“Tell me the truth, Joshua: did I disappear just now, or have I been standing on this sidewalk the whole time?”

He frowned, tilting his head to one side to scrutinize me.

“Well,” he said, “there were a few seconds when I didn’t see you, when I left the dining room to sneak out the front door. But as far as I know, you’ve been sitting here the whole time. I guess you stood up at some point, though....”

Joshua trailed off as I sagged against him. I turned my face into his sweater, not even looking up when, after a moment’s hesitation, he wrapped his arms around me.

We stayed like that for a while: him holding me, me desperately wanting to hold him, too. But I was more afraid than ever to do that now. Especially when I heard his answer to my next question.

“Just one last thing,” I murmured into his shirt. “Can you tell me if you saw the fire again?”

Joshua stirred a little, but didn’t loosen his grip on me. “What fire?” he answered, as casually as if I’d asked him what time it was.

I bit my lip, holding back a sob. Those two little words—“what fire”—told me so much about my mental state. About my future, and Joshua’s place in it. Even if I could keep the demons away from me, and therefore away from Joshua, there was still an obvious problem brewing.

Me.

It seemed as though I was becoming like those ghosts I’d met last night: terrified; half crazy; running scared at the slightest sound. And if I was bouncing between real threats and hallucinated ones, how could I justify being anywhere near Joshua for any longer than tonight? Unless someone, somehow, could end the dreams and hallucinations. Maybe even empower me against the demons for good measure.

It seemed as if I really did have one last hope: a girl I barely knew, and trusted even less.

With a deep sigh, I leaned away from Joshua’s sweater and then looked up into his beautiful, worried eyes. I gave him a light smile—one that I knew he could see through but hoped he appreciated all the same.

“Okay, Mr. Voodoo Conjurer,” I said, forcing a positive note into my voice. “Is it time to go yet?”

“Yeah, it’s already eleven thirty. The party’s still going strong inside; I don’t think anyone realized I even left the table.”

“Well, that’s good. At least we won’t have … anyone … you know, following us.”

He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “You mean Ruth? I don’t think she’s going to be doing any following any time soon.”

“Don’t say that.” I placed a few fingertips on his chest. “She’s just getting over a really bad headache.”

Joshua shook his head uncomfortably, looking away from me. We both knew that when I was the one expressing optimism, things might not be so great. I’d lifted my hand, ready to guide Joshua’s face back to mine, ready to say something reassuring, when his expression changed.

“Taxi’s here,” he murmured.

I turned in the direction he was staring. Two headlights bounced unevenly toward us as a battered white vehicle pulled forward and stopped in front of the house. The driver’s window lowered.

“You call for a cab?” a rough voice barked out to Joshua.

“Yeah,” Joshua said, stepping closer to the car.

At that moment it hit me that we were really about to go perform a Voodoo ceremony, and my stomach did a sudden flip. But I followed Joshua anyway, coming close enough to see the cabdriver: a grizzled old man with one arm slung carelessly out the window. He jerked his head toward the back, indicating that Joshua could let himself inside. Clearly, this driver wasn’t interested in getting up to open the door for a teenage fare.

The only effort he expended was to raise one eyebrow when Joshua held the door open for me—or for thin air, from the driver’s perspective. Before I ducked into the cab, however, I saw him shrug dismissively. He’d seen weirder things in his career; he’d probably seen weirder things tonight.

When Joshua finally climbed in and closed the car door, the driver cleared his throat. “Where to?”

Joshua leaned toward the opening in the clear plastic that separated the front and back seats. “St. Louis Number One Cemetery, please.”

The cabdriver chuckled, but he abruptly stopped when he realized Joshua wasn’t joking.

“You’re serious,” he stated flatly. In the rearview mirror, I could see his bushy white eyebrows rise again.

Joshua nodded. “Yes, sir. St. Louis Number One.”

The driver turned slightly so that we could see his profile through the plastic divider. He no longer looked bored or unconcerned.

“Listen, kid. I know people say the Cities of the Dead are safer than they used to be, but that doesn’t mean you should be traipsing around them at night. Including this one.”

“I appreciate the advice,” Joshua said with an air of finality.

“But it’s locked after dark,” the driver pressed. “So there’s no point in wandering outside in that part of town this late.”

When Joshua didn’t answer, the driver hesitated, still eyeballing his young—and possibly crazy—fare. Then he shrugged again and spun back around in his seat. He pressed a few buttons on the console with one hand and turned the wheel with the other.

“It’s your funeral, kid,” the driver muttered, guiding the cab back into the flow of traffic on Ursulines Avenue.

“If you think about it,” Joshua pointed out, “that’s kind of ironic.”

The driver snorted and then fell back into silence as he navigated the cab northwest. No one spoke while he drove, carefully moving the car through the thick press of milling partyers at the intersection of Ursulines and Bourbon. Only when the driver turned onto the long, less-crowded stretch of Dauphine Street did Joshua break the silence, leaning forward again.

“It’s off of Basin, right?” he asked. “Near Iberville?”

The driver merely grunted in reply. Joshua settled back against the seat and folded my hand into his. He gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze.

I looked up at him in the darkness, watching the streetlights illuminate and then hide his profile in turns. He caught me staring and gave me a broad grin. I could see his optimism shining out at me from that confident smile—he was sure that tonight would go well. That I would get the help I needed.

And God, did I want him to be right. If Gabrielle could stop the disorienting visions, if she could help me regain my glow and my poltergeist strength, then maybe—just maybe—I didn’t have to leave. I could fight off the demons, avoid the transparent ghosts, and stay by Joshua’s side, for at least a little while longer.

These bewitching ideas were still chasing one another around in my head when the cab pulled to a stop along the curb next to a long, white stone wall. Up ahead I could see a break in the wall where a gate of bars guarded the entrance.

The cabdriver placed the car in park, fiddled with his meter, and then flopped back into his seat with a resigned sigh.

“The St. Louis Number One,” he announced.

“Thanks,” Joshua said, tossing a wad of bills through the opening in the divider. He pushed open the door and climbed out, then stood aside so that I could climb out too. After slamming the cab door shut, he gave the driver a casual salute, as if to say Thanks, and don’t worry about me, pal.

Instead of driving off—his money earned and his obligatory warning delivered—the cabdriver leaned out the front window one more time.

“Look, kid,” the driver said, “I have a grandson who’s reckless and stupid, too. So I’m going to say it again: don’t try and go in there. It’s a bad, bad idea. How about I take you home? Free. No fare.”

Joshua shook his head, hard. “Like I said: thanks, but I’m good.”

To emphasize his point, Joshua patted the roof of the cab. The driver understood the “move-along” signal well enough. He took a last look at Joshua, lifted one shoulder in another dismissive shrug, and then pulled the car back onto the road.