Even people who had no idea of doors or spirits or believed in ancestor worship or ghosts knew this city was the place on Earth closest to the beyond—whatever that was—that if you died here, you couldn’t help but come back sometimes. It was also Jane’s favorite city in the world, where she insisted they all go to eat too much, to say too much, to listen to too much good music, and to give her all the blessings to bring her baby into the world. Was the driver possessed or had she died driving a similar car? There were tours of haunted houses on every street that were guaranteed to make anyone’s blood run cold. The hotel Ayanna was going to stay in advertised the ghost of a famous writer who had come to the city to write four hours every morning and party eight hours every night. Critics had loved to call his books “gin-soaked.” Altars on different street corners, where everyone was encouraged to leave flowers and dollars for their beloved dead. The last time Ayanna had been here, she had left a fifty and a designer lipstick she had seen in a duty-free shop that felt like something Olivia would have coveted. Each altar was always crowded with every color of roses, which you could conveniently buy down the corner for three dollars a stem.

“Who is it?”

There was always the fear that Vincent’s spirit had returned, sensing her unhappiness, to begin another span of tormenting her. In her bag was a ring Felix had given her, sterling silver and with an evil eye on it. He had told her when he gave it to her that he had followed Amir’s advice for protective objects. He had slept with the ring for a week, he had held it every day and thought about how much he loved her. Ayanna wished she hadn’t put her bag in the trunk.

“She loves you.” Her voice was different. It was like a harmony; Ayanna could hear a familiar voice mixed in with hers. Younger and soft. She recognized it but refused to put a name to the voice. Hope was too much. “I love you.”

Ayanna nodded. She hoped it was a trick to try to get her to tip more. Sometimes, the dead imitated their living selves. Maybe this driver had been a grifter, knowing that pretending to be mystical and engaged was a great way to get extra tips from visitors here. When she had thought about the possibility of this, it was on different terms. Ayanna would walk through the door, her sister would be waiting, and somehow, she would bring her back into the world of the living. She would be somewhere private where she would, could, say everything, and all her emotions, her feelings, would be healthy, and she would have great posture.