Explain It Like I'm Tree

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Mod Skull: Mod Skull, here. Please tell me you've got something.

Mothman: Hey Mod Skull. My contact wants to know if the ghost anchor is damaged at all. Says that sometimes a damaged anchor lessens a ghost's control of itself and its effect on surrounding areas.

Lewis slumped. Of course. His fingers traced the fractured gray surface of his heart-shaped locket.

Mod Skull: Yeah, lots of cracks in it. We saw the ghost's anchor get damaged twice. First time it healed up, not sure why though. Hasn't healed from the second incident, and that time the damage was worse.

Mothman: Think you have your answer. Ghosts don't often have issues like you're describing. Manipulation of their surroundings is usually done on purpose, if at all. So if it's happening unintentionally and the ghost isn't being impeded or harassed by another spiritual entity, it's probably damage to the anchor.

Lewis plucked the locket from his suit and turned it around to stare at the surface. None of the cracks had closed even a little. It still looked like a firm hit might shatter it.

Mod Skull: ...*is typing*... We'll look into fixing the anchor, but ...

Lewis paused. But how do we do that? He didn't want to make the Skulls look incompetent. This wasn't Mothman's issue to solve. Whoever Mothman really was, he sounded professional. He had a network and other operatives to draw on while the Skulls were still in the early stages of their career and still fumbling around. First impressions were important.

Mod Skull: ... *is typing* ...

Asking what Mothman thought would fix the anchor could easily lead to unfortunate questions about what the rest of the Skulls thought, and Lewis was the only one looking into this. Hinting at discord within the team might also drive Mothman off.

"Delete that," he sighed. The Deadbeat cheerfully jammed the delete key. "Tell him, 'We'll see what we can do for him. Thanks for the tip.'" He had no idea what might fix this. Maybe some brainstorming in a notebook... or with Mystery? Mystery didn't seem averse to talking with him. Lewis just hadn't tried to start a conversation with Mystery since the mediation. Maybe he was awake? Lewis turned toward the door when the chat box dinged.

Mothman: Sure. No problem. Maybe I can come see the ghost? Might be able to help out.

Lewis tensed. There was no way that could happen.

Mothman: Ghosts aren't really my specialty, but I'm hitting a wall in my own field and could use a changeup to expand my learning.

Mothman: Travel isn't an issue, though if we could swing it on a weekend that would help.

Mothman: You wouldn't have to credit me or anything! It's just that some cross-training would be nice.

Mothman had been helpful, but any investigator they didn't personally know could be an exorcist looking for one more notch on their belt.

Still...

No. Too risky. Best give him the "thinking about it" line and think up a polite excuse later. Lewis put a hand on the doorknob, which gnashed at his fingers, chipping its fangs on his bone-plated gloves. "Tell him I have to think about it. I'll be back." Abandoning the doorknob, he phased through the door and drifted into the hall.

He glided past the windows, head turned to take in the evening view. A moon sliver grinned down at him from a pin-pricked sky. In the backyard, Yettle's leaves rustled in a breeze. A greenish yellow glow roamed among the branches. Cicadas screeched out their eerie orchestra in the grass.