I told Kristof all this as we trudged through the swamp, taking turns blasting the vines from our path. I skipped that part about bartering for the directions, though, and made it sound as if they were common knowledge. Kris wasn’t fooled. He knew me, and he knew I must have been investigating Ross as a potential teacher, someone to help me in my quest to help Savannah. But he let the matter drop without comment. My “Savannah project” was one subject guaranteed to start fireworks, and neither of us wanted that. Not today.

We headed north, knowing we’d eventually reach the Caribbean. We came out near Puerto Cortez, or so we were informed by the first person we came across, a young man with the bleached-blond hair and dark tan of someone who’d spent his life near the ocean, and wasn’t about to leave it after his death.

“Good surf?” I asked, pointing at his board.

“Nah. Great snorkeling, but no freaking surf unless you make it yourself.” A quick flash of white teeth. “Good thing I can.”

“Tempestras,” I said.

“Whoa, you’re good.”

“Aspicio,” I said, extending my hand.

He shook it sideways, fingers hooking around mine, thumb up. “Cool. You guys have the X-ray vision, right?”

“Something like that.” I looked at his board. “So where do you conjure up your surf?”

“Over by Tela, near the National Park.”

“Is that anywhere near Roatan? That’s where we’re heading…or trying to.”

“Roatan?” His gaze flicked over Kristof and me, then he shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat. Easiest way would be to stick to the coastal route. Eventually you’ll come to La Ceiba. That’s the gateway to Roatan. Got quite a ways to go. Nice hike, though.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“No problem. You folks enjoy yourselves over there.” He started to leave, then stopped and gave us another once-over. “Just, uh, make sure you change before you get to La Ceiba. They like to keep the place, you know, pure.”

After he left, I turned to Kristof.

“Pure?”

He shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out.”

I certainly wasn’t about to catch up to the half-demon surfer and ask, no matter how friendly he’d seemed. I’d landed myself into trouble doing that before. In the ghost world, it’s one thing to admit you don’t quite know where you’re going, but it’s another to admit you don’t know what to expect when you get there. Opens you up to a whole world of grief.