by Zoe Aarsen
“It did burn down, but there’s not much any of us can do about that,” I grumbled, hating myself for suddenly being in such a sour mood.
Henry continued, “I know. But you’re not safe. None of us are safe.”
Violet gestured across the table at Henry. “That’s what I keep saying! We don’t really have time to rest. We should at least sleep in shifts so that somebody’s awake, keeping an eye on things.”
Especially annoyed that Violet was inferring that she and Henry were on the same side, I mumbled, “That’s probably a reason for us to stay away from each other as long as possible.” I lifted a slice of pizza to my lips and took an unenthusiastic bite.
With a confused frown, Henry pressed on. “McKenna. You know we’re running out of time.”
I felt the weight of everyone’s stares on me, and I tossed my piece of pizza onto the plate in front of me. They were all waiting for me to say something, do something. As always.
“What!” I exclaimed. “Of course I know that, Henry! Do you guys think I’m holding out on you? That I’m just going to whip up a way to fix this after running around all day? After watching a fire destroy my house—and having to follow my mom’s boyfriend to the hospital because he got hurt—and knowing it’s all my fault? I’m out of ideas, guys, okay? I’m tired!”
As I pushed myself away from the table, feeling like I was about to start crying, Henry pleaded, “Come on, McKenna. You know I don’t expect you to have all the answers.”
I hurried out of the kitchen and into the dimly lit living room before it occurred to me that I wasn’t in my own home and didn’t really know my way around. So I collapsed on one of the uncomfortable antique sofa settees moments before Trey followed me into the room and sat down beside me. We were both silent before he finally said, “I wish I could tell you that you didn’t have to do this. That we’d take care of it, and you didn’t have to worry.” He laced his fingers together where his hands hung between his knees and looked down at his feet. “But we don’t stand a chance without you. And as much as it sucks about Mischa? To be honest, at this point, all I care about is finding a way to save you.”
If I attempted to speak, I knew I would cry. So instead, I leaned against Trey and rested my head on his shoulder.
“If that’s what it comes down to, McKenna, you have to promise me you’ll save yourself.” He stroked my hair, and I held my breath to avoid breaking into sobs. Because if I started crying, I might never stop. “If you think putting yourself first is selfish, then think of it as doing what’s best for me, or for your mom.”
I shook my head, doing my best to tamp down the sob I felt crawling up my throat. “I don’t know if I can save anyone,” I admitted. All of the boldness I’d had in the fall about toppling Violet and breaking the curse was gone. The idea of spending the last few days of my life chasing Mischa and watching both of my parents suffer was starting to seem like a heartbreaking waste of time. I could just lovingly bid my mom farewell and go back to Florida, where I could help Rhonda and Dad set up the nursery for the baby and at least leave something meaningful behind.
“What can I do to help?” Trey asked me.
I sat upright and looked into his clear blue eyes. The yellowing bruise around his right eye hadn’t faded much since the day before. “I’m just scared, all right? I’m scared. If we fail tomorrow, then I’m going to die. And the rest of you might die too.”
“Okay,” Trey said resolutely. “We should get some sleep before you even ask Jennie for advice. What if we all just sleep in here? Does that seem like it would be okay?”
I nodded. I didn’t like the idea of falling asleep in a strange place, especially now that it seemed Violet and Henry were right: We weren’t safe anywhere. As much as I suspected we were putting ourselves in danger by gathering in one spot, the idea of us splitting up around the enormous house seemed like it would make us even more vulnerable. Trey returned to the kitchen to tell Violet and Henry that we were going to crash in the living room for a few hours, and Violet asked me to follow her upstairs to fetch pillows and blankets for everyone.
At the end of a long hallway, past the door to her father’s office and her bedroom, Violet opened a door to reveal a large linen closet. As she handed me a stack of folded blankets, she said, “If anything bad happens to you in the next few days, I’m not sure who would take it worse, Trey or Henry.” There wasn’t a hint of snark or bitterness in her tone.
“I know,” I admitted, not really wanting to discuss it with her.
Violet offered me a weak smile and said, “It’s not the worst problem to have, right?”
I tried and failed to grin. With each passing hour, it was seeming more likely that Mischa’s prediction for me would come true. As much as I wanted to believe that my heart was wholly Trey’s, I didn’t like the idea of leaving Henry behind either.
Henry set his phone alarm for six in the morning. That would give us seven hours to plan before Mr. and Mrs. Portnoys’ funeral was scheduled to begin at Gundarsson’s before the procession to the Jewish cemetery on the far side of town. For safe measure, I double-checked to make sure that the lid on the mason jar was twisted tightly shut.
Falling asleep on the settee seemed impossible. I couldn’t get comfortable, no matter how I shifted positions, and every time my thoughts began to fade toward sleep, the strong sense that Jennie wanted to speak with me stirred me awake again. Although I definitely had more urgent concerns, the thought that I was never going to sleep in my old bedroom ever again was weighing heavily on my heart. Making matters worse, the tall grandfather clock standing at the foot of the staircase chimed once every half hour and then again, repeatedly, every hour. Its somber melody seemed to fill every corner of the enormous house, even blanketing the sounds of Henry’s deep breathing and Violet’s sniffling.
Giving up on sleep, I took my phone and crept from the living room into the kitchen intending to get a glass of water. But once I stood in front of the sink and reached for the tap, I found myself staring into a beam of moonlight pouring in through the window. As I took a sip of water, I gazed out at the Simmonses’ wintry garden, unable to remember exactly where the rosebushes had originally been.
On my right, one of the cabinet doors creaked open, and I knew Jennie wouldn’t wait any longer for me to connect with her. While leaning against the counter, I popped my earbuds in my ears and listened.
“Mom is upset,” she finally said.
“Yeah, well. The house is gone. She has every right to be upset,” I said numbly. “What can you tell me about Mischa? Is she… with you?” I wasn’t sure what to think of the state of Mischa’s soul. She wasn’t alive; she wasn’t dead. Was she even aware that she was trapped in a mason jar?
“No. She’s probably in the same place as me, which is more like a situation than a place,” Jennie explained.
“The dark place.”
“Yes. But it’s not really dark. More just… empty. If she’s here, I can’t sense her. And she can’t sense me either. So we could both be here, but not be together.”
Something that hadn’t occurred to me previously crossed my mind, and I asked, “Jennie, are you in the dark place by choice? I mean, do you stay there so that you can talk with me?”
There was a long paused filled with radio static before she replied, “I can leave whenever I want.”
For eight long years, Jennie had had the option of leaving, presumably to enjoy eternal peace, whatever that may have meant for her. But according to Mrs. Robinson, Jennie had stayed in the dark place because she was worried about me. The idea of her being there by herself by choice, especially because she’d told me that she couldn’t predict the future and hadn’t ever known whether she’d be able to make contact with me, filled me with sorrow. She’d missed me as much as I’d missed her, and while I’d had no choice but to move on with life after her death—start a new school year every September, make new friends—she’d just been waiting. Now, I had to wonder, would she remai
n in the dark place until I joined her?
“So,” I said. “The priest who set this all in motion said a traditional exorcism won’t work. I don’t know if we can even trust that he’s not lying, but I’m all out of ideas. This honestly feels like”—I hesitated—“the end. Maybe we’ll be together again soon.”
After a pause, Jennie said, “We’re together now. I know you can’t understand, but even if you were on this side with me, we would be just like we are now. So it’s better for you to stay where you are, because you’re connected to so many people there.”
I thought of Gundarsson’s and what it might be like for my own wake to be held there. And what would become of Mischa if I died before rectifying her situation? Her soul might remain suspended in the gap between the worlds of the living and the dead for all eternity. “That might not be possible. I’ve messed up pretty badly.”
“There is only one way,” Jennie told me. “And I don’t know if it’ll work.”
“Just tell me,” I urged her. “I have nothing to lose. If it doesn’t work, I’ll be dead in the next ten days, anyway.” After the words left my mouth, I realized how insensitive I sounded. Jennie was dead, after all.
She hesitated. “If it doesn’t work, it might be worse for you than dying. Worse for me, too.”
I couldn’t find words to respond. It was awful enough that Mom was sleeping at the Emorys’ house without even so much as a change of clothes to her name. Poor Glenn was probably going to need surgeries for his burns. Trey was trapped in a web of problems that I couldn’t help him navigate. But putting Jennie in some kind of danger? That, I could not consider.
“Behind you,” Jennie said. The cabinet she had opened to get my attention was still cracked open behind me, and I opened it further to see that it contained teacups, saucers, and a shelf of mismatched coffee mugs. “Take out two teacups,” Jennie ordered, and I obeyed.
“Where should I put them?” I asked.
“On the counter.” I took a few steps forward and set the cups gently down on the floating island.
“Turn them over,” Jennie advised. “Upside down.”
I carefully turned them over and set them down again, and I awaited further instruction.
“See the porcelain canister near the toaster? Lift the lid and take out one coffee bean.”
I’d never realized before just how very aware Jennie was of the details of my surroundings. She was right on the money; the porcelain canister she had instructed me to open was full of aromatic coffee beans.
“Now set one coffee bean underneath the teacup on the left,” Jennie told me.
Amused, I asked, “Are we going to play the shell game?”
“Just watch,” she told me. And the two teacups began moving on their own in circles, swapping places and swerving around each other—slowly, at first, and then so rapidly that my eyes couldn’t keep up with them. I was impressed that Jennie was able to harness enough energy to produce so much motion. The teacups stopped suddenly, appearing to be back in their original positions. Jennie asked, “Which cup do you think the bean is under?”
They’d been moving far too quickly for me to have had any chance of following the bean. But to play along, I raised the cup on the left. Not surprisingly, there was nothing underneath it. So I lifted the cup on the right to find that the bean wasn’t there, either. “I’d be impressed if you weren’t a ghost who can do magic tricks,” I teased Jennie.
“But you understand what I’m suggesting, don’t you?” Jennie asked. “Check under the first cup again.”
I lifted the teacup on the left once more, this time to find that the bean was back. And suddenly I understood.
Jennie was proposing that we trick the spirits again, but this time in a different way. It would be similar to how she showed them her death the first time I played the game with Violet, but actually swapping souls with me this time right when they were about to claim mine. “If we do this, can you send them away?” I asked in a whisper. “To a place they can’t return from?”
“I’m not sure,” Jennie admitted. And without her explaining in detail, I understood why she had prefaced her demonstration of what she planned to do with such a stern caveat. If we hid my soul from the spirits and tricked them by making them interact with hers instead, and she failed to banish them to a place from which they couldn’t escape, it might be Jennie who’d end up trapped there. And… me too.
There was one element of Jennie’s plan I didn’t comprehend. “But they won’t want my soul. They already think they’ve got it lined up. I’m supposed to die next.”
I could hear the alarm on someone’s phone quietly buzzing in the next room. It was only a matter of time before Henry, Trey, or Violet would wander into the kitchen and interrupt our conversation. When we’d gone to Michigan in January, Trey and Henry had collaborated on our strategy to confront Violet out on the ski slopes to force her into playing Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board again. But this time, I got the sense that only Jennie and I would truly understand the game plan. Her voice came across the radio through the static. “They can only claim your soul if you die according to their prediction.”
Of course. That made sense. But their predictions always came true. They hadn’t specified exactly how I’d die, but I didn’t doubt for a second that it would have something to do with air.
“So, what are you suggesting?” I asked.
“They might be willing to leave Mischa’s body to try to prevent you from dying if they think you’re at risk of dying in a way other than how they predicted,” Jennie explained. “You’re going to have to decide which of your friends you trust the most, and ask them to kill you… because they may have to.”
CHAPTER 16
WE HAVE TO GET MISCHA back to this house somehow.”
Trey, Violet, and Henry sat around me in the living room, listening with such intensity that it made me even more nervous that I didn’t have much of a plan to share with them. The sun was rising outside, turning the sky lavender, from the sliver of it that I could see through the heavy curtains on the windows. Violet had made a pot of coffee, but I didn’t want caffeine to worsen the anxiety that was already making my hands tremble.
“Why here?” Violet asked in outrage. “I don’t want those things back in my house!” She was curled into the far corner of the sofa on which she’d slept, and she leaned against the pillow from her bedroom that she’d placed against its arm.
Jennie hadn’t specified that we bring Mischa back to the Simmons mansion, exactly. But she’d said we’d need to get Mischa to an area we could control, where there were fewer chances of the spirits surprising us with locked doors, falling tree branches, and unexpected curveballs of that nature. It didn’t seem right to put Henry in a position of placing his parents in danger, and the high school was locked up for spring break. Since my house was no longer an option—and for obvious reasons, neither was Trey’s—that left us with Violet’s house.
I explained Jennie’s reasoning to everyone and created a related task for Violet, since I knew that would appeal to her desire to be more integrated into our group. If I had anything at all in common with Violet, it was an irrepressible—almost pathetic, honestly—desire to be included.
“You know these spirits better than any of us,” I reminded her. “So we’ll be depending on you to predict their behavior.”
“Predict their behavior and then… do what about it?” Violet asked sarcastically. “If they want to burn down my house—just like they did yours—even while we’re all standing inside of it, there’s nothing I’ll be able to do to stop them.”
“Just hold on a second.” Henry squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “How the hell are we going to get Mischa over here? Because she’s not Mischa anymore. She’s—she’s…” His eyes drifted over to the mason jar on the coffee table at the center of our circle. “She’s them. And they’re not going to take orders from us.”
Trey, who was stretched out and practically re
clining on the same sofa as Violet—but sitting as far away from her as possible—chimed in, “How do we even know she’s going to show up to this funeral? Those things are what killed Mischa’s parents. They don’t care whether or not her parents are laid to rest.”
Violet sat up straighter and said, “She’ll be there. They’re going to do their best to act like Mischa, because they’re only going to be able to do what they want if people either like being around her or are intimidated by her—but not so much that they avoid her entirely.”
“Okay, so we see her at the cemetery, and then what? We invite her over here for frozen pizza?” Trey said.
“This is serious, man.” Henry shot him a death glare.
Trey fired back, “I know it is! We only have one chance at this, so our plan needs to be airtight!”
Henry’s eyes darted over to land on me. “Do you have any idea how we’re supposed to get Mischa here?”
The truth of the matter was, Jennie and I hadn’t worked out any of the details. The only part that we knew would have to happen—that the spirits inhabiting Mischa would need to genuinely believe that I was about to die in one way or another that didn’t involve air—I couldn’t even share. When the moment arrived, either Trey or Henry—whoever I didn’t ask to pretend to kill me—was going to need to believe the threat on my life was real too. I hadn’t yet decided which of the guys I’d ask to take on the most important role of the day because I had reservations about both of them being able to carry out the task.
I wrung my hands and admitted, “I don’t know. I’m open to ideas.”
“We could drug her,” Trey suggested earnestly. “If Violet’s right, and the spirits are limited by the state of Mischa’s body, then maybe we could knock her out long enough to bring her back here.”
“Drug her with what?” Violet asked.