You will not make them see. He said it in Spanish and I understood perfectly, though I could not have explained how. They are not like us. They call you a witch, but we would have made you a saint for your gift. And it is a gift, though you don’t think so now. Your hands are clean, child, for you died blameless in the eyes of God. He turned away from me then, and rejoined his fellows in line.

When I looked at my hands once more, they were as clean as if I’d only just washed them, and even beneath my fingernails there was no trace of red. “I don’t understand.”

Harry and Marcus still hovered, Harry with his arm nearly supporting me and Marcus fluttering at my side, desperate to be assigned some useful action.

“I’m all right,” I said, ducking woozily out of Harry’s grasp and swatting at his arm. “Stop grabbing at me. I’m all right. But—but I need to go lie down, or just close my eyes for a while—there’s too much, there’s too many people here.”

“Too many people?” Marcus stood astonished. “You haven’t seen a soul except for—”

“Stop it. Don’t say it like that.” I put my hands over my face and then faced them both again. “You don’t understand at all. You understand even less than I do, so I don’t know what help you’re going to be.”

Harry summed it up with one word. “Ghosts?”

“Yes, ghosts. Ghosts, spirits, souls . . .” I emphasized the word for Marcus, who was very nearly cowering away from me. “What’s the matter?” I asked him. “What is it? Surely you knew; you two seem to know just about everything. You knew that I see ghosts, didn’t you?”

“Y-y-y-yes, but I didn’t know you could see them . . . here. I mean, we have them here?”

“You’re joking! In this city? Has no one ever lived here before, or died here either? You said it was centuries old, do you think there’s no trace of that? Good Lord Almighty. They’re everywhere.”

Across the room a fire blared to life in the stove corner and a large pot appeared, tended by a man who held the iron lid with his hands wrapped in rags. He dropped a long wooden spoon down into the simmering brew and gave it a stir, eyeing me with a half smile. I smelled chicken stock, runny and pungent with curry. I wrinkled my nose.

Yes, it’s very strong, he said in that impossibly lucid Spanish, but the curry will keep them from tasting that the meat is not so fresh. Will you be staying with us tonight?

“Yes, I’ll stay the night. But only the night. In the morning we have to go.”