“It’s perfect,” I say, looping the cord around my neck and tucking the mirror under my shirt. The moment it settles there, I feel better. Like I’ve been balancing on one foot, and now both are safely on the ground. “Thank you, Lucas.”

My parents come back to the table.

“And you, Professor Dumont?” asks Mom. “Must we say goodbye to you?”

Lucas smiles and rises to his feet, not a speck of sugar on him. “I’m afraid so.”

He shakes Mom’s hand, and Dad’s, and then mine, and strolls away in the direction of Thread & Bone.

Mom, Dad, Jacob, and I set off across Jackson Square, passing musicians with open cases, and people selling charms, a woman in white, standing still as a statue, and—

“Care to have your fortune told?”

I turn and see a man with a folding table, a stack of tarot cards facedown on top.

“The first one’s free,” he adds.

And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little curious, if my fingers didn’t twitch toward the cards the way they do toward the Veil, half scared and half excited to see what’s on the other side.

But there’s no way to know what the future holds, and even if there were, I wouldn’t want to know.

“No thanks,” I say, shaking my head.

Mom and Dad glance back, wondering where I’ve gone, but I catch up, and we set off, two parents, a girl, and a ghost.

Dad holds my hand, and Mom swings her arm around my shoulders, and Jacob runs up ahead, dodging between tourists.

The French Quarter is messy and bright around us, a tangle of music and laughter, the here and the Veil, the living and the dead. And I know the future is uncertain, and that Death comes for everyone. But as I walk between summer sun and brief bits of shade, I feel lighter than I have in ages. Who knows what waits beyond the Veil.

Right now, I’m just glad to be alive.

Sneak peek at City of Ghosts

Find out how Cass’s story begins!

Turn the page for a sneak peek!

People think that ghosts only come out at night, or on Halloween, when the world is dark and the walls are thin. But the truth is, ghosts are everywhere. In the bread aisle at your grocery store, in the middle of your grandmother’s garden, in the front seat on your bus.

Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

I’m sitting in History class when I feel the tap-tap-tap on my shoulder, like drops of rain. Some people call it intuition, others second sight. That tickle at the edge of your senses, telling you there’s something more.