Recognizing the strange accent of the first speaker—the one who’d told me about the statue—I leaned forward cautiously. The man caught me looking and beamed up a radiant, if slightly flawed, smile. Even through the nasty scars on his mahogany-dark skin, I could tell he’d once been handsome. Before getting into about five hundred knife fights, from the looks of his cheeks.

“Hello there,” he said, touching the brim of what looked an awful lot like a pirate hat. “Welcome to the Place d’Armes.”

“It’s called Jackson Square now,” a nasally voice corrected him. “They haven’t called it Place d’Armes since they hung people like you here.”

I immediately recognized this voice as the one that had corrected the pirate guy about President Jackson. The nasally speaker stood aloof, slightly apart from his fellow ghosts, wearing an old-fashioned tuxedo and a pinched expression. If I had to guess, I’d bet he was once a blue blood and still harbored some leftover disdain for his present company.

Which begged the question: Why was he here, with these other ghosts? Why were any of them here?

“None of you really answered me,” I said cautiously. “Who are you?”

The last of the ghosts moved forward, stepping in front of her companions. She was the youngest, probably only a few years older than me when she died. Her long black braids fell across the shoulders of a dark cape clasped at the base of her throat.

“We are what is left,” she answered in a soft, vaguely French accent.

For some reason I shivered. “What do you mean ‘left’? Left of what?”

“Those who have died in the Quarter,” she whispered. “We five are the last to walk unclaimed.”

I twisted one corner of my mouth. “Are you saying that you’re the last ghosts left in one of the creepiest places in America? Because I find that hard to believe.”

She shrugged, her wide, dark eyes never leaving mine. “Your belief or disbelief does not make it any less true.”

“O-kay,” I said, drawing out my O like Joshua always did when he didn’t necessarily trust something. “Then who are your masters?”

The sound of the pirate’s booming laugh echoed off the statue. “We have none, girl. And those of us who did can’t remember now.”

I shook my head, still skeptical. “The only other ghost I’ve met was working for other beings. All the other ghosts had either gone to heaven or … someplace else.”

“Not you, though,” the dark-haired girl pointed out. “You have no masters, and you’re still here.”

“Well … yeah.” I frowned. “Not me.”

“As you are now, we once were,” she said. “Lost in the fog, without guidance. Over the centuries, we have awoken and found one another. Together, we have hidden from the dark ones.”

Upon hearing her last words, my stomach clenched. “‘Dark ones’? You mean … the demons?”

“Those things with the horrible, pale faces?” the pirate asked. When I nodded, he grunted roughly. “If that’s what you call them, demon is as good a name as any.”

I felt a chill inch up my spine. “So they are here, in New Orleans?”

“They’re everywhere, girl,” he said with a dark laugh. “The demons and their dark caves are everywhere. They hunt all over the world, for the likes of us.”

“They still come after you?”

The five ghosts exchanged looks, and then, slowly, each of them nodded.

“Them,” the pirate said, “and those damned ghost hunters. Exorcising souls left and right. Course, they’re easier to avoid than the dark ones.”

In the calmest voice I could manage, I asked, “How do you keep the demons from finding you?”

“By vanishing,” the soldier said. “Often.”

“Materialization,” I muttered to myself. Just like I intended to do. I felt a small flush of relief that at least part of my plan might go right. Louder, I asked, “How has it worked so far?”

“It’s not without sacrifice.” The gray-haired woman gestured down the length of her transparent body. “This is the result of too much vanishing. Soon, you vanish too.”

I had to repress a gasp. “Are you telling me that materializing does that to you?”

“Among other things. Too much of it and you lose whatever connects you to the living world: your body, your memories.”

“Your memories?” I sunk a little against the statue. “You lose your memories?”

“Course you do,” the pirate stated matter-of-factly. “If I remembered anything, I’ve lost it now. My life’s gone. Even my name. Hazard of the trade.”

“Is it … worth it?” I asked. “To escape the demons?”

The black-haired girl gave me a bitter smile. “If you had ever seen one of their dark worlds, then you would know that escape is your only option. Loss of memory, loss of form—they are nothing compared to those places.”

Several images instantly ran through my mind: sensations I’d remembered in my flashes; the sight of my mother in the morning sunshine; Joshua’s face, smiling at me.

Did these ghosts have such memories to weigh against the value of their afterlives? If so, then I dreaded even more the moment when I had to make their choice. Especially since that moment suddenly seemed all too close.

“Why are you here?” I asked them softly. “With me, I mean?”

“You found us, girl,” the pirate said.

“Maybe. But none of you looked too surprised to see me tonight.”

The black-haired girl moved a fraction of an inch closer. “We are never surprised to meet the dead in this city. What is more unusual is when we find a soul that has not yet been claimed. If we see someone like that, then we try to help them. Before the dark ones come.”

The corner of my mouth pulled back again into its skeptical little twist. “That’s … awfully nice of you.”

Missing my sarcasm, the girl bowed her head as if to say You’re welcome.

The blond soldier huffed an irritated sigh, clearly bored with the drawn-out explanation of his bleak afterlife. “We’ve told the girl enough,” he barked. “Let’s finish this.”

“Finish what?”

“Finish by offering you our company,” the pirate said hurriedly, his eyes darting to the soldier and then back to me. “If you’re running … you can always run with us.”

For a moment I kept silent. All five ghosts watched me, their faces turned up expectantly.

I bit my lip and pressed my hand flat against the statue. This wasn’t my first offer of help from another ghost, so I suppose you couldn’t blame me for suspecting this group’s motive. Especially since I’d learned the hard way that ghosts didn’t take denial very well.

But … did I want to deny them?

Whatever their motive, they obviously knew how to do the very thing that I needed, if not wanted, to do: survive, in a sense. Escape the demons and keep myself—and the people I loved—from the darkness.

Even if I had to trade my memories to do so, I knew this option would always be worth it. I just had to decide how to carry it out.

And with whom, apparently.

“Thank you for the offer,” I said slowly, thoughtfully. “I hope you understand that I need a while to consider it.”

“Were I you, I would not take too long,” the dark-haired girl warned. “We intentionally make ourselves difficult to find.”

I nodded. “That’s fair. How about Christmas night, three days from now? I’ll try to materialize wherever you are … if I decide to show up at all.”

“Settled.” The soldier finally uncrossed his arms and turned to his fellow ghosts. “Now can we leave? We’ve been in the open too long already.”

The pirate grunted in agreement. As if that was their signal, the ghosts moved in unison, gathering closer together. They continued to watch me with those sheer faces that had probably seen more centuries than I could comprehend. For a moment they hovered silently in their eerie little cluster, and then, without another word or warning, they vanished all at once.

Jackson Square now seemed creepier, even without a cadre of ghosts trying to add me to their ranks. The cackles of laughter from the side streets, the palmetto leaves shifting noisily in the wind—all of it made me wonder whether darker things were on their way, too.