Slowly, I stepped from the cell. The boy was right there. I jumped, letting out an oath. He waggled a finger at me, then motioned with the same finger, and took off.

I hesitated, getting my bearings, then went after him.

Chapter 15

15

THE BOY LED ME THROUGH YET ANOTHER BOARDED-UP door, into another room that stank of rot and stale air. There, wedged between two towers of rotting wooden crates, he’d hidden his stash of treasures—a handful of marbles, some colored stones, feathers, a tin cup painted sky blue, and a hand-sewn animal that was either a dog or an elephant.

“I think you’re missing something,” I said as I crouched beside the pile.

I pulled the green marble from my pocket. The boy gave a wordless chirp, then threw his arms around me. I hesitated, surprised, then hugged him back.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He only looked at me, smiled, and nodded.

I pointed at myself. “Eve. I’m Eve. And you are…?”

The smile brightened another few watts but, again, he answered only with a nod.

“I’m going to help you get out of here. Take you someplace nice. Would you like that?”

He nodded, still smiling. I suspected that if I asked whether he wanted me to take him dogsledding in Siberia, he’d have given the same nod and smile, having no clue what I meant, but perfectly amenable to anything I suggested.

“We’ll leave soon, hon,” I said. “I just have to do one thing first. Find someone. Someone here.” I paused.

“Maybe you could help.”

His head bobbed frantically, and I knew that this time he understood me. So I described Amanda Sullivan. But as I did, his eyes clouded with disappointment, and he gave a slow shake of his head. Finding someone was a concept he understood—applying a verbal description to that person was beyond him.

I concentrated on the news article I’d read, the one with Sullivan’s photo, and tried to make it materialize. Nothing happened. No problem. My skills on this side might be weak, but I could do it easily enough in my own dimension, so after promising to be right back, I popped into the ghost world, conjured up the photo, and returned to the other side.

“This is a picture of the woman I’m looking for.”

He let out a tiny shriek and dove behind me, clutching my leg, face buried against my thigh. I dropped to my knees. He pressed his face into my shoulder. His thin body quaked against mine and I cursed myself. He knew—or sensed—what Sullivan had done. For a few minutes I held him, patting his back and murmuring words of comfort. When he stopped shaking, I shoved the photo into my pocket.

“Forget about her,” I said. “Let’s get you—”