Actually, there was another person who the demons would take just as seriously, but I couldn’t do it. I’d meant every word I said to him the previous night: that I wanted him to live a full life, full of love and happiness and joy. That wasn’t to say that I didn’t want the same things for my mother. But then again . . . she was my mother; in the end, she was the only person in this world or the next that I could ask to do such a horrible, terrible thing for me.

To her credit, she didn’t interrupt me while I talked. She just let me run through my plan—and her place in it—until I had nothing left to say. Then she let me catch my breath from all that hurried, desperate talking.

After a long wait, during which I suspected that she would throw me off her porch, my mother nodded firmly and said, “I’ll do it.”

I’d already been frowning—so hard my head ached, actually—but my expression only deepened. I should have been relieved. Instead, I suddenly didn’t think I could go through with my plan anymore.

“Are you sure, Mom? Because this might not work. In fact, I seriously doubt this works.”

She snorted lightly and then flashed me a smile, one that looked braver than she probably felt inside. “Lord, Amelia, you’re still a pessimist, aren’t you?”

One corner of my mouth lifted into an involuntary half grin. “I prefer ‘realist,’ actually.”

“That’s what all the pessimists say.”

I barked out a laugh, but it sounded small and weak as it echoed off the porch columns. Neither of us said anything else for a while—we just stared out at the trees, listening to their leaves as they sang in the late-morning breeze.

Finally, I broke the silence.

“Mom, you have to understand: there’s a pretty good chance that you could end up in . . . in . . .”

“Hell,” she finished quietly. “Or worse.”

I didn’t answer; I couldn’t.

“The thing is, Amelia,” my mother went on, “I do understand. And I don’t care.”

I began to shake my head violently. “You can’t say that, Mom—you don’t know what it’s like down there. I’ve only seen the entrance to it, and that place is bad enough. Plus, Dad won’t be there—”

“But you will,” she interrupted, her voice suddenly fervent. She leaned forward in her chair, so close to me now that I could’ve touched her, if I’d had the ability.

“Wherever I go,” she said, “you’ll be there with me.”

“No,” I whispered. “I mean, I will be, but you won’t know that. They’d probably make you a wraith, and as far as I know, the wraiths are mindless shells—just the demons’ puppets.”

She smiled, this time sadly. “The risk will be worth it.”

My mother leaned back and gestured to her peeling, crumbling house. “This isn’t any kind of life, Amelia: sitting alone in my pathetic little house, missing my family and waiting to die. If I can do something to help my daughter—if I have a chance to protect her, like I couldn’t do so many years ago—then the reward is definitely worth the risk.”

“But, Mom—”

“No ‘but,’ Amelia,” she interrupted again, sounding an awful lot like the woman who’d berated me into surviving years of math homework. “I’ve already made up my mind. Best-case scenario: I’ll be dancing with your father by Sunday morning. Worst-case scenario: I spend eternity in the same place that you do. Either way . . . I win.”

I brushed furiously at the tears that had abruptly returned to the corners of my eyes. What could I say to that? Thank you didn’t seem like enough, so I merely sobbed, “I love you, Mom. I’m sorry for all the times we fought when I was, you know, alive.”

She laughed softly, looking away from me and staring thoughtfully at the trees. “Honey, I lost those memories a long time ago. Now, all I see is your dad’s smile when we danced; all I hear is your laughter. Those are things I held on to.”

Somehow, her words only made me cry harder. But this time, my mother didn’t cry. She didn’t look at me, either. She just kept her gaze trained on the tree line and gave a decisive nod.

“I love you, too, Amelia. And I’ll see you tonight.”

Knowing that was my dismissal, I pressed myself up from my chair, climbed down from the porch, and hurriedly made my way across her lawn. Just before I crossed onto the road in front of her house, though, I thought I heard her call out to me one last time.

I swallowed hard but didn’t turn around—just kept walking steadily until, if I did turn around, I wouldn’t be able to see the house. Mostly because I just couldn’t bring myself to take that long, last look at the woman I loved most in the world, sitting near the place where she’d raised me.

Chapter

TWENTY-SEVEN

I dreaded my next errand almost more than my first, probably because of where I had to conduct it. I probably could have tried to do this someplace different—a field of daisies perhaps, just for some symmetry. But in the end, I didn’t know of any location more supernaturally charged than here, on the riverbank beneath High Bridge.

I paced the bank uncomfortably, avoiding any eye contact with the structure behind me. I’d seen it enough times to know that it still looked menacing in the daylight; and I’d seen it enough times in the past two weeks to know that I’d get my fill of it that night. Instead of looking back, I stared at the mud below me, watching as it squished around the ruined edges of my ballet flats.

“Are you there?” I called softly, with my eyes still trained on the ground. “You said to call if I needed you. And I really need you right now.”

Nothing answered but a few springtime crickets and the rushing water of the river. I supposed I wasn’t all that surprised by the lack of response; her instructions for calling had been pretty specific. So I stopped pacing, closed my eyes, and raised my head.

“Melissa!” I shouted into the air. “Melissa, I need to speak to you. Please.”

At first, nothing else happened. Then I heard a soft, whooshing breeze, which brought with it a pleasantly floral scent.

It smelled like heaven.

I opened my eyes, relieved. But I was surprised to find that I was still standing on the riverbank, and it was still empty. No prairie, no Melissa—just that soft, sweet-smelling breeze.

“What’s going on?” I whispered, a little afraid of the answer. Was this the light, responding to my call? Or was this the dark, screwing with my mind—breaking down my willpower, before they broke me completely that night?

As if in reply, the breeze blew stronger around me, filling the air with that lovely scent. It was gorgeous, intoxicating, but it was also maddening. Especially when unaccompanied by an explanation.

I straightened my spine, cast a single glance back at High Bridge to make sure nothing waited there to surprise me, and then turned back toward the riverbank.

“Answer me,” I demanded. “I called you. Now answer.”

Amelia.

The breeze called my name, soft but distinct. After another heartbeat, a faint, translucent form took shape in front of me. Although she was colorless and sheer, I could tell that the form was Melissa.

“Nice of you to come,” I said drily.

It’s not easy, Melissa replied in that breeze-like whisper, to appear to you on this plain. I prefer the meadow.

I couldn’t help but snort. “Sorry I didn’t have time to pass out so I could talk to you.”

When Melissa remained silent, I took that as my cue to speak again.

“So I called you,” I began awkwardly, “to give you an answer. Sort of.”