Leaving Amma behind was like stepping away from a fire on the coldest night of winter. She felt
like home, safe and familiar. Like every scolding and every supper I’d ever had, everything that had
been me. The closer I was to her, the warmer I felt—but in the end, it made the cold feel that much
colder when I walked away.
Was it worth it? Feeling better for a minute or two, knowing that the cold would still be out
there waiting?
I wasn’t sure, but for me it wasn’t a choice. I couldn’t stay away from Amma or Lena—and
deep down, I didn’t think either one of them wanted me to.
Still, there was a silver lining, even if it was a little tarnished. If Lucille could see me, that was
something. I guess it was true what people said about cats seeing spirits. I just never figured I
would be the one to prove it.
And then there was Amma. She hadn’t exactly seen me, but she’d known I was there. It
wasn’t much, but it was something. I had been able to show her, just like I’d been able to show
Lena I was at my grave.
It was exhausting, taking a chunk out of a cake or moving a button a few inches. But it had
gotten the message across.
In a way, I was still here in Gatlin, where I belonged. Everything had changed, and I didn’t
have the answers for how to fix that. But I hadn’t gone anywhere, not really.
I was here.
I existed.
If only I could find a way to say what I really wanted to say. There was just so much I could
do with a Tunnel of Fudge cake and an old cat and a random charm on Lena’s necklace.
To tell you the truth, I was feeling downright woebegone. As in, stuck in the doldrums without
a map, Ethan Wate.
W. O. E. B. E. G. O. N. E.
Nine across.
That’s when it came to me. Not so much an idea as a memory—of Amma sitting at our kitchen
table, all hunched over her crossword puzzles with a bowl of Red Hots and a pile of extra-sharp #2
pencils. Those puzzles were how she kept things right, figured things out.
In that moment it all came together. The way I saw an opening on the basketball court or
figured out the plot at the beginning of a movie.
I knew what I had to do, and I knew where I had to go. It was going to require a little more
than scooping out a cake or pushing around a button, but not much more.
More like a few strokes of a pencil.
It was time I paid a visit to the office of The Stars and Stripes, the best and only newspaper in
Gatlin County.
I had a crossword puzzle to write.
There wasn’t a single grain of salt lining any window at The Stars and Stripes office, any more than
there was a single grain of truth in the paper itself. There were, however, swamp coolers in every
window. More swamp coolers than I had ever seen in one building. They were all that remained of
a summer so hot that the whole town had almost dried up and blown away, like dead leaves on a
magnolia tree.
Still, no charms, no salt, no Bindings or Casts or even a cat. I slipped in as easy as the heat
had. A guy could get used to this kind of access.
Inside the office, there wasn’t much more than a few plastic plants, a reenactment calendar
that hung crookedly on the wall, and a high linoleum counter. That’s where you stood with your ten
dollars when you wanted to put an ad in the paper to hawk your piano lessons or new puppies or
the old plaid couch that had been sitting in your basement since 1972.
That was about it until you got behind the counter, where three little desks stood in a row.
They were covered with papers—exactly the papers I was looking for. This was what The Stars
and Stripes looked like before it became an actual newspaper—when it was still something closer to
the town gossip.
“What are you doing in here, Ethan?”
I turned around, startled, my hands up at my sides as if I’d just been busted for breaking and
entering—which, in a way, I had.
“Mom?”
She was standing behind me in the empty office, on the other side of the counter.
“Nothing.” It was all I could say. I shouldn’t have been surprised. She knew how to cross.
After all, she was the one who’d helped me find my way back to the Mortal realm.
Still, I hadn’t expected to find her here.
“You’re not doing ‘nothing,’ unless you’ve decided to become a journalist and report on life
from the Great Beyond. Which, considering how many times I tried to get you to join the staff of
The Jackson Stonewaller, doesn’t seem likely.”
Yeah, okay. I had never wanted to eat my lunch in there with the school newspaper staff. Not
when I could be in the lunchroom with Link and the guys from the basketball team. The things I
thought were important back then seemed so stupid now.
“No, ma’am.”
“Ethan, please. Why are you here?”
“I guess I could ask you the same question.” My mom shot me a look. “I’m not looking for a
job at the paper. I just want to help out on one little section.”
“That’s not a good idea.” She spread her hands on the counter in front of me.
“Why not? You were the one sending me all those Shadowing Songs. It’s practically the same
thing. This is just a little more—direct.”
“What are you planning to do? Write Lena a want ad and publish it in the paper? ‘Wanted, one
Caster girlfriend. Preferably named Lena Duchannes’?”
I shrugged. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it could work.”
“You can’t. You can barely pick up a pencil in this realm. You don’t have physics working on
your behalf as a Sheer. Around here, picking up a feather is harder than dragging a two-by-four
down the street with your pinkie.”
“Can you do it?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
I looked at her meaningfully. “Mom, I want her to know I’m all right. I want her to know I’m
here—like you wanted to let me know when you left the code in the books in the study. Now I have
to find a way to tell her.”
My mom walked around the counter slowly, without saying a word for a long minute. She
watched as I moved across the room toward the piles of newsprint.
“Are you sure about this?” She sounded hesitant.
“Are you going to help me or not?”
She came and stood next to me, which was her way of answering. We began to read the next
issue of The Stars and Stripes, laid out all over every surface. I leaned over the papers on the
nearest desk. “Apparently, the Ladies Auxiliary of Gatlin County is starting a book club called the
Read & Giggle.”
“Your Aunt Marian is going to be thrilled to hear that; the last time she tried to start a book
club, nobody could agree on a book, and they had to disband after the first meeting.” My mom had
a wicked glint in her eye. “But not until they voted to spike the lemonade with a big box of wine.
Just about everyone agreed on that.”
I kept going. “Well, I hope the Read & Giggle doesn’t end up the same way, but if it does,
don’t worry. They’re also starting a table tennis club called the Hit & Giggle.”
“And look at that.” She pointed over my arm. “Their supper club is called the Dine & Giggle.”
I stifled a laugh, pointing. “You missed the best one. They’re renaming the Gatlin Cotillion to—
wait for it—the Wiggle & Giggle.”
We went through the rest of the paper, having about as good a time as two Sheers stuck in a
small-town newspaper office could ask for. It was like a scrapbook of our life together, all glued
onto a whole bunch of newsprint. The Kiwanis Club was getting ready for its annual pancake
breakfast, where the pancakes were raw and liquid in the middle, the way my dad liked them best.
Gardens of Eden had won Main Street Window of the Month, which it did pretty much every
month, since there weren’t all that many windows on Main anymore.
It only got better as we read on. A wild hen was roosting in the Santa’s sled that Mr. Asher had
put up as part of his light-up lawn display, which was awesome, because the Ashers’ holiday
displays were infamous. One year Mrs. Asher even put lipstick on Emily’s Baby Cuddles Jesus
because she didn’t think his mouth showed up well enough in the dark. When my mom tried to ask
her about it with a straight face, Mrs. Asher said, “You can’t just expect to shout hosannas and
have everyone get the message, Lila. Lord have mercy, half the folks around here don’t even know
what hosanna means.” When my mom pressed her further, it was obvious Mrs. Asher didn’t either.
After that, she never invited us to her house again.
The rest of it was the news you’d expect around here, the kind that never changed even when
it always changed. Animal Control had picked up a lost cat; Bud Clayton had won the Carolina
Duck-Calling Contest. The Summerville Pawnshop was running a special, Big B’s Vinyl Siding and
Windows was shutting down, and the Quik-Chik Leadership Scholarship competition was heating
up.
Life goes on, I guess.
Then I saw the page for the crossword puzzle and slid it toward me as quickly as I could.
“There.”
“You want to do the crossword puzzle?”
“I don’t want to do it. I want to write one for Amma. If she saw it, she’d tell Lena.”
My mom shook her head. “Even if you could manage to get the letters the way you want them
on the page, Amma won’t see it. She doesn’t take the paper anymore. Not since you—left. She
hasn’t touched one of her puzzles in months.”
I winced. How could I have forgotten? Amma had said it herself while I was standing in the
kitchen at Wate’s Landing.
“What about a letter, then?”
“I’ve tried it a hundred times, but it’s nearly impossible. You can only use what’s already on
the page.” She studied the paper in front of us. “Actually, it might work because you can drag the
letters around on the draft. See, how they’re laying it out on the table?”
She was right. The way the puzzle worked, the letters were cut into a thousand tiles, like a
Scrabble board. All I had to do was move the paper around.
If I was even strong enough to do that.
I looked at my mom, more determined than ever. “Then we’ll use the crossword, and I’ll make
Lena see it.”
Moving the letters into place was like digging up a rock from the Sisters’ garden, but my mom
helped me. She shook her head as we stared at the page. “A crossword puzzle. I don’t know why I
didn’t think of that.”
I shrugged. “I’m just not very good at writing songs.”
In its current state, the crossword was barely half-finished, but the staff around here probably
wouldn’t mind too much if I helped them along. After all, it looked like the Sunday edition, the
biggest day for The Stars and Stripes—at least for the crossword. Between the three of them,
they’d probably be relieved that someone else had taken it on this week. I was surprised they didn’t
have Amma in here writing the puzzles for them already.
The only hard part would be getting Lena to take an interest in this puzzle at all.
Eleven across.
P. O. L. T. E. R. G. E. I. S. T.
As in, apparition or phantasm. A spectral being. A spirit from another world. A ghost. The
vaguest shadow of a person, the thing that comes to you in the night when you think no one is
looking.
In other words, the thing you are, Ethan Wate.
Six down.
G. A. T. L. I. N.
As in, parochial. Local. Insular. The place we’re stuck, whether in the Otherworld or the
Mortal one.
E. T. E. R. N. A. L.
As in, endless, without stopping, forever. The way you feel about a certain girl, whether you’re
dead or alive.
L. O. V. E.
As in, how I feel about you, Lena Duchannes.
T. R. Y.
As in, as hard as I can, every minute of every day.
As in, I got your message, L.
Then I felt overwhelmed by the thought of how much I’d lost, of everything that stupid fall off
the water tower had cost me, and I lost control and loosened my grip on Gatlin. First my eyes filled,
and then the letters blurred away, drifting into nothing as the world vanished beneath my feet and I
was gone.
I was crossing back. I tried to remember the words from the scroll—the ones that had brought
me here—but my mind couldn’t focus on anything at all.
It was too late.
Darkness surrounded me, and I felt something like wind whipping across my face, howling in
my ears. Then I heard my mother’s voice—steady as the grip of her cool hand on mine.
“Ethan, hold on. I’ve got you.”
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