out a piercing ring. I jumped, nearly dropping it, but managed to pull myself together long enough to realize that it was Dolly Parton calling.

"Hello?" I answered, my voice trembling.

"Um, Ms. Violet?" The southern drawl greeted me on the other end.

"Yeah? What's this about Mrs. Kowalski? I'm kind of busy."

"Well... ya said to call if yer... friend resurfaced."

The world disappeared in a void of static noise.

"You have felt his presence?"

A brief pause followed by a sharp intake of breath.

"Not exactly," She exhaled, her breaking.

She was scared.

-Oh crap.

"I think... I think y'all should get down here right now."