Byron stared at William with large, melancholic eyes that held the burning flame of intelligence. He had once been flesh and bone like William and even in death his handsome features still retained a human curiosity. His looks had not been marred by the grave. Instead, his spectral translucence seemed to enhance his beauty. Alive, he had been a great poet and philosopher. Now, he was a trusted ally in the fight against evil.

"In the future, I would please ask you to keep your lips sealed about my private affairs, Lord Byron. And the next time you enter my room, knock beforehand." This William intoned in a clipped voice, trying to regain the righteous ire he had felt moments before. It was strange, but he still felt himself filled with apprehension every time one of the ghosts popped up uninvited. His anger at Byron's indiscretion helped him to combat his discomfort.

"As you wish, Oh Great Lord of the Shoe-Polishing Kit," Byron said with a wave of his arm, and the ghost simply vanished.