“Dad is why I have to go back in,” I admitted after a pause. “But Erik is why I want to.”

I only really worried about what Lucas thought of me after that. Because he immediately went silent again. Not only that, but, having reached the café where we’d be meeting the team, he parallel parked with way too much ease, never having to redo or hold up traffic like I would have.

That was what made me sure he’d written me off.

Killing the ignition, Lucas turned to look at me. He was about to say something, until he stopped himself, his jaw flexing.

This was it. Any second now, he’d accuse me of lying or suggest I seek professional help. He’d tell me to get out of his car and never—

“I believe you,” he said.

Several beats passed in which I didn’t breathe.

“You . . . do?” I asked, in case he might have changed his mind in the seconds it took me to find my voice.

“What I meant to say,” he corrected, “is that I believe that’s what you experienced.”

I frowned, nausea churning in my empty stomach. Because that was basically a polite way of saying he didn’t believe me.

“I know what I saw,” I said.

“I’m not saying you didn’t see it,” replied Lucas. “And I’m not saying what happened to you, Charlie, and your dad wasn’t paranormal. Obviously, Zedok is as real as we’ve all been afraid he was. But the legend of Moldavia is just that. Ghosts, even demons. Stephanie. They . . . they’re not physical beings.”

“I already told you,” I started again. “Erik isn’t a ghost. He said so himself. I didn’t believe him either. Not until I saw him. Not until I—” I stopped. I could feel myself dancing around a few key details. The almost-kiss. How I’d flung my arms around Erik in that moment when I’d been so relieved to have him at my side again—a familiar presence in a sea of strangeness. Did I think Lucas would judge me? Was I afraid he’d feel betrayed? Or was I more afraid he would refuse to help me help Erik?

“I know you saw him,” Lucas said, taking my hand in a gesture that, though sweet, told me he most definitely did not know. Which made me worry that whatever he was planning to do with SPOoKy might be a bad idea. Perhaps I should have gone back into the house for Erik alone. But then, that felt like a bad idea, too.

“Lucas—”

“The incident with the sheet,” he said, interrupting me. “Erik confirmed that was him, right? But, in that moment, he wasn’t really there. Physically speaking, I mean.”

“Not in the same way as last night,” I agreed. “But . . . he was there.”

“But do you see what I’m saying?” he asked. “If he was real then you’d have seen him then, too.”

I went silent. Lucas had a point, which was too logical to deny. Either Erik was a ghost . . . or he wasn’t. But then, on the flip side, sheets couldn’t settle over mist.