“Why don’t you talk to him about it?” Irish demanded. “You’re the other necromancer. Shouldn’t you be the one to talk to him about it?”

If it were possible, Tim frowned more. “Uh… no? In what way does my heritage make me more qualified? I barely know as much as you do.”

“You recognized it as happening in the first place.” Irish waved at the window, finally reaching over and taking his jacket off of the back of the chair, checking how much connection that button really had with the front of the fabric.

“Yeah. That doesn’t mean anything. I couldn’t stop it, even if I had access to everything. I tried calling dad, but he hasn’t called back yet.”

“Wasn’t he going to be at a seminar all week?”

Tim’s shoulders drooped. He had completely forgotten about that. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Honestly. I think I keep more tabs on Mr. Martin than you do.”