Tunnel of Bones (City of Ghosts #2)(23)

I stand there, the blue-white light shining from my chest like a beacon.

Come out, come out, I think.

But there’s no sign of him, or anyone else.

“Maybe he’s playing hard to get,” observes Jacob.

The words ping inside my head, landing on something, a thought I can’t quite reach. I’m starting to get light-headed from the time in the Veil, the air thinning in my lungs.

I groan in exasperation and cut back into the land of the living, sagging onto a bench to steady myself.

Think. Think. Think.

Jacob sinks down beside me.

“It wasn’t a bad idea,” he says, trying to comfort me and also clearly hoping I’ll give up, and we can go watch the rest of the movie.

But I can’t. I’m almost onto something. The poltergeist has been staying close to me this whole time, so there’s no reason to believe he’s totally disappeared now. No, he must be hanging back, waiting. For what?

Playing hard to get.

Playing.

I straighten and look at Jacob. “I think you’re right!”

He crosses his arms. “Don’t sound so surprised.” And then he adds, “Right about what?”

But I’m already on my feet, reaching for the Veil.

The world vanishes, springs back, and I steady myself against a lamppost, already dizzy—it’s like diving for pennies on the bottom of a pool. Hold your breath, go down one too many times, and it gets harder to come back up. But this time, instead of shouting or searching, I look around the bleak gray world and find the front of a building, decorated by pillars.

I tug Jacob behind the nearest one and crouch low, pressing my camera to my chest to smother the light.

A few seconds later I feel cold air on the back of my neck, and I nearly jump before I realize it’s just Jacob.

“You’re breathing on me,” I whisper, trying not to shiver.

“Sorry,” he whispers back. “But what exactly are we doing?”

“We’re hiding,” I say.

All this time, the poltergeist has been playing a game. And so far, he’s made all the rules. All this time, he’s been following us. So why don’t we follow him? Maybe he’ll lead us somewhere. Maybe we’ll find a clue. Maybe we’ll figure out— “That’s a whole lot of maybes,” says Jacob.

“Maybe is a match in the dark,” I murmur, half to myself.

It’s one of Mom’s favorite sayings, for when she gets stuck on a story. She starts giving herself options, potential threads, turning every dead end into a new path with one simple word: maybe.

Maybe is a rope in a hole, or the key to a door.

Maybe is how you find the way out.

We just have to wait for him to show up.

We wait. One minute. Three. Five.

Until my head begins to pound, until it’s hard for me to breathe. A reminder that I shouldn’t be here; I’m not made of the right stuff.

But I swear I can feel the poltergeist nearby, a trickle of cold creeping through the air.

“Cassidy,” warns Jacob, but I don’t move.

Just a little longer.

“Cass.”

I’m sure he’ll show up.

My vision blurs a little, and when I try to swallow, I taste the river in my throat. Panic ripples through me as I try to breathe, try to stand, but the Veil sways and darkness sweeps across my eyes, followed by nothing.





The next thing I know I’m sitting on the curb back in the real world, cars zooming through a busy intersection, the city full of color and noise. My head thuds dully, and I press my palms into my eyes and then look up, a translucent Jacob looming over me.

“Enough,” he says, arms crossed. “That was way too close.”

“It could have worked,” I mumble, getting to my feet. “It would have if—”

I’m cut off by a sudden, violent shiver, and an instant later, a truck swerves around the corner.

I catch the briefest glimpse of a shadow before the truck’s back door falls open and the contents begin to spill out. Boxes and crates smash into the street, followed by a massive golden frame that hurtles straight toward me.

The crack of wood.

The glint of glass.

Move, I think, but my legs are frozen.

“… CAS …”

Jacob calls my name, but the word is all stretched out and slow.

“… SI …”

Everything’s too slow.

“… DY … !”

Everything except for the breaking pane of glass crashing toward me.

“Look out!”

And then something hits me. Not the frame, but a pair of hands. They plant themselves against my back and shove, and I stumble forward to the pavement, scraping my palms as the frame crashes into the stone wall and rains glass onto the street behind me.

I twist around and see Jacob standing there, amid the shattered glass. And before I can wonder how he was able to do that, I look down at his feet and realize it’s not ordinary glass at all.

It’s a mirror.

A thousand fragments littering the pavement at his feet.

“Don’t look!” I call, but it’s too late.

Jacob looks down.

His blue eyes widen. His whole body ripples, thins, the way it did the last time he saw himself, trapped in a reflection. A ghostly pallor begins to bleed across his front, hair darkening with water.