And there he is, leaning up against that same post, hat tipped down and an axe on his shoulder. The nice thing about ghosts in the Veil is that they tend to be pretty consistent, acting out the same loop over and over.

“The Axeman of New Orleans,” says Lara brightly. “What a treat. You know he was never caught? Though I suppose here in the Veil, the axe kind of gives him away.”

“Your excitement is a little creepy,” says Jacob, but Lara’s already starting forward, her mirror pendant ready in her hand.

Jacob and I run after her.

“Excuse me, sir,” she says, stopping just out of swinging range.

The Axeman’s gaze flicks from the band toward Lara, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

“Can’t you see I’m listening?” he mutters.

“Oh, I can see that,” she says. “But can’t you see I have a job to do?”

She lifts the mirror.

“Look and listen,” she starts, but the Axeman must not have been looking straight at her, because he catches the first glint of light and smells trouble. He swings a hand up to shield his eyes, already turning away.

But that’s where I am, Mom’s compact mirror in my palm.

“See and know,” I say, and he shudders to a stop, face contorted.

“This is what you are,” we say at the same time, and something in the Axeman switches off like a light. All the color leaches from him, and his edges ripple and thin, and all I have to do is reach in and take the thread.

But this one’s for Lara, so I nod at her and say, “Go ahead.”

“You can do it,” she says, and I shrug and step forward, reaching toward the ghost’s chest when Jacob says, “Wait!”

We both turn toward him, and he bounces on his toes, looking both eager and nervous. “Can I do it?”

Lara and I exchange a look. Understandably, Jacob has never been very supportive of the ghost-hunting part of my life.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

Jacob’s head bobs. “I mean, if you insist on hunting down ghosts and sending them on, it feels like I should get to do something, and since I don’t have a mirror, the pulling-out-the-string bit is really the only one I can do.”

“Sure,” says Lara.

“Go on,” I add.

Jacob approaches the Axeman. He cracks his knuckles and stretches. Lara rolls her eyes, and I smile. And then Jacob takes a deep breath and plunges his hand into the Axeman’s chest. He makes a face, as if the ghost were a bowl of peeled grapes on Halloween, a mound of cold spaghetti. Jacob roots around inside the Axeman’s chest before he catches hold of the thread, and pulls it out.

It comes free, gray and crumbling, and Jacob promptly drops it on the ground, where it collapses into ash.