“Too,” Joshua whispered back groggily. “Love.”
He was asleep, and the words meant nothing, I knew. But the knowledge didn’t stop me from stifling a shout of joy as I slipped out of the room. I tried very hard not to skip down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Only when I reached the back door did my mood sink. Actually, “sink” was too delicate a word. “Plummet,” perhaps, better fit the situation.
Because, bent over a magazine at the kitchen island and casually flipping pages, was Ruth.
When I entered the kitchen, Ruth’s head remained down, the dawn sun bright in her white hair. She looked as if she hadn’t heard me approach. I hoped that if I just tiptoed very softly past the island to the back hallway, I might go unnoticed. I wasn’t surprised, however, when Ruth’s voice stopped me short.
“You know,” she mused without looking up from her magazine, “I could have sworn I made my feelings on your relationship with my grandson quite clear.”
I pressed my teeth firmly to my bottom lip, refusing to answer.
“Yet,” Ruth went on without needing my response, “here you are.”
She flipped the last page of the magazine shut and finally looked up, focusing those cold eyes upon me. For a moment I didn’t move. Didn’t react. Then, slowly, I nodded.
“Yes. Here I am.”
Ruth sighed. “And why is that?”
I composed my face into what I hoped was a determined expression. “Because I was invited, Ruth.”
“Not by the person who counts.”
“I’m not scared of you.” I gave myself a gigantic, internal high five when my voice didn’t waver.
In an instant Ruth stood, her hands gripped to the edge of the island and a tight smile on her lips. “You should be scared,” she whispered.
Suddenly, a vicious headache hit me, similar to the one I’d experienced yesterday outside the church.
Similar, but not identical. Because this headache was far, far worse.
It exploded in my head, a searing pain that spread down my neck and crashed behind my eyes. I shut my eyes tight against it, but the effort didn’t provide any relief. After a few more seconds, I couldn’t help but drop to my knees and clutch both hands to my temples as if I could hold the ache at bay with sheer force.
The headache continued to expand as I cowered, blossoming in bright white flashes behind my eyes. The flashes pulsed like strobe lights in my brain, flaring in repetition until, abruptly, they changed.
Instead of white flashes, I saw the images, moving again in rapid succession against my eyelids. Like some kind of montage, switching so quickly from one image to the next that I could only catch one or two details from each: the crinkles around my father’s eyes; tall, swaying grass; a strand of my mother’s dark hair; the flash of lightning against something metal. The images sped and blurred until I could no longer distinguish any of their individual elements.
“Stop,” I moaned, wrapping my fingers so tightly into my hair that my scalp ached too.
To my shock, the headache immediately ended. The images vanished, and the pain evaporated so fast, it may never have been there at all.
Without removing my hands from my head, I opened my eyes to peek up at Ruth. She still stared at me with the tense smile, but now her dark eyes danced with something powerful, and malicious.
“Life flashing before your eyes, dear? That’s just a taste of what’s in store for you tomorrow night,” she whispered. She flicked her head toward the hallway behind me. “This house won’t be open to you again. Now, get out.”
I didn’t need any further instructions. I scrambled to my feet, nearly falling over them in the process, and fled through the hallway.
I had a brief moment of panic, uncertain as to how I’d get out of the Mayhews’ house without some sort of assistance. However, as my eyes scanned down the length of the back door, I found that assistance had already been provided.
On the floor, propped upright between the door and the jamb, stood an enormous book. Judging from its worn leather binding, the book was old and probably quite expensive. A wreath of drying herbs and flowers wrapped around the book, twining it shut. Scrawled upon its cover in gold I could just make out the words HOLY BIBLE.
Ruth’s work, no doubt. Some talisman to protect against anything sinister I might have planned. In its current position—wedged against the door in such a manner as to leave enough space for someone thin to pass through the doorway—the book also sent a clear message.
Leave, dead girl.
“Your wish is my command, Ruth,” I muttered shakily, and slipped through the opening.
I stood on the bank of the river and paced, unwilling to walk too close to the water’s edge but unwilling to stray too far away from it, either. The bank itself was empty of everything but me and a few chirping crickets.
“I’m here,” I called out to the air, my voice echoing off the surface of the river. “You said I’d come back to talk, and you were right. So let’s talk.”
Only the rustle of the leaves answered me. I sighed and began to pace more forcefully.
“Hello? Anyone out there? Do I have to do a rain dance or something?”
“Only if you want it to rain.”
Cold air swept over me in a wave, rolling up my body until it finally crested against the sensitive skin of my bare shoulders and neck. I wanted to shiver, but I wanted to present a powerful front to Eli more. So I kept my face expressionless, ambivalent, as I turned around.
Eli stood alongside the riverbank, where only moments before there had been nothing but tall grass and mud. He crossed his arms over his chest—mirroring the position I’d inadvertently taken as he approached—and leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin.
“Hey, Amelia.”
“Hey, Eli,” I answered, obviously in a less amused tone.
“So,” he said with a barely concealed laugh in his voice. “What can I do for you on this fine morning?”
Looking at his smug grin, I lost a fraction of my confidence. But I forced myself to clear my throat and straighten my backbone. “I have some questions for you.”
“Such as?”
The genuine curiosity in his tone, which was usually so smug, surprised me. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as difficult as I’d anticipated? This unexpected turn disoriented me, and I blurted out the first question that came to mind.
“How did you get here so fast? This place was empty a few seconds ago.”
Eli shrugged. “I materialized.”
“You what?”
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his tight jeans and strolled closer to me. “Haven’t you ever noticed, during times of stress or excitement, you’re able to travel? To move through time and space at will?”
I frowned. “Um . . . not exactly.”
Eli stopped only a foot from me, tisk-tisking. “You really should take more time to notice these things, Amelia.”
I scowled heavily. There was the smugness with which I was already so familiar. “Why don’t you take time to be a little less condescending, Eli? Otherwise, I’m leaving.”
He tisked again. “Didn’t you invite me here?”
“Yeah, but I can just as easily uninvite you.”
“I don’t doubt you can.” Then his smile faded, and he tilted his head to one side, giving me a quizzical sort of look. “You know, I’m very interested in seeing exactly what you can do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” he said, “we all have abilities—and by ‘we’ I mean the dead. You’re no exception, I’m sure.”
“Abilities? Like being able to move through time and space at will?”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s one of the more common abilities. But really, Amelia, this shouldn’t be news to you. I’ve seen plenty of your materializations, each time you disappeared.”
I blinked, taken completely aback. What on earth was he talking about? I’d never “materialized,” whatever that meant.
&
nbsp; Then proverbial lightning hit me.
The nightmares.
My nightmares were actually materializations? And they were something potentially controllable, through extreme emotion? Here was one of the potential answers I sought, then.
I looked up at Eli, unable to hide my excitement. “What else can we do?”
Immediately, I cursed my own stupidity.
Seeing the glimmer in my eyes, Eli grinned; and, at that moment, I could read it on every line of his face: he knew he had the upper hand. I wanted his knowledge, desperately, so I was his captive audience. At least for now.
“If you want me to answer your questions,” he said with that smug note still in his voice, “my help obviously comes with conditions.”
“Obviously.”
Eli nodded, and I felt suddenly like this nod had sealed some kind of deal. One I wasn’t sure I really wanted to make. Too late for me to recall my request, however; Eli clasped his hands behind his back and turned to stomp off into the woods.
“Wait,” I called out despite my misgivings. “I thought we had a . . . deal?”
Eli laughed loudly but didn’t stop walking. “Of course we do. And our deal just became mobile. So keep up.”
As he stepped into the trees, the riverbank instantly darkened behind him. With seemingly no command from Eli, the bank had shifted into the netherworld. But for now the flitting black shapes and whispering souls stayed away, leaving nothing but a cold, glittering landscape around me.
I tossed a wary look over my shoulder at the tarlike river dragging its way to the bridge. At first I thought the gaping black hole wasn’t visible today. However, as I watched, a tiny spot of darkness appeared under the bridge and then began to swell, its black edges clawing their way upward and outward. Eventually, it stopped growing; but even in stillness, it seemed to move and shift like some crouching beast. Giving it one last, hesitant glance, I shuddered and faced forward again.
“Amelia Elizabeth Ashley,” I whispered to myself. “You’re an idiot.”
Then I followed the creepiest thing I’d ever met into the deep, twisting forest of the netherworld.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Chapter
Twenty
“Would you like to hear a story, Amelia?”
We’d been walking in the frost-covered woods for at least twenty minutes, weaving a crooked and seemingly directionless path through the trees. The scenery kept getting weirder and weirder—icy, clawlike shrubs clutched at my ankles; an almost purple moss covered every bare surface; and big gray flakes, like either snow or ash, had started to float down around us—but Eli had yet to tell me our destination.
In fact, Eli hadn’t said a single word during this excursion, even in response to my initial questions. As I watched his back—turned away from and always five feet ahead of me—I grew increasingly irritated. I threw around a few pointed sighs, even uttered a low “ahem” or two. My theatrics brought not so much as a peep from Eli.
So when he finally spoke, I actually jumped a little in surprise. It took me a moment to collect myself enough to answer his question, though when I was able to do so, my answer was rife with undisguised impatience.
“That depends, Eli. Is the story relevant?”
“What’s your definition of relevance?” Eli countered.
I sighed so loudly, the sound came out like a groan. Eli stopped walking and turned to face me. He placed his hands into his pockets and met my eyes for only a second. Then he lowered his own gaze to my feet and slowly raised it, scanning my body. The appraisal made me squirm uncomfortably.
“Tell me the story,” I said curtly, “to distract yourself from being so rude.”
His head snapped up, and he looked me fully in the eyes. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Was I being rude?”
Still glaring at him, I twisted one corner of my mouth in disapproval.
“Fair enough.” He appraised me again, although this time he did so with a less lewd stare. Then he nodded. “Since I’ve embarrassed you, how about I apologize by telling you something about myself?”
“Only if it has something to do with what I want to know.”
A smile twitched on his lips, and then he turned back around to march onward through the woods. I wavered, uncertain, before I began following him.
“Eli?” I prompted.
He remained silent for a moment and then called back, “Have you ever wondered why I’m dressed like this? What kind of profession I might have been in?”
I assessed the back of his fluttering black shirt. “Well, I had a feeling you weren’t an accountant.”
When Eli cast a quick, backward glance over his shoulder, he looked amused.
“You’re right about that. You know, if I’d known what was going to happen the night I died, I might have changed into more comfortable pants. Or at least have buttoned my shirt.”
Considering my own outfit, I had no room to judge. I swept an errant gray flake from my skirt—not ash but something like snow, I think—and nodded at Eli’s back.
“When you’ve just come from a concert in 1975,” he continued, “the last thing on your mind is changing clothes, I can assure you.”
“You died after attending a concert?”
“Actually, Amelia, I died before playing a concert.”
I stumbled in surprise and then stopped completely. “You did what?”
Eli stopped, too. After turning to face me, he gave me a lazy, self-assured grin. “In life I was the lead singer of a rock band. We were pretty good, too. Gaining a following . . . even negotiating with a record label.”
Only my eyes moved, running over Eli’s outfit once more: the impossibly tight pants, the wild hair, the cluster of necklaces on his bare chest.
“So . . . you were a rock star?”
“I was on my way to being a rock star. I even had my own groupies.” His grin widened. “My band actually had a pretty big gig in Oklahoma City, but our tour bus broke down in Wilburton before we could get there.”
“Wow,” I said, begrudgingly impressed. I paused and then asked, “I’m guessing you never made it to that gig, huh?”
Eli didn’t answer but instead raised one eyebrow for confirmation. Only now did his prideful expression falter. I couldn’t be sure, but I think it was the first time I’d seen Eli regretful, as if he actually mourned the loss of all that impending power and fame.
“So . . . what happened?” I asked.
Eli grimaced, remembering. “Our bus driver insisted on taking a shortcut in the dead of the night, across a rickety old bridge.” He frowned harder, as if trying to remember. “Of course, once the bus sputtered to a stop in the middle of the bridge, we decided to pile out and help the driver with the engine. We were pretty useless, though: a serious amount of drinking was involved, obviously, and maybe a few more chemicals. Soon things got . . . out of control. Eventually, someone had the brilliant idea to jump over the side of the bridge.”
“You?” I gasped. “You jumped off High Bridge?”
Eli laughed vibrantly. The sound of it contrasted strangely with his story.
“Well, Amelia,” he said, “I obviously didn’t fly. And that was my messy end, so to speak.”
We were silent for a few more moments as both of us digested his words. My distaste for Eli lessened slightly in light of his last revelation: we had died in the same awful place. And now we were both stuck between the living world and whatever else existed outside of this dark, icy limbo.
Frowning, I stared down at the icy moss beneath my feet. “You know, Eli, I don’t remember much of anything. But I’ve got to be honest with you—I really don’t remember any stories about a rock star dying on the bridge.”
Eli sniffed imperiously, and I looked up. From the twist of his mouth, I could see I’d offended him.
“Like I said, Amelia, I was on m
y way to becoming a rock star,” he explained in a clipped tone. “At the time I died, not many people knew me or followed me. But they were going to . . . I’m sure of it.”
For some strange reason, I felt a little guilty about wounding his pride, at least on this issue. The story of Eli’s human life was the only thing that made him seem . . . well, human. “Sorry, Eli. Really,” I said, with only the slightest smile. “I’m sure you were going to be huge. A big star.”
When he appeared somewhat mollifed, I pressed him again. “Keep going, Eli. Tell me what happened after you died.”
He sighed, and the focused look settled upon his face again.
“Believe it or not, the initial years of my afterlife were far less peaceful than yours. Those years were my punishment, no doubt. I died angry—not at the world but at myself, for giving up all that success. All that power. I wanted to lash out at the living instead of beg for their help, as you did. I suppose I became a bit of a poltergeist. I found that, through strong emotions, I could affect things in the living world. Move them, even. I managed to break windows, overturn lamps. Make myself a general nuisance.”
“Hard to believe,” I murmured.
“Quit interrupting,” Eli instructed, but he gave me a quick grin. “I went on like that for a few years. Until they came for me, of course.”
Something about the way he said “they” made me flinch.
“I’m not sure what they saw in me that made me worthy,” Eli went on, unaware of my sudden discomfort. “But one day, while I paced uselessly by the river, they appeared to me. They told me about all the things I’d hungered to know: my nature as a ghost, my powers, and my purpose. They told me I was special . . . essential, even, to their mission. Like I told you before, they then commissioned me for an important task and gave me control of this place. They gave me power again.” He gestured grandly around him: to the crooked, shimmering trees and the flat black sky above us.
I shivered. “An icy tundra made for one?”
“The cold is a part of their world, Amelia. And ours.”
“Yours,” I corrected him softly.