Should August close her eyes? Leave them open? Myla slides her eyes shut, totally at peace; August guesses she’s had a lot of time to get used to this kind of thing. Niko’s signature look of mild constipation is taking over his face, and August chews on the inside of her cheek, fighting a wave of nervous laughter.

“Jane,” Niko says. “Jane, if you’re there. August is here. I’d love for you to come forward. She’d love to talk to you.”

And suddenly, August couldn’t laugh if she tried.

It was one thing to talk in hypotheticals—if Jane isn’t what she seems, if they can reach her, if she’s dead. It’s something else to be here, breathing in smoke, face-to-face with whatever the answer might be. This girl August has spent almost every morning and afternoon with since she moved to the city, who’s made her feel things she hasn’t felt since she was a kid, like reckless hope—

Niko’s eyelids flicker open.

“It’s gonna be okay, August.”

August gulps down a breath.

“Jane,” he says, louder and clearer this time. “Maybe you’re lost, or you’re not sure where you are, or who you can trust. But you can trust me.”

They wait. The second hand on Myla’s watch ticks on. Isaiah’s fingers twitch. Wes exhales a shaky breath. August can’t look away from Niko’s face, from the set of his mouth, from his lashes twitching and fanning out on his cheeks. Minutes go by in silence.

Maybe she’s imagining it—maybe it’s the fear, the uncertainty, the atmosphere creeping under her skin—but she swears she feels it. Something cold brushing against the back of her neck. A hoarse whisper into the creak of the old building. A charge in the air, like someone’s dropped a toaster in a bathtub down the block, a surge of power just before the lights go out. The flames on the candles list to one side, but August can’t tell if it’s from her sharp inhale or something she can’t see.

“Hm,” Niko grunts suddenly, his lips pulling into a frown. Myla’s knuckles go white, gripping Niko’s hand tighter, and August wonders fleetingly how many times she must have done this—grounding Niko to this side while he drags his fingers through the other.

Niko mumbles under his breath, his brow furrowed, and somehow, the air settles. Something that’s been unfolded tucks itself back in and ties itself off. August’s ears start ringing.

Niko opens his eyes.

“Yeah, fuck, she’s not there,” he says, shattering the mood, and Wes deflates with relief. Niko looks at August almost apologetically. “She’s not a ghost, August. She’s not dead.”

“You’re sure?” August asks. “Like, totally sure?”

“The spirit guides are telling me wrong number, so,” he says with a small shrug.

He leads them through a closing prayer and thanks the spirits politely and promises to talk again soon like they’re a grandparent he calls on major holidays—which, August realizes, they might be. He blows out the candles and starts bundling the herbs back up. The others pull themselves to their feet, tucking shirts back in, rolling sleeves back down. Like nothing happened.

August is sitting there, frozen in her seat.

“What does it mean?” she asks Niko. “If she’s not a ghost? If she’s not dead, and she’s not alive, what is she?”

Niko dumps the crystals into a bowl of coarse salt and turns back to her. “I don’t know, honestly. I’ve never seen anything like her before.”

Maybe there are more clues, something she missed. Maybe she needs to go back over all the information she has. Maybe she can break into the employment records at Billy’s. Maybe—

Shit. She sounds like her mother.

“Okay,” August says, standing and dusting off her jeans. She’s across the shop in seconds, dodging a table of pendulums and tarot cards, whipping her jacket off the back of a chair. She jabs a finger at Niko. “You. Let’s go.”

* * *

When the doors of the train hiss open, there are a few terrible seconds in which August glances at Niko and wonders if she’s about to make a complete ass of herself.

It’s the middle of the night. What if Jane’s not on the train? What if she never was? What if she’s a loneliness hallucination brought on by too little sleep and too many years of not getting laid? Or worse—what if she’s some nice, normal, unsuspecting woman just trying to get through her commute without being harassed by freaks who think she’s a sexy poltergeist?

But Jane’s there. In the middle of an empty bench, reading a book, as matter-of-fact as the scuffs on the tunnel walls.

Jane’s there, and the world tips.

The skeptic in August wanted to believe it wasn’t real. But Jane’s here, on the same train, at the same time as August, again.

Niko nudges her on, and Jane keeps being there, long legs stretched out loosely in front of her, battered hardback open in her lap. Niko steps on behind her, and Jane looks up and sees them.

“Coffee Girl,” she says, tucking a finger between the pages.

It’s the first time August has seen Jane since she was rejected by her. And despite the whole undead mystery of her—whether Jane is a vampire or a ghost or a fucking teen wolf—that remains humiliating. And Jane remains distressingly hot, all kind brown eyes and ripped jeans and a soft, conspiratorial smile. It would be really helpful if Jane would stop being confusing and gorgeous while they’re trying to figure out whether or not she’s human.

The train jerks into motion, and Niko has to grab August’s waist to keep her from tripping over her feet. Jane eyes them, Niko’s fingers clenched in the fabric of August’s jacket.

“You’re out late,” she observes.

“Yeah, we’re meeting my girlfriend in Soho,” Niko lies smoothly. It’s a trick of the light, August thinks, when a muscle in Jane’s jaw twitches and relaxes.

Niko nudges August toward a seat, and she focuses on not letting their impending interrogation of Jane’s corporeality telegraph across her face.

“Neat,” Jane says, a little sarcastically. “This book sucks anyway.” She flashes the cover—it’s an early edition of Watership Down, the orangey-red print rubbed halfway off. “I feel like I’ve read it a dozen times trying to figure out what people like about it. It’s a depressing book about bunnies. I don’t get it.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be an allegory?” Niko offers.

“A lot of people think that,” August says automatically. Her voice clips up into daughter-of-a-librarian mode, and she’s powerless to stop it. She’s too nervous. “Like, a lot of people think it’s religious symbolism, but Richard Adams said it was just some bunny adventures he made up for his daughters as a bedtime story.”

“Lot of carnage for a bedtime story,” Jane says.

“Yeah.”

“So, where have you been?” Jane asks her. “I feel like I haven’t seen you around.”

“Oh,” August says. She can’t tell her that she changed her entire commute in mourning of the joint Netflix account they’ll never share. “I—uh, I mean, we must keep missing each other. Odds are we were gonna get on different trains one of these days, right?”