“Just a little longer!” calls Lara as the circle burns and the Emissary tries, and fails, to drag itself forward. Its edges begin to smudge, the rim of its hat dissolving into smoke. But Jacob is fading, too.

“Cassidy, don’t!” warns Lara.

But I drop to his side, pleading with him to hold on, to stay. He shudders and rolls over, coughing river water onto the bare wood floor. But he’s stopped thinning, stopped fading.

“I’m okay,” he says, gasping for breath. “I’m okay.”

But he shouldn’t be. The spell’s still going. And then I look down and see that my shoe has crossed the line of the circle, breaking the flame.

“Cassidy, look out!” screams Lara.

I look up, and there’s the Emissary, freed from the ring and reaching straight for me. Its gloved fingers brush my skin, like an icy breeze.

And then Lara is there, throwing herself between the Emissary and me.

And the last thing I see is that gloved hand closing over her arm, before the ring of fire dies, and the grave dirt circle blows apart, and the Emissary is gone.

And so is Lara.

Chapter Twenty

I sit, reeling, on the wooden floor.

In front of me, the smudged remains of the circle are still smoking.

It happened so fast. The white string is still looped around my wrist, but the other end drifts loose, abandoned. Lara’s red backpack sags against the sofa, the only sign she was here.

This isn’t right.

The Emissary was only after me.

But the truth settles like a weight on my chest. Emissaries are drawn to in-betweeners. To all those who’ve cheated death. Which means even though it came for me, Lara was always in danger, too.

“Cass,” says Jacob, still shaking off the spell.

But I’m already on my feet. I have to find Lara. She can’t have gone that far.

I scramble up, grabbing her backpack, as I reach for the Veil. I swing the bag over my shoulder, catch hold of the curtain, and throw it aside, trading one séance room for another. The smoldering ruins of our banishing circle scar the floor, but otherwise, there’s no sign of Lara, or the Emissary.

I run down the stairs, through the burning–not burning house and out into the crowded square. My vision doubles again from the overlapping Veils, and everywhere I look, I see ghosts and phantoms, carriages and fires and parades.

But there’s no sign of Lara.

I close my eyes and try to feel the pull of her thread, the thing all in-betweeners share, but the Veil is so messy, so chaotic, I can’t think over the noise, can’t feel anything but panic, so I shout her name.

I shout until it draws the attention of the spirits. Until a handful of ghosts start drifting toward me.