I’m breathless and queasy by the time we get back to the LaLaurie Mansion, the heat smothering my lungs. I’m secretly hoping that my parents and the crew will all be standing on the curb waiting for us, but it hasn’t been an hour yet, and they’re not outside, and I don’t have time. Lara doesn’t have time.

I push open the gate, step back into the arched alcove, and the Veil rises in warning. I step through the door, into the darkened foyer, and the other side groans and pushes at me, but there’s no sign of my parents, or the film crew, or Lucas.

I listen, trying to make out their voices over the pounding in my head, and hear footsteps overhead. I hurry down the hall, but the moment my foot hits the stairs, the Veil surges around me, carrying the clink of champagne glasses and the wave of an anguished scream, as high and long as a kettle whistling on the stove. Waves of anger and grief fold over me as the Veil forces me to my hands and knees on the steps.

No, no, no, I think as it reaches up through the floor, the thin gray curtain wrapping tight around my wrists as it pulls me down.

Jacob pulls me back.

The airy pressure of his hands on my shoulders: the only thing holding me here in the land of the living.

“Don’t let go,” I plead, throwing all my energy against the other side.

He shimmers a little with the effort. “I’ve got you,” he says, holding as tight as a ghost can as I look up and see Mom and Dad coming down the stairs.

“Cassidy?” says Mom.

I don’t know what they’ve felt or seen in here, but the EMF meter is shut off in Mom’s hand, and Dad’s mouth is set in a grim line. Lucas trails behind them, along with Jenna and Adan, their cameras hanging at their sides, their faces drawn. Lucas looks at me, brow furrowing when he sees I’m alone, but Dad’s the one who asks.

“Where’s Lara?”

I swallow, struggling to form the lie. “She’s … with her aunt.”

The words are weak, my voice cracking.

“Are you okay?” asks Mom, and the question makes my eyes burn. I can’t bring myself to say yes, so I shake my head and say, “I don’t feel well. Can I go back to the hotel?”

Dad presses the back of his hand against my forehead, and Mom looks worried. It’s only been a few days since I fainted in Paris.

“Of course,” says Dad.

Only Lucas seems to sense that something went wrong, though I don’t know if it’s the lie, or the pleading in my eyes when I look at him.

“I’ll walk Cass back to the hotel,” says Lucas.