The policeman began dutifully chasing after the alchemist.
The ghost of Henry Morbower turned back to his daughter. He smiled. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it, Lee-Lee? Do you remember how we used to have picnics by the pond? And you would always try and climb the tree, but you were too small for even its lowest branches.”
She nodded. There was an enormous lump in her throat. She couldn’t talk her way around it. “Father . . . ,” she said.
“I know, Lee-Lee.” Rays of light shone through the translucence. “It makes me ineffably happy as well.”
“Yes.” Liesl nodded. “Yes, ineffably.”
The ghost of Henry Morbower wavered, and became for a second no more than a shadow-impression; then it reappeared. Its head was tilted. It seemed to be listening. “I have to go now, Lee-Lee. Be good.”
“I’ll miss you,” Liesl croaked out.
“I’ll be here,” the ghost of Henry Morbower said, and then all at once was nothing more than air, and a few drifting golden petals that landed at Liesl’s feet.
For a moment no one said anything. In the silence, Liesl sniffed and ducked her head so no one would see the tears snaking their way over her cheeks and down toward the tip of her nose. Everyone did see, but pretended not to notice.
Then Will cried out sharply, “It’s Augusta! She’s getting away!”
While everyone’s attention was riveted by the ghost, Augusta had been attempting to crawl away from the pond. Now, hearing Will’s shout, she sprang to her feet and began sprinting. She was surprisingly quick, despite her bulk and the long skirts she was wearing.
The policeman, who was steering the alchemist by the elbows down the hill, groaned. “Not another one,” he said. “Not again.”
“I’ll get her!” Mo said, quite pleased to have something useful to do. He had always fantasized that someday he would be part of a high-speed chase to catch a murderer, even though he was only a lowly guard. Now his dreams were coming true. He bounded off.
Liesl swiped her eyes with her forearm. Something had just occurred to her. “Where’s Po?” she asked. “Where’s Bundle?”
The air was empty all around them. Will shook his head, shrugging.
“Over here, Liesl!”
Liesl turned her head and gasped.
There, standing a little ways off on a large sun-drenched portion of grass, were Po and Bundle. Or at least, they were Po-and Bundle-shaped; and yet instead of their usual shadowy, indistinct forms, they appeared to be growing bodies again, expanding into solid shapes. They were golden—they’d been dipped in gold—no—they were made of gold. And then the golden Po-shape turned into tan brown arms and shoulders, and a ring of curly yellow hair, and a laughing smile, and the golden Bundle-shape turned into a small, bounding, yellow mass of fur. A dog.
Po was looking at Liesl. Liesl suddenly felt shy.
Po said, “Boy.” Then he stretched out his fingers, wiggling them. “Peter. My name is Peter.”
Bundle went, “Bark, bark.”
“Thank you, Liesl,” the boy Peter said, laughing.
“For what?” Liesl started to ask, but she was asking to emptiness. The boy and the dog had disappeared, just like that.
“Where did they go?” Liesl demanded, to no one in particular. “What happened?”
“I think—,” Will said. “I think they must have gone on.”
“To Beyond,” Liesl said, and knew that it was true. For a moment she felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. There was an aching in her throat, and the world around her seemed very empty.
“It’s the way of things, you know,” Will whispered to her, as though reading her mind. “It’s how it ought to be.”
“I know,” Liesl whispered back. And she did, really, deep down. “It’s just—”
“What?”
“I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what comes now.”
“Don’t worry,” Will said. “We’ll figure something out.”
Liesl managed to smile at him. She liked that word: we. It sounded warm and open, like a hug.
“Got ’er,” Mo called out. He had caught up with Augusta and was holding her tightly, as she wriggled and kicked and tried to squirm her way out of his grasp: Now she was a fish on a hook.
The old woman adjusted her hat more firmly on her head and brushed off her velvet coat. “Well,” she sniffed. “I think we’ve had quite enough for the day—of ghosts and criminals and fires and all that nonsense. Go on and cuff them and take them in.” She gestured to the alchemist and Augusta.
“I can’t,” the policeman said meekly. In his short time with the old woman, he had grown quite terrified of displeasing her.
She fixed him with a fierce glare. “Why ever not?”
He ducked his head guiltily. “Only have two pairs of cuffs.”