She shook her head and looked up at him, her eyes so sad that it choked off anything else he might have said. Ginger held out her hand, as if she needed someone to hold on to—as if she was as desolate and afraid as Verlaine, or even more.

What must it feel like, not to be able to speak to anyone, not one word, for ten years?

Moved, not caring who could see, Mateo took Ginger’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

Lightning-fast, with her other hand, Ginger grabbed his wrist.

The floor fell out from under him. Mateo felt the ground slam against his back, saw the twinkling lights strung along the ceiling rafters, and then he didn’t know anything any longer.

“Slower, honey.” Nadia’s father sat in the passenger seat, leaning a little too close to her. “Technically you don’t have a learner’s permit in Rhode Island. If the cops stop us—”

“What cops? I think Captive’s Sound has, like, one guy. Part-time.” Nadia slowed down a little anyway. It wasn’t like she couldn’t try talking to Ginger later on, if she missed her tonight. And since her dad had insisted the whole family should go to La Catrina for dinner as long as she was headed that way, it wasn’t like she’d have much opportunity for an in-depth discussion.

But she could at least make contact with another witch.

Okay, maybe Ginger wasn’t a witch. Maybe she was just cursed, the same way Mateo was. That wouldn’t explain how she’d recognized Mateo’s hints about magic, though—and definitely wouldn’t explain away Ginger’s panic at the mention of Elizabeth Pike’s name. If Ginger knew enough to be afraid, Nadia thought, then she definitely at least knew about witchcraft … and few women outside the Craft were ever told about it. So the chances of Ginger being a witch were good. Really good.

Finally, a witch in Captive’s Sound who isn’t evil. Someone who knows what’s going on—someone older, who could maybe teach me all the stuff Mom never got around to—how long can it take to get to La Catrina! This town isn’t big enough for a drive this long!

It was hard to be patient.

Then Nadia turned the corner and saw La Catrina—and the ambulance in front of it.

From the backseat, Cole whispered, “Did somebody die?”

“You don’t know that,” Dad said. “But maybe this isn’t the best night to eat out after all.”

“But did they die?” Cole’s voice had begun to shake. Nadia wanted to turn and comfort him, but she couldn’t; fortunately, Dad was right there.

“Hey. Come on, buddy. People have minor accidents all the time. Remember how the ambulance came for us? And we’re okay.”

“We have to find out if anybody died,” Cole insisted, and now it sounded like he was crying.

It’s nothing to do with Mateo, Nadia told herself, even as her pulse quickened and her hands tensed on the steering wheel. Probably somebody choked on some food, or had a heart attack.

But wouldn’t Mateo have texted her about that? Maybe he hadn’t had a chance. Maybe he was doing CPR, being a hero again.

Even as she hesitated, unwilling to drive away but unable to think straight, a tall, skinny figure darted out from the crowd of onlookers—Verlaine, her silvery hair streaming behind her. She was running toward them as fast as she could, brilliant green Converses slapping the pavement, and her eyes were wide with terror. Nadia’s whole body went cold.

Verlaine called out, “Nadia!” as she waved a hand in the air. Nadia snapped down the window as Verlaine reached them, panting. “It’s Mateo. He collapsed.”

“You mean—he fainted. Passed out,” Nadia said. Those things could happen to anybody who got overheated or didn’t eat enough; it didn’t mean anything serious. They’d called an ambulance just as a precaution.

Mateo was okay. He had to be.

But Verlaine shook her head. “He’s unconscious, still. Mateo’s dad is freaking—they’re shutting down the restaurant early. Nobody can tell what happened.” Verlaine’s eyes widened, clearly suggesting that she knew more but couldn’t say it aloud in front of other people. She said only, “Oh, hi, Mr. Caldani. Hi, Cole.”

Dad nodded, but he spoke to Nadia next. “Honey, why don’t you go with Verlaine to check on Mateo? We owe that guy a lot. I’ll get Cole home. He could use some quiet time.”

“Are—are you sure?” If Cole needed her—

But Dad had him. And Nadia couldn’t take her eyes from the ambulance, from the stretcher she could barely glimpse being slid into the back. The red and blue lights seemed to beat against her eyes, to blind her to the rest of the world.

Before waiting for her dad’s reassurance, Nadia threw the car into park and leaped out. “I’ll call!” she shouted as she dashed toward the ambulance, Verlaine at her side, without ever looking back.

Her father’s “Okay!” behind her was very distant.

They couldn’t run fast enough; even as they reached La Catrina, the ambulance doors slammed shut. The paramedics peeled out so fast that the tires squealed. Nadia clutched at Verlaine’s arm. “Oh, God. Something’s really wrong with him. They’re scared.”

“It all started when he went to talk to her.” Verlaine pointed, and at the far edge of the crowd Nadia saw a stout woman in her fifties with long, ash-blond hair. The woman looked deeply worried—and, to Nadia’s eyes, guilty. “That’s Ginger Goncalves.”