"You look upset," Jacob said when he finally winked into existence. "Is it my fault?"

"No," I said from the chair beside the fireplace where I'd read the same page of my book five times. I still had no idea what it was about. I'd sat there after fixing my hair, a task which had taken considerable time as I hadn't requested Lucy's help. I didn't want to place her in the awkward position of aiding me in my escape. "Why would it be your fault?"

"It never hurts to check." He sat on the foot of my bed and stretched out his long legs, crossing his ankles. He looked so perfect, so handsome and real with his too-blue eyes regarding me closely. His hair and clothes were dry and I wondered how long it took for that to happen in the Waiting Area. Perhaps it was instant. "So what's wrong?" he asked.

"I had a disagreement with my sister." I waved my hand. "Nothing of consequence."

His eyes narrowed and I thought he'd detected my lie but he let it go with a nod. "So you didn't catch a chill?"

I rolled my eyes. "It would seem not."

"Good. Good."

"It was fun, wasn't it?" I said. "Dancing in the rain."

He breathed deeply and squeezed his eyes shut. "It was irresponsible. You should have waited in the coffee house."

"You're beginning to sound like Celia. It was simply a little rain—."

His eyes flew open and I stilled at the flare of anger I saw in them. "There are many spirits in the Waiting Area who are there because of a little rain."

I bristled and formed a defense in my head but bit my tongue before I could let it free. Nothing I could say would sound appropriate after his outburst because he was right. Sometimes people died from a chill. Usually the old or very young or the weak, but not always. So I blew out a calming breath and thanked him instead.

"What for?" He looked surprised, as if my failure to argue with him had caught him off guard. Almost as if he'd wanted me to disagree.

"Well," I began but stopped. I stood and set my book down on the writing desk then sat beside him on the bed. He lowered his gaze to our hands, inches apart on the bedcover.

And then something happened. His fingers moved ever so slightly towards mine. My breath caught in my chest and I watched, waiting for his fingers to move again, but they did not. Nevertheless, they had moved. Jacob was still looking down at them.

Silence enveloped us but it didn't feel awkward or heavy. More...charged, thick with unspoken words and a thousand jumbled emotions.

All of a sudden I wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel his skin against mine, explore the bruises of his knuckles, the smoothness of his fingernails. I inched my fingers closer and his moved too, towards mine, as if we were two magnets drawn to each other. Finally we touched, just our pinkies, but it felt like a spark jolted through me on contact.

"Emily," he whispered. My name had never sounded so good, like the hush of a gentle breeze across a grassy meadow. "Tell me what you'd been about to say." His voice was buttery soft.

"What?"

"Why are you thanking me?"

"Oh. For caring about my health of course."

His fingers recoiled and curled into a fist as if I'd slapped them away. I felt the abrupt loss of his touch so keenly it hurt. "Don't," he said, desolate.

"Don't what?"

He stood and dragged a hand through his hair and took one step towards the fireplace, backtracked, then changed his mind again and stalked across the room. He picked up the coal scuttle and poured more coal onto the dwindling fire. "Let's discuss what you're going to say to convince my parents I'm dead." He set down the scuttle and, still crouching, watched the fire blaze to life. The dancing flames brightened his face and eyes but did nothing to brighten the dark mood that seemed to have descended upon him.

"Yes, er, very well." I tried to concentrate on the task at hand but it wasn't easy. My mind was still scrambled from when we'd touched and his rapid change of mood.

We spent the next little while going through some events from his childhood that only he and his parents could have known. I'd hoped to use our time together to learn more about him but he recounted the memories with little emotion and no invitation to discuss them in detail. He simply imparted the facts and ended the conversation abruptly.

"Whatever my parents say, don't take it to heart," he said on finishing. He stood by the fireplace, one elbow on the mantelpiece, having not sat down the entire time. I'd remained seated on the bed.

"What could they say that would have an affect on me?"

He studied the fire. "Just promise me you won't."

It seemed like an odd thing to warn me about but I shrugged instead of pressing him. "I promise."

"Good." He nodded and suddenly looked over at me. His gaze caught and held mine. "Take an umbrella with you this time." And then he was gone.

I sighed and stood. I picked up my heavy woolen shawl from the bottom drawer of the wardrobe and slung it around my shoulders. Hopefully the extra thick one would appease both my sister and my spirit. Not that I planned on telling Celia I was leaving.

Fortunately I didn't have to. I slipped downstairs, tiptoed past the drawing room, plucked an umbrella from the stand near the door and left without her noticing.

* * *

The drawing room of the Belgrave Square house belonging to Lord and Lady Preston was larger than one entire floor of my home. The value of the paintings, vases, sculptures and other artworks—all with a touch of gold—was probably higher than the whole contents of my house too. It was difficult to appear sophisticated and worldly in the presence of such wealth and exquisite taste, particularly as I was ensconced in an enormous armchair that seemed bent on swallowing me whole. I felt like a small child again.

Lady Preston sat with regal elegance on the sofa beside her daughter, her exact replica only younger. Both had hair the color of honey, coifed in an intricate style atop their heads, and both had eyes of the same vibrant blue as Jacob. Whereas his face was all masculine angles, theirs—while no less perfect—were softer and rounder as if the sculptor had lovingly polished instead of chipped. Against the gold tones of the room, they looked like royalty.

As if their fair beauty wasn't intimidating enough, their shrewd gazes studied every inch of me. Although I was wearing the green gown with the tight cuirass bodice again, it looked almost drab against their silks. Whereas Lady Preston's expression remained bland and unreadable, her daughter Adelaide's was more open and friendly. She even attempted a smile. I smiled back but it faded when Lady Preston's lips flattened in disapproval.

"You say you knew my son, Miss Chambers?" she prompted.

I had introduced myself to the butler who'd let me in only after I told him I needed to see Lord and Lady Preston about Jacob. Since the viscount was taking lunch at his club, the servant had shown me into the drawing room where I'd waited for Lady Preston to join me. She'd arrived within a minute, her daughter on her heels.

"Actually, that's not quite correct," I said. "You see..." I shifted in my seat but that only made me sink further into the massive armchair. All the bravado I'd felt when talking to Jacob about this meeting had vanished. Part of me wished I was curled up on the threadbare sofa at home reading a book in front of the fire. "You see, I know Jacob."

Lady Preston's face finally formed an expression. Shock. She clasped her long fingers in her lap and lifted her chin, revealing her slender white throat. She swallowed. "Know?" she whispered. The cool, bland woman changed before my eyes. Small, thin lines striped across her forehead and everything about her seemed to slacken, loosen, as if she'd had enough of holding herself together.

"Dear lord," Adelaide said on a gasp. She was about my age but seemed older. Perhaps it was because she was so tall and willowy or perhaps because she looked sophisticated perched as she was on the sofa, her soft pink skirts spread daintily around her. "You mean he's alive?"

"No, no, you misunderstand," I said quickly. Oh dear, I'd gone about this all wrong.

The two beautiful faces crumbled. "Then what...?" Adelaide pressed. Her mother straightened again and her expression tightened once more. She sat like an automaton waiting to be wound up, serene but lifeless.

"I'm a spirit medium," I said to Adelaide. I couldn't look at her mother. Something about her unnerved me. She was so still, so empty...it was unnatural. "Jacob's ghost visits me regularly."

Adelaide's jaw dropped. "Ghost," she whispered. She bit her lower lip and blinked rapidly.

There was an awful moment when no one spoke. Then, "Get out," Lady Preston snapped.

"Pardon?" I spluttered.

"Get out of my house." The venom in her voice was matched by the hatred in her eyes. At that moment, I think she genuinely despised me.

"But—."

"Mother," Adelaide said, placing her hand over both of her mother's, "I think we should listen to what Miss Chambers has to say."

"She's a fraud." Her face contorted into a sneer. I think I preferred the blandness. "She wants to make money from our loss but I'll have none of it."

"No, I've heard of her." The knuckles of Adelaide's hand went white. "I wondered why her name sounded familiar and now I recall. She and her sister hold séances to communicate with the dead. They're very popular."

"That doesn't mean she's not a fraud."

"I am not a fraud," I said. "And I can prove it to you."

Adelaide shifted forward on the sofa without letting go of her mother's hands. "Please do," she whispered.

"She must be a fraud," Lady Preston said again as if neither I, nor her daughter, had spoken. "Because Jacob is not dead."

Shadows of pain passed over Adelaide's face. She momentarily closed her eyes, breathed deeply, then opened them again. "Mother, we've been through this. We don't know for sure—."

"I know. He's my son and he is not dead until I say he is." She shot to her feet and strode to the window, keeping her back to us. From the slight shake of her shoulders, I knew she was crying.

For the first time since my arrival, I began to doubt my reasons for coming. Would proving to Lady Preston that her son really was dead help her move on, or simply send her over the edge she so precariously clung to?

I looked to Adelaide for an answer but she wiped a tear from her cheek and shook her head at me.

Just as I thought about leaving, a tall man with steel-gray hair and a bushy moustache strolled into the drawing room. He took in the scene but instead of going to his wife, he lifted a thick brow at Adelaide.

"Father," she said, "this is Miss Emily Chambers. Miss Chambers, this is—."

"Chambers!" He snorted. "I know that name."

"She's a spirit medium," Adelaide said.

"She's a fraud," he said, with much more authority but less malice than his wife. "What's she doing here?"

Adelaide glanced at her mother then back to her father. Her gaze didn't falter beneath his cold one. But it wasn't directed at her. It was directed at me. "She's been telling us that Jacob truly is...dead." She looked to her mother again but Lady Preston didn't move. She stood completely still, staring out the window.

Lord Preston stepped closer and regarded me down his long nose. He appeared to be a good twenty years older than his wife but was strongly built nevertheless. He was as tall as Jacob but his features were bolder, heavier, not refined and handsome like his son's. In some ways he reminded me of the sketches I'd seen of cavemen—big-limbed and thick-browed, but not nearly as ugly. He was handsome in his way, but intimidating, particularly when he stood so close.

I tried not to shrink away. "Good afternoon, Lord Preston." I held out my hand in an attempt to maintain some semblance of civility.

He ignored it. "I've been looking into you and your operation."

"He belongs to the London Association of Skeptical Scientists," Adelaide explained.

"Ah. Jacob told me he was a scientist."

There was a moment's silence then, "Bah!" The sound came from deep within Lord Preston's chest. "I'll not listen to another word of your nonsense. You're a trickster, Miss Chambers, just like the rest. And if you think you'll get any money from us—."

"I don't want your money, Lord Preston. I don't want anything from you."

That stopped him momentarily. "Why are you here?" he asked after a long pause in which he watched me through narrowed eyes.

"To give you all some peace. He wants me to tell you that he is dead and that he's happy—."

"Happy! How can he be happy if he's dead as you claim?" Lord Preston had a way of bellowing rather than talking. It was quite deafening. "Get out of my house or I'll have you thrown out."

I gritted my teeth. I couldn't afford to ruin this one chance. "I am not a fraud, Lord Preston. And I would appreciate it if you'd refrain from judging me until you've heard what I've come to say."

He bristled, straightening to his full height. "I do not like your tone, young lady. Your boldness does you no credit. No son of mine would ever communicate with the likes of you, whether he was alive or dead."

"The likes of me? As I said, I am not a fraud and I'll—."

"I wasn't referring to your so-called occupation."

I felt the impact of his words like a slap to the face. He was referring to my un-English appearance or my lowly birth or perhaps both. There simply was no argument to either of those facts so I said nothing and glanced at Lady Preston then Adelaide.

The former remained standing at the window, unmoving, but the latter had lowered her gaze to her lap. I couldn't see her expression. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she no longer tried to defend me. I had no allies in that room.

Jacob had been right. It was wrong of me to have come.

Oh Jacob. I'm so sorry I couldn't help them.

I glanced once more at his mother. She was terribly thin. I'd never seen a waist so tiny or a neck so delicate. A big sneeze might snap her. She moved but only to reach out to the window and slide a finger down the glass as if caressing it. What did she see out there? Did she hope to see Jacob strolling past? Would it be so awful if she knew he was dead?

"You used to sing These Rolling Hills to him when he was young," I said to her.

She spun round so fast it caught us all by surprise. No one else spoke, not even Lord Preston to chastise me. "How do you know that?"

"He told me."

"Jacob?"

I nodded.

"Enough!" Lord Preston strode to the door and called for the butler. "You'll disrupt this house no more with your lies, Miss Chambers."

But I wasn't watching him anymore, I was looking at his wife. She came towards me, slowly, almost gliding across the floor the way people who can't see ghosts expect them to move. "How do you know that?" she asked.

"She made it up of course," Lord Preston blustered.

"She can't have."

"She must have heard it from someone. Paid a servant, Jacob's old nurse...someone like that. Don't fall for her lies, my dear, she's a fraud."

"A fraud who doesn't want money?" Adelaide scoffed but her flare of defiance dampened beneath her father's glacial glare.

"You stopped singing it to him after he left for school," I went on. "And you never sang it to him when he returned for the holidays even though he wanted you to." I tried my hardest to direct all of my attention onto Lady Preston but it wasn't easy to ignore her husband, looming beside me like a beast ready to pounce. "He wanted you to sing it to him again but you only did once, when he was ill with a fever and you thought he was delirious. But he heard you."

Her own eyes glistened with a kind of fever as she sat down slowly on the sofa, never taking her gaze from mine. Her lips parted and she pressed her thin fingers to them. "No one could possibly know that," she said in a small voice. "No one."

"A servant," her husband said.

"None were there."

"Outside the sick room. Or Jacob mentioned it to this girl before he...disappeared." He nodded, seemingly satisfied with his own explanation.

I ignored him. Both his wife and daughter did too. Their full attention was on me.

"Jacob told you this?" Lady Preston asked. "Please, please don't lie to me, Miss Chambers. If you have any compassion in you...tell me the truth."

Tears sprang to my eyes. How could anyone lie to such a fragile creature about the one thing that could break her entirely? "I would not lie to you. Jacob told me, Lady Preston. At least, his g—."

"Where is he?" She was off the sofa and kneeling beside me in the time it took to blink. "Where is my boy?"

Oh God, she still couldn't see! "He's dead, Lady Preston. His ghost speaks to me." My frustration made me speak a little too harshly.

"No!" She clasped my hands. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "He can't be! He doesn't feel dead. You know where he is, don't you? Tell me!" She shook my hands.

Adelaide came to her mother's side and gently gripped her shoulders. "Come sit down, Mother. And listen to what Miss Chambers is saying."

"I am listening!" she screeched. Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped off her chin onto the thick Oriental rug. "She knows where my boy is. She knows where to find Jacob."

Adelaide struggled with her but Lady Preston wouldn't budge until Lord Preston took over. He drew his wife up then pressed her face against his chest where she sobbed uncontrollably into his waistcoat.

"Quiet, my dear, the servants will hear," he said, patting her back. To me, he said, "See what you've done! Now get out. You are not welcome here."

I was too dumbstruck to do anything except obey, so I left without saying another word. The butler waited for me at the door and escorted me out. I wasn't unhappy to leave—the scene had been truly a heart-wrenching one—but I was disappointed. Immensely. That poor woman. I had a feeling she might never find peace, no matter how many years she had left. She truly could not accept that her son was dead.

Tears trickled down my face as I descended the steps to the pavement. It was raining again so I raised my umbrella and began the trudge home.

"Wait!" someone called from the stairs leading down to the basement area where the servants worked. I looked over the iron railing to see Adelaide climbing the steps to the pavement. She was breathing heavily. "Come with me." She glanced up at the main door and took my arm. I tried to hold the umbrella over her head too but because she was so much taller than me, I ended up getting a little wet.

Once around the corner we were able to huddle beneath the umbrella better and use the side wall of the house as a bit of cover. "Miss Beaufort," I said. "What is it?"

"Please, call me Adelaide." She clutched my free hand and gave me a small smile. "Tell me, do you really know my brother? His ghost I mean?"

Did she actually believe me? Was she prepared to give up on the idea that Jacob was alive somewhere when her parents were not?

"Oh, forgive me," she said, "I should apologize first."

"There's no need to apologize. Your parents' grief is affecting their judgment at the moment. Besides, I'm used to not being believed." Although not usually so vehemently.

"It was still a horrible thing to sit through, wasn't it? I am sorry for the things my father said. He didn't really know Jacob, you see. Not very well."

"Oh?" Here was my chance to finally find out more about him. I held my breath and gave her an encouraging nod.

Adelaide glanced back the way we'd come. "Father doesn't know the sort of people Jacob liked, that's why his comment about you was so terrible and wrong. You are exactly the sort of girl that would have appealed to my brother."

I stared at her. I think I made a small sound in the back of my throat. "Sort of girl?" I croaked.

"Yes. Speaks her mind, is courageous, poised, pretty."

I laughed. "I'll give you the point about speaking my own mind but as to the others, I'm afraid you're wide of the mark."

She waved a hand and glanced over my head again. "There isn't much time. I snuck out while Father took Mother up to her room but he'll be looking for me soon. Tell me, is Jacob really...dead?"

I squeezed her hand. "I'm so sorry but...his ghost visits me often." I decided not to tell her about him being assigned to me because of the demon. It was much too complicated and she had enough to take in already. "He tried to visit you and your parents once a long time ago but it was too traumatic for him." I hoped that went some way to explain why he haunted me and not them.

"I understand. Oh Miss Chambers I'm so pleased you came." Tears filled her eyes but didn't spill. I felt the responding sting behind my own eyes. "Jacob and I were so close, you see, and this wondering...hoping..." She shook her head and pressed her fingers to her nose.

"It's been hard, hasn't it?" My words were almost drowned out by the rain drumming on the umbrella. It came down in heavy sheets, soaking our skirts and forming muddy little streams between the cobblestones. I let go of her hand and pulled my shawl closer then realized Adelaide had come out with nothing for warmth. I stretched one side of it around her shoulders, enclosing us both, and she gave me a grateful smile.

"Mother and Father are both suffering," she said, "but in different ways. Father never speaks of Jacob anymore. Not a single word. He can't bear to hear his name spoken either except when it's to engage the services of an investigator. But Mother talks of nothing else except Jacob. So you see Father can't stand to be home now and Mother needs him more than ever. It's awful. Truly awful." I thought she'd cry but she drew in a shaky breath that seemed to rally her. "If you speak to Jacob's ghost then you must know what happened to him, where his body is. If we could find his body..." Her face contorted as the gruesome nature of what she was saying hit her.

"I'm sorry, Adelaide," I said, "but Jacob doesn't know who killed him or why and he doesn't know where his body is. It's very odd." I wouldn't tell her that the mystery was possibly the reason why he couldn't cross over to the Otherworld. I don't think she was ready to hear it. Besides, I wasn't entirely sure if it was true. "All he's told me is someone tried to kill him."

"Murder?" She gripped my arm so hard I could feel her fingernails through the layers of clothing. "No. No, no, not Jacob." A single tear tracked down her cheek but she swiped it away angrily. "Who would do that to him? He was so well liked. Adored even."

Yes, he would be. Jacob was a very easy person to adore. "Was there anyone in particular who might have turned that adoration into something more sinister if the sentiment wasn't returned? A spurned lover?"

I waited, not wanting to hear the answer but needing to know it nevertheless. The thought of Jacob with another girl was too horrible to contemplate. But then, so was his murder.

"I don't think there was a girl," she said. Then she shook her head. "What I mean is, not one girl in particular."

My insides twisted. There'd been more than one? "Perhaps that was the problem," I said weakly.

"Jealousy?" She thought about that. "It's possible. He was the sort of person to inspire it."

He certainly was. I bit the inside of my cheek and tasted blood. I would not be, could not be, jealous over a ghost. It simply wasn't possible, or right.

"But if so then I can't help you," she went on. "I never met any of the girls in his circle and he never spoke to me about them. I think he was rather careful not to so we wouldn't take it as a sign of serious interest. Mother jumped to the wrong conclusion on the one occasion Jacob did mention a girl. He was only seventeen at the time and the girl was the sister of a friend and held no real interest for him. He learned his lesson after that." She grinned at the memory but it soon turned wistful.

"If he never spoke to you about girls, how do you know they were jealous?"

"I wasn't talking about females."

"Then... Oh!" I stared at her so hard my eyes hurt.

She laughed again. "No, not in that way. At least, not for Jacob. I'm talking about boys who were friends. You know what boys are like."

"Not really. I don’t have brothers."

"Well, sometimes they worship other boys. Bigger or older boys, clever ones, athletic ones, charmers." She shrugged. "Jacob was all of those so it's understandable some saw him as a hero. They wanted to be his friend, get his attention." She sighed. "And I'm afraid my brother didn't always notice them in return."

George had said the same thing. "Why was that?"

She shrugged. "I truly don't know. He was always kind to people, never cruel the way some boys can be to others, especially to smaller or weaker ones. But..." She sighed again. "But he just didn't notice them. I suppose that makes him sound selfish, doesn't it, and that's not really a fitting description either."

I really hoped Jacob wasn't listening to this conversation from the Waiting Area. It wouldn't be fair on either him or his sister. "Self-absorbed?" I offered. "Not interested in other people?" It sounded nothing like the Jacob I knew but I asked anyway. He might have been different when he was alive.

"Oh, he was interested in people. He had a good group of friends who did everything together. He was certainly interested in them. But everyone else..." She looked at me and there was sadness in her eyes, and resignation. "You're right. We can call it what we want but he was self-absorbed. Jacob had a power over people. He could charm them into doing anything if he chose to, but he never realized he possessed that power."

I understood completely. I was drawn to Jacob as if he'd put me under a spell, and I could easily imagine other people being drawn to him too. But to then not have Jacob notice me in return... It certainly would be upsetting. I was lucky to be the only person alive who could speak to him or see him now that he was dead, but if I couldn't, if I was just like everyone else, would I be overlooked too?

"He should have realized the effect he had on people," Adelaide went on. "He should have noticed them and not disregarded them simply because they held no interest for him. It was arrogant." Her voice grew quieter, more distant, and she began to cry again.

"No, Adelaide, this is not the way you should remember him. If it was a flaw, it was a small one. We all have them. Mine is vanity." I tugged on a lock of my hair that had come loose from its pins to emphasize my point. "And a willingness to speak my mind, as you saw in there."

She laughed and wiped her eyes. "And one of mine is timidity. I'll allow my brother his one flaw then." She suddenly stopped laughing and blinked at me. "Dear lord, I just thought of something."

"What is it?"

Concern carved out fine lines around her mouth. "It might not be significant. Indeed, it could mean nothing at all."

"Or it could mean something."

She nodded slowly. "A young man came here once, about a month before Jacob died. He said he was a friend of Jacob's from Oxford and wanted to see him. The butler, Forbes, said Jacob wasn't home and the boy got terribly agitated. I could hear his voice all the way from the library so I came to see what the commotion was about. The boy claimed he wanted to see Jacob and that he didn't believe he was out. He said Jacob cannot possibly always be out whenever he called, and then he accused us of lying to him."

"Lying? Why would he think that?"

"I don't know. But he said he knew Jacob was upstairs, deliberately avoiding him. I tried to assure him he was not, but he would have none of it. He grew terribly upset and his language was truly awful. I grew worried so I called two footmen and they coerced him into leaving. The situation stayed with me for a long time though."

"Who was he, do you know? Did he leave a name?"

"Only a first name, Frederick. I questioned Forbes later and he said the boy had claimed to be a friend of Jacob's from Oxford but I can assure you my brother never mentioned anyone called Frederick and we knew all his friends by sight anyway."

"What did he look like?"

"He was rather plain, not particularly one thing or the other. He had short, light brown hair, was about as tall as me and slightly built. That's really all I can recall. There was nothing very distinguishing about him, I'm afraid."

"So was Jacob always out when this Frederick boy called?"

She nodded.

"Is that odd?"

"Not really. Jacob was rarely home in those last few weeks before his death. He came to London from Oxford for the holidays but went out a great deal. I think he was enjoying the sort of freedom that comes to most eighteen year-old boys. He was old enough to go to clubs, taverns, races, that sort of thing. Beforehand he'd always been in Father's shadow but at eighteen he could do as he pleased."

"Did you tell Jacob about Frederick's visit?"

"Yes. He said he had no idea who he was and to make sure Forbes had at least one footman on hand whenever he answered the door. He was very annoyed and quite concerned. Do you think Jacob was lying to me and that he really knew him?"

"I don't know. I can ask him when I see him."

She smiled at that. "Yes, of course you can. Do you think you could say hello to him for me?"

I couldn't help a bubble of laughter escaping. "I will. I could arrange a meeting between you if you like." Jacob might agree to it if he knew his sister wouldn't be upset by it.

"Could you? How wonderful." But her face fell. "It might not be possible though. Mother is so careful with me ever since Jacob died. Or disappeared, as she thinks. She refuses to let me go anywhere on my own. It's so stifling."

"It must be." I was allowed to go wherever I pleased—well, almost. I couldn't imagine what it must be like for Adelaide always having her mother accompany her. I gave her arm a sympathetic pat then told her my address. "If you think you can get away, send me a message and we'll come and meet you wherever you suggest."

"Thank you, Emily." She leaned down suddenly and kissed my cheek. "I do think we shall be friends."

I smiled. Of course we wouldn't be, but I didn't say so. Our paths were unlikely to cross again unless it was so she could speak to Jacob's ghost. There was nothing about our lives that would cause them to intersect.

"Let me walk you to your door," I said, peering out at the rain still streaming down.

"No, I don't want Father to see you. I'll be all right. It's just a bit of water."

I laughed. It was almost the same words I'd spoken earlier to Celia. I squeezed her arm again, and fought off the melancholy that closed around me. I really would have enjoyed being Adelaide's friend. "One more thing," I said, turning my attention back to Jacob and his demise. "If you could press upon your parents the need to find Jacob's body."

"To learn the cause of his death?"

"Yes," I said, but it wasn't the whole reason. I hoped locating his body would mean Jacob could finally cross over to the Otherworld.

The thought opened up a hollow pit in my stomach. Jacob crossing over would mean he'd be out of my life.

Forever.