We were standing at the southwest corner of town, close to the ferry dock. The scent of burned wood still hung in the air. The park at the center of town was empty, and my eyes darted to the suspicious library window. It was dark.

“She isn’t here,” I said.

There was no reply other than the rain pattering against my hood. It was a sound I was getting seriously sick of hearing.

“So we’ll walk up to the clinic,” Joaquin said casually, though his eyes were darting over the town square with concern. “I’m sure she’s there.”

Before the words had completely faded into the air, something in the atmosphere changed. My heart hit my throat as I realized that the fog overhead was moving. Since we hadn’t ushered anyone in days, the fog had become constant, but instead of surrounding us in an endless whiteout, it hung like an ominous and solid cloud two stories above our heads, giving the town the illusion that it had been topped off by a thick blanket of gray cotton candy. But now the mist swirled and withdrew, pulling back over the island like the lid of a huge picnic basket sliding open to reveal the luscious wonders inside. The rain still fell, but the clouds overhead were spotty, and stars shone through in the black sky. I looked across the town and saw rooftops and spires I hadn’t seen in what felt like forever, lights at the tip-tops of buildings, and the bridge far off to the northwest.

“Wow,” I breathed. After days of murky, creepy darkness, nothing had ever seemed so beautiful.

Then Joaquin’s hand clasped my forearm, his fingers contracting into my flesh. “Rory.”

The realization slammed into me like a truck. If the fog was rolling out, someone had been ushered.

“Ohmigod.”

We rushed to the edge of the sidewalk and looked up at the bluff on the far end of the island where the mayor’s house sat overlooking the town. The weather vane atop the highest peak spun wildly on its axis, as if struggling with tornado-force winds. Then, suddenly, it slammed to a stop, the gold swan shivering against the clouds.

My heart dropped into my toes. The vane pointed south.

One hand reached up to cover my lips. Not again. Please not again.

“It’s not done,” Joaquin said.

The vane had started to spin once more, but this time it stopped much quicker. Again, it pointed south, straight and true. Two more souls had been sent to the Shadowlands.

Tristan and Nadia were back in business.

Mud splashed along the side of the road as Joaquin’s pickup truck navigated the bumps and craters created by the storm. I clung to the handle just over my head, my teeth grinding together as I held my breath.

How had they done it? How had they gotten past the search parties and the guards and managed to grab two innocent visitors and usher them? And why? Why take more? When was it ever going to be enough?

Wet, twisted reeds slapped against the passenger-side door as the raindrops wound across the window. When I looked out at the lights shimmering downtown, it looked so peaceful, as if everything was exactly as it should be. Except it wasn’t. Not at all.

Suddenly Joaquin jammed on his brakes. I flew forward, the seat belt locking into place one second too late and nearly choking me.

“Shit.”

Joaquin jammed the shift into park and threw open the door with a loud creak. I squinted through the windshield as the wipers continued to thwap like mad, and gasped. There was a body in the road.

I clambered out the door and raced to Joaquin’s side. He was crouched over the prone form of one of the librarians, a thick man I’d seen walking around town with all manner of books tucked under his arms. He had a bushy mustache and small, silver-framed glasses, which had been tossed aside in the muck.

“Willis? Willis, are you okay?” Joaquin shook his shoulder.

I heard a groan behind me and saw another man lying on the road. He was unfamiliar but dressed in the same yellow parka as Willis’s. I ran over to him as he lifted his head, and helped him sit up. His fingers fluttered up to touch his skull, where a huge lump protruded through his thinning blond hair.

“What happened?” I asked, holding him up.

“I don’t know. Someone jumped us from behind. I didn’t see a thing.” He blinked up and squinted at the clouds moving at a fast clip across the starry sky. “The fog! Someone was ushered?”

“Looks that way,” Joaquin muttered.

I glanced around, trying to find footprints, tire tracks, anything that could help us figure out where Tristan and Nadia had gone after they’d done the deed. That was when I saw a glint in the light at the edge of the headlight beams. I shoved a soaked lock of hair off my face and crawled for it. I was inches away when I realized what it was, and my vision began to swim. I sat down hard on my hip, a choking noise escaping my lips.

No. It couldn’t be. No, no, no.

“Rory? What is it?” Joaquin asked.

I reached out for the delicate gold chain. One wing on the tiny butterfly was dented and the chain was broken.

“It’s Darcy’s,” I said flatly as Joaquin shone a flashlight over the necklace. I pushed myself to my feet, quaking from head to toe as my fist closed around the chain. “It’s Darcy’s, Joaquin!” I whirled on Willis and his partner, my eyes nearly popping from my skull. “Did you see her? Did you see my sister?”

The librarian shook his head, his jaw hanging low. He seemed shell-shocked, as if he hardly understood what I was saying.

“Joaquin, can a Lifer be ushered?” I asked, tears stinging my eyes as sobs packed my throat. “They can’t, can they? Tell me they can’t.”

“She…isn’t technically a Lifer. Not yet.”

“What?” I blurted.

“You don’t become a Lifer until you choose our way. Until you get the bracelet and are initiated. Darcy’s still…”

“A visitor,” I breathed.

“Rory.” Joaquin’s voice cracked, and he stopped.

“No,” I said, my vision blurring. “No. This can’t be happening. It can’t.” I took a shaky step back toward the bridge, where the fog still swirled, as always, around its entrance. “Darcy!” I screamed. “Darcy, can you hear me?”

The only reply was the hissing of the mist.

“Darcy, please! Please answer me! Please!”

I fell to my knees, clutching the necklace and sobbing through my uselessness. Deep inside, I knew it was pointless. I knew there was nothing I could do. She was already gone. My heart tore at the thought of Darcy in pain. Darcy afraid. Darcy in the Shadowlands. Tristan had taken my father and now my sister. Why? Why was he doing this to us?

He probably thought I was too weak to fight back. Too new. Too helpless and confused and scared. But he was wrong. He’d awakened something inside me. Something primal and protective and determined. I could feel it building up in my gut, filling my heart with pure red anger, making my fingertips itch for something to claw at, something to strangle, something to maim. I clutched the butterfly until its wings pierced my flesh and turned around slowly to face Joaquin.

“Find him,” I said through my teeth.

“We will,” he promised me. “I swear to you, we will.”

“Good. And when we do, he’s mine.” I shoved the necklace into my pocket and stalked past them toward the truck.

“What’re you going to do to him?” Willis asked tremulously.

“I’m going to give him exactly what he deserves,” I said, yanking open the door. “I’m going to send him straight to Oblivion.”

I kneel on the ridge just out of view and watch. I watch Rory fall to her knees. Watch her spit and shout and swear. Watch her storm to the truck and slam the door. Little Rory Miller’s pissed as hell, and I’m loving every minute of it. I mean, taking Darcy was a stroke of genius. Just when she thought she and her sister could make a perfect little afterlife for themselves here, I took it away. If she wasn’t invested enough before, she will be now.