“That was a matter of public safety,” he said. “It was for the common good.”

Nurse Luisa gestured at the residents. “And we make decisions regarding their care and the common good of the community here at Open Hearth on a daily basis. How many of them do you think are truly capable of giving informed consent? Half the time, someone else holds their power of attorney.” She shook her head. “As far as I’m concerned, if one of the Outcast can give them a measure of comfort and gladness above and beyond what modern medicine allows, they’re doing God’s work whether the Lord acknowledges it or not.” She crossed herself. “And if it brings those poor, doomed souls solace to know they’re doing good work in this world, all the better.”

“Amen,” I said, ignoring Cody’s arched eyebrow. “Ms. Martinez, did you send someone to the Sisters of Selene to pick up protective charms?”

“Yes, one of the nursing assistants.” She shuddered. “Poor Mrs. Claussen. Do you suppose there’s anything Mr. Cooper could do for her departed soul?”

“You know, I have no idea.” I called Cooper over to ask him.

Cooper heard me out, rocking back and forth on the heels of his boots, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m afraid not,” he said in a gentle voice, directing his comments to Nurse Luisa. “She’s well beyond the likes of me. Gone off to meet Saint Peter at the pearly gates, I hope, or whatever fate she’s earned in this life. I envy her the chance.” His mask of boyish charm slipped, revealing something old and stark and weary beneath it. “Was she a good woman?”

She hesitated. “I can’t really say. She was a lonely woman.”

“Well, whatever she suffered in this mortal coil, it’s all behind her,” he said, his usual insouciance returning. “Including the Night Hag.”

“Hey, Johnny boy!” one of the residents, a dashing older gentleman, called from the common room. “Don’t forget, you promised us a rousing rendition of ‘The Wild Rover’ before you go!”

Cooper glanced over his shoulder. “So I did, Mr. Fergus. Never fear, I’ve not forgotten.”

“Johnny boy?” I said.

“All these months and you’ve never asked after my Christian name?” Cooper teased me. “For shame, Daisy Johanssen.”

“I guess I always thought of you as a one-name phenomenon,” I said. “Like Bono or Sting.”

“Ah, well, that’s all right, then,” he said.

“John Cooper,” Cody said. “Funny, that sounds more English than Irish.”

There are certain things you don’t say to a two-hundred-year-old Irish ghoul who was hanged to death fighting in a rebellion. Cooper went very still, his pupils contracting to pinpoints. Cody faced him down, his upper lip curling. I reached for my mental shield, although I didn’t kindle it.

“Cut it out, guys,” I said. “Now’s not the time.”

“Well, and I’m sorry I’m not a MacGillicuddy or an O’Sullivan,” Cooper said in a terse tone. “But I assure you, there’ve been Coopers in Ireland since the invention of the barrel, boyo.”

“My apologies.” Cody’s apology sounded as sincere as . . . well, let’s just say it totally didn’t. “Just keep your cool.”

“Oh, I will.” Cooper cocked his head at me. “So I hear you and the big man are to have a proper date when he returns, Miss Daisy. I imagine he’s looking forward to it.”

I couldn’t blame him for baiting Cody in turn, but I wasn’t about to take part in it. “You’d better get back to the residents, Cooper,” I said. “You don’t want to leave Mr. Fergus hanging.”

He gave me a little salute. “Good luck to you.”

I’d planned to ask Sandra Sweddon about the possibilities of a nightmare hex, but she’d already left, probably on to her next volunteer gig. Cody and I took our own leave of the Open Hearth Center to the accompaniment of half a dozen residents clapping and stomping in enthusiastic counterpoint as Cooper sang in a surprisingly strong tenor that it was no, nay, never no more that he’d play the wild rover.

“Sorry about that.” Cody’s apology to me sounded marginally more sincere. “You’re right. It was inappropriate.”

“Cooper was a big help to us when we were questioning suspects about the Tall Man’s remains,” I reminded him.

The telltale muscle in his jaw twitched. “That was before he lost control and turned a couple of tourists into emotionless zombies.”

“Stefan promised that they’d make a complete recovery,” I said. “And we’ll never know how much worse it would have been if the Outcast hadn’t been there when the crowd panicked. You just said yourself that it was for the common good.”

“Yeah, right up until the point where Cooper started ravening.” He sighed. “I don’t want to fight about this, Daise. I’m just frustrated. We’re at a dead end here and I don’t know what to do.”

“Cooper—”

Cody raised his voice. “I don’t want to talk about Cooper!”

“Cooper had a suggestion,” I said, ignoring his objection. “He thought Sinclair and the coven ought to be able to create some sort of hex that would give me nightmares. I believe ‘a nightmare fit to make me soil the bed and summon a Night Hag’ was the way he put it,” I added.