And before I can savor those words, Lara’s already reaching for the curtain. She vanishes through the Veil, and I take Jacob’s hand and follow, past the rush of cold and into a cloud of heat as my feet settle back on the ground, the real world rushing to catch up.

We’re standing in front of the Thread & Bone. Only now, the door is gone, replaced by a red beaded curtain, and the sign has been touched up, and there, on the sidewalk, is a black cat.

Not just any black cat, but the one I saw yesterday, with the amethyst eyes. The cat looks up at us. If it’s surprised to see two girls and a ghost step out of the Veil and into the land of the living, it doesn’t show it.

It just yawns and stretches, tail twitching side to side.

I shoot Lara a look that says, See?

She rolls her eyes and says, “Yes, all right,” as the black cat turns and slips through the beaded curtain into the shop. It stops on the other side, looking back as if to say, Follow me.

And we do.

Chapter Thirteen

The Thread & Bone is a voodoo shop.

Or at least, it’s made to look like one. Every inch of space is covered in candles and crystals and charms. Silk scarves, and jars of oil. It looks like something out of Diagon Alley, and I have to remind myself that Harry Potter is fantasy, and this is real. Jacob follows me, holding his breath, but when he finally inhales, a small, questing sniff, he sighs with relief.

No spirit repellents inside.

Just a shelf of candles, tied with different colored ribbons. Dolls made of sticks and blank cloth. Bundles of unlit incense. A bowl of blue-and-white beads.

I slow down to look at a painting of a thin man standing at a crossroads. It reminds me of the Two of Swords, and I’m just about to step closer when I hear Lara say, “That’s it!”

We find her near the back of the shop, standing in front of a black-curtained doorway. There’s a symbol stitched into the dark cloth, an ornate S, set over a starburst.

Lara pulls a business card from her pocket and holds it up. The same symbol is pressed into the front. I recognize it, too, from the card that came with my sachets of sage and salt back in Paris.

The Society of the Black Cat.

My pulse picks up, and Lara looks almost giddy, but she takes a moment to smooth her shirt and run a hand over her braid. And then she reaches for the black curtain, ready to pull it aside, as if it were the Veil.

“You can’t go in there.”

We all jump, turning toward the voice.

There’s a young woman sitting behind the shop counter.