Lizzie stopped across the street from the cemetery. Something was wrong.
Something was wrong inside the cemetery, yes — that was why she had come. She could feel the “disturbance in the Force” as Devon called it when he was feeling flippant. But that wasn’t…
Something was wrong with her.
She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here. She must have walked – she didn’t have her driver’s license yet – but she didn’t remember leaving the house, or walking through town, or…
She shook it off and went inside.
As she passed between weeping angels and towering obelisks, Lizzie shivered from a chill that didn’t have anything to do with the temperature. It was a hot night, actually, sticky and humid, and yet the chill of the spirit world had the goosebumps rising on her arms.
“Lizzie! Over here!”Two figures were crouched behind the gravestones, beckoning. She changed direction.
“Get down, before they see you!” Obligingly, she dropped to her knees beside Ariella and Sean —
Wait a minute. This isn’t right. I remember this cemetery, I remember this night, and Ariella and Sean weren’t there.
Just across the neat graveled path from where they were hiding, a huge mausoleum stood. Its gate gaped wide open.
From the darkness, something began to laugh.
Someone screamed, high-pitched. Over to the right. Lizzie jumped up —
Emily. Crouched on the path, hands covering her head. Something semi-transparent was flowing into her —
No, stop —
Another scream. Lizzie whirled. She could barely see Ariella and Sean through the ring of spirits thronging around them, reaching out their spectral hands. But she could hear the terror in their screams.
No, they weren’t here, they’re not involved, leave them alone —
“Elizabeth…” whispered the thing in the dark —
I sat up with a gasp. My heart was beating a hundred miles an hour, and my face was numb from being pressed against the train window.
Outside, the black-and-white-speckled green fields of some farm scrolled backward past my window. I concentrated on taking deep, even breaths.
It wasn’t real. It was just a dream, Lizzie.
That night in the cemetery was three years gone already… but clearly working with Henry and Emily had dredged up the memories again.
“Thank you, subconscious.”
With a staticky crackle, the speakers flared to life, announcing that the almost-too-adorably-named Darlinton, New York was the next stop.
“Home Sweet Home,” I muttered, reaching up toward the overhead rack for my luggage.
I don’t believe in prophetic dreams. Sure, I can see ghosts, but a girl’s gotta draw the line somewhere. And yet…
I had a bad feeling.