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“Since when do serial killers get fan mail?” Homicide detective Vic D’Amato fumed. “How
fucked up is that?”
“They don’t just get fan letters; they get marriage proposals,” his

partner Ross Hamilton replied, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t get it, but that doesn’t
stop it from being true.”

Vic took a slug of coffee from his stained mug and barely kept from grimacing at the bitter
taste. Hospitals and police precincts always made the worst java. “I guess it’s like the people
who follow all the true-crime podcasts. We get paid to be hip-deep in the worst humanity
has to offer, but doing it for fun? People are weird.”

“You’ve been a cop for how long, and you’re just figuring that out now?” Ross teased.

Vic shrugged. “Every time I think that I’ve lowered my expectations too far, reality
says—‘Here, hold my beer.’”

“Yeah, well. I’m right there with you on this one.” Ross chuck‐ led. “Have you heard whether
you and Simon will have to testify at the trial?”

“Pretty certain. Of all the charges, Fischer shooting Simon is the most ironclad, with plenty
of witnesses,” Vic replied. “I’m not in any hurry to be part of the media circus, but I don’t see
a way to avoid it.”

“Lucky you—the Slitter trial is shaping up to be the biggest deal Myrtle Beach has had in a
long time.”

Vic grew up in a family of cops back in Pittsburgh. For generations, D’Amatos had been proud
to serve. His father, brothers, and other relatives were still on the force up north while his
sister was studying criminology. But an encounter with something supernat‐ ural Vic couldn’t
explain had made him unwelcome with the Pitts‐ burgh police. Vic had relocated, started
over in Myrtle Beach—and met the love of his life.

“I don’t want to put Simon through what happened the last time,” Vic confided.

“Not sure you’re going to have much choice about it.” Ross finished his coffee and set the
cup aside. “The closer we get to the trial date, the more reporters will be angling for a
scoop. I’m surprised there haven’t been some camped out in front of the store already.”

“I suspect Simon boosted the wardings against nuisance as well as malice. I tried talking him
into going down to Charleston to spend some time with his cousin, but he flat-out refused to
leave me here alone during the run-up to the trial.”

“Alone—with me and the captain and the rest of the depart‐ ment, plus a squad of lawyers
and witnesses?” Ross joked.

“And not one of you with any magic, in a trial where the killer used spells to help him get
away with murder,” Vic answered. “Simon doesn’t want to be in the spotlight—or the
crosshairs—but if it comes to that, I don’t doubt he and his friends will come up with ways to
protect us.”

Simon Kincaide, Vic’s fiancé, ran Grand Strand Ghost Tours. The boardwalk shop also offered
psychic readings and séances, showcasing Simon’s abilities as a psychic medium as well as
his knowledge of the spooky side of local history and his background as a former folklore
and mythology professor.

When an impasse in the hunt for the Strand Slitter brought the investigation to a standstill
more than a year ago, Vic tamped down on his deep skepticism about the paranormal and
asked for Simon’s help as a psychic. Their first encounters with each other were prickly, and
Vic accepted much of the blame for that since he had doubted Simon’s abilities and hated
needing his help.

Simon turned out to be the real deal, and his visions plus the ability to communicate with
the ghosts of the Slitter’s victims cracked the case—nearly costing Simon his life. In the year
since then, Simon became an official police consultant, working cases with Vic and Ross
when a supernatural connection seemed likely. Vic and Simon fell in love and now had a
wedding to plan.