“Non,” whispers Thomas, but he no longer sounds angry. Only sad, and lost.

“C’est finit, Thomas,” repeats Jacob, and I swear I can see tears streaming down the dust on his face.

“C’est finit,” Thomas whispers back, and the red light falters and fails.

At last, Thomas stops fighting.

The tunnel stops shaking.

The Empire of the Dead goes quiet and still.

Thomas stares up at me, his eyes wide and brown and scared as I reach him. Jacob bows his head against the boy, his eyes squeezed shut as I bring the mirror up.

“Watch and listen,” I say gently.

His edges ripple in Jacob’s arms.

“See and know.”

He gazes into the mirror, tears staining his cheeks.

“This is what you are.”

Thomas thins from flesh and blood to gossamer and smoke, and I reach into the boy’s chest, fingers closing around the thread. I draw it out, the thin coil of a life that shouldn’t have been so short. It comes free, dissolving in my palm, and as it disappears, so does Thomas Alain Laurent.

There, and then gone.

Poltergeist, and then ghost, and then nothing.

Jacob’s arms fall to his sides, empty. He slumps back against the wall behind him, for once not even seeming to mind that it’s made of skulls.

“Jacob?” I whisper, worried by his silence.

He scrubs at his eyes and swallows. Then he pulls the borrowed cap from his head and tosses it aside. “Ick,” he says, peeling off the coat. “So gross.”

I lean against the wall beside him, and for a long second we just sit there, amid the bones, in the dark. My head is spinning, and my throat is coated with ash, and we both know it’s time to go, but something keeps us there.

“We did it,” says Jacob.

“We did,” I echo, leaning my head against his shoulder.

And then the Catacombs begin to whisper.

Jacob and I exchange a look.

Thomas may be gone, but this place is far from empty.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say, reaching for the Veil.

For an instant, it resists, but then Jacob’s hand joins mine, and together we pass through. A surge of cold hits my lungs, and the world is back, and suddenly bright. A second later, Jacob appears beside me, his usual see-through self, and I look around, worried we’ve wandered too far. But then I hear my parents’ voices, loud and blessedly close, and I round the corner the instant before they turn back and look.

“There you are,” calls Dad. “I thought we warned you not to wander.”

“Sorry,” I say, jogging to catch up. “I was trying to stay out of the shots.”

Mom slings an arm around my shoulder.

She looks back into the Catacombs.

“Here’s hoping that’s the end of that,” she says.

And I couldn’t agree more.

We climb in silence, and it’s only when we reach the street that Mom notices my clothes.

“Cassidy Blake,” she scolds. “How on earth did you get so dirty?”

Back at the Hotel Valeur, I take a really, really hot shower, trying to rinse the Catacombs from my skin. I towel off and slide on a pair of red-and-yellow pajamas, feeling like I’ve earned my Gryffindor colors tonight.

Mom and Dad are on the sofa, sharing a bottle of red wine as they watch the new footage. Annette gave them a copy of the digital file only, and said it would be best if she and Anton looked after the rest.

On the screen, my parents stand before a wall of bones, the lights casting long shadows across each of the patterned skulls.

“Looks good,” I say, padding past them.

“Well,” says Dad, “it wasn’t how we planned on spending our last night—”

“But the upside is,” adds Mom, “this take turned out even better.”

“I’m glad it all worked out,” I say, genuinely relieved.

“Want to watch?” asks Mom, patting the sofa beside her, where Grim twitches an ear.

I shake my head. “No thanks,” I say.

I’ve officially had enough of the Empire of the Dead.

In my room, I find Jacob sitting on the sill of the open window.

He glances over his shoulder.

“I wish I could take a shower,” he says, rubbing at a smudge of dirt on his arm. “I smell like grave dirt and old bones.”

I cross to the window beside him and sniff the air. “You don’t smell like anything to me.”

“Well, clearly my spectral senses are sharper than yours.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Speaking of smells, now that Thomas is gone, can we please get rid of all the sage and salt? It’s giving me a wicked headache.”

“Sure thing.” I search the hotel room and find the pouches I’ve hidden in Mom and Dad’s bags, on their windowsills, under the sofa, and in the planter by the door.

“What are you doing, Cass?” asks Mom as I put the box of protective charms out in the hall.

“Just packing,” I say, returning to my room.

“Better?” I ask.

Jacob sighs in relief. “Much,” he says, but he doesn’t climb down from the open window. Something’s clearly still bothering him, and I want to ask, but I don’t. I have to trust him, to believe that if he’s ready to tell me what he’s thinking, he will.

So instead I slump back on the bed, wincing as something digs into my side.

My cell phone.

I forgot to turn it back on, and when I do, my screen fills with messages, every one of them from Lara Chowdhury.

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?”