“What is wrong with you? What are you playing at?” Mark spoke low, a warning. “Dude. It’s not a game. Look at her.” She wasn’t completely still after all. She shivered, her lips blue with the cold, as her breath fogged in the air around her. It was strange seeing it from the outside, but what was happening to Daisy seemed different from what happened to me when the specter appeared. The ghost wasn’t struggling against the barrier between the plane of the living and the world of the spirit. It had found a door in Daisy. Phin recovered first. “Ask it what it wants,” she told me. I made a wordless sound of protest—was this the time for Twenty Questions?—but swallowed it. How would I know if I didn’t ask? “¿Que quiere usted?” I asked, forcing my cold lips to move and my brain to find the words. Daisy’s voice said, “Búscame.” “Look for you where?” My breath fogged the summer night air, and when I looked at my hands, they were like Daisy, mottled with cold.
