“We ghosts couldn’t help you, you know—we ghosts—if you got in trouble.” He looks at Ebb, who’s been listening quietly in the background. “We’re only shadows, remnants—our uselessness is our greatest burden. Even if we could fight, which we can’t, the fate of a ghost who crosses a witch is worse than death. If you stay, if—and when—she comes for you, we can’t save you. You’d be completely on your own.”

I sit very still. My stomach hurts. It feels like I’ve swallowed a bag full of rocks. But Germ has always said I’ve had a piece of iron lodged in my back that won’t budge once I decide something.

I can’t leave my mom. Especially when I know there’s a tiny, tiny sliver of a chance I could… fix her.

Homer sighs, relenting, but exasperated.

“If you want to kill the Memory Thief, Rosie, you’d have to do two things: find a witch weapon or how to make one, and find out how your mom saved you the night you were born—why and how you were never taken. But let’s be clear: I’m against it.”

He sounds bitterly worried and disappointed as he continues, “Remember, at the dark moon, she’ll be back for you. There’s no getting around it.”

I knead my hands together, too filled with worry to reply. And seeing this, Homer seems to take pity on me. He slumps a little, and smiles at me.

“Take heart, Rosie,” he says. “Only the witches would have you think there is more darkness in the world than there is light. Only they would have you believe that love could ever really leave you.”

He ruminates for a moment, then stiffens. “The moon is low. You’d better go so Ebb can get you home before he disappears at dawn, like we all do. I’ve kept you too long.”

I stand on unsteady legs and glance at Ebb, who still has the guilty, uncertain look on his face.

“I’d shake your hand,” Homer says, “but you’ll just have to settle for me saying it’s an honor to meet one of the famous Oaks women at long last. And I hope our paths cross again.”

Germ tugs my sleeve. Ebb is already making his way across the cemetery, impatient now, and we turn to follow him.

Looking over my shoulder, I see Homer waving as we hurry away, until he is hidden beyond the trees.

CHAPTER 11

“I like him,” Germ says wistfully. “He’s moody but he’s kind of cute.”