Euri’s hand closed back around his, and with a loud pop, Jack felt his body shoot out of the pipe and fly up into the cold, winter air like a champagne cork. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the snow-covered ground some twenty feet below. He gripped Euri’s hand as tightly as he could and frantically flapped his free arm and legs.
“That was great!” exclaimed Euri, who was floating calmly beside him. “You actually made it through.” She leaned over and peered into his eyes. “They still look alive. Relax. You’re not going to fall.”
Slowly, Jack stopped jerking his limbs. He tried not to look down. “Why am I not falling?”
“I don’t know,” Euri admitted. “Maybe because we’re holding hands. We were holding hands when you went through the fountain too. Let’s test it.” She began to loosen her fingers.
“No!” Jack squeaked as he tightened his grip on her hand.
“Okay, relax,” Euri said. “You’re clearly alive, because you’re so afraid of death. It’s probably the hand-holding. That must be how you’re able to do the normal ghost things.”
“What are the normal ghost things?”
“Shuffle through dark passages, moan, rattle chains.” Euri chuckled at her own joke. “You’ll see,” she said. “The ghost powers will make our search for your mom a little easier. In the meantime, enjoy the view.”
Jack looked around. Spindly trees were silhouetted against a darkening sky. Beneath him was a three-tiered bronze fountain. He felt a strange sense of déjà vu. “I know this place,” he said.
Euri shrugged. “I’m not surprised. It’s Bethesda Terrace, one of the most popular spots in Central Park.”
“No, that fountain. My mother took me here a few days before she died. She was staring at it.”
Jack stared at it himself. On top of it was a statue of a winged angel. From tiny holes beneath her feet, ghosts were streaming out. Hundreds of them burst into the air and unfurled themselves, shaking out kinks and wrinkles like sheets in the wind. Although many of them were dressed in flimsy nightgowns and light shirts, they didn’t seem to feel the cold. Instantly, some flew away, skirting the tops of trees, hurrying toward the city skyline. Others zoomed up and down in what Jack guessed was their own version of aerobics.
“The dead come out here every night at dusk,” Euri explained. “And not just here but at other fountains around the city too. But, like I said, it’s a pretty popular place for the living too. Your mom was probably just looking at the statue, the Angel of the Waters.”
“She seemed upset,” said Jack.
“Well, that’s good. It means she probably hasn’t moved on yet. It usually takes ghosts a while to move on if they have a lot of issues from their life they need to work out.” Euri paused and looked out across the frozen park toward the city. Jack was certain that she was thinking about her own issues, but it didn’t seem like the right time to ask.
“Did your mom seem unhappy a lot?” she asked.
Jack thought for a moment. “Except for that one time, I don’t really remember. My father won’t talk about her.”
“You don’t have any older brothers or sisters who remember?”
“No,” said Jack. “I’m an only child.”
Euri grinned. “Really? Me too.”
“That must be hard on your parents.”
Euri stared at him blankly. Jack rushed to explain, “I mean, your being dead.”
As soon as he had finished speaking, Jack wished he could take the words back. Euri’s mouth twitched. “I thought we were talking about
your
parents,” she said.
Jack nodded, relieved to change the subject. “Right. My dad won’t talk about my mom.”
Euri balanced her chin in her hand and assumed a studious look. “Maybe they didn’t get along?”
Jack felt annoyed. “No, that’s not it. He just misses her.”
“Did he say that?” asked Euri.
“No, but—”
“The important thing now,” she interrupted, “is that we need a clue, something that will help us find her if she’s still here. Do you have anything that was hers—a half-written letter, a journal?”
Jack started to shake his head but then stopped and reached behind him to pull Egbert Viele’s map out of his backpack. “I think I saw a ghost in my father’s office yesterday. He jumped out the window before I could talk to him, but he left this behind.”
“So I’m not the first spirit you’ve seen?” Euri asked as she took the map. She sounded a little disappointed.
“I didn’t know he was a ghost,” Jack said; but as soon as Euri opened up the map, her face brightened.
“Hey look! It’s a map of the underworld rivers. Here’s the one you crossed.” With her finger, she traced the circle of rivers around Grand Central Terminal. “But what does this have to do with your mother?”
Jack pointed to the handwritten scrawl. “Anastasia.
That’s her name. It’s written in my father’s handwriting.”
“That’s strange. Why has your father written her name on an underworld map? And why did this ghost leave it for you?”
“I’m not sure he left it for me,” Jack corrected. “I think he took it from my father’s desk drawer to look at, himself. I think I just frightened him, and he dropped it. I wanted to know who he was.”
“Well, who could blame him? It’s pretty scary when a living person can see you and demands to know who you are.”
“You didn’t seem afraid,” Jack said.
“Yes, but I’m different,” Euri explained. “I’m comfortable with the living.”
Jack was tempted to remind her that he was the only living person who had ever seen her, but he felt they were getting away from the subject of his mother. “So you think this map is a clue?”
“It’s our only one,” announced Euri, handing it back to him. “We need to find out more about it.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“My friend Professor Schmitt. He would have been alive when this map was made. He may be able to tell us more.”
The shrill barking of a dog startled Jack. Beneath him, he spotted a little yellow terrier looking up and barking furiously. A living man bundled up in a sheepskin jacket was tugging on the dog’s leash. “Come on, Abbie!”
“He’ll see us!” Jack whispered.
But Euri just laughed. “He can’t see us or hear us, either. We’re invisible. That’s another ghost thing. And anyway, he’s a New Yorker. He probably won’t even look up.”
Just as Euri predicted, the man continued to peer absently down at the snow while yanking the little dog. “Shush, Abbie!” he murmured. “Shush! There’s nothing there.”
“Quiet!” Euri shouted. The little dog whimpered and stopped barking. Euri turned to Jack. “We’ll watch the end of the sunset,” she said. “And then we’ll go.”
As though a giant valve were slowly closing, the stream of ghosts that issued from the fountain slowed to a trickle. The man and his dog left the fountain and disappeared. The park began to grow dark. One by one, lights twinkled on. Euri seemed lost in thought. With his free hand, Jack replaced the map and pulled the cell phone out of his backpack. It was still dead. He couldn’t help feeling relieved—he didn’t relish the prospect of explaining to his father that he was still in New York and had missed the train, not to mention that he was flying around with a ghost.
Euri finally pointed to the city lights, sparkling on the east side of the park. “Ready to go?”
Jack nodded and with a shake of Euri’s ponytail, they flew toward the tall buildings on Fifth Avenue.
In the beginning, they flew low enough for Jack to touch the tops of the trees with his feet. But as they neared the edge of the park, Euri began to steer them higher and higher. “The best views of the city are aerial ones,” she explained. Jack’s stomach dropped as the wind whipped against his face. “Look down!” Euri shouted. “Isn’t this fun?”
Fifteen stories below, Fifth Avenue was a dizzying sight. Tiny taxis honked and toy-size buses rumbled. People the size of dolls dashed across the street as hundreds of ghosts flew over their heads. “Pretty cool,” Jack admitted. “But are you sure I won’t fall?”
Euri chuckled. “Of course not!”
Jack clutched her hand tighter. They sailed across Fifth Avenue and skirted the side of an elegant apartment building with stone garlands and cornucopias carved into its facade. Through windows where the drapes were open, Jack could see apartments decorated with oil paintings, chandeliers, and heavy, dark furniture. A number of ghosts floated just outside the windows, watching the people inside. “Haunters,” Euri explained.
“Don’t you haunt?” Jack asked.
Euri made a face. “Nah.”
Jack watched a balding ghost in a tailored suit gaze longingly at someone inside an apartment. He thought about his mom. “They must miss the people they haunt,” he said.
Euri scowled. “Maybe. But I bet the living aren’t even thinking about them.”
“I’m sure they think about them a lot,” Jack said defensively. Hardly a day went by when he didn’t think about his mother. Euri didn’t give the living any credit. “Why did you start talking to me, anyway, in Grand Central?”
Euri gave him a funny look. “I wasn’t trying to contact you in particular. You were just the first person who could hear me.”
“But why were you trying to talk to living people? That’s haunting, isn’t it? Don’t you have any dead friends to talk to?” Jack realized that he was being rude, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I mean, aren’t there better things to do than hang out in Grand Central all night?”
Jack thought Euri would get mad, but instead she looked uncomfortable. “I’m not a haunter.”
He gave her a skeptical look.
“Look,” she said crossly, “haunting isn’t like what we’re doing now. It’s not like you get to hang out and talk. It’s one-sided. Here, I’ll show you.”
Euri shot up to a penthouse window and hovered outside it. “Take a look.”
Inside the apartment, on a finely upholstered couch, sat a silver-haired man and a stately blond woman reading a book to a small Asian girl in red pajamas, who sat in between them. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and in the corner of the room stood an enormous Christmas tree decorated in white lights, a silver star on top grazing the ceiling. Jack had almost forgotten that just days ago it had been Christmas—he and his father had celebrated it with a scraggly tree they’d bought on Christmas Eve and a few practical gifts. But in a living room the size of Jack’s entire apartment was the Christmas he had always imagined— outsize stockings, big red nutcrackers, silver bowls of peppermints, garlands of pine and sprigs of mistletoe, knee-high piles of books and toys under the tree. A small white dog slept by the fire, and a maid crocheted in the corner. The little girl looked up to the woman and said something, and both she and the man laughed.
Euri hurled herself at the closed window and Jack shut his eyes, expecting to smack into the glass like a bird. But instead, the air turned warm; and when he opened his eyes, he was floating with Euri inside the penthouse. “Merry Christmas!” Euri shouted at the family. Then she began singing “Silent Night” at the top of her lungs.
Jack froze, half expecting the entire family to turn around and scream at the sight of Euri standing in the middle of their living room. The pallor of her skin was gray, and angry strands of hair had loosened from her ponytail and were poking up around her face. But the family took no notice of her or of Jack.
Only the maid looked out the window and into the night with a slightly worried expression. “The Vandermeers’ holiday party is tonight,” she remarked.
Euri started in on the second verse. “‘Shepherds quake at the sight,’” she screeched.
The blond woman looked up. She had a long, elegant face that, without a smile, made her look as imperious as a statue. “We haven’t gone in at least five years,” she said. “I suppose we should go.”
The little girl jumped off the couch and began to dance next to Jack. “No, no, no, no-o-o-o-o-o!” she said, hopping from one foot to the other. “Don’t go!”
The silver-haired man laughed and turned to the woman. “Quite a show. What do you say, Mom?”
“I didn’t really want to go, anyway.” The woman smiled and held out her arms. “Okay, Janie. We’ll stay with you.”
“‘SLEEP IN HEAVENLY PEACE!’” shrieked Euri. With a final whoop, she flew at the window, pulling Jack back through it and onto the ledge. She stood there for a quiet moment, the wind whipping through her hair, her back turned to the cozy scene in the penthouse. “See,” she finally said, “that’s haunting for you. Pretty boring. Let’s go.”
“Did you know those people?” Jack asked.
Euri gave a hollow-sounding chuckle. “Nah. First time I’ve seen them in my death.”
Euri dove off the ledge, yanking Jack with her. He didn’t believe her. He wanted to ask more questions, but could tell from the way that she avoided his gaze that the conversation was over. He regretted pushing her to haunt. Her mood had turned sour. She began to fly faster than before, dipping between buildings and then hurtling over the rooftops. She kept her face turned away from his.
“We’re almost there,” she said at last, pointing to an enormous marble building with a Beaux Arts facade of columns and arches. Two giant stone lions guarded the entrance.
“The New York Public Library,” she announced as they began to descend.
They gently glided down to the sidewalk. Jack was surprised to see dozens of ghosts, some in colonial vests and wigs, others in flapper dresses, still others in T-shirts and jeans, floating down the sidewalk alongside the living. “What if they bump into each other?” he asked.
Euri’s pale eyes narrowed. “Watch this.” Pulling him along, she ran straight at a living policeman who was talking into his radio. Jack cringed, but they went right through him. The policeman shivered and yanked up the zipper of his jacket.
“Fur is evil!” she shouted, running into a woman in a mink coat as she scurried to catch a taxi. A slight frown crossed the woman’s face, but she continued to run. “See?”
“They seemed to sense something, though,” Jack remarked.
“Some do, but it’s just a mood, a blast of warm or cold, a memory, that’s all.”
Pulling him after her, she bounded in gentle floating arcs up the stairs to the library. A sign outside announced the library’s hours as 10–6. A living guard was chaining a padlock to the door.
“Looks like they just opened up,” Euri said as she pulled him through the closed door.