The Wistful Incense
The hand trembled as it held the ledger, the paper thin and yellowed at the edges, smelling sharply of woodsmoke and dried herbs. Arthur Whitmore, a forensic accountant who had spent fifteen years balancing the ledgers of the mid-sized firms in Chicago, did not believe in ghosts, but he believed in evidence, and the evidence in his sterile apartment was screaming at him. The scent of burnt sage...
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