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268 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2026
Ghosts don't exist.
They don't. End of.
Story, however.
It is haunting.
Everything tells it.
A single detail tells it endlessly, powerful how it does, how story moves through all the modernity in its ancient green clothes and shows up everything that thinks itself new as transparent, shambling, same old; story's as old as the hills itself and as brand new as everything that manages, against the odds, to grow fresh and new on those old hills.
I am, I realise now, quite frightened at its wildness and its hugeness and its persuasiveness and pervasiveness.
Perhaps my skin is thinner, after all, than everybody else decided it was.
You're my possible aunt, Bill says. I've got a choice here, even if you two don't.
How am I doing so far? Petra says.
Seven out of ten, Bill says.
Round about a B. That's not good enough, Petra says.
More a B plus, Bill says.
That's still not very good. What am I doing wrong? God. The youth of today are draconian beyond belief, Petra says.
We have to be, Bill says. If you're going to find yourself living in Draconia, best to speak some draconian. Just so you know what the signposts say.
Then at some point in that future, Bill says, someone will find a way to make money out of that sediment. In which case -
In which case? Patricia says and smiles.
In which case the case of the stolen case will finally, at long last, be closed, Bill says.
A sedimental journey, Patricia says. There are some days, Billie Wild, especially days when I'm talking to you like this, it becomes clear as clearest air to me that family is never a closed case.
So, Bill says. Can I come? I mean - in case?