While they waited for their meals, Adam made a call and set everything up, and as soon as they finished their meal, they were on their way. Their guide was knowledgeable, taking them around the city by minivan, pointing out Poe’s familiar haunts in Greenwich Village, and describing what the Five Points area would have been like in the eighteen-forties so well that they could practically see gangs like the Forty-Thieves and the Plug-Uglies running rampant. Then he took them up to Fordham, in the Bronx, where they visited the Poe Cottage, where his beloved wife—and cousin—Virginia had died, finally succumbing to tuberculosis.

Brent didn’t spend much time in the cottage. Genevieve came across him standing outside. It was a beautiful day, and his head was lifted up to the sunshine and the blue sky.

“You’re not enjoying the tour?” she asked.

“Not the cottage,” he said.

She hesitated. “Did, um, anyone in there…talk to you?”

He smiled at her, amused by her reticence to talk about something he considered totally normal, but he didn’t answer directly. “There’s just such an aura of sadness there.” He didn’t say anything else, but she felt that as if she could read his thoughts, and she knew that being inside the cottage was actually painful for him.

She almost told him then about her feeling that someone had whispered in her ear, asking for help, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say anything.

The tour ended at the cottage, and as they headed back into Manhattan, Adam suggested that they call Eileen and arrange to pick her up to have dinner.

“At O’Malley’s?” Genevieve teased.

Adam shrugged. “Why not?”

Still, when they returned to the Village and his driver picked them up, Adam leaned forward and gave him the address for Hastings House, rather than Eileen’s apartment.

“I…thought we were picking up my mother?” Gen said.

“I’ll call and tell her we’ll be a few minutes late,” Adam said.

By the time they reached the street where the historic house sat, the workday was at an end, darkness was falling and the neighborhood seemed almost eerily quiet. Adam’s driver parked and waited, while the rest of them got out and stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the house.

“It’s closed by now,” Genevieve said to Adam. “If you want to get in after hours, you can call tomorrow, and I’m sure the powers that be will give you a key.”

“I don’t think we’ll need a key,” he said, and started across the street.

Gen looked at Brent and Nikki, hoping that they would linger behind, but they didn’t. They followed Adam without hesitation.

As Adam approached the gate, it opened. Genevieve swallowed hard. She was afraid. She didn’t want to be, but she was. A locked gate shouldn’t have opened that way, without even being touched.

To add to her discomfort, it seemed that the sky went from dusk to full dark as she hurried across the street and followed the others up the path to the porch.

Joe had been here the other night and found Debbie, who had insisted that the house had opened up and saved her.

Genevieve wanted to run and almost did, but Nikki slipped an arm around her shoulder. “There’s nothing evil waiting for you here, I promise you,” she said softly.

Gen was embarrassed, not wanting to appear cowardly. “Of course not,” she agreed.

It was too hard to explain to Nikki that just because something wasn’t evil, it could still be terrifying.

Gen followed the rest of them to the door.

Which opened.

Gen shuddered and told herself that Hastings House was good, It had saved Debbie. It was good.

It was also scary as hell.

But she walked in anyway.

“Leslie?” Nikki asked softly at her side. “Matt?”

Genevieve froze, not knowing what to expect, much less what she wanted to happen. She closed her eyes, terrified that when she opened them she would see a white mist turning into the woman she had known so briefly.

The woman who had died in her stead.

But nothing materialized. When she opened her eyes, there was no giant cloud of white mist. She could feel the air, though, and it wasn’t cold or unpleasant. It felt as if it were moving around her with a comforting warmth. Almost as if it were holding her, trying to reassure her.

“They’re here?” Adam asked very softly.

“Yes,” Brent told him.

“Did they say why?” the older man asked.

“Because of Joe and Genevieve,” Brent said.

“They’re in danger?” Adam said.

“Yes, because Joe didn’t mean to, but he opened a door,” Brent said.

“So why is Genevieve feeling things, hearing them?” Adam asked. “Please ask them.”

Brent turned to the older man, grinning. “They can hear you, Adam.”

Genevieve felt ready to scream. They were acting so…normal, and she could feel her hair standing on end, despite the warmth swirling around her.

“Well?” Adam persisted.

But Brent didn’t answer, walking away from them and seeming to tense up at something Gen could neither see nor hear.

“Brent?” Adam asked worriedly.

Brent turned to face them, his eyes reflecting the red security lights with an eerie glow. “Genevieve was the intended target,” he said.

“What?” Gen gasped.

“The killer wanted you,” Brent said flatly. “Lori Star had to die because of what she saw, but in the killer’s mind, you would have been the perfect victim. You’re the beauty who held the city spellbound when you disappeared, and…”

“And what?” Adam urged.

“And she’s still on his list,” Nikki said. “The killer still wants Genevieve.”

Irish whiskey was not her favorite drink, but Gen managed to down quite a bit of it anyway. Beer just wouldn’t have been strong enough.

Adam had called Eileen to explain that they would be a bit later than expected, only to have her tell him that she’d realized she had to finish up some paperwork for one of her charities before she went out, so she would arrange for car service to drive her to the pub and meet them there.

“Gen, you’ve got to calm down,” Nikki told her, taking her hand from across the table.

“Calm down? The man who killed Lori Star really wanted to kill me.” She felt hysteria rising. “Not to mention that we went to a house I know was locked that unlocked itself for us, and you and Brent talked to ghosts, who told me that I’m still on the killer’s list. And you want me to calm down?”

“When you put it that way…” Brent said.

Adam put his hand on her chin, turning her to face him. “Look, Genevieve, I know this is all a lot to take. But I know that you already know spirits can linger behind. And you’re tough—hell, you already survived one maniac.”

“Yes, and being taken by a maniac should be like being struck by lightning, shouldn’t it? I mean, the whole world is not peopled by maniacs, and lightning isn’t supposed to strike twice in the same place,” she told him.

“I know it’s scary, but you needed to know,” Nikki said. “Because you can’t be too careful.”

Brent leaned forward, taking both her hands and holding them until she looked at him. “Genevieve, you have to stay with one of us at all times, or with Joe. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “I—I’ve taken a lot of self-defense classes.”

Right, she thought. Like that really helped right now. She tried to get a grip on her emotions. Safe. She would be safe with this group.

Who the hell was ever really safe?

She closed her eyes for a moment and listened to the band. They were singing “Danny Boy,” and it was beautiful.

It was also about death.

She swallowed another gulp of straight whiskey. She had to get a grip on herself, and she knew it. She took a deep breath and felt alcohol send pure heat streaming into her blood and bones. “If…if Matt and Leslie are really still in that house—in their spiritual forms, at least—and they know so much, why don’t they just tell us who the killer is?” she challenged, disbelief strong in her voice.

“Because they can only report on what’s out there,” Brent said.

“Now you’ve lost me,” Genevieve told him.

“Ghosts aren’t all-seeing and all-knowing.” He smiled. “They know things because they hear people talking.”

“And they read the newspaper,” Nikki offered.

Genevieve stared at her blankly. “They read the newspaper?” she repeated. “They read the newspaper?”

“The people who work there bring in the papers or a magazine, and then Leslie and Matt read them,” Nikki explained. “Actually, that’s one of the biggest clues that you have a spirit in your house. You come home, and you’d swear you left a magazine by your favorite chair, but you find it on the kitchen counter.”

Genevieve couldn’t help it. She lifted a hand in a casual wave. “Well, of course. How the hell could I have missed that? Of course spirits exist. I believe you now.”

“You do believe, Genevieve. You called me,” Adam reminded her. “You called me about Joe.”

“Yes, and…”

“And about yourself,” he finished for her.

She shook her head. “Not at first, but…”

“But time to ’fess up,” Nikki said. “What’s been going on with you?”

And so she told them. Told them about the nightmare, and then the whispers.

“It has to be Lori,” Nikki said. “Matt was right.”

“Matt was right?” Gen echoed skeptically. “And what was Leslie’s guess? Elvis?”

Brent leaned forward. “I know this all sounds really weird to you, but you have to understand…Matt is better at being a ghost than Leslie. He’s been a ghost longer, and once you die, you have to learn everything all over again. You become pure energy, and you have to learn to do things by focusing that energy.”