“He seemed really upset when Liam wounded him, so that makes sense,” Colin replies. “The main thing I remember about him is that he was wearing a uniform of some sort with a logo here.” He taps his chest.

I dig my sketchbook out from beneath my blankets and lean against the bed. “Can you describe it?”

“There was some sort of circle or loop on it.” His eyes roll upward as he thinks. “The letters went through it. I remember it started with Jo and ended with a C.” I sketch a loop resembling an innertube and then write Jo on one side and C on the other. “And there were thick specks all over it. Like rain.”

I draw those, too, spreading them about like confetti, then turn the image around for him to see. His face brightens. “That’s really good! I wish I could remember the rest of the letters.”

“We can look it up online,” I say, my face warming beneath his praise. “Once my hair dries, we can— What?”

He blinks at me. “Your hair?”

“Curly hair rule number one.” I gesture at my head. “Never go anywhere with wet hair. Might as well invite the fuzz in and give it a cup of tea.”

He grimaces. At least I think I’m funny.

“Fine,” I say, slipping on a pair of brown fuzzy socks with pumpkins. “But only because Max likes you.”

No sooner have I slid past him into the hall than Nora’s voice echoes from downstairs. “Anna? Anna, these chores won’t do themselves!”

I cringe. Apparently, Colin’s arrival and an impromptu ghost gathering aren’t enough of an excuse to skip my endless list of chores. I’m pretty sure Nora would keep on business as usual if the house flipped on its chimney and did a jig.

Max takes one look at me and bolts the other way. If he’s anywhere near me, he’ll be dragged into working too.

Tearing the logo page free, I hold it out to Colin. “You can use the computer in my dad’s study if you want. I have to do some chores first.”

Colin looks from me to the paper, clearly weighing something. “I’ll help you,” he says. “Then we can look together.”

I fold the paper up and tuck it in my pocket before he can change his mind. “Come on!”

We start by locating Rose in the back garden, where she’s sitting lengthwise across a pale wood bench wrapped in wrought iron, filling little cloth bags with various herbs. Her empathy has always been a little different, in that she’s just as capable of reading the emotions of a flower or tree or even the house as she is a person, so she handles tending to the grounds. Which, if you ask me, is not a chore, seeing as she’d just do it for fun anyway.