I swear she wasn’t there before. Or maybe she was just sitting so still, we didn’t notice her. But it seems hard not to notice her. She’s maybe twenty, white, with hair so blond it’s practically silver. It’s shaved on one side, and tumbles like a wave down the other.

“Can I help you find something?” she asks.

Lara steps up, taking control.

“We’re here to see the Society.”

“Society?” the girl says, arching a brow. Jacob and I exchange a look, wondering if we’re in the right place. But Lara doesn’t flinch.

“Of the Black Cat,” Lara says.

The girl stares at us blankly. The cat from outside jumps up onto the glass counter and purrs, its purple eyes locked on us. “This black cat?” asks the girl, running her hand over its fur.

Lara huffs. “No. Look—”

“Where are your parents?”

That tips Lara over the edge. “My parents are on their way to South America, and Cassidy’s are currently in one of your city’s forty-two graveyards filming a show on the paranormal—”

“Well, that sounds like fun!”

“And we’re here, because we need the Society’s help, and don’t tell me it’s not here because it was warded in the Veil, and Cassidy followed the cat, and I saw the symbol on the curtain, and it’s the same as the one on my card.”

Lara’s breathless by the time she slaps the business card down on the counter.

The girl lifts it gingerly, but the airy confusion is gone, replaced by a mischievous grin. “How did you get this?”

“My great-uncle was a member.”

“But you’re not.”

“A technicality,” says Lara through gritted teeth. “Some ageist wording in the bylaws, but I’m working on it. You see, Cassidy and I, we’re in-betweeners.”

“Veil-walkers! Fascinating,” the girl says, leaning forward on her elbows. “We don’t have any of those right now. We used to have one, but he …” She trails off.

“Died?” I ask nervously.

“Goodness, no,” she says brightly. “He moved to Portland. There are no ghosts in Portland. Odd quirk in the landscape or somethi—”

“So this is the Society?” interrupts Lara.

“Oh yeah,” says the girl, waving her hand. “But you know, we have to be careful. Can’t go around telling everyone who wanders in.”

Jacob has drifted toward the counter, and the cat.

“This is Amethyst, by the way,” the girl says. “Mascot and protector.”

“Protector of what?” I ask.

She shrugs. “People. Cats are drawn to the supernatural. They’re often seen as omens, portents of danger, but they’re also amulets against it. Cats make excellent protectors. They’re very brave,” she adds, scratching Amethyst behind the ears.

I picture Grim, sitting like a bread loaf in a pool of sun. Once, a bug landed near him, and instead of pouncing on it, he got up and walked away.