And I know there’s a third life at stake: my own.

“We’re here,” says Lucas, and I look up to see the lake spreading on the horizon, a vast gray slick, as far as I can see. And cutting across it, the bridge. Philippa pulls the hearse over onto the shoulder, near the mouth of the lake. Cars go by, slowing at the sight of a stalled hearse with its flower-draped coffin in the back, but she waves them on as we all climb out.

I turn my attention to the Causeway Bridge. It stretches like taffy, a rippling line that goes straight to the horizon.

“Ready?” I ask Jacob.

“Nope,” he says, but we both take a step forward. This close, I can feel the Veil, and the place beyond it. The Bridge of Souls. Like a pocket of silence, heavy and still.

Even in the muggy heat, it makes me shiver.

Up close, the strange push-pull is stronger. Here, it feels like repulsion. Something deep inside me warns me this is a bad place, urges me to run away.

But I can’t.

I’m about to reach for the Veil when Philippa says, “Wait.”

She digs in her pocket and pulls out a piece of candy, a crumpled receipt, a fortune cookie, and a strand of braided red thread.

She plucks the red thread from the pile of odds and ends, shoves the rest in her pocket.

“Hold out your hand, Cass.”

I do, expecting her to put the red thread in my palm, but instead, she wraps it several times around my wrist.

“It’s easy to get lost in the space between worlds,” she says. “It’s like dreaming. Sometimes you forget what is and isn’t real.” She ties the ends into a knot. “This should help you remember.”

I think of Neville Longbottom and his Remembrall, the way it turned red whenever he forgot something. The trouble, of course, was he could never remember what it was he forgot.

But all I say is “Thanks.”

Philippa waves, and Lucas nods at me. “Be careful,” he says.

I take a deep breath, and reach for the Veil.

The gray curtain rushes up to meet my hand. It slides between my fingers, and I catch hold, flinging it aside. I feel the lurch as the ground drops away, taking the light and color and the sound of cars with it. There’s a moment of falling, of cold, and then I’m back on my feet, and the world is darker, quieter.

But here, at least, there are no dizzying layers, no double vision. Just a bleak stretch of gray.

Jacob stands beside me, his edges solid against the pale landscape.

He stares ahead. I follow his gaze, and see the bridge.