• • •

Brian was watching the not-ghost carefully. Its back was to him, but he could tell that it was a woman. She wore a red robe that reminded Brian uncomfortably of a fountain of blood, its sleeves so wide that they concealed her hands, and her long black hair trailed down her back. It was moving slightly, as though buffeted by an unseen breeze, but as Brian continued to stare, it began to fan out from her head, and her robes started to billow. Brian realized that, rather than glimpsing someone standing in a breeze, he was looking at a woman somehow suspended underwater, an impression strengthened by the fact that the end of her robe was not touching the ground.

Brian’s hands, which now tended to tremble at the best of times, began to shake harder. The mugs clinked together. The spoons jangled. The tea slopped. Together, they made what sounded to Brian’s ears like the most awful racket.

The not-ghost’s head twisted slightly. She seemed to be listening to the sounds coming from the tray, but that couldn’t be right. Professor Stefan had said that it was all one-way traffic. We could see them, but they couldn’t see us. On the other hand, Professor Stefan had said nothing about hearing, but when Brian had seen his first not-ghost he’d dropped his tray in fright, and on that occasion the not-ghost hadn’t reacted at all. Perhaps, Brian thought, the not-ghost was listening to something in her own universe. Yes, that was it. She wasn’t listening to the noises coming from the tea tray. She couldn’t be. Everything was fine. Happy thoughts, Brian, happy thoughts.

Still, just to reassure himself Brian decided to put the tray down on the small table in the kitchen. It was probably for the best. If he didn’t he’d end up covered in tea and milk.

Carefully, Brian set the tray on the table to his right. He tried to do it as quietly as possible, but it still made a noticeable sound as it touched the wood.

The not-ghost’s head inclined slightly to the right. This time, though, the rest of her body began to follow in the same direction.

Oops, thought Brian. Oops, oops, oops.

The not-ghost slowly turned 180 degrees in the air until she was facing Brian, except that facing was probably not the word Brian would have used. To face someone, the first thing you need is a face, and the not-ghost had no face at all. There was only darkness, and now Brian saw that what he had believed was hair was not hair at all but tendrils of shadow extending from the blackness where her face should have been.

Brian did what any sensible person would do.

Brian fled.

30. Or twigs. Or police stations.

31. Formerly Uncle Dabney’s Special Brand Bull’s-Eyes, until it was discovered that the chewy centers were, in fact, actual bulls’ eyes.

32. Again, formerly Uncle Dabney’s Unusually Fiery Acid Drops, until, well, you can work it out for yourself . . .