Ghost Killer, Day 2, Sept 13. About That Knife on the Cover...

Clare Cermak, the heroine, is talking to her friend, Desiree Rickman, who has weapons knowledge, on a video app on their phones. Clare is in Creede, Colorado, Desiree is in Denver.

Even in the small app, Clare could see Desiree's eyes widen. "That story about the bone knife is so cool."

Clare undid the last knot of the knife's outer embroidered covering, hesitated. "Look closely and quickly because this is a supernatural knife. It will draw evil."

Desiree's brows climbed. "Wow." Her gaze sharpened.

Quickly pulling on the silk and the hilt of the knife, Clare separated the two, then yanked the blade from the metal sheath and held it in the sun. Now she saw the blade, too, carried a slight gloss that shone along it – from hands that had caressed the blade itself? From blood? From killing evil ghosts?

"Wow. Excellent," Desiree stated in a more professional tone. "Looks sharp, like it would do the job."

Clare jerked her head in a nod. "Yes, it should kill the ghost."

"Clare, it could kill almost anything else. Especially if it's supernatural."

After swallowing, Clare said, "Oh. I understand."

"And you need to soak it in blood?" Desiree confirmed.

Clare nodded...there'd been no hint of a breeze, but now she saw tree leaves dipping. "I must put it back." She grabbed the metal sheath with the mesmerizing blue and gold pattern, the silk tube, and slipped the knife in it, her fingers working to tie a knot. Not a very intricate knot. She'd have to study up.

The hair on the back of her neck, on her arms, ruffled. Yes, the ghost was headed this way but, perhaps . . . the sunshine . . . the lingering hurt from last night . . . a touch of fear slowed it.
And it stopped in a comfortable place, the spar near the information boards at the confluence of the East and West Willow creeks.

Interesting that the entity considered that spot comfortable. Clare didn't think it was coincidence that a murder-suicide had occurred there.

"Clare, honey, are you there?" Desiree said.

Clare jolted away from the sensation of being north of there. "Oh, Desiree. Sorry."

"With regard to the soaking in blood thing. Whose blood?"

"Mine."

Desiree nodded. "I thought so. If you want my opinion–"


"Sure."

"I saw that you removed the blade from a sheath. Have you considered how liquid-proof the inside of the sheath is?"

Clare gasped. "That's brilliant." She tilted her head. "I'd have to find a way to brace the sheath and get a good flow into it . . . and enough light to see into the sheath so I don't let it overflow too much . . . then I'll work on soaking the hilt. Thanks, Desiree!"

"Wait, Clare–"

But Clare flicked her finger against the app and Desiree disappeared. Clare had a deep suspicion that if she even flickered an eyelash that Desiree construed as Clare needing help, the woman would be on the next private plane here. Clare didn't need to watch out for her, too. Regardless of all Desiree's martial arts or street fighting training and experience, Clare was pretty darn sure that Desiree would be helpless in the face of this threat and more a hindrance than an asset.

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