After dinner, we make our way back through the maze of garden and gate and start back toward the Quarter. The streets around us are filled with people, and I scan them all, holding my breath as I search for a broad-brimmed hat, a skull-faced mask. Jacob walks backward, checking behind us. Lara glances around, too, even as she carries on with Dad and Mom, talking about the histories of New Orleans neighborhoods.

But I’m still thinking about Lara’s story. Did she know what to do? Even then, did she know that she’d crossed into the Veil, that the woman there was a ghost, a trapped spirit, waiting to be sent on?

She couldn’t have known then, right?

And yet, it’s hard to imagine a version of Lara Chowdhury that doesn’t know.

Hard to imagine she was ever scared or confused.

“Listen,” says Mom, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “Do you hear that?”

And suddenly, I’m on edge again, fingers going to the evil eye in my pocket as I listen. I hear the constant murmurs of the Veil, the vague melody of whispers and songs, but closer, clearer, I hear what Mom does. A beat, as steady as a heart or a drum. Lara and Dad and Jacob hear it, too, their heads turning toward the sound.

“What is that?” I ask.

But Mom only flashes a dazzling smile and says, “Let’s find out.”

She grabs my hand, and we’re off.

When I was young, Mom and I would go for walks in the fields and woods beyond our house. There was no path, no set course. If anything, she would change direction as often as she could, getting turned around on purpose. We were never far from home, but at the time, the world felt so wild and big, and I was scared of going too far, of not finding my way back.

But Mom loved it. Believed it was all part of the adventure.

She said the best way to find yourself was to let yourself get lost.

It’s hard to get lost in the grid of streets, but it’s easy to get turned around.

I catch Lara’s hand in mine, and Jacob catches hers, and Dad is on our heels, and together, we follow the drum, and the trumpet that joins in, the brash shout of a horn, and the metallic ring of whistles.

The volume rises like a tide.

A chaotic melody, vibrant and alive.

The music swells as we round a corner, and suddenly, we’re face-to-face with a parade.