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William took a few steps back himself, as if to realize his intrusion into John’s personal space. “I’m with Hannah J?ger Public

Relations. Publicist to the stars—basically she’s a miracle worker.”

A miracle worker.

William must have noted John’s interest, because his tone was hopeful when he added, “She recognizes that it factor. As do I, which was why I came running after you in shoes that don’t bend.”

John glanced at William’s brown cap-toe oxfords. John remembered enough about dress shoes to appreciate what it had taken

for William to run after him in them. “I’m sorry, but I’m very busy.” John could only hope he’d take a hint and leave him

to it.

William Williams did not, and John considered whether or not he should step through a wall after all.

“Hannah J?ger has helped a lot of people in this town—the best. She’s scary as hell, but with her on your team, you’ll kill

it. I can get you a meeting right away—she’s having lunch nearby.” The young man stared back at him expectantly.

John responded by walking away and almost immediately heard the crunching of William’s footsteps. John stopped so that his

body stood half out of the shade and turned to face his pursuer. A wide slant of light shone through the trees and John held

up his ebony fingers, dipped them into the sunlight. They faded instantly, becoming like beams of light themselves, golden

and glittering with those swirly motes of otherworldly stuff.

He didn’t have to wait long for the realization to hit.

William stutter-stepped backward and fell onto his hands before scrambling to his feet, his gaze unbroken.

He opened his mouth and closed it again and took several steps farther back for good measure.

But he didn’t run off. Instead, he ran a hand over his head, which was covered in neat, dark waves that flowed flat against his scalp, a single part cut with precision into one side.

He took several breaths. And then he stepped tentatively forward. “OK.” A nervous laugh. “OK.”

“I’d appreciate,” John said slowly, “if you don’t follow me.” He walked away, relieved but also slightly surprised that William

Williams, He Who Miracle-Worked Wasabi Soy Sauce from His Bow Tie and Managed to Sprint and Fall in Oxfords While Leaving

Neither Crease nor Scuff, did not follow.

10

“I’ve got to get out of here,” John said by way of greeting when the boy in the yellow house opened the door.

“It’s Venice, and you’re a ghost.” They went inside. The boy was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. He was not wearing the

tasseled robe. “You thought you’d be walking around, nobody bothering you?”

“ You didn’t notice. Not right away.”

The boy pretended not to hear. He led John through the sitting room and into the living room and said over his shoulder, “I

was hoping you hadn’t disappeared.” He left John near the sofa and walked into the kitchen. “I never got your name.”

“John. No last name, at least not one I remember.”

The boy walked over with a glass of something fizzy and orange and extended his hand.

“I can’t hold anything,” said John. “And it doesn’t feel good, touching people. Or walking through walls.”

“Sitting’s a problem, too, right? You wouldn’t sit last time. But I bet you can if you practice.”

John, who thought the boy sounded a little too enthused by the idea of helping him practice, changed tack. “What’s your name?”

“Oh. I’m Ruben. Ruben Colón.” Ruben took a big gulp of his fizzy drink and stared at the comic books covering the coffee table.

Perhaps it was because Psychic was the family business, perhaps it was the video games ( Ice Mages 4 ), perhaps it was the books ( Locke and Key, Vol.

5 , Saga, Vol. 3 , Naruto , Black Panther: A Nation Under Our Feet , Archie ) splayed across the coffee table, but Ruben seemed strikingly casual about the whole thing. Then John realized the boy’s

fingers were trembling. “You’re into picture books.”

“Graphic novels. Comics. Manga.”

John glanced back at the pile of picture books before turning back to Ruben. When he saw John eyeing his arms, Ruben held

them up. Realistic dragons, birds, chimeras, and flames and lightning writhed around the teen’s thin brown arms, beginning

at his wrists and disappearing beneath the short sleeves of his t-shirt.

“Impressive,” John offered.

“One day I’m going to make my own. These sleeves? I designed them. Every tattoo. It’s what I really want to do, be a graphic

artist, make my own graphic novels—I’ve got a whole world in my head.”

“Nice.”

“Thanks,” Ruben said shyly, as if he hadn’t meant to go on.

John pretended he didn’t notice, not so much out of charity but to rescue them both from the resulting awkward silence, and

he went right into telling him about meeting William Williams, about being mistaken for a Hollywood act.

“Not weird at all,” Ruben said afterward, “but then, what does weird even mean at this point?” He finished his drink and gestured for John to follow him to the reading room. “You remember his

boss’s name?”

“Henrietta... Hannah. Hannah with a German-sounding last name.”

The small reading table was covered with bowls of herbs, shells, and glass candles decorated with the Virgin Mary and various

saints, none of which had been on the table a couple of hours ago, though there also sat what John assumed were the same cards.

Ruben donned his psychic’s robe and said, with a dramatic flourish that sent the tassels swaying, “And now, I roll up my proverbial

sleeves.”

John resisted the urge to leave.

Ruben swept up a few cards and frowned. “Hold up.” He gathered the cards, reshuffled, and laid them out again.

It wasn’t apparent whether or not they were better this time because the boy looked as if he couldn’t decide for himself.

He scowled, his expression smoothed, he bit his lip.

“Sorry. It’s just looking very... grey. ”

John let out an impatient sigh.

“It’s not like a picture of the Grey House is going to literally show up on a card,” Ruben said defensively. “I have to read

the signs. And the grey murkiness could be one. But anyway, it’s good that you’re so persistent about this. Your quest. Perseverance

is key—when it comes to anything in life, you know? Like, if Bulletman stopped trying to create that crime serum, he never

would’ve made that hat—which was stupid, because he really only used it to fly punches into people, but the point is, he liked

it. Right?” Ruben frowned at his cards again. “Uh, you like snow? Mountain ranges, that kind of thing?”

“I don’t know. I guess. As much as anyone else. Why, should I not go skiing?”

“Beware of glaciers.” Ruben looked up, looking slightly confused. “You’ll have to make some very important decisions soon.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

“What? Pshh! Come on, now.”

John stared back at Ruben as he shuffled and reshuffled the cards. The only thing keeping John from walking out and seeking

another psychic was the exhausting idea of doing a tada! -type introduction all over again. He contained a sigh. At the moment, his entire future forecasted cloudy with nary a silver

lining in sight. He started; those weren’t his words. Where had he heard them?

Several cards fell from Ruben’s fingers onto the table.

“Right,” John said curtly. “I’ll be on my way—”

“Wait!” Ruben cried. “OK, OK.” He dropped the remaining stack of cards with a thump.

“This is new, OK? I’ve never seen one of you guys.

I mean, I’ve seen the table in the reading room get pushed up six inches, start shaking around.

That’s why I thought you might be an angry spirit linked to one of Mamá’s clients.

Or one of mine,” he added quickly. “Like Mrs. Ivanova, who got remarried kind of quick after Mr. Morris died but she’s like half his age and she was one of those mail-order brides?

Not that anything’s wrong with that but, you know, she moved on and she married this younger guy who speaks Ukrainian, too, so there’s that.

Anyway, you’re the first I’ve actually seen with my own eyes.

My abuela saw a ghost once, when she was little in DR. She said the ghost got all fuzzy in the light but in the shade the girl looked almost like anyone.

Like you. Look, I can help. I know I can. ”

But he couldn’t. There would have to be another tada reveal, after all. John stepped away from the table.

“Wait!” Ruben pleaded. “Dude, give me a couple more minutes, and if I can’t help, you float out of here, no hard feelings.”

“I understand I’m a ghost. But on This Side, I stand on my own two feet like everyone else. Got it?”

“Yeah. Of course. Sorry.” Ruben bit his lip. “Is that a yes?”

John crossed his arms, but he returned to the table.

With a great whoop, Ruben slapped his hands together and once again shut his eyes.

John closed his own eyes but, feeling foolish, opened them again. He shifted unnecessarily, impatient, exasperated, yearning.

Then the air buzzed. His gaze sifted through the darkness. The room hadn’t felt this way last time.

John watched, and he waited.

11

A disquiet tugged at John’s chest and at his stomach and at whatever else would be inside him had he an actual body. Again,

he found himself second-guessing his being here, but it had nothing to do with impatience. Something felt very wrong .

Ruben shifted in his seat, eyes twitching beneath his eyelids. The room felt heavy, as if the darkness were breathing.

The table shook violently and John started.

“My bad,” Ruben said, opening an eye. “That was my knee.” He closed it again.

John’s gaze shifted from the boy to the surrounding darkness and back to the boy. The table rattled again and two of the tall

glass-contained candles clinked.

“Sorry.” Ruben cleared his throat. “Let’s start simple. I know you can’t remember, but close your eyes and think of your last

name.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Your. Last. Name.”