"I speculated hell was hot…" he said, shivering. "This is c-cold."

"It didn't work," I whispered, and he fixed his vivid blue eyes on me, looking like a startled animal. My breath caught. He was lost and afraid. Another distant boom broke our gaze as he looked to the snowy skies.

From nearby came a shrill, "Him. That's him right over there!"

Spinning, I found the woman who had screamed earlier. Security was with her, and they were both looking this way.

"It's an outrage to all decent folks!" she said loudly in a huff.

My eyes went to my brother's. Crap. Now what?

Robbie jumped off the planter. "We have to go."

The small man was scanning the crowd, a look of wonder replacing his fear. At my feet, Robbie grabbed my mom's stone crucible and jammed it in his pocket. "Sorry everyone!" he said with a forced cheerfulness. "Cousin Bob. What an ass. Did it on a dare. Ha, ha! You won, Bob. Dinner is on me."

I got off the planter, but the man—the ghost, maybe—was staring at the buildings. "This fearsome catastrophe isn't hell," he whispered, and then his attention dropped to me. "You're not a demon."

His accent sounded thick, like an old TV show, and I wondered how long this guy had been dead.

Robbie reached up and grabbed his wrist, pulling. "It's going to be hell if we don't get out of here! Come on!"

The man lurched off the planter. All three of us stumbled on the slick stone, knocking into people wearing heavy winter coats and having red faces. "Sorry!" Robbie exclaimed, all of us in a confused knot as he refused to let go of my wrist.

I squinted as the wind sent a gust of snow at me. "What did I do wrong?" I said, too short to see where we were going. The fireworks were still going off, and people in the square had started singing.

"Me, me, me," Robbie cajoled, shoving the ghost ahead of us. "Why is it always about you, Rachel? Can you move it a little faster? You want to end up at the I.S. waiting for Mom to pick you up?"