“Scared I’m turning into some kind of monster?” Jacob growls, his eyes getting darker, his skin beginning to gray.

“Jacob—”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I do, but—”

“But you think I’m becoming the kind of ghost you’re supposed to hunt. Well, the kind you have to. I mean, I’m already the kind you’re supposed to, there’s no forgetting that—”

“Stop!” I plead.

But Jacob is shaking with anger. “And just so you know,” he says, “I still remember everything—everything—about my life, and the way it ended. I just don’t want to share it with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s none of your business!” he shouts, the hair rising up around his face, as if the air around him is turning to water. “Because I don’t want to think about it!” His clothes begin to darken, as if wet. “And I don’t want you to know because you won’t look at me the same.” His chest heaves, his shirt soaked through. “I won’t be the boy who saved your life, I’ll be the one who died, and—”

I throw my arms around his shoulders and hug him, as tightly as I can here in this place where I’m less solid and he’s more real. And for a second, Jacob just stands there, and I don’t know if he’s still angry or just surprised. And then the fight goes out of him. His shoulders slump. His head tips forward against my shoulder.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he says. “I don’t know what it means. It scares me, too. But I don’t want to go. I don’t want to lose you. Or myself.”

I tighten my grip. “You’re not going to,” I say. “You have something the poltergeist doesn’t.”

“What’s that?”

I pull back so he can see my face. “You have me.”

He smiles, a thin imitation of his usual humor. But it’s something.

I pull away, wiping my eyes quickly.

“Viens,” whispers a voice, and we both turn to see the ghost of a little old lady, hobbling toward us in a faded dress and coat, her skin worn deep with wrinkles. Her eyes are too bright, her smile wide and full of wooden teeth.

Jacob shakes his head, a nervous laugh escaping like steam as our world returns to normal.

How weird, that this is normal.

“Viens avec moi,” the old lady coos, one gnarled hand reaching forward.

Mom’s story comes back to me. The young woman’s body was found on the stones below. The old lady was never seen again.

“Viens,” the ghost urges, shuffling closer, and I’m very aware of the lack of railing behind me, the long fall.

“I’ve got your back,” says Jacob, putting himself between me and the edge.

I draw out the pendant from my pocket, lifting the mirror to the old lady’s eyes.

Her fingers close around my wrist.

“Viens avec …” she begins, trailing off as she catches her reflection.

This time, I remember the words right away.

“Watch and listen,” I say.

Her eyes go flat and empty.

“See and know.”

Her edges ripple.

“This is what you are.”

The old woman’s hand slips from my wrist. Her whole body goes thin, and I reach into the hollow of her chest and draw out the thread of her life, brittle and gray and lightless. It dissolves in my hand, blows away, and so does the old woman.

The bells are still ringing, but they sound far away, and the Veil begins to thin, losing its sharpness, its shape, without the ghost to hold it up.

Jacob rests a hand on my shoulder, and I turn back to him.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say, taking his hand.

The Veil parts, and we step through. I inhale deeply, trying to shake off the weirdness that always follows me back from the other side, and Jacob’s hand goes thin in mine, dissolving back from flesh to something ever so slightly thicker than air.

There’s a small squeak of surprise, and I realize Adele is staring at me, the place where I’m standing, the place where I obviously wasn’t standing a second ago, her eyes wide and her mouth open in surprise.

There you are,” says Pauline, rounding the corner. “Let’s go.”

For once, Adele has nothing to say. All the way down the tower steps and out into the late-afternoon light, she simply stares at me, speechless.

By the time we reach the Rue de Rivoli, the stoplights are all flashing a warning yellow, and traffic has come to a standstill, horns blaring.

This is bad.

Very, very bad.

Beneath the awning of the Hotel Valeur, Anton hands the footage case to Dad so he and Mom can review the last pieces of film. Annette kisses Mom once on each cheek, and Pauline wishes us a pleasant night and starts to walk away, then stops herself, remembering.

“Cassidy, your film,” she says. “Do you still want me to get it developed for you?”

I’d forgotten. I look down at my camera; there’s only one photo left on the reel. I usher the whole TV crew—Mom and Dad, Pauline, Anton and Annette—together in the frame, Paris rising at their backs, and take the final shot. Then I crank the used film into its canister and thumb the latch on the back of the camera. It springs open, and I tip the small cylinder into my hand. I give it to Pauline, even as I wonder what will—and won’t—show up on the film.

Pauline slips the cylinder into her pocket and promises to see us again before we leave tomorrow.

Tomorrow—it’s hard to imagine, in part because Thomas is still rampaging across the city.

Tomorrow—which means I have less than a day to send him on.

I’m running out of time.

“Here’s a crazy thought,” says Jacob. “What if we just leave?”

I frown pointedly in his direction. What?

“Think about it,” he presses. “Thomas might have been drawn to you in the beginning, but he’s definitely moved on to bigger targets. Between that and your vile salt-and-sage pouches, I bet we could get out of Paris unscathed.”

“And what would happen to Paris?” I mutter.

Anton and Annette wave goodbye, too. With the whole crew gone, we all turn to look at Adele, who shows absolutely no signs of leaving. She simply stares, as if we’re the TV show and she wants to see what we’ll do next.

“Should you be heading home?” asks Dad.

Adele rocks back and forth in her gold sneakers. “Do I have to?”

“Well, won’t your mother be worried?”

Adele glances over her shoulder; the sun is just starting to sink, turning the edges of the sky orange. She shrugs. “Not yet.”

“I have an idea!” says Mom, sliding her arm through Dad’s. “Cass, your father and I are going to the salon for a drink. Why don’t you two go up to the room and hang out. Introduce Adele to Grim.” She hands me the show binder. “You can tell her all about The Inspecters.”

Dad passes me the footage case and asks me to take it upstairs, and my parents stroll off across the lobby.

Back in the hotel suite, I set the footage case aside, and Adele lets out a delighted squeak and scoops up a very stunned Grim, speaking softly to him in French. Meanwhile, I take out the photographs she brought me and spread them on the floor, hoping they will help me think.