“Philippa,” she says, looking over her shoulder. “You do know there’s a coffin in the back seat.”

“That’s Fred,” Jacob and I answer at the same time.

“Excellent,” says Lara, as if that answers everything.

By the time the hearse rolls through the French Quarter and pulls up in front of the Hotel Kardec, we’ve told Philippa and Lucas everything. Lucas makes notes in his book, but says we’ll have to tell Renée or Michael so they can make a proper record of what we’ve seen and learned.

“For the next time it happens,” he says.

“Next time?” yelps Jacob. “No thank you.”

And for once, I’m in complete agreement. I’ve had enough Emissaries and bridges to last me a good long while.

Lucas, Jacob, and I climb out of the hearse, but when I turn, I see Lara’s still inside.

“You coming?”

She shakes her head. “I think your parents would get a bit suspicious,” she says, “if I stayed a second night. Philippa’s offered to let me sleep at her place.”

“It will be fun,” says Philippa. “Amethyst loves company. Byron, not so much.”

“Is Byron your boyfriend?” I ask, and Philippa cackles.

“No, he’s my snake.”

Lara makes a panicked face.

“You sure you don’t want to stay with me?” I ask.

She swallows and shakes her head. “No, it will be fine.”

A car honks for the hearse to move on.

“How rude!” says Philippa. “The living have no respect for the dead.” She puts the car into gear. “Sleep sweet!” she calls, and with that, they’re gone.

Lucas turns to me. “Will you be all right?” he asks.

I swallow and nod. “I think so,” I say. “At least for now.”

Lucas flashes a quiet smile. “If history teaches us anything,” he says, “it’s how to live in the present.”

Jacob and I say goodbye to Lucas, and we go inside the hotel, across the lobby with the still-closed séance room. As we head upstairs, I brace for one of Mom and Dad’s lectures about staying out too long, or wandering too far. So I’m startled when I open the hotel door and find the room quiet and dark.

They’re not back yet.

“Whew,” says Jacob.

Grim looks up at me, green eyes wide, and for a moment, I wonder if he was worried. But then he walks over to his food bowl, and I think he might just be hungry. I’m kneeling down to feed him when the hotel door unlocks, and Mom and Dad sweep through.

“And so I was saying—oh, Cassidy! You’re back. How was—” Mom stops talking because I’ve flung myself into her arms, tears pricking my eyes.

“Cass,” says Dad, joining the hug. “What’s wrong?”