My heart is beating kind of hard, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m scared or because I’m hoping something will happen. Fina clutches my hand.

Eleven . . .

I look around the graveyard to check for any signs that we aren’t alone, but there’s nothing.

Twelve.

The bell goes still, and Fina and I stare at each other for a long moment.

“It’s over,” she says.

“Yeah,” I agree, trying to hide my disappointment. I’m not sure what I was expecting. Gram taught me to believe in magic, not ghosts. And anyway, the bell is always five minutes late, which means it’s already a few minutes past midnight.

Then suddenly, just on the other side of Isabella Fortune’s grave, I see a darting movement. As soon as I turn my head it’s gone, but I know it was there.

My heart skips a beat.

Fina and I are not alone in the graveyard after all.

25

Fina hears the little gasp I make. “What?” she says. “What is it?”

“I saw something by the church.”

“Should we go investigate?”

My heart is pounding again.

“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s go.”

We stand up and start walking, still holding hands. Whatever I saw, there’s no sign of it now.

Then, as we’re rounding the church, Fina squeezes my hand tighter and points. We watch, frozen in fear, as the figure slips through the gap in the brick wall that leads to the old part of the graveyard.

If it is a ghost, it’s a very substantial one. And it is definitely not Gram. This person has stooped, narrow shoulders and a prowling kind of walk. Just before the figure disappears through the opening in the wall, it turns and gazes over one shoulder.

And even though we can’t make out the figure’s eyes, I know—I can feel—that they are staring straight at us.

Terror darts through my heart, and the next thing I know, we’re running out of the graveyard, back across the street, and down the lane behind Morning Glory Cottage.

“What . . . was that?” Fina asks, still panting as I close my bedroom door behind us. “A ghost?”

“It looked more like a person to me,” I say. Adrenaline buzzes in my ears.

“Or a vampire,” Fina adds, somewhat hopefully.

We’re both shivering, so we climb under the covers. For a minute, neither of us says anything, and I wonder if Fina is waiting for her heart to slow, too.

“I feel like we just had a real adventure,” she says.

“Me, too,” I reply.

“It’s funny,” she whispers. “Sitting there and talking about your gram and my grandfather, it kind of felt like they were with us, just for a few minutes, didn’t it? I think that’s exactly what Día de los Muertos is about.”