Tristan turned me gently to look up at his house, the sprawling blue colonial mansion hovering high on the bluff overlooking the ocean to the south, and the town to the north and east.

“You see the weather vane up there?” he asked, lifting his chin.

It was a gleaming gold embellishment atop the tallest turret—another proud swan. The arrow was pointing south, and it was still as stone, even though there was a good breeze coming in off the water.

“Have you ever noticed it never points east or west?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow.

“Yes,” I told him, feeling a little rush of realization. “It never actually moves with the wind.”

“Exactly.” His smile made me blush with an odd sense of accomplishment. “If the person goes to the Light, the weather vane points north. If the person goes to the Shadowlands, it points south. That’s why it’s pointing south now,” he added, watching me carefully. “For Steven Nell.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I said quietly.

Tristan smiled, and so did I. A small, tentative smile. “Come with me,” he said, tilting his head. “There’s something I want to show you.”

I glanced over my shoulder toward the ocean, toward home. A huge part of me wanted to go back, to be with my family, even if I couldn’t tell them anything. But Darcy and my dad—both late sleepers—were probably still in bed, and I had a zillion questions only Tristan could answer. This was his home, his reality, his existence.

We crossed the park and headed down a side street toward the water. The marina was a wide horseshoe shape lined by slatted docks that opened into a large parking lot. A dozen sailboats—some wooden, some fiberglass—were moored in the sapphire-blue water, while a few motorboats were tied in individual slips. One, I noted wryly, was named Eternity.

Out on the choppy bay, I could see the ferry moving slowly toward the dock. I hadn’t laid eyes on the boat since the day my dad, my sister, Darcy, and I had arrived on the island, and I realized now that I’d never really looked at it. The enclosed areas had dozens of windows, all of which gleamed as if this run was the boat’s maiden voyage.

Tristan walked to a weathered wooden guardrail overlooking the dock and the parking lot just below us. We waited in silence as the ferry slid into its berth. There were a few shouts from the dockworkers as they tied the boat off, and then the walkway was lowered. Before long, the first passenger stepped off the boat. He was a short, wiry man with thinning hair and a wide nose. He looked confused but not unhappy. Behind him was a chubby girl about my age, wearing a yellow sundress, her dark hair cut short so that it curled in a pixie-ish fashion around her ears. She was followed by a middle-aged couple holding hands, his ebony skin a stark contrast to her freckled pink complexion.

“So these people…they’re all…”

“They’re our new arrivals,” Tristan confirmed, glancing at me. “Fresh souls.”

My grip on the guardrail tightened, remembering my first few moments on the island. How Tristan had watched me so closely as my dad drove past him and his friends outside the general store. I’d felt our connection even then—this sense that somehow we knew each other, that we belonged together.

“I’ve gotten pretty good, over time, predicting who’s destined for the Shadowlands and who’s moving on to the Light,” Tristan said, leaning his forearms into the top of the fence.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

Tristan stared across at the gangway, turning so that all I could see was the back of his ear. “A long time.”

I bit my lip, feeling as though I’d accidentally crossed a line.

“Check it out,” he said, his tone light. He stood up straight and pushed his hands into the back pockets of his shorts. “Good. Good. Very good,” he said, nodding as each passenger appeared on the gangway. “Bad but thinks he’s good. Good. Bad.” Then, all of a sudden, his expression darkened. “Okay…bad. Really, really bad.”

His gaze was on a boy who looked to be a few years older than I was, with shaggy dark hair, a silver stud earring, and ripped jeans. He carried a stuffed green rucksack and wore a blank expression as he looked around at the peppy dockworkers and the carved wooden sign welcoming him to Juniper Landing. But he had a baby face, and his shoulders were hunched in a way that made me feel more like he was a victim than anything sinister.

“He looks normal to me,” I said. “Just…sad.”

“You’ll get the hang of it, the longer you’re here,” he said, looking me up and down. “You’re meant for this place, Rory Miller.”

My heart skipped a beat at hearing Tristan say my real name.

“There’s something I have to ask you,” I said, steeling myself.

“Anything,” he replied.

“What about my dad and my sister?” My voice caught. “They died unnatural deaths, too.”

A shadow crossed Tristan’s face, and I held my breath.

Please don’t take them from me. Not now. Not after everything. Please, please, please.

“They did,” he said. “The jury’s still out on them. They might stay or they might—”

“Don’t,” I said, my gut suddenly wrenching in pain. I had thought I was ready to hear this, but I wasn’t. “Just don’t.”

“But there is a chance they’ll stay,” he assured me. “We just have to wait and see.”

“Okay,” I said with a nod, trying to hold the tears back. “Okay.”

“Rory, it’s not all bad news. Being here, being a Lifer…it’s a good thing,” Tristan said, placing his hand on my back. “You’ll get to usher souls to their final destinations. You’ll be playing a huge role in their journey from life to afterlife. It’s an amazing thing. You’ll have a purpose now. A mission.”

I took in a sharp breath and looked out over the water. “I had a mission,” I said, trying not to feel suddenly sorry for myself—for the hopeful planner I’d been. The girl who had no idea she would never achieve all the goals she’d always dreamed of achieving. I was going to med school. I was going to cure cancer. I was going to make sure that no one else ever had to suffer the way my family did when we lost my mom. “And now all of that…it’s just gone.”

At the edge of the marina, I noticed a figure move in the shade of an elm tree. She flinched when I spotted her, then emerged from her position, half tucked behind the trunk of the tree, and walked off quickly, her head bowed. It was Mohawk Girl. Now I was certain she had a crush on Tristan. She looked up once, her eyes glittering black, before turning her back on me and heading for the bay.

“You don’t get it,” Tristan said, oblivious to the girl. “That’s what makes you all the more perfect as a Lifer. You want to help people. You have the drive. You wanted your life to have meaning. Now it can.”

A smile twitched at my lips. “You mean my afterlife will have meaning.”

He laughed. “Exactly.”

I gazed past Tristan toward town, studying the worn wooden shingles of the buildings on the square; the windsocks fluttering in the breeze; the joggers and the bikers and the morning strollers; the shopkeepers sweeping their walks, propping their doors open, greeting the first customers of the day.

If I had to live someplace forever, this certainly wasn’t the worst place to end up. Even so, I felt the frightening pull of the unknown in the pit of my stomach. The sharp heaviness of the truth threatening to crush me if I chose to let it, if I chose to wallow. It had happened to me once before, after my mother died. It had sucked me into the darkest period of my life, a period I refused to revisit. Even now.

“I can’t tell you how difficult it’s been for me, keeping all this from you,” Tristan said quietly, his voice thick. “You mean a lot to me—you know that, right? I can’t wait to share all of this with you.”

My heart swelled. This was Tristan’s life. His world. And he wanted me to be a part of it. He wanted to share it with me.