“No. Go help your mother.”

Lizzie nodded, then laid down her needlework and disappeared into the kitchen. In the front foyer, Andrew threw open the door, and barked a greeting at the man there—the doctor who’d come to the door before.

“Just stopped by to see if you folks are feeling any better,” the doctor said.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes, your wife came over this morning, said you’d both been up all night with stomach complaints…”

The two continued, having the same conversation they’d had when we’d been watching from the front lawn.

“It’s looping back to the start,” I said. “Did we miss something? Are the Fates playing it again for me?”

“Someone is replaying it, but I don’t think it’s for you.”

Andrew stormed back into the parlor, sniping to his wife and daughter. A moment later, Bridget rushed past, hand over her mouth. I started going after her, but Lizzie stood in the door, peering through the kitchen toward the back window. I kept going—and bumped into her, hitting so hard, I bounced back.

“She’s real,” I said, looking over my shoulder at Kristof. “Solid.”

Without waiting for his reaction, I strode across the room, reaching out to both Abby and Andrew. My hand passed right through both. As with the doctor outside, I was the corporeal one here. They were the spirits.

“So Lizzie is real,” I said. “But only her.”

Kristof nodded, as if he’d reached this conclusion already.

“If she’s real, then I can talk to her. I saw something in her eyes earlier—”

“She looked at you.”

“Yes, but I think I also saw the Nix—or some leftover bit of her. Lizzie Borden must have been one of the Nix’s partners. This must be the one the Fates wanted me to speak to, so let’s—”

Kristof laid a hand on my arm.

“Don’t rush her,” he murmured. “Try it again when she’s sitting down.”

When Lizzie finally sat with her needlework, I plunked down beside her.

“I know you can hear me,” I said.

She kept stitching, the needle sliding through the fabric, dragging a blue stream of thread after it.

“Look—” I began.

“Wait,” she said.

She looked up at her father, who was adjusting his jacket, preparing to leave.

“Have a pleasant day at work, Father,” she said.

He responded with an abrupt nod, and another for his wife, then walked out the front door. Abby and Lizzie worked in silence, as they had before. When Abby headed upstairs, Lizzie’s eyes slanted toward me. My cue.

“Good,” I said. “Now stop sewing.”

“I cannot.”

I glanced at Kristof. He motioned for me to ignore the needlework and continue.

“I need to talk to you.”

She said nothing, just kept working with swift, determined strokes.

“Look, I am going to talk to you, whether you—”

“Hurry.”