Lara sighs. “Yes, I think we have to.”

“Well then,” she says. “I’ll get the hearse.”

Mom and Dad straighten a little. Each clearly has their own questions about that statement, and each decides not to ask.

“I’m sorry we took so much of your niece’s time,” says Mom.

Philippa looks surprised. “Niece?”

Lara squeezes Philippa’s hand very tightly. “Oh, yes, well, I got to see plenty of her. And I’m sure she’ll come back, now that she’s a memb—”

Lara coughs. Lucas glares at Philippa, who realizes, a little late, that she’s about to reveal their secret society to a pair of paranormal investigators.

She changes course. “Now that she knows she’s always welcome here.”

Lucas sighs audibly.

Lara turns to me. “Well, Cassidy,” she starts, and I swear, her eyes are a little glossy. “I suppose, for now at least, this is—”

I throw my arms around her.

Lara stumbles a little, under the sudden force of the hug.

Jacob joins in, and she groans and mutters, “Shove off, Ghost,” too soft for anyone else to hear.

“Be safe,” I say.

“Be smart,” she answers.

She shoots Jacob a look. “And try to stay out of trouble.”

And then, too soon, she’s walking away. A perfect black braid and a bright red backpack vanishing into the crowd.

I watch her go, wondering when we’ll cross paths again, how long it will be before—

My cell phone dings, and I tap it to find a text.

Lara:

Rule number fifty-four of friendship: stay in touch.

I smile and write back.

Me:

I’ll miss you, too.

Mom and Dad head into the café to use the restrooms, and Lucas and I sit in silence, while Jacob tries and fails to move the sugar on the table.

And then the Society’s historian sits forward.

“I almost forgot,” he says, reaching into his pocket. “Renée wanted you to have this.” He holds out a business card, black on black, so that I can only see the symbol of the Society when it catches the light. “In case of trouble.”

He reaches into his other pocket. “And Michael sent along this,” he says, handing me a white velvet pouch. Tiny beads rattle inside.

“In case of trouble,” he says again, and I tip the beads into my palm, and see that each and every one is marked by the black and blue and white circles of the evil eye.

“And this,” says Lucas, holding out a tiny box, “is from me.”

I open the box. Inside is a sturdy leather cord with a brand-new mirror pendant hanging on the end, its surface polished to a shine.