“Right. He used to teach European history at Saint Joe’s. He’d been to Newgrange—not for the solstice like your mom, but on a summer tour of Ireland the school did with some students. By the way, put that on your list of colleges. With your grades, it’ll be a solid safety school.”
“Uh-huh.” I hadn’t yet told Gina that if by some miracle I could afford a college I couldn’t commute to, it would be a lot farther away than Saint Joseph’s University in Philadelphia. More like University of Hawaii or Arizona. Somewhere the stars were even brighter than where we were going tonight.
After marveling at the clear, dark sky above the field, then breaking into a sneezing fit from the pollen, Gina retreated back inside our car to read a book.
I spread a blanket on the grass next to the field, in the exact spot Zachary had laid it Saturday night, then sat on it off-center, as though he would join me.
Which he did, but only in my memory.
We lie on our backs, staring up at the stars. Zachary grips my left hand firmly inside his right, as if I’ll float away into the sky.
“See that there?” With his free hand, he points to the far right stars of the Big Dipper, then traces through Draco up to Cepheus. “I declare a new constellation—Principal Hirsch’s head.”
“Wow, yeah, it’s got his hairline and comb-over and everything. Okay, starting with Deneb, going over to Andromeda’s butt, and then all of Pegasus? That is now officially Guy Getting Parking Ticket.”
“Brilliant,” he said. “I see it, I do. But sadly, that overlaps with my signature constellation, Cinnamon-Raisin Bagel.”
“You have your mythology, I’ll have mine.”
“It’s best we agree, so when I’m far away, we can see the same things in the sky. It’ll be like now, only without the snogging.”
Like now, only without the happiness.
“The snogging’s important.” I roll on my side and tug on the tail of his dark green polo shirt, wanting to slip my hand under but stopped by a lingering, inexplicable shyness. “It’s the part we didn’t have for so long.”
“It was torture.” He turns his head to face me but stays on his back. “And if it’s all we think about for six months, we’ll die of frustration.”
The huskiness of his voice makes me want to risk frustration-death just to kiss him right now. I’m already regretting our decision to wait until December to make love. Out here, under the stars, it’d be perfect.
Perfect, except for the rampant mosquitoes and the fact that if a car drove by on the nearby lane, we’d have about ten seconds’ warning to get dressed.
He looks at the sky again, long lashes silhouetted against the wheat’s pale background. “That’s why we need the distraction of Cinnamon-Raisin Bagel.”
“You mean Guy Getting Parking Ticket.”
Zachary laughs. “A’right, then. Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” I snuggle against his shoulder. “Anything?”
He curls his arm around me. “Anything. When we’ve finished our sky.”
But he’s not watching the sky anymore. He rolls on his side and presses his forehead to mine. Our bodies meld together, head to toe.
“We can’t see the sky now,” I whisper.
“Yes, we can.” He kisses the spot between my brows. “Close your eyes.”
I do, and imagine the darkness above us. Lying here with Zachary, I’ve never felt so connected to the sky and the earth.
“Now, then. The beauty of my bagel constellation is that the Milky Way runs through it, making the streaks of cinnamon.”
I see it in my mind, the lacy arm of our galaxy stretching in a north-south arc over the sky. “I can’t see the Milky Way from the city. Too much light pollution.”
“Then you’ll have to come out here to look at it.” He slides the backs of his fingers down my arm, creating a tingling path. “I’ll go out to the country side when I can. If it’s late, I’ll phone you so we can see it together.”
The idea warms me almost as much as his touch. “Do you know where you’ll be living?”
“I hope we can stay in Glasgow for Dad’s treatments. It’s been years since we lived there. I miss it.” He sighs, fluttering the hair at my temple. “But not as much as I’ll miss America.”
His words make the air seem heavy. It’ll be hard for him to get a visa to come back, after the trouble he made for the DMP last night, diverting them so that Logan’s concert could continue.
Despair settles into my stomach. If I want to see Zachary, I’ll have to go overseas, maybe even stay there. I’m dying to travel, but this is my home.
I trace Zachary’s thumb with my own, trying to memorize the lines of his knuckles and correspond them to the lines of the constellations. “You win. I’ll give you Cinnamon-Raisin Bagel, as a going-away gift.”
He chuckles, his chest vibrating against mine. “Thanks.”
“As a bonus, I’ll give a special companion constellation.” I shift half onto my back, let go of his hand, and point to a random group of stars. “A toaster.”
“Ah, brilliant.” His fingertips glide slowly up my raised arm. “Can I tell you a wee secret?”
“Ooh.” His secrets were rarely shared and always juicy. “What is it?”
“I prefer my bagels untoasted.”
I bring my arm down, jabbing an elbow into his ribs. Zachary cries out, half laugh, half oof.
We start to wrestle, and he lets me win. Then we start to kiss, and we let each other win.
For tonight, we are finished with the sky, and the earth, and everything but each other.
I stretched my arms above me, feeling strength return. Hearing Zachary’s voice in my memory was like food for my mind and soul. In the same way I couldn’t take an exam on an empty stomach, I hadn’t been able to think straight all day. But now my head was starting to clear, and for the first time since the crash, my thoughts weren’t drowned in panic.
I spoke to the stars. “What do I do, Zach? How do I save you?”
No one answered, of course. No one could, but me.
If Zachary were in my shoes, he’d work the problem logically, eliminating the implausible choices until the right one remained. (If he couldn’t fight his way to get to me.)
Simon had told me not to do anything foolish. He’d also said to learn new information. But what could I discover that highly trained special agents couldn’t?
Then it hit me. I can talk to ghosts. From my work at the law firm translating for the dead—not to mention having had a ghost boyfriend for months—I could calm almost any spirit long enough to find out what I needed.
I didn’t yet know exactly how to end Zachary’s misery. But I had an idea where to start.
Chapter Nine
Zachary’s parents called me on my “private” red phone the following morning while I was working at my aunt’s office. Ian confirmed that Simon had been assigned to protect and assist me, but I couldn’t get far enough away from my coworkers to ask about the DMP’s death wish for me.
Knowing that the Moores were safe, and that Ian was linked into MI-X enough to know about Simon, made me feel less alone, and more confident for what I was trying next.
That night I arrived at the McConnell Funeral Home to find the front door locked, with a paper sign taped to it.
TONIGHT’S VIEWINGS ARE PRIVATE. PLEASE RESPECT THE WISHES OF THE VICTIMS’ FAMILIES.
Under the plea were details for the Flight 346 public memorial service, to be held at the World Trade Center Plaza at the Inner Harbor the following night.
Despite the announcement, dozens had gathered in the funeral home parking lot holding candles and laying flowers. As I peered through the glass door, I heard the first strains of “Amazing Grace” begin behind me.
Mrs. McConnell was hurrying through the lobby, looking harried but still dressed to perfection in a tailored gray suit. I tapped the glass, and she trotted over to unlock the door.
“Aura, thanks for coming to help.�
� She ushered me in, giving a polite wave to the mourners. “Megan’s in the office assembling programs. Our folding machine broke, and we can’t have them done at the copy shop, in case details of the funerals are leaked to the public.”
“Makes sense. I’m glad I could help.” I felt a little guilty, since that wasn’t the main reason I was here.
She sped off, and I headed for the office, passing through the lush foyer, where even the walls were upholstered in silk. Down the hallway lined by viewing rooms, pastoral paintings with gilded frames loomed over tables accented with lifelike decorative plants.
There’d been a time when I would often drop by the funeral home to visit Megan at work. Death hadn’t bothered me much back then, and since the building was almost totally BlackBoxed, it had felt like a ghost-free sanctuary.
Then Logan died. He’d appeared as a ghost right after his death, but then disappeared. Everyone thought he’d passed on. So the night of his viewing here, looking at his dead body, I thought I’d never see him again.
Now Logan really was gone. Videos and photos were all I had left. And the memories, which stabbed at me as I veered away from the room where he’d lain on display.
I knocked on the office door. It opened a crack to reveal the darkness inside.
“Is she here?” I whispered.
Megan placed a finger to her lips, then stepped back and swung the door wide.
“Oh my God,” said the fourteen-year-old girl on the sofa. “You weren’t kidding. It’s Aura freaking Salvatore.”
Through her violet glow, a clear quartz summoner disc shone on the sofa’s center cushion. The funeral home used it so that their ghost clients could relate their final wishes.
I stepped closer to see her better. The design on her shirt came into focus: the skull-and-shamrock logo of Logan’s punk band, the Keeley Brothers. “Tammi Teller.”
“Yeah,” she sneered at me. “How’d you know?”
My boyfriend is in DMP custody, thanks to your big mouth. “You’ve been on TV a lot.”
“I’m famous now. All I had to do was get on a plane that landed, like, seven hours too soon.” She crossed her ethereal arms. “I can’t believe I’m in the same room with Logan Keeley’s slutty ex-girlfriend.”
I gaped at her. Out of all the people who could’ve held Zachary’s fate in her hands, it had to be one of Logan’s most fervent fangirls?
I had more important business with ex-Tammi than arguing about my relationship with her idol. I needed to know what she’d seen at the airport between Zachary and Logan—and what she’d told the DMP. I needed to know how bad it could be for Zachary.
“We all loved Logan,” Megan said sweetly.
“Ooh, guess what?” Ex-Tammi beamed at her, then pointed to her own T-shirt. “I was in the front row Friday night. Logan touched my hand.” She gazed at her palm. “He looked into my eyes and told me to meet him—” She stopped, then scowled, realizing she literally couldn’t tell a lie. “No, he didn’t.”
“Did you see him after that?” I asked her.
Ex-Tammi’s mouth twisted, like she didn’t want to answer. But I’d asked a direct question, and she was too new at the ghost thing to realize she could simply say nothing.
“In the airport,” she said, “talking to Zachary, that Scottish guy from our school. By the way, I can’t believe you went with Zach after he hooked up with Becca Goldman on prom night. Logan never would’ve done that to you.”
My cheeks flared. “Zachary wasn’t my boyfriend at the time, and anyway, it’s none of your—”
“So, Tammi,” Megan broke in, “did you go to the police?”
“No, I told my best friend, Carla, when I haunted her. She told the police for the reward money. Then Carla tricked me into coming back to her house. That’s where the DMP tagged me.”
“Nice friend,” Megan said.
“Seriously. They told Carla they’d take back the reward money if she told anyone I’d seen those guys.”
So the DMP definitely didn’t want the public to know they were holding Zachary. Interesting.
“Have you told anyone else?” I asked her.
“No, I wouldn’t rat out Logan.” She watched her sneaker soundlessly scuff the carpet. “I shouldn’t have told Carla, but when she saw me as a ghost, she started crying. I wanted to tell her something happy. And I was sooooo excited to see Logan, like, in the wild. He’s incredible.”
“He sure was.” Megan sat beside her on the sofa. “So what exactly did Logan and Zachary do in the airport? Did they argue?”
“Not really. They seemed nervous, but basically cool with each other.”
I ached with envy to have seen Logan and Zachary together, forging a peace at last. But that would’ve been impossible, since Zachary and I couldn’t see the dead at the same time. One of us always wielded that ghost-repelling power.
Ex-Tammi examined her chipped black nail polish as she told the story. “My mom and I were eating in that bar-type restaurant, where it was dark enough to see ghosts. Logan came up to Zachary there, which totally weirded him out—Zach, I mean. Anyway, then after his parents went to the gate, he ditched them to go talk to Logan.”
“Where?” Megan asked.
“That was the weird thing. They went all the way back out into the main part of the airport, past the security line. So I had to stop following them.”
Apparently there was no private place to talk in the international terminal. It explained why no one could find Zachary in time for the flight. But it must’ve made him look even more suspicious to the authorities.
“Were they talking while you were following?” I asked her.
“Yeah, but they shut up when I got close. I guess they could tell I was a post-Shifter. And Logan didn’t recognize me.” Her pierced lower lip jutted out in a pout. “I wish I’d been like Zachary and made me and my mom miss the flight.”
“Aww, it must’ve been really scary,” Megan said.
Ex-Tammi hunched her shoulders, squeezing her hands between her knees. “All I remember is a huge noise, then it was really hot, and then nothing. I guess I was one of those people who got ripped apart.” She gave Megan a nervous glance. “I heard there’s not much of us to bury.”
Megan seemed like she was about to cry again, so I spoke up. “We’re really sorry you died, Tammi. And your mom.”
She ignored me and spoke to Megan. “Is my mother a ghost, too? No one I know has seen her.”
“She didn’t come when I called her,” Megan said gently. “About the funeral plans.”
Ex-Tammi looked relieved. “I hope she’s not a ghost. It sucks. Logan made it seem so fun.”
“It wasn’t always fun for him,” I said. “Most of the time he felt pretty bitter.”
“Then why did he stay for two hundred forty-seven days?”
It creeped me out that she knew that bit of Logan Keeley trivia. “He had unfinished business.”
“Yeah, like a girlfriend who didn’t appreciate how awesome he was.”
“I appreciated him,” I said in a steady voice. “I loved him.”
“Loved. I still love him. I’ll always love him.”
“You didn’t even know him.”
“Aura.” Megan tilted her head. “Remember Rule One?”
I gritted my teeth and cooled my temper. Rule One of being a rock star’s girlfriend: no catfights with groupies. It was beneath us, especially since Logan and Mickey weren’t the type to sleep around.
I changed the subject. “What about you, Tammi? Do you have unfinished business?”
“I thought I wanted to see my funeral. But I can’t watch my dad and sister cry anymore.”
Sympathy thawed my anger a little, and I wished this girl could find peace. But if ex-Tammi passed on, there’d be no witness to Logan and Zachary’s meeting. Would the DMP then let Zachary go, or would they test him themselves?
“I’m gonna turn off the summoner now,” Megan said. “So you can leave, go visit your friends or
family, or whatever you want to do.”
Ex-Tammi seemed to be in deep-thought mode, peering inward more than outward.
“Thanks a ton, Tammi.” I hoped my words and lively tone would distract her from thoughts of passing on. “Have fun doing ghost stuff.”
She extended a slim middle finger in my direction. “Glad I finally got to tell you what I think of you. Bitch.”
“Hey, guess what?” Megan asked her before I could respond. “Ridgewood is having a memorial vigil for you after school starts. You should totally come.”
“Maybe. That’s a long time from now.” The dead girl pressed her palms to her knees, elbows splayed. “Okay, I’m ready. Turn off the glowy thing.”
“Bye, Tammi.” Megan reached through the ghost and slid her thumb under the summoner. With a click, the device started to dim.
Ex-Tammi looked up suddenly. “You know what, I think I’m ready—” She disappeared.
“Ready to what?” I asked the empty space, my heart pounding. “Megan, can you call her back?”
She picked up the summoner. “Not without my dad noticing I used this. I might get in trouble as it is.”
“But what if she passes on? What would they do with Zachary?”
“Maybe it’d be a good thing,” Megan said. “They can’t prove Zach can see ghosts, right? No witness, no evidence.”
“Zachary is evidence. If they put him in a room with a ghost, and the ghost freaks—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I could only imagine the DMP’s reaction: shock, then fear, and finally greed. They’d hook him up to machines for the rest of his life, trying to reproduce his power. They’d use him to make anti-ghost weapons.
“This isn’t gonna help,” Megan said, “but won’t they test Zachary whether they have a witness or not?”
“Probably.” I slapped the cushion where the ghost had sat. “But without Tammi, they’ll do it sooner. One day could make a huge difference.”
“True. I’m sure MI-X’ll get him out soon.”
I hadn’t told her Simon’s pessimistic estimate. I hadn’t told her about Simon, period. “If they don’t get him out, I will.”
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