Not today. Today she enters the store a changed woman.

“Oh!” someone calls out. “I didn’t hear you come in! I was using the blender in back.”

It’s Patricia Maxwell from school. Kit isn’t sure what to make of that. Maybe she expected it. Maybe she sought Patricia out on purpose. Or maybe she’s afraid to see a young woman her age, even as young women their age are being killed.

“Hi,” Kit says.

“Kit Lamb!” Patricia says. “How awesome.”

But Patricia knows about the killings. Because everyone in Samhattan must.

“I need help,” Kit says. And it sounds like what it really means.

Patricia steps out from behind the counter. A purple shirt above high-waisted jeans. A mass of brown hair framing her eyes that always seem to be processing.

“Well, this is a good place for that. Glad you came.” Then, “Do you have something specific in mind? It’s okay if you don’t. That’s probably the best way to enter a bookstore.”

Kit shakes her head no. Even this small act seems directed by Anxiety. Two bare fingers holding her face by the chin.

“I’m actually looking for books on how not to think at all.”

“Interesting,” Patricia says. “Anything particular you’re trying to block out?” She shakes her head at her own question. “Wait. What I meant to ask was, what kind of thing are we talking here? A memory? An idea? An impulse? An urge?”

“A ghost,” Kit says.

“Wow.” Patricia’s countenance becomes more serious, more empathetic, at once. “I’m so unbelievably sorry about your friends. Sometimes I think no words are better than any.”

“I just need to block some thoughts.”

“I get it.”

“Is there an expert here?”

“Me.”

“But you’re…my age. What could you know?”

“Well,” Patricia says, stepping to the rug and sitting cross-legged upon the eye. “It’s what I dedicate my time to. Just like you dedicate yours to making good passes. Right? You know how to do that because you practice. Same here.” She pats the rug, asking Kit to join her.

In this bookstore, Patricia’s hair and clothes look less witchy than they do in the halls of Samhattan High School. In fact, Patricia looks like salvation to Kit. Like someone who may yet be strong enough to open doors.

Kit sits cross-legged, facing her.

“A common mistake,” Patricia begins, “is to try to bury one thought with another. That’s like putting a blanket over a dead body in bed.” Then, “Shit.”

“No. I think I get what you mean.”

“Okay. Good. Yeah. What you need, what you want, first, is to clean the room. You, my friend, Kit, you need to meditate. What do you know about it? Hopefully nothing.”

“Why hopefully nothing?”

“Because then there’s less shitty information to clean up. A bare room is a lot easier to work with.”

“You make it sound like my mind is an actual place.”

But Kit’s begun thinking this way too. And she knows she’s let Daphne in.

Patricia looks serious when she says, “But that’s exactly why you’re here, Kit. Because it is an actual place. With all the consequences and potential of any room, anywhere.”