Tunnel of Bones (City of Ghosts #2)(48)

Lara:

How did it go?

Lara:

Cassidy?

Lara:

If you die, I will hunt down your ghost.

Lara:

Hello?

Lara:

You’d better be okay.



I text her back, promising that I’m all right, that Thomas Laurent has officially been sent on (making a point that I couldn’t have done it without Jacob’s help), and that I’ll explain everything tomorrow. Tonight I just want to sleep.

I sag back against the pillows and close my eyes, already sinking down into the dark.



I wake up once in the middle of the night.

No nightmare this time, just the feeling that I’m not alone. I roll over in bed and see Jacob still sitting there, in the open window, his head tipped back. He’s got that faraway look, like he’s staring past the city buildings to somewhere I can’t see. Maybe I’m still asleep, maybe this is the dream, because he doesn’t seem to hear me when I think his name. I close my eyes, and the next thing I know, it’s morning.

Sunlight streams through the windows as we pack up our things. We drop off the luggage and Grim’s cat carrier at the front desk, much to the clerk’s displeasure.

It’s our last morning, and there’s still one thing I have to do.

“Couldn’t you just call her?” asks Dad when I tell him my plan.

I shake my head. “I still have her photos,” I say. “Besides, I want to say goodbye.”

Mom rests a hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right,” she says. “We have time.”

Outside, it’s a gorgeous day, and the whole city shines with light, from the pale stone buildings to the metal rooftops rising against the bright blue sky. And Paris seems to be returning to normal. The Metro is running, the streetlights have stopped shorting out, and there are no emergency vehicles whistling past.

It’s like Thomas never happened.

But of course, he did.

And even if this city is already moving on, I’m not likely to forget anytime soon.

When we get to the Laurents’ building, I ask Mom and Dad to wait outside, and take the stairs two at a time up to apartment 3A. Madame Laurent answers, and at the sight of me standing on her front mat, her eyes narrow, instantly suspicious.

“You again?” she asks, her hand tightening on the open door, but Adele appears at her side.

“Maman! She’s a friend.”

They exchange a few words of rapid French. Then Sylvaine sighs and retreats, leaving Adele and me (and Jacob) alone in the doorway. Adele is dressed in the same gold sneakers and jeans, along with a red-and-yellow sweatshirt, the house emblem over her heart.

Of course. She’s a Gryffindor.

“Come,” she says brightly, “let’s go to my room.”

Adele leads me down the hall and into a bright little bedroom.

“Did it work?” she asks as soon as the door is closed. “What was it like?”

I glance at Jacob, but for once, he looks away.

“It was intense,” I say. “But in the end, we got through to him. Thomas remembered who he was, and I was able to send him on.”

Adele nods thoughtfully. “Where do you think he went?”

“That’s a really big question,” I say. “And to be honest, I don’t know. Somewhere we can’t follow. But the important thing is, he’s not trapped anymore. And he’s not lost. He’s free.”

Adele smiles. “Good,” she says. “Thank you, Cassidy.”

“I couldn’t have done it without your help,” I say. I look to Jacob. And yours.

Jacob manages a sad smile but says nothing—he’s still acting strange.

Adele plucks a lollipop from a jar by the chest of drawers and offers me one. I take it, unwrapping a bright yellow candy. Lemon.

“I never liked lemon,” says Jacob, even though I know he’s just sulking because he can’t eat sugar.

“More for me,” I say absently.

Adele’s eyes widen. “Were you talking to Jacob?” She looks around. “Is he here with us?”

And Jacob, in response, reaches out and raps his knuckles on the windowpane. It gives a tiny shudder, like a pebble hitting glass.

Adele whips around, and I watch, half-amused, half-concerned, as Jacob fogs the window and draws his finger through the mist. A smiley face.

Adele beams. “So cool.”

“Anyway,” I say, pulling the photos from my camera bag. “I wanted to bring these back. I’m sorry they got a little dirty.”

That’s an understatement.

One has a dusty shoe print. Another is torn almost in two.

Adele takes the photos, pressing them to her chest.

“Thank you,” she says, before digging the pouch of sage and salt from her pocket. “I should give this back,” she says, holding it out.

“Keep it,” I say.

“Yeah,” adds Jacob, sniffling.

Adele smiles and puts the pouch away.

“I guess this is goodbye,” I say.

“No,” says Adele. “à bient?t.”

“What does that mean?”

“See you soon.”

She smiles, and I have the strange feeling she’s right.