Joshua stood closest—he’d been the one to call my name in that sharp, frightened tone. A few steps behind him, Annabel waited. She looked worried, casting glances at Joshua and then back at the club—making sure we wouldn’t be caught, even though we probably weren’t the strangest things in the alley tonight. At least, not on the surface.

“Everything okay?” Annabel asked.

I nodded and then remembered that, to her, I probably looked like a brick wall right now.

“Yeah,” I said out loud. “I just … I needed some air. That’s why I came outside.”

In front of me, the darkness of the alley hid part of Joshua’s features. When I gave my feeble excuse, the illuminated half of his face twisted.

“Really?” he said, his voice dripping with skepticism. “You screamed, then you freaked out, then you wandered out of the club without hearing me … because you needed air?”

I startled a little; I hadn’t realized that my behavior had been that frenzied.

“Um … yes?” My voice didn’t sound very convincing, but I went on, forcing a note of conviction into it. “Didn’t you notice how I was … getting sick? There were just too many people in there. I couldn’t breathe.”

“You couldn’t breathe,” he repeated in a flat, disbelieving voice. He was kind enough not to point out that I technically didn’t need to breathe.

In response, I simply gave a defensive shrug. Joshua watched me for a moment, waiting for a more plausible—or at least a more honest—explanation. When I didn’t produce one, he sighed.

“Okay,” he conceded. “You couldn’t breathe. Which probably means it’s our cue to go home.”

“My cue,” I blurted out. “My cue to go home.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll go,” I insisted. “You need to stay here and … and spend some more time with your cousins.”

Joshua tossed a quick glance back at Annabel and then shook his head. “It’s Christmas in three days—we’ll have plenty of time then. But I think you need me right now. So I’ll just come with you, okay?”

“No!”

I shouted the word. When Joshua flinched in surprise, I suppressed a curse. I took one quiet breath for restraint and then went on in what I hoped was a less desperate voice.

“I just … I need some time to think. Tonight’s been a lot to take in, you know?” I nodded meaningfully in Annabel’s direction. “It would be nice to have some time to myself. Just for a while.”

Joshua’s brow furrowed. In those dark blue eyes, I could read every one of his emotions: hurt that I obviously wanted to get away from him; fear about me being alone—if relatively invisible—on these dark, unfamiliar streets; and finally, reluctant surrender. He sighed again, and the sound was so full of defeat that the little ache in my chest writhed.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Whatever you want, Amelia. Just wait for me in the courtyard behind the town house, okay? I’ll let you in when I get back.”

“Thank you,” I said, sounding too enthusiastic. Before I could think it through, I sprang forward and gave him a grateful kiss. Then, just as quickly, I jerked away—so fast, I wouldn’t blame him for feeling a little rejected.

With the fire of our touch still burning on my lips, I raised my eyes to his. In them I saw his longing, his uncertainty.

Considering the fact that I’d only recently discovered who I was, Joshua knew me about as well as I knew myself. He knew when I held back, and he knew when I was distracted. He knew when things weren’t quite right between us, and he knew when I was lying.

Like right now.

Realizing that my next words would be lies, too, I bit my lip, lifted onto my toes, and leaned in close to him.

“I’ll see you back at the town house,” I whispered. “I promise.”

I leaned back, just long enough to memorize the lines of his face one last time. Then I closed my eyes and willed myself away from there.

Chapter

TWELVE

Of course I hadn’t planned to materialize back to the town house. If the demons had really found me, I didn’t have the luxury of time to figure out my next move. So, by materializing tonight, I intended to follow through with my plan early: send myself away from New Orleans, the Mayhews, and Joshua. Permanently.

But my ridiculous sense of direction and my poor, weak-willed heart evidently had other ideas.

Wherever I now stood looked much the same as where I’d just been: old, shuttered buildings; elaborate balconies; crowded streets, even in the dead of night. The only difference was that now those things were out of reach, just beyond the lush, iron-fenced park in which I’d opened my eyes.

All around me, palmetto trees and live oaks defied the winter, their leaves green and full through either their own strength or that of a diligent gardener. Considering the clean paths and neat flower beds that radiated out from where I stood, I guessed the latter.

It was a beautiful place, I couldn’t deny that. But I had one little problem with the park: it lay at least ten feet below me. Maybe even twenty.

From what I could tell, I’d materialized on top of some tall, stone platform. I looked up and then stumbled in surprise. A gigantic, metal horse and rider loomed above me. I had to grab one of the horse’s extended hooves to steady myself. Once I regained my balance—and composure—I realized that the platform upon which I stood was actually the base of an enormous statue. One that looked like it wanted to attack me.

I stared back up at the statue with a grim smile.

“Any hint where I am?” I asked it.

“About to be trampled by General Jackson.” The voice called out from somewhere below in a heavy accent I couldn’t quite identify.

Before I could react, someone else drawled, “President Jackson, actually.”

“As if you remember,” the first voice snapped. “You just read it on the base of the statue.”

“As if you didn’t.”

My head jerked downward to the speakers, who, while obviously too busy arguing to pay me further attention, also obviously heard me.

When I caught sight of them, my flight instinct surged again. I scrambled, clawing backward until I’d practically soldered myself to the metal statue. A foolish effort, probably, considering how far below me my audience stood. But as I peered closer at them in the dark, I realized that maybe my instincts weren’t so foolish.

The five beings circling the hedges at the base of the statute didn’t exactly stand: their legs faded somewhere around their knees, and through the places where their feet should have been, I could see the outline of the pathway. Although their bodies appeared more substantial, the dark shapes of the trees bled through the contours of their faces.

It was those faces that finally made me realize that the demons had not, in fact, followed me from the club. Because the demons, though pallid and otherwordly, weren’t translucent. And because these figures glowed faintly in the dark.

Just like me.

“Who are you?” I demanded, although I’d already guessed the answer.

“Dead,” one of the figures said, giving me a languid smile.

He reminded me vaguely of Eli, with his arrogant features and long blond hair tied back from his face. Still smirking, he folded his arms over the breast of his military jacket. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Yes,” I said. “But I still don’t know what kind of dead you are.”

“Same as you.” A gray-haired woman in a high-collared black dress gave me a brusque nod. “Dead is dead.”

“No, the girl is right,” another figure argued. “At first there are many kinds of dead. But those who stay become like us, in the end.”