‘A ghost-hunter?!’ I say, shocked.

‘Yes. It’s what our family has been doing for generations,’ Por Por says. ‘It’s a talent. Some people are good at maths, some at literature, the Bao family is good at catching ghosts.’

‘But … but …’ I don’t know what to say.

‘Sometimes the talent can skip a generation. And it is only passed down through the female line. But it is certainly in the genes and I think you have inherited it, Little Cloud.’

‘Me?’ I laugh. ‘I’m scared of the dark and I hate watching ghost movies.’ The boat passes under a bridge for a moment. ‘And I’ve tried to speak with Mama but she never answers me.’ My voice echoes in the dark.

Por Por squeezes my hand and we come back out into the light. ‘That’s because there is no need for your mama to linger in this world. She is at peace. The ghosts that haunt places are lost souls that don’t want to leave, and so they have fallen into the crack between two worlds.’

The boat nudges the small stone wharf. Por Por pays the boatman and we climb out. As we make our way up the stone alley towards the house, my mind fills with questions. Is that why I can hear the houses talking to me? Now it all starts to make sense. The house in Shanghai with the Frenchman, the way I felt drawn to the secret room and all the weird stuff in it, why everyone wants Por Por to come to their houses. Even Ting Ting makes more sense to me now. Por Por must be training her to be a ghost-hunter, too.

‘My grandmother was a ghost-hunter,’ Por Por says, as she unlocks the front door. ‘And so was her mother. And I believe, Little Cloud, that you have this special gift of ours.’ She pushes the door open, loops her arm through mine and takes me inside the house.

I’m not sure I want to talk with the dead. It’s hard enough talking to the living. But I don’t want to disappoint Por Por, so I stay quiet and listen.

‘It’s not a bad job being a ghost-hunter,’ she says. ‘It’s very challenging and rewarding, and extremely exciting at times. And it is a great privilege to be able to help people in this way.’

‘Did Mama have the gift?’ I ask.

‘When she was little, she had some ability. But she was more interested in science and microscopes, and her talent grew weaker and weaker. Did she never mention anything to you about your por por being a ghost-hunter?’

I shake my head. ‘Mama used to say ghosts were figments of the imagination. Did your grandmother teach you how to be a ghost-hunter, Por Por?’

‘No. I never knew my grandmother. A man called Crazy Big Head taught me.’

‘That’s a funny name.’ I smile.

‘People called him Crazy because he acted mad, and Big Head because he had a mass of tangled hair that made his head look twice as large as it really was. He lived at the back of the market in a shack made out of everybody’s rubbish, and he collected scraps of food to eat when market day was over. But he wasn’t mad at all.’ Por Por smiles. ‘In fact, he was the wisest man I have ever known. Have you heard the saying: in every three people you meet, one can be your teacher.’?

I shake my head.

‘Almost everyone can teach you something, so you must never judge anyone just by the way they look. Always remember that, Little Cloud.’

‘Yes, Por Por,’ I say.

‘I was fifteen when I went searching for my mother and brothers. I never found them, but instead I found Crazy Big Head, or rather, he found me. I stayed on in his town, living in the shack with him, living off scraps like he did. People talked, children stared and called us names, but what did I care? I loved that man like a father. We worked together for a time, then after he died I went to Shanghai and began working on my own as a professional ghost-hunter there.’ Por Por puts her hand gently under my chin and tilts my head up to face her. ‘And now I want to teach you, Little Cloud.’

‘But are you sure …’

‘Come, help me take out the equipment and we’ll see,’ she says, unlocking a long cupboard in the kitchen.

Inside are all kinds of things neatly hanging on hooks and sitting on small ledges. It’s like a mini version of the secret room in Por Por’s house in Shanghai. She lays a large piece of cloth on the ground and hands me a coin sword. As soon as I touch the sword, I feel a strange tingling in my fingers that goes all the way up my arm like a weak electric shock. The coins sound like tiny bells as they vibrate along the blade. I look at Por Por but she’s busy rearranging the things in the cupboard.

She takes out dried plants, strips of paper, powder wrapped in pieces of cloth, a box of bells, and a small mirror with symbols around the edge. It’s strange because I can’t see my face in it, or any reflection for that matter. Instead, it’s as if I’m looking into a very deep well. I feel it begin to draw me in.

Por Por turns to me and snatches it out of my hands, wrapping it up quickly in red silk cloth. ‘The mingshen mirror is used only to trap ghosts,’ she says. ‘Once a ghost has been captured, then, and only then, is it safe to look into it. Understand?’

I nod.

‘This mirror belonged to Crazy Big Head. It has accumulated great power over the years so must be handled with extreme care. Staring into any mingshen mirror long enough can be very dangerous. And especially so if the mirror belongs to you. I have heard of some ghost-hunters who have become trapped in their own mirrors forever.’

‘You mean they can never get out? That would be terrible.’

Por Por shakes her head. ‘Not as far as I know,’ she says, tying the equipment up in a long green bag and locking the cupboard.

‘Well, are you ready?’ She smiles at me.

I feel sick in my stomach. But I don’t want Por Por to think that I’m a coward, so I nod, grit my teeth, and follow her out the door into the fading afternoon light.