CHAPTER 8 
We wait for several minutes, but nothing happens. The house lies still around us; the moonlight remains bright through the windows. And then the man from downstairs, the one in the rain slicker, floats into the room, muttering to himself. “Scare of my afterlife,” he says. “Never been that close.”
I feel sick, and Germ looks mortified. Ebb turns to glare at her.
“Half an hour of seeing, and look what you two have done,” he says, pulling at his hair in agitation. “This is the worst thing that could have possibly happened.”
“I’m sorry,” Germ whispers.
There is a long silence as Ebb glowers at Germ, then me. “I should have never shown you,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m so stupid.”
Germ can’t stand anyone putting themselves down, so she reaches out for Ebb’s hand, and her fingers slip right through his. “Don’t say that,” she whispers. “Never say that.”
I can only think back to the witch, her eyes on mine, the things she said. Tricked. A hidden child. A girl child. End you.
Ebb waves off Germ’s attempt at kindness, angry and cold-eyed. “All I know is, if the clouds hadn’t moved, if the moon hadn’t come out, you’d be…”
“The moon?”
“She didn’t want to get burned,” he says curtly. And then I remember what The Witch Hunter’s Guide said about this, why witches fear the moonlight.
Then he changes tack again, filled with too many thoughts at once. “She means what she says. When the moon is at its darkest phase, she’ll come back for you. She’ll punish us ghosts for knowing about you. We’re all in terrible danger now.”
“When does the moon go dark?” Germ asks.
Ebb stares out at the sky, counting to himself on trembling fingers, his eyebrows low over his eyes. “Dark moon is Wednesday night. Four days,” he says.
“Four days?” Germ puffs, shocked.
I’m trying to make sense of it. Less than an hour ago I didn’t even know witches existed, and now one is coming for me? In four days?
But Ebb is too distracted to respond. He’s pacing, in a ghostly way, floating back and forth across the room, dim and drained-looking.
“You should run, leave here tonight.” Then he seems to reconsider. “No, it won’t be enough. You won’t survive on your own. Now that you have the sight, you’re a bright target; she’ll find you. I know witch curses can’t kill, but when she says she’ll end you, she means it. You’ll need help to get away.”
Germ looks at me, guilt written all over her face. Lost for words, I shake my head at her and give her a well-meaning wince. I know she was only trying to fight for me and my mom.
Ebb looks down at his floating feet, thinking. “We need to talk to someone who knows more than I do,” he finally says decisively, moving toward the hallway. “I have an idea. Come on. I’ll take you. It’s not that far away.”
“Far away as in we’re going outside?” Germ says. “Ummm, no. There’s, like, a witch out there.”
“Trust me, these walls mean nothing to a witch—locks, doors, windows—none of it. If she wants to come for you, she will.”
I don’t want to follow either, but without a moment’s delay, Ebb floats through the wall and disappears. Through the window, I see him floating out into the yard and looking impatient.
I take a deep breath, let it out, and then we walk into the hall and down the stairs.
There is only one ghost in the parlor when we get there. I stop short, chills spilling down my back.
“Fool child,” the one Ebb called the Murderer says to me. Germ and I stop in our tracks. He floats slowly closer, his eyes—red like coals—boring into me. They’re the eyes of someone who would happily squeeze my life away with his bare hands if he could. I see now there is a red rash around his neck, as if made by a rope. “After what was lost to hide you.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “What do you…?”
But the Murderer doesn’t let me finish. “Nevertell, nevertell, nevertell,” he whispers. “Never, never, never.” His smile drops off his face and he glares at me. And then he floats across the hall, through the basement door, and is gone.
Stepping out onto the front lawn, I shiver. Germ has pulled on her coat, but I’ve forgotten mine and I instantly regret it. Still, Ebb is already halfway across the yard, and it’s all we can do to keep up. My attention is so glued to his back, trying not to lose him, that I don’t notice what surrounds us until Germ jerks to a sudden stop beside me, grabbing my arm.
“Rosie,” she says. I look back at her impatiently. She’s staring out across the lawn toward the sea, and after a moment I follow her gaze, and gasp.
Everything is different.
Far above us, where there was only sky before, is a distant and beautiful pink haze circling the outermost edges of the atmosphere between us and the stars, like the rings around Saturn. Beneath it, distant figures—made of white mist—move amongst the clouds like bees moving from flower to flower. I can’t quite make them out—they seem to change shape as they move—one moment becoming part of a cloud, another moment appearing to push clouds along ahead of them. Out on the ocean far beneath the sky, transparent ships float far away, projections of luminous light on the dark water.
It all takes my breath away. It’s strange, and frightening, but most of all, it’s beautiful.
Beside me, Germ’s standing with her mouth hanging open.
“Um, can you please hurry?” We turn to see that Ebb has doubled back, and he looks more miserable than ever, if that’s possible. A few ghosts float in and out of the woods behind him, barely noticing us, including an elderly lady in the moonlit yard moving back and forth as if hanging something on a clothesline.
Ebb follows my gaze out to the ocean and the sky. “Oh. Now that you have your sight, you’ll start to see everything. The world as it really is, all the terrible and wonderful things just under the surface. It’s all part of the invisible fabric—that’s what witches and ghosts and all the magical, unseen things are made of. And it’s all much more visible at night—it glows in the dark, but only to people with the sight.” I immediately think of glow sticks and glow-in-the-dark stickers, how they only show up in darkness. “Your eyes will take a while to adjust.”
“The invisible fabric I read about in the guide, it’s basically magic?” I ask, nodding to the strange and marvelous sights around us.
Ebb looks up, unimpressed, the same way I would look at an airplane or a car driving by.
“Yeah. Like me, all this has always been there. You just haven’t noticed.”
Then, as simple as that, he turns back toward the cliffs and we follow him—down the rambling dirt path that leads along the grassy clifftops toward the woods. I’ve walked this path before, but never at night. And I have no idea of how far we’re going, or where. Luckily, the moon lights our way.
After a few minutes of silence, Ebb seems to take pity on us, because he hangs back a little. “Of course, ghosts are the flimsiest of all, the least powerful, the fabric spread thin, I guess.” He clears his throat. “Witches, like you read, are made of much sturdier stuff—as are their familiars. They are part magic, part real, like the book says, though still invisible to most humans.”
As we walk, we catch sight of the occasional ghost drifting along the path or through the nearby trees. Most turn to look at us, and then, seeming to dislike being seen in return, hurry away.
“I didn’t know our woods were so haunted,” I say.
“Oh, this is nothing. Every place in the world is haunted. Living people completely miss the whole thing. Makes them feel quite alone, the things they don’t see.” And then he adds, pensively, “I was surprised too—when I died and saw it all. You get used to it.”
Ebb floats on down the path, and we follow, getting farther and farther away from home. Once or twice I see him do something puzzling—reach down to his shirt pocket, open it, and whisper to it. Is it possible for a person to be dead and also delusional?
“I thought ghosts were supposed to be scary,” Germ whispers to me as we walk. “But this one just seems kind of… moody. And I still don’t know why I have the sight.”
I speak up, so Ebb can hear. “You said people like me, from families like mine have a strong connection to the unseen things. Is Germ from a family of witch hunters too?” Germ’s mom seems even less likely to be a witch hunter than mine. She bakes cookies. She wears sweatshirts that say I Could Be Wrong but Probably Not. She watches home decorating shows.
Ebb looks over at Germ, perplexed, and shakes his head.
“I have no idea why Germ can see it all too. I never heard anything about her or her family having the sight.”
I’m starting to lose my bearings, and Germ and I have to step around or over bushes and brambles that Ebb floats right through—so we are soon out of breath, our arms and legs scratched up. Then we crest a small hill, and what’s on the other side comes into view. Germ stumbles in fright as I let out a small cry.
There must be fifty ghosts gathered in the hollow below us, so many luminous spirits in one place that the whole field is aglow—some dressed as sailors in rain slickers, some in handspun clothes, others in finery. They’re scattered among a hodgepodge maze of crooked, crumbling headstones, and they’re all looking at us—but it’s clear from the very first moment: they’re not happy to see us.
Hovering in front of us, Ebb gestures for us not to move.
SEAPORT HISTORIC CEMETERY, a sign says, just within my view at the edge of the field. ESTABLISHED 1782. DEDICATED TO THE PEACEFUL REPOSE OF OUR TOWN’S SOULS.
A ghost floats up the hill toward us. He’s mean-looking—one arm lopped off below the shoulder and bound with a rag, the other covered in tattoos of giant squids, mermaids, dragons, and anchors. His face is horribly scarred, copper-colored skin gone bluish and bright, one eye sagging.
I realize suddenly, Ebb is not our friend. He’s led us here, away from witches, to a cemetery full of angry ghosts instead. He is a vengeful ghost leading us to our deaths.
The man floats closer, and I notice that worms can be ghosts too when I see a translucent one squiggling out of his ear. He leans down to look into my eyes with his one good one. Then he looks at Ebb, straightening up.
“There’s word a witch is about in these parts tonight,” he says to Ebb. “I hope you don’t bring trouble here.”
Ebb shifts nervously, floating back and then forward an inch.
“This is Rosie Oaks,” he says. “Annabelle Oaks’s daughter. Rosie, this is Homer.”
The man stares at me another long minute, this time in surprise. His face softens, and his anger is replaced by recognition. And then concern.
“And I’m afraid we do bring trouble,” Ebb adds nervously. “We’ve got a problem.” He gives me a sort of encouraging look. Maybe he’s not leading us to our deaths after all.
“The Memory Thief has found out about her?” Homer says heavily, as if a weight of worry has just landed on his shoulders.
Ebb nods. He recounts the events of the night quickly, looking down at his feet sheepishly. When he gets to the part about Germ charging the moths, Germ flushes bright red and starts looking down at her feet too.
Homer stands for a long time, taking it in. Then he turns to me.
“Your life has changed forever, Rosie Oaks. You’ve gotten the sight, and I’m afraid you can’t go back now to unseeing. And now you have found out that the world is both better and worse than you thought.” He looks around at the other ghosts, up at the sky, still moving with its strange cloudlike figures and pink light. “I’m sorry about it. But now we have to figure out how to keep you alive.” He mutters something under his breath at the moon. And then he sighs. “Come with me,” he says.