“Oh, but you’re nice now, aren’t you? With that big light inside you, and anything you want you can just make happen, because now you’re the Conjurer and I’m still nothing.”

“If that’s true,” I tell her, “then it’s not working.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just want you to know that I’m sorry. That I’m here for no other reason than to tell you that.”

“So what? Am I supposed to forgive you?”

I shake my head. “I’m not here for that.”

“Then why are you here? And stop saying you’re sorry.”

I decide to come at it from another direction.

“What do you want, Mattie?” I ask her.

“If I could have anything?”

“If you could have anything.”

“For you to be dead,” she says.

“That’s not an option,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t die for Del, and I’m not going to die for you.”

“Then let me forget.”

I study her for a long moment.

“Are you sure of that?” I ask. “I thought that was what I wanted, but all I did was make a nightmare for you. And the memories never really go away—not forever. Not for real. They end up festering away inside you and spoiling everything.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

“Pretty much. But until I got here, I didn’t know how badly.”

She doesn’t say anything, and I stop myself from talking. Instead, I change the story about the Ghost Girl and become who I was when I walked into the woods. I offer her my hand.

“What do you want now?” she asks.

“I just want to show you something.”

“Maybe I don’t want to see it.”

“That’s your choice,” I tell her. “I won’t make you do anything.”

“But you could.”

I look her right in the eye.

“I could,” I say.

I’m still holding my hand out to her.

“And what if I do come with you?” she asks.

“Then you’ll see the thing I want to show you.”

“Why don’t you just tell me instead?”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

She hesitates a moment longer, then holds the bear against her chest with one hand and reaches for my hand.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she tells me.

“I know,” I say.

Except it does. How, that’s still to be seen.

I lead her back to the house. She stares curiously at the Eadar gathered in the yard and almost smiles when she spots Tom Foolery, but she catches herself in time.

“Here, sit beside me,” I say.

We sit on the steps, and I pick up the book and my pencil again.

“Can you read?” I ask her.

She gives me a withering look, so I turn to the end of the book where I’ve been writing. She reads what I’ve put down so far.

“And then what?” she asks.