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“T his is your psychic?” Jax asks skeptically .

We’re parked at a tilt, on the side of a country road with a drainage ditch between us and the psychic’s office. The ‘office’ is a run-down single-story house set far back on a haunted-looking lot. There’s a car with a cracked windshield in the muddy gravel driveway, and tree limbs are tangled together surrounding the house .

I know we’re in the right place, though, because there’s a wooden sign in the shape of a crystal ball halfway up the yard. It’s at a bit of a tilt, too, but it still reads clearly tarot reading-palm reading-séance daily 12-10 . Underneath, written across the black base of the crystal ball, is a phone number .

“She’s not in it for the money, I guess. Or she’s not much good.” I start to open the door, then twist in my seat. “Wait for me ?”

“I already said I would .”

“I know.” But I’d really hate to get left here .

“Scream if you need me,” he says skeptically .

I don’t look dangerous, but, from what I’ve heard, I’m pretty sure that I was the bogeyman in the Far. Here, I’m just a girl, fragile but not precious. There, I was the nightmare that made bad men scream. A wisp of memory rises in the back of my mind, of a thing with a twisted human face and claws instead of hands …

I snap back to the beautiful autumn day and the worried face of the boy who is currently drumming the steering wheel with his hands .

“I’ll be fine,” I promise him .

I close the door and head across the muddy driveway to ramshackle, paint-peeling wooden stairs. Stepping lightly, because I’m half-afraid I’ll go right through, I cross the porch to knock on the door. I feel like I’m knocking on a ghost’s door myself .

No one answers, but I hear a faint sound inside. Biting down on my lower lip, I raise my hand and knock again, harder .

Someone bangs into something inside, and then silence reigns. A flicker of motion catches my eye. The curtains hanging inside the window flicker back into place .

Now, I’m just getting irritated. I glance back at the car, where Jax no doubt watches curiously .

I bang the door again. “Hey! According to your sign, you’re supposed to be open !”

Finally, someone wrenches the door open. A woman stares me down from the doorway. She’s young, in her twenties, but her dirty blond hair falls in uncombed waves around a tired, worn face. And she looks exasperated. “You cannot take a hint, can you ?”

I point at her sign .

She points at the window. A dull neon sign hangs between the closed curtains and the glass. It says open. The sign is not lit .

“Your sign says your hours are now,” I tell her .

“And I’m telling you, no,” she says .

She starts to close the door, but I stick my foot in it .

She stares down at the toe of my sneaker and says slowly, “I don’t mind breaking your foot .”

“Hell of a way to run a business,” I lean into the doorway. “Some Hunters told me that you could help me .”

Her eyes narrow. “ Hunters ?”

“Yes. I’m not just looking for a palm reading, I need help .”

“That’s definitely a no,” she says. “I hate Hunters .”

“Who hates Hunters?” They aren’t perfect, but they put their lives on the line to protect us all .

She snorts. “Anyone who’s ever been married to one .”

I think my sister is about to marry a whole crew of them, and she seems pretty happy so far .

“I think I’m a psychic,” I say. “There’s a ghost following me. I don’t know what I’m doing and I really need some help .”

“I’m not sure how I can say this any more clearly,” she says, “but I don’t care .”

“ I’ll pay .”

“There’s nothing worth being mixed up with Hunters. Move your foot .”

I have this funny instinct, staring at her annoyed face, that she isn’t nearly as mean as she tries to be .

And I think I trust my instincts. I lost almost everything else when I came back from the Far, but I think the subconscious prickling, quicker than sense, is mine to keep. That, and an addiction to adrenaline that hovers somewhere between quirky and certifiable .

I dive under her arm, shoving past her into her house. It smells like gin and frozen pizza and microwaved cardboard .

“Sorry.” I spin to face her in the middle of the blue living room. “I’m not leaving without answers .”

“Look kid,” she says. “It’s all bull shit. There are no psychics, there are no ghosts, and Hunters? They’re crazy .”

“Well, they are, but that doesn’t mean they’re wrong .”

She says it slowly, so I can’t miss it: “You’re not a psychic .”

“I spent a year in the Far,” I tell her, and her lips part, her eyes widening, before she schools her face back to disinterest. “I think I came back with a gift .”

“It’s not a gift,” she tells me .

“Are you at least going to drop the bull shit?” I ask her. “Because we both know that ghosts are real. And you and I can see them. But how do we talk to them ?”

She runs her hand over her face. “Oh my god. A brand-new baby psychic and I haven’t even had my coffee yet .”

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon .”

She doesn’t answer me. She just turns and walks away into the back of the house. I follow her past a ripped leather couch—did she fight with a demon in here or did she find the couch at the dump—and down a narrow hallway into a kitchen. She pours herself a cup of black coffee and doesn’t offer me any, still facing away from me as she stands at the sink and glugs it down .

“Okay,” she says. “You say you’ve seen a ghost. Where’s this ghost ?”

“In my dorm .”

“You’re a college student ?”

“ Yep .”

Her shoulders sag. “You’re a teenager .”

“Guilty,” I say, “but I grew up a lot in the Far. I think .”

“Sweet baby Jesus,” she says .

“I’m just going to go ahead and fill you in while you drink your coffee,” I say, because small talk isn’t working for either of us. Quickly, I tell her all about my ghost .

She finally turns around, her hands cupping either side of her mug—her third cup—and gazes at me wearily. “It sounds like your ghost was murdered and she’s looking for justice. Or revenge. Let’s hope for justice, because revenge ghosts tend to leave things bloody .”

“I searched for any murders around campus, but I couldn’t find anything. And she’s wearing a backpack, so she definitely seems like a student .”

“Here’s what you need to do,” she says. “You figure out who she is, you get something of hers, and then you conduct a departure ritual. Just don’t screw it up. You’ll have opened a portal to the Far and, well, you know how lovely that place is. Demons swarm for the exits every time some fool opens a portal .”

“A departure ritual? To send her into the afterlife ?”

“ Yep .”

“But if she’s looking for justice, don’t I need to help her find it first ?”

Her lips twist. “You seem like such a sweet girl .”

“And you seem really unhelpful .”

“I don’t want any part of your hijinks,” she says. “I want the Hunters to forget my name. I’m not interested .”

“Thanks for nothing,” I tell her, heading for the door .

“You can thank me by also forgetting my name .”

I turn on my heel. “I don’t know how to conduct a departure ritual. I need your help. And so does that poor murdered girl !”

“Don’t pity the ghosts, sister. It’ll get you killed .”

“I’ll see you later,” I tell her, reaching the doorway. “You’re going to have to help me with that ritual .”

I learned how to be bossy from the Hunters .

She makes a sound of exasperation behind me as I let myself out of the house. I don’t know why the medium is so angry, but I guess I’ll find out .

She’s the only one I know can give me answers, and I’m not letting her go .

I stop at her sign to take a photo with my iPhone. Now I’ll have her number .

When I look back toward the house, the curtains twitch again, as if she’s been watching me. She probably wants me to get off her lawn .

I wave at her and trudge toward the car .

When I swing the door open, Jax asks me, “So how was it ?”

“Like almost everything in this world,” I mutter, “it was disappointing .”

His eyes widen .

“I know, I know, I’m a lot grouchier than I used to be .”

“I hope you don’t find everything disappointing,” he says, and for a second, I think about kissing him, and seeing if that was disappointing. Oh my god, if it was, I don’t think I could survive. Right now, Jax is a bright spot in a weird world .

“No,” I say. “I didn’t mean that. I just…it was strange meeting her .”

“You think she’s really a psychic?” He starts the car .

“Yep, and I don’t think she wants to be.” I tug on the bottom of my ponytail, thinking about what made me into a psychic. I see ghosts because I should be one .

“Maybe no one wants to be,” I muse out loud. “Maybe whatever it is that makes you into a medium is traumatic .”

“A gift out of trauma ?”

“Or a curse out of a curse,” I say. Jax throws me a worried look, but I smile at him brightly. “Should we get milkshakes on our way back to school ?”