“I know that, Annabel,” I said patiently. “But I need a few minutes to myself. I’m sure you understand.”

Again, Annabel’s glare told me that she didn’t understand, or particularly care. That was just too bad, I supposed; I didn’t have enough time left in this day to waste it arguing with her.

“Go on ahead,” I repeated, and then made a shooing gesture at the rest of them. “You guys go start prepping. Joshua and I will hang out here for a while to help Jeremiah clean up, and then we’ll catch up.”

Looping Jeremiah into this conversation proved a smart move. As soon as he heard his name mentioned, Jeremiah agreed that this plan worked perfectly for him, since his mind was clearly on other things than cleaning his kitchen. Now that Annabel would look childish if she continued to argue, she had no choice but to round up her little coven and go.

Which was exactly what she did, albeit with no small amount of muttered grumbling. Eventually, though, the only people left in the kitchen were me, Joshua, and his dad. Joshua opened his mouth—probably about to ask that we be excused—but he shut it when he caught me eyeing the bowl of étoufée in between us.

“Here you go,” he said, ladling a few spoonfuls onto one of the clean plates stacked near the center of the table. “You look like you might need this first.”

I took the food from him eagerly, and began to dig into it. After a few bites, however, I couldn’t help but pause to glance up and share a wistful smile with him. Joshua and I had played this scene before, in the attic bedroom of Annabel’s home in New Orleans. That had been my first real meal, and chances were good that this would be my last. Somehow, I didn’t think I’d be able to choke down a sandwich tonight when my face-off with the demons was a mere hour away. As far as last meals went, though, this one was spectacular—every bit as delicious as I remembered it.

And for some reason, that reality suddenly washed over me. Before I knew what was happening, I was sobbing silently above my étoufée. Joshua’s eyes widened with alarm and, after checking to make sure that his father hadn’t seen, he pulled the plate away from me.

“Dad,” he said, “do you mind if Amelia and I go upstairs for a while? We’ll leave the door open.”

Still looking at his stack of papers, Jeremiah shrugged. “Fine by me.”

Yet another reason to love dads, I supposed. I breathed a sigh of relief, letting Joshua help me from my chair so that we could walk hand in hand up to his room. Before we crossed through the kitchen archway, however, I threw a final glance over my shoulder at Jeremiah.

Compared to how he’d looked during the last few days, he seemed calmer. Lighter. And I was glad for that: he deserved happiness and safety, just as much as his children did. Watching him now, I realized that although I didn’t know him all that well, I cared about him, too, as well as his wife; I wanted to make sure that Jeremiah and Rebecca were safe too.

Which, of course, meant that I would never see them again. Not after tonight.

Hanging my head, I followed Joshua up the stairs. Once we reached his room, he pushed the door almost shut behind us and then drew me into his arms.

“You okay?” he whispered into my hair, after a long silence. I nodded, sniffing a little.

“Yeah, just really weepy today. For obvious reasons, I guess.” I paused, and then added, “I . . . I visited my mom this morning.”

Once again, Joshua demonstrated why I loved him. Instead of berating me, or feeling hurt that I’d visited her without him, he leaned back and smiled happily at me.

“I’m proud of you for doing that, Amelia. I really am. So . . . how did it go?”

I hesitated again, and then replied, “She’s coming to help. Tonight.”

Now I’d really surprised him. He leaned farther back until he held me at arm’s length. He couldn’t think I was joking, but he still studied my face, looking for some clue about why I’d invited her.

“I need her, Joshua,” I told him quietly. “I need her there . . . for support.”

He didn’t look like he believed me, probably because I didn’t sound very believable. But I’d already decided not to give him all the details. So although I didn’t lie, I didn’t tell the full truth, either.

Long ago, Joshua and I had agreed that we would fight the demons together—that I would tell him everything that I could. This part of the plan, however . . . I just couldn’t share with him. Not only would he fail to support it, but he might also volunteer for it. And I couldn’t survive everything to come if he did that.

“Okay,” Joshua finally said. “If that’s what you need.”

After a second’s more scrutiny, he pulled me to him again. I tilted my head back, gratefully accepting his kiss—partly because it meant that he’d accepted what little I said about the matter, and partly because I just wanted to kiss him.

Although it began sweetly, the kiss soon shifted into something stronger as it continued. The more passionately Joshua kissed me, the harder my pulse raced and the more my breathing sped. And suddenly—possibly even more than the night before—I wanted to experience that fire. That connection. I wanted him, both literally and figuratively, so that I could keep this moment as a memory—lock it inside my heart, to take with me wherever I went that night.

I thought Joshua would eventually close that door and carry me to the bed. But instead he abruptly ended the kiss.

“We can run,” he said fervently, bringing our clasped hands between us and clenching tightly. “Amelia, let’s just run. We’ll call my family, and tell them to stay away from the bridge, and then we’ll run away—to California, or Wyoming, or . . . hell, we’ll just pick a state with as few rivers as possible and settle there.”

Instead of arguing with him—countering his appeals with all the reasons that they were wrong—I shook my head and smiled sadly.

“We can’t, Joshua. I can’t.”

Almost as soon as I said it, his face fell. He nodded dejectedly, released my hands, and dropped into a seated position on the edge of his bed. I stared at him, feeling just as lost and unsure as he looked. Then I dropped as well, falling to my knees in front of him. I lifted both his hands, turned them over, and placed a kiss in each of his palms.

“If it makes you feel any better,” I whispered, “I don’t want to do this either. But I have to. I have to end the fight that started on the night of my eighteenth birthday. If you ask me, this battle has been a long time coming. And the only thing that will keep me going—the only thing that’s ever kept me going—is the fact that I love you. That I will love you, for as long as I still exist and even after that, if I can.”

What more could Joshua say? Like I’d just done, he drew my hands to his lips and kissed both of them. Then he bent forward and pressed his lips to mine one more time.

Chapter

TWENTY-NINE

Despite my patchy memory, I knew I’d always wanted to attend prom while I was alive. But I also knew that I’d never expected to be standing in front of its entrance—half dead, half alive, and dressed in stolen clothes—waiting to go inside and ask a handful of normal teenagers to fight evil with me.

I supposed I should be thankful that I’d had the forethought to change out of this morning’s dusty clothes and into my favorite pair of skinny jeans and the soft brown boots Gaby had picked out for me in New Orleans. Not prom appropriate, but certainly comfortable. At Joshua’s suggestion, I’d also thrown on a white cashmere top. Seeing the white threads now, I had to smile; I guessed Joshua would always have a soft spot for that color. Still smiling slightly, I turned to the Seers.