The third . . . I caught my breath. The third showed Jilly, but not the Jilly who referred to herself as the Broken Girl. This was the Jilly I remembered from when we were in our twenties—a vibrant and young Jilly who didn’t need canes or a wheelchair. She was in a forest of some kind, but it wasn’t the Greatwood—at least not the way it had ever been described to me. It looked more like the bush country up around here or over in Tyson, where Jilly was originally from.

I looked up to meet Cassie’s gaze.

“It doesn’t look like they’re together,” I said.

She shook her ahead. “But they seem unharmed.”

“Who are these people?” Con asked, pointing to the first card.

I got down on the floor so that I could get a better look. I could see now that they were bogans, but not just a marauding pack like Lizzie had described. There were old and young ones here, male and female. An extended family, maybe. And then I realized what they were doing.

“That’s a bogan funeral,” I said. “See the figure on the pyre? Why are the cards showing this?”

“I think it’s the Tombs,” Con said. “That building back there is the old Charleton Mill.”

He was right.

Siobhan pointed to the third card. “And that could be anywhere between here and Tyson.”

“Damn Joe,” Cassie said. “Because,” she added when we all looked at her, “he’d know where these places are. He could take us to wherever they are. And if he’d carry a cell, we could call him right now.”

“Can you get hold of the crow girls again?” I asked. “They could take us, couldn’t they?”

“Probably,” she said. “But I don’t know to get in touch with them. I was lucky to run into them in the first place and just like Joe, they don’t have phones.”

“Fairies don’t use phones?” Andy asked.

“They’re not fairies,” I said, “and they’re just like us. Some of them have no use for technology, some can’t live without it.”

My gaze returned to Jilly’s card and I went away for a moment, remembering. We’d been such good friends in those days, seeing each other every day. We could have been more, too. I remember trying to build myself up to broach the possibility of that with her, but then we took a road trip to Tyson and on the night when our relationship could have slipped into a more physical intimacy, we’d shared war stories instead, sorry tellings of how bad it had been for each of us growing up. Hers were worse. Somehow, that night changed the possibility of our being lovers to the certainty of our being best friends instead.