then her father’s voice and a woman’s.
Moments later, there was a knock at her bedroom door. She called out and her da stuck his head in. “Jane’s here, Finn. She needs to talk to you. About the argument you two had earlier—you argued?”
Jane stepped into the room and switched on the lamp near the door. She held out a small box of black velvet. “I brought you a gift.”
“I’ll leave you two to talk then?”
“Yes, Da, thank you. I’d like to speak to Miss—Jane—alone.”
He began to close the door. “Don’t stay angry at each other.” Then he was gone.
Finn hadn’t taken her gaze from the box in Jane’s hand. She whispered, “What is it?”
Jane walked over, sat on the end of Finn’s bed, and opened the box. Finn stared at a spiral of silver with a silver skull in the center. “Is that—”
“Yes. Rowan didn’t want to give it to you in front of the others, because he suspects one of them of being a traitor. Rowan has . . . let’s call it a medieval psyche. He believes in honor and sacrifice and all those other philosophies. And then there’s this, what he found fluttering on his desk.” Jane took a box of transparent plastic from her purse. The box had airholes, and flickering inside of it was a monarch butterfly the color of daisies.
“I don’t understand.”
“Look closely at the black markings on the wings.”
Finn squinted and thought she was seeing things; scrawled blackly across the orange wings, repeatedly, were the words: Lily Rose is alive.
“Who sent it?” she whispered, awestruck.
“Well, there’s no signature, but we couldn’t ignore it even if it’s a trick. If there’s even a possibility your sister is . . . well, we can’t abandon her.”
Finn carefully took possession of the second half of the Ghostlands key. “Dean Cruithnear thinks one of the professors works for Seth Lot?”
“Let’s just say that certain things have occurred to make Rowan believe one of the others is serving the interests of the unknown.”
“What about you? Why does he trust you?”
“Well, I’m sort of his great-and-then-some granddaughter.”
Finn kicked back the covers. “I knew he was older than he looked! Was he cursed, like the Black Scissors?”
“Sort of. Only it wasn’t supposed to be a curse. That’s a story for another time. Now, you’ll be going to Lulu’s tonight, with Jack and Moth, to leave for . . . that place.”
“Lulu’s Emporium?”
In a small voice, Jane said, “What will I do if you don’t come back? I don’t think I could . . .”
Finn was not the hugging type, but she got on her knees and slid her arms around the woman. “Thank you, Jane. Thank you.”
“You can thank me”—Jane hugged her back—“by returning with your sister. You and Jack will be going to Rowan Cruithnear’s house in the Ghostlands, where Rowan can protect you and prepare you. He can provide you with guides and guards and a witch who will lead you to the Wolf’s house. He can’t come with you right now, because he thinks it’ll lead Seth Lot to you.”
Finn sat back. “When I return, Phouka said no time will have passed.”
“Not if you do it right. Finn . . . what will I tell your father if something happens to you?”
“I’ll be back before he realizes I’m gone. And nothing will happen to me.”
BY ELEVEN O’CLOCK, Finn was ready. She’d packed a leather backpack with Eve Avaline’s silver dagger, Slim Jims, apples, three cans of espresso, two bottles of iced water, and a gift for Jack. She was dressed for travel in boot-cut jeans and a black sweater, her red coat, and Doc Martens.
As she slid a good-bye letter to her da beneath her pillow—just in case—she looked around the room and said to her ghost, “If I don’t come back, make sure he gets that.”
A flash from the antique Leica camera on her desk made her flinch. She slowly walked toward it. The camera clicked and flashed again.
“Okay.” She grabbed the camera and shoved it into her backpack. As she did so, she heard a clatter and turned to see that the first photograph she’d taken of her and Jack in the sunlight had fallen to the floor. She bent down and picked it up. The glass over the photo hadn’t even cracked. She traced Jack’s image. He watched every sunrise, every sunset, and lingered at each as he hadn’t been able to before—as if expecting that fragile humanity he’d stubbornly longed for to vanish