On the phone, Lara puts a hand to her mouth.

“They found him, in the end, beneath the bones.”

Jacob shivers a little, and I tense at the thought of being buried down there in the dark.

“And Richard?” I ask.

Adele leans forward over Grim—he doesn’t seem to mind—and taps a photo of the older boy, standing alone. There’s a sliver of empty space beside him, his arm faintly outstretched, as if Richard doesn’t know where to rest his elbow without his little brother’s shoulder.

“My mother said he was always sad. He never forgave himself for losing his brother down there.”

We sit in silence for several long moments. The only sound is the steady rumble of Grim’s purring.

And as I turn the story over in my head, I realize, with grim dread, exactly what I have to do.

“Don’t say it, Cass,” interjects Jacob.

“We have to go back to the Catacombs.”

Adele looks up from the cat, her face going white. “What?”

Jacob groans.

“Think about it,” I press. “Just because Thomas isn’t bound to one place, that doesn’t mean that place isn’t important to him. The Catacombs are where he died.”

“Sure,” counters Jacob, “but he doesn’t remember dying there.”

“Maybe not consciously,” I say, “but when he saw us, he was counting.”

“So?”

“So some part of him remembers playing hide-and-seek down there,” says Lara from my phone, “even if he doesn’t remember remembering. His memory of the Catacombs would probably have been one of the last things to go. Which means it will be the first to come back. It makes sense. It will be the easiest place to remind him.”

I turn to the phone again. “Okay, Lara,” I say. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Good luck,” she says, right before I hang up.

“Does it have to be the Catacombs?” Jacob asks me. “Why can’t we pick a level playing field? Like a garden. A garden seems nice. And aboveground.”

I wish we could do that. I really do. But I’ve wasted too much time trying to lure Thomas out, make him come to me, avoiding the simple truth: The Catacombs are where it started. It’s where it has to end.

“You know I’m right about this.”

“No, I don’t,” says Jacob. “There’s, like, a fifty percent chance you’re right, and a ninety percent chance this is going to go really wrong.”

I smirk. “Only ninety?” I ask.

“What is your ghost saying?” asks Adele, rising to her feet, the cat clutched against her front like a shield.

Jacob crosses his arms, ignoring Adele. “What if Thomas doesn’t show up?” he asks me.

But he will.

I can feel it.

The way I feel the tapping when ghosts are near.

The way I feel the Veil against my fingers.

“Fine,” says Jacob, “but how are we supposed to get back into the Catacombs? Last time I checked, your parents are done filming, the place is probably closed, and we’re leaving tomorrow.”

My heart sinks.

It’s not that I don’t have an idea.

I have one, and it’s really, really bad.

Jacob grimaces as he reads my mind. “Oh no.”

The footage is stored in the dark metal briefcase.

I crouch in front of it, hands resting on the clasps.

“Adele,” I say, “I need you to go into the hall and keep an eye out.”

She frowns. “How do you keep an eye?”

“It’s an expression,” I say. “It means I need to you to keep watch. Tell me when the coast is clear.”

“The coast? As in the sea?”

I fumble for words, exasperated. “Just go stand in the hall, and knock on the door if you see my parents coming.”

She sets Grim down and goes outside, and I take a deep breath and release the clasps.

“Wait,” says Jacob. “Look, you know I’m always up for a bit of bad behavior—”

“No, you’re not,” I say. “You are a total wuss.”

“Okay, no need for names. Just listen. There’s bad, and then there’s bad. And what you’re about to do is bad.”

“I know,” I hiss. “But there’s also ghosts, and then there’s poltergeists. And what we’re dealing with,” I say, gesturing at the muted TV, “is a poltergeist.”

On the screen, emergency vehicles surround a building that definitely looks like it’s on fire. A second later, the shot cuts away to a busy street, all the traffic stopped as maintenance crews try to get near a sparking power line.

Jacob sighs, defeated, as I ease the lid up.

The case is divided in two. Compact film reels are set into the black foam on one side, and digital cards are slotted on the other. Of course. The crew films both ways. Lucky for me, everything is carefully labeled, broken down not only by day but by location.

The first reel has been labeled CAT. Short for Catacombs.

I brush my fingertips across the label. The Catacombs are one of the most famous sites in the world. No ghost trip to Paris is complete without it. So if I destroy the footage from that session, then we’ll have to go back.

Jacob clears his throat. “You know, I thought you climbing into an open grave and hiding beneath a corpse was a bad idea, Cass, but this is making that look positively sensible.”

“I have to do this, Jacob.”

“No, you don’t.” He crouches beside me. “This isn’t like what happened in Scotland. You’re not trapped in the Veil. You have a choice here. And when you think about it, this poltergeist isn’t really our problem.”

“He is, though. And even if he weren’t, we’re the only ones who can send him on, Jacob. If we don’t do something, people could get hurt.”

“We could get hurt!” says Jacob. I give him a measuring look. “Well, you could,” he amends. “Which is bad enough.”

I rock back on my heels. “Spider-Man’s Law.”

“What?”

“You know what I’m talking about. With great power …” I trail off, waiting for him to finish the line.

Jacob mumbles in reply. “… mums ray resons …”

“What was that?” I press.

He scuffs his shoe along the floor. “… comes great responsibility.”

“Exactly.”

Jacob shifts, sighs. “I can’t believe you Spider-Man’ed me,” he grumbles as I reach for the film.

Jacob covers his eyes, as if he can’t look.

Unfortunately, I have to.

I solemnly swear that I am up to no good, I think as I pluck Catacombs data card from its slot in the foam and slip it into my back pocket.

“Some days I really wish you were Slythercore instead of Gryffindot,” mutters Jacob.

“No, you don’t,” I say, freeing the reel of film marked CAT. “And one of these days I’m going to make you read Harry Potter.” I turn the plastic case over in my hands.

“How exactly are you going to explain the sudden destruction?” asks Jacob. “Are you going to blame the poltergeist? Think your parents will believe that?”