The rock formation ahead of them looked foreboding for reasons Rafe couldn’t explain to himself. At first, he thought it was the high wall of an old cathedral or something, like in photos he’d seen of medieval ruins. But then, as they got closer, he saw it wasn’t anything man-made. A high natural wall, fifty feet or more, with three empty holes, tall and narrow. Like doors or…

“The Angel Windows,” Jeremy said, answering the question Rafe hadn’t asked.

“Why are they called that?”

“They say because only angels are brave enough to go in there. But even they’re afraid to use the front door.”

“We go through those? There’s nothing but fields behind them.”

“It’s hidden. It’s not just a town for ghosts. The town itself is a ghost.” Jeremy brought his horse alongside Rafe’s, and they trotted to a halt, the rock formation only about a hundred paces ahead. “We have to walk through them. And we can’t take the horses. I wouldn’t do that to them anyway.”

They rode to the Windows and dismounted.

“We’ll be back soon, lads,” Jeremy said as he gave both horses head scratches and more berries. “Head to Granny’s house. She’s got apples for you both.”

The horses stubbornly refused to budge.

“Typical,” Jeremy said.

Even with his bow and a quiverful of arrows, Rafe already felt woefully outgunned as they walked to the rocks. He stood before the tallest of the three Windows. Looking through it, all he could see was more of the same world, more Shanandoah. A field of violet flowers, yellow butterflies, and enormous rocks strewn all over with no discernible pattern, as if some ancient structure had collapsed eons ago and the world had reclaimed most of it.

“Ready?” Rafe said.

Jeremy took a long breath, then said, “To quote the great lion Aslan, ‘Further up and further in.’ ”

Rafe started up and into the Window, but Jeremy put his hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

“The knight goes before the prince,” Jeremy said.

“Is this a chess rule or something?”

“It’s the Jeremy rule.”

“Granny told us to stay together. Remember the creepy kitchen chanting exercise? We go at the same time. You can go through that one.” He pointed at the opening next to him. “I’ll give you a half-second head start. Okay?”

“Acceptable.”

Rafe started forward again, but Jeremy’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“What—”

Jeremy kissed him. Nothing but a quick kiss on his cheek, but still a kiss.

“It’s good luck to kiss a prince, remember?” Jeremy said. “Old wives’ tale here, but I am nothing if not willing to forgo logic and reason if I get to kiss somebody.” He looked into the Window. “And we need all the luck we can get.”

Rafe froze, overcome by a sudden wave of déjà vu, just like the sensation he’d felt walking into the Moonstone Palace for the first time. Except that wasn’t the first time he’d entered the palace. Jeremy’s kiss felt exactly like walking into the palace. Both felt like coming home. Both felt like they’d happened a thousand times before.

“Rafe?”

And this felt familiar too. The flush of warmth, of happiness, of courage. The courage from the kiss felt more familiar to him than his own name.

“Any benefits to kissing a knight?” Rafe asked.

“Several. Undying gratitude. Extra Christmas present. He’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Good to know.”

Before Jeremy could say anything more, Rafe climbed through the Angel Window and landed in a nightmare.

Storyteller CornerThe Ghost Town

In Shanandoah, there are two entrances to the Ghost Town—the one Rafe and Jeremy took through the Angel Windows and the stone gate at the Devil’s Tea Table, which Emilie and Skya were taking at about the same time.

In the Real World, for want of a better name, there is only one way to get into the Ghost Town, and that is to die with unfinished business.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Whatever Rafe had expected to find in the Ghost Town, it wasn’t this. Morgantown, West Virginia. Or the shadow of it. Rafe recognized the city the way you recognize a dinosaur at a museum, by the shape of its skeleton. The bones of the shops and the spine of the street were still there, but the flesh of the city was gone, eaten away by something.

There was no sun, only black clouds chasing one another across the bitter sky. Angry clouds but no rain. All was dust beneath his feet. No rain had ever fallen here. Nothing to wash the ash away.

He might have cried at the sight of it if he hadn’t been so scared by the sheer terrible wrongness. Seeing his hometown like this—he’d bought his favorite boots over there, had coffee with a girl once there, taken a job painting hotel rooms just down there—it was like seeing the body of a friend left for dead on the side of a road.

A faded billboard that once had read West Virginia had been defaced. The W and the E were blacked out, and other letters scrawled over them.

Now the sign read—

Lost Virginia.

“Jay,” Rafe breathed, but he wasn’t there. He turned around, looked back at the Angel Windows. They were empty and black. “Jeremy?”

Nothing. No answer. No Jeremy. Granny had warned them, and Rafe had already lost him.

Afraid to go but too afraid to stay, he slung his bow over his back and made his slow way down the broken hill that had once been High Street. He took what was left of the sidewalk, watching every step as he tried to avoid the black moss and sinister mold growing up through the cracks. He could hear the nearby rushing of the Monongahela River, too loud in the deep silence of this dead or dying city. And then, another sound. A rockslide somewhere and the unmistakable sound of something hitting the water. The river’s name meant “sliding banks,” but he’d never actually heard the bank slide into the water before.

And yet, he almost managed a smile at the sight of one familiar face. The statue of Don Knotts, Morgantown’s favorite son, sat in its place of honor outside the old theater. But when he reached it, he saw old Don’s face contorted into an open-mouthed scream.

Rafe stepped back.

A pile of gray leaves had gathered at the statue’s shoes. A woman’s face, dirty, sallow, rose out of the leaves. Not leaves but rags. A woman in rags.

Rafe backed away a few more steps, pity warring with terror. He could have sworn it was only leaves.

“Have you seen the moon?” she rasped, her voice like broken glass. “I lost the moon.”

“What? How do you lose the moon?” he asked.