“Claire will be all right,” Myrnin said. He sounded unbearably happy with himself. “We planned this, Oliver and Amelie and I. We needed him here, in her place of strength, and Claire was the only bait tasty enough to lead him to the trap.”

“Then you don’t need her up there!” I said. “She’s done her job. I’m going to get her.”

“No, not yet,” he said. He was looking up, as if he could see through the ceiling. We all instinctively looked up. Even Ghost-Miranda’s glowing form, which was starting to gradually take on flesh and substance, like a real live girl. Drawing on the power of the house.

“We have to wait,” Miranda said. “It’s not done yet.”

The hell with them. If Jason could go up, I could, too. I headed that way, but Myrnin’s room-temperature hand shot out and locked me in place. “Not yet,” he said. “You heard the girl.”

I put my shotgun business end against his chest. “You’re going to want to stop touching me now. And I’m getting Claire. You know, the one you’re willing to let Magnus eat.”

“He won’t,” Miranda said, with that same eerie calm that she’d always had. “Wait. Please.”

I should have pulled the trigger. Thought about it, real hard. But instead, I looked at Michael, who was always the one with the cooler head, and he said, “She’s always right, isn’t she?”

She always was. Damn her.

When Miranda finally said, “You can go now,” Myrnin let go of my wrist, and I took the gun from him and ran for the stairs. I don’t even remember pounding up them, just landing at the top, and seeing, in the murky shadows, Claire running toward me.

Into my arms.

I dropped the shotgun and hugged her close, but I kept watch down the hall, just in case. There was no sound. I saw a glow of electric light cut off as the hidden door to Amelie’s upstairs room slid shut.

Whatever had just happened, it was over.

I picked up the gun one-handed, held on to Claire’s waist with the other, and walked her downstairs. The others were gone, except for Miranda, who smiled at Claire. Claire, after a shocked second, smiled back. “You’re—here.”

“Yes,” Miranda said. “I’m home. Right where I’m supposed to be. Don’t be sad. It only hurt a little.” She twirled a little, and vanished in a sparkling haze. I was pretty sure that when Michael had been a ghost, he hadn’t been able to vanish at will. Or, for that matter, sparkle.

She popped back in, just her face hanging in midair. “They’re in the parlor.” Poof. Gone.

“We are really going to have to tell her to stop doing that,” I said. “Because it’s upsetting.” I turned to Claire. “Are you okay? Really?” I couldn’t stop touching her, smoothing my hands over her skin, her hair, her face. She had red marks on her wrists, and a nasty bump on the head. They’d tied her up, and she’d struggled. None of that surprised me, although I was going to take it out of Myrnin’s hide.