“Okay,” I conceded. “But that still doesn’t explain how we’re going to find this guy. Or what it is he has that they could possibly want. Proof, maybe?” I took another beer from the minifridge and put my hand on my neck. “Maybe we could make a beacon shoot out of him, like a beam of fire?”

Cal shook her head. “I have a better idea.”

“And that is . . . ?”

“Let’s use the Looking Glass.”

—

I HAVEN’T TOLD YOU much about the Looking Glass yet, have I? Of course, I know I haven’t. I’m just being coy.

In short, the Looking Glass finds what’s been lost. Be it a person, an object, or a moment in time, the Looking Glass has access to it all. If you have the right keywords, every single thing every single one of us has ever thought or seen or touched during our time on Earth can be rethought, reseen, retouched. It is Google for the entirety of human memory, and it is the only thing in Hell that is used with respect. Even the people who work on the Sixth Floor have limited access, if any. My elevator pass alone wouldn’t get me in the door. It takes a special kind of case or a special kind of person to gain access.

I needed the Looking Glass, too, you may remember. Not for this deal, but for my whole grand plan: I needed what only it could find. I had been thinking for weeks about how to get myself in, now that I had an elevator pass. What story to feed KQ so she would sign over approval.

And then here was Cal, holding the door wide open.

She was right—KQ wouldn’t be able to deny fifteen souls at once. As for how I would use that access for my own means, or what I would do when she realized I didn’t search for the results she expected, I would figure that out later.

For now, I just needed Cal to think the whole thing was her idea.

“What’s the Looking Glass?” I asked.

MICKEY

“DINNER SMELLS DELICIOUS, MR. HARRISON!” Ruth said as she jumped the last two steps into the kitchen, Mickey close behind. Mickey wore one of Ruth’s dresses, a gauzy blue sundress she had admired but would never ask to borrow, certain Ruth’s clothes would somehow be embarrassed to be seen on her. But Ruth said she thought it would bring out her eyes. Mickey felt like a fairy as she ran her fingers over the fabric, so fragile it felt whimsical, as if stitched by songbirds. She loved the way it fluttered after her on her way down the stairs.

Silas threw a dish towel over his shoulder and turned to face the girls. When he saw Mickey, his hand went to his heart.

“What—where is my daughter? Who is this princess in my kitchen?”