"What he means is that if everyone knows this place is haunted, it should technically not be haunted anymore. Collectors may be capricious bastards, but they get the job done when they get a direct order. That's the only time they cannot choose their targets. But still, we were sent here to deal with a spirit."

"So what are you saying? That the spirit isn't her?"

Thea nods apprehensively.

"What if the collector just hasn't gotten around to getting her? That could happen, no?"

"Technically, it could, but... I don't like this. It's too out in the open for them to just ignore the issue." Pursing her lips, she turns, her screwed eyes taking in all the details of the foyer. "I've been here once before," she remarks. "And I never felt the presence of a spirit."

"And you didn't think to mention this earlier?" I ask drily.

Thea gives me a guilty smile.

"We didn't want to alarm you until we gathered more information. But if these people have been aware of the ghost for decades, that changes everything. It's not just a sighting a few months ago that could be explained away with the fact that a collector hasn't come to, well, collect."

"Hence the trial." Cer cracks a smile. "Of course it wouldn't have been that easy."

"You've both lost me," I mumble, confused.

"We'll see what we're dealing with soon," Thea says. "Don't you worry, Luce. We'll protect you." She winks at me.

I strain a smile. I'm not sure how much I trust them to protect me when I can't even trust them with the facts. Every time they give me one piece of information, it's incomplete. But at the same time, they also have something I don't—some type of superhuman abilities that will prove useful in this game. Despite the fact that I don't trust them, I have to admit that I need them.

Taking a deep breath, I suggest we head to our seats.

Yet as we get to the auditorium, I spot a mini-museum in the back. There are a few artifacts from the original Ziegfeld Follies, including shoes, bags, and ostentatious headdresses.

"Maybe one of these objects could be keeping the spirit in the theatre? If it is Olive Thomas, that is."

"Mayhap," Cer answers noncommittally, scanning the display in his usual bored manner.

Thea, on the other hand, is getting increasingly closer to one of the displays, and from the corner of my eye, I note the lengthening of her nail as she searches for the lock.

"Thea, no!" I say through gritted teeth. "Can't you see how many people are around?"

"But it's so cute." She pouts, gazing at one of the headdresses adoringly.

"And not yours. What did I say about stealing?"

"After everyone leaves?" She bats her lashes at me.

I look at her brother for help with her little sticky fingers—or in her case, clawy fingers—situation, but he pretends he doesn't know us.