I'm the last person I'd expect to be in a situation like this. I wouldn't have accepted such an outlandish proposal, but Ms. Worthington had always been such a generous donor to the soup kitchen, and I felt I owed it to her memory. It had been years since I last saw her. She used to volunteer once a month before she fell ill. Behind the stony exterior which surely served her well in the courtroom, I could tell she had a good heart.

The rest of the group had seemed unsurprised by the request. The elderly priest who looked like he hadn't smiled in a century, the muscular man with a scar over his left eye and a large duffle bag that clanked when it hit the floor, and the tall woman in a dark cloak with red fingernails sharpened to points had all headed off to the cemetery without any further discussion. My instructions, on the other hand... I headed to the kitchen of the Worthingtons' palatial home. While seemingly mundane, the instructions said there would be no extra time, and that every detail was essential. Many steps were triple-underlined and followed by a string of exclamation points. However, my skills were more than up to the task.

I had just finished the final step when I heard a commotion at the front door. My three co-workers had arrived, looking a bit worse for wear, with a crying young woman in tow that I recognized as Rebecca, Ms. Worthington's only daughter. Now it clicked. Rebecca's father had died fifteen years ago when she was only four, so she'd been especially close with her mother. When Ms. Worthington had volunteered with me, Rebecca was almost all she would talk about, but she'd rolled her eyes more than once when she talked about Rebecca's interest in the occult. From the spattered mud and fresh tears in my co-workers' clothing, it was clear that Rebecca had advanced in her skills, and wasn't ready to say goodbye.

I walked across the room and gave Rebecca a hug. She just stood there numbly, staring at the floor. She still gave no reaction as she allowed me to lead her to the kitchen table. There, I finally saw a spark of surprise in her eyes. She cautiously picked up a cookie and tried a small bite. Then she folded to the floor sobbing. "They're just like she made them," she bawled, as I knelt beside her.

"I know, sweetie, she wanted you to have them," I told her. "We can make them together next week."