Pleased with the new bouquet, I let my fingers trace down the headstone until they found the carved indentation of three words. TODD ALLEN ASHLEY—I outlined each letter with my index finger, trying not to think about the fact that this memorial was the only physical reminder of him I had left. Done outlining, I placed my hand flat against the stone to block out the date of his death.

“Hi, Daddy,” I said aloud, and I could hear the longing in my own voice.

“Hi, Amelia.”

The unexpected response made me jerk my head back so fast I felt a muscle in my neck wrench. I hardly noticed the pain, though; I couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the person standing behind my father’s headstone.

I’d half expected this meeting; half hoped for it, too, although I didn’t think the odds of it happening were very likely, given the tragic events of Saturday night. Still, I couldn’t help but ask the million-dollar question:

“Serena—is that you?”

Chapter

TWELVE

Serena had only been dead five days—not long enough to look so alert. More importantly, the demons themselves had killed her. She should be a mindless, shadowy slave in their wraith army right now.

Yet there she stood, not four feet away, smiling down at me with perfect awareness, as though she were still alive. She wore the same suit that I’d seen her in on Saturday morning—a shame that she hadn’t had the chance to change into something more comfortable and eternity appropriate. But she must have loosened her ponytail sometime before she died, because her corn-silk hair now floated in pretty waves around her shoulders. When the early sunlight hit it at the right angle, it glowed.

Almost like a halo.

“Hi, Amelia,” she repeated, in a voice that was simultaneously familiar and otherworldly. It had a sweet, lilting quality that spread through me like warm honey. The sound of her voice made me feel happy. Giddy, even. I couldn’t understand the feeling, couldn’t understand how she looked exactly the same and yet totally different, until something clicked in my mind.

“The light took you,” I breathed, “instead of the darkness.”

In lieu of an answer, Serena flashed me a mysterious, close-lipped smile and took a step closer to my father’s grave.

“How, Serena?” I blurted out, too impatient to wait for her to speak. “How could you be with the light now, if the darkness killed you? I don’t understand how.”

Again, she didn’t answer my question. Instead, Serena folded her hands and leaned casually on top of the headstone. With a thoughtful frown, she cocked her head to one side and stared at me for a moment. Then the enigmatic smile returned, and she shook her head.

“You know what your problem always was, Amelia?” she mused. “You never knew how to relax. Even as a kid, you were so freaking straitlaced.”

“W-what?” I stuttered.

Now this, I didn’t expect. Maybe an explanation for how she stood here, in the living world; maybe an apology for killing me. But not this.

Serena went on with a widening grin, untroubled by my distress.

“God, do you remember when we were eleven and you let me cheat off your math exam? Our parents didn’t even have a clue, but you basically went nuts with guilt and told them in less than a day. Little Miss Good Girl, to the rescue.”

I remembered now. She’d begged me for days to let her cheat, and I’d caved. Even though I eventually tattled, the guilt burned acidic in me long afterward. Because ultimately, I’d betrayed my mother and my best friend. It was one of the few dark memories in our bright history, yet Serena was laughing like it was our best.

“Or how about the time we smoked that entire pack of clove cigarettes with my cousins behind my dad’s pool shed when we were fifteen? You were the only one who threw up, and then you insisted on taking about nine showers and staying over so your parents wouldn’t smell the smoke on you.”

Again, she spoke of one of our darkest moments. Another situation in which she’d pressured me to do something I hadn’t wanted to do . . . another situation in which I showed weakness, in one form or another.

“Why are you bringing these things up?” I asked softly.

Hearing her snicker cruelly about these memories—which were few and far between, when compared to all the good things we’d shared—I had the urge to show her how strong I’d become. But God help me, my eyes started to sting. This woman had been my best friend. Now, during our first meeting since my death, she seemed intent on rehashing the worst of what was once us.

If that was how she wanted things to be, then I certainly wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I narrowed my eyes and kept them from watering by sheer force of will.

Serena still wore that cold smile. She unfolded her hands and let them rest over my father’s headstone, her long, slender fingers almost brushing the carved scrollwork near the top of his stone. Then, without warning, her face fell and she sighed heavily.

“I’m saying these things, Amelia, because you’re my bestie.”

Serena’s tone was sincere, but it made me scowl at her. The last time she’d called me “bestie,” she’d shoved me over the guardrail of a suspension bridge. That kind of thing could really take the shine out of a word.

“What are you talking about?”

This time, my question sounded colder, angrier. Not like the timid little girl in Serena’s memories. She must have noticed the shift in me, because her expression hardened, too. When she spoke again, her tone was clipped. No-nonsense, like we were discussing a business proposal.

“I’m talking about the choice you’ve been asked to make, Amelia—I’m here to help you make it.”

I had to give credit to the newly dead version of my old friend: she was just full of surprises. Not only had she shown up here, away from the dark place where I assumed she’d be trapped, but she also knew about the demons’ ultimatum. Those two facts—her freedom and her knowledge—seemed like they should be mutually exclusive.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” I said icily, folding my arms across my chest. “How would you choose, if it were your decision?”

Serena lurched forward so quickly, her grip on my father’s tombstone was the only thing that kept her from pitching over the stone and onto the grave.

“If I were you,” she whispered harshly, “I’d march my skinny ass back to that bridge and beg them to take you in.”

I automatically recoiled and spat out a curse word, low and soft. Then I forced myself to stop shaking and looked her right in her suddenly demented blue eyes.

“And why would your crazy ass do that, if you were me?”

Still leaning precariously over the stone, she shook her head sadly. “You just don’t get it, do you, bestie? If you don’t turn yourself over, then you’ll have to fight them. And we both know that you’re not strong enough.”

“I am strong enough,” I growled, suddenly angrier than I’d been in my entire life.

“You’re weak, Amelia Ashley,” Serena insisted in a singsong voice. “Weak, weak, weak.”

I rose then, pushing myself up from the grave until I stood slightly above her. And for the first time that morning, something other than confidence flickered in Serena’s eyes. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw a glimmer of fear as she finally leaned back across the headstone.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Serena.” I kept my voice even and low, but in my core, my emotions boiled. “You always underestimated me—always mistook morality and kindness for weakness. That was your fatal flaw, not mine.”