We’re rambling back along the uneven cliff-side trail toward home, and I realize, after puzzling over it for a minute, that Germ is talking about Ebb—who leads the way, his head hanging low. This makes it official that Germ thinks every boy on earth is cute, even dead ones. And also that Germ can face anything in the world, even the news of a magical unseen layer underneath all existence, and still stride through life like usual.

“Though, I guess he’ll be thirteen forever,” Germ muses. “Then again, we’ll catch up to him in a couple of years,” she says brightly. “Then again,” she says flatly, “we’ll get older than him really fast.”

Up ahead, Ebb is gloomy, lost in thought. And then he pivots suddenly toward us.

“You should run, Rosie, like Homer says. I don’t think you understand what you’re up against. You only just learned about all this stuff and you have no idea how terrifying it can get. Even if you had a weapon…,” he says, and gets lost in a thought for a moment, then refocuses, shaking his head. “I can’t help you when she comes. We ghosts are useless, like Homer said. We can’t affect anything, really. And if we tangle with witches—” He stops himself.

“What?”

Ebb doesn’t answer. He looks down at the ground, thinking. All the while, he seems to be patting something in his pocket, checking on it occasionally.

“Maybe we can get someone living to help us,” Germ says. “Like someone… adult.”

I nod in agreement. “And I can show my mom the book she hid. Maybe things could come back to her if she sees what she wrote with her own hands.”

Ebb looks unconvinced. “Trust me, none of it will work. Nobody will believe you. And your mom won’t understand. That piece of her is gone.”

“Ebb,” Germ ventures, as if she’s going to say something profound. “You can be kind of a downer,” she blurts out instead. “I’m just being honest.”

Ebb brightens and fades momentarily. I suppose it’s the ghost version of a blush. Then he goes blank, like he’s given up. He pulls whatever it is out of his pocket, cupping it gently in his hand—and I finally see what it is. A spider. Or at least, a ghost of one. Germ and I exchange a look.

“Is that your… little friend?” Germ asks softly, casting me a look.

Ebb glances back at us. “We died on the same day,” he says curtly. He replaces the spider in his pocket and floats on in silence.

“And it talks?” Germ asks, never one to pick up on subtle social cues, like when people don’t want to discuss something.

“All of nature talks in its own way,” he says, but won’t elaborate further. Germ looks at me like she’s not so sure that Ebb isn’t crazy.