Then they turned serious.

“A Christmas tragedy,” the female anchor said, frowning. “Surrey police are investigating the disappearance of sixteen-year-old Kendra Charnow, whose parents reported yesterday that their daughter apparently left the house in the middle of the night. The Surrey High School junior’s wallet and winter coat were both left behind, and footprints found in the mud outside her window seem to suggest that she left the house barefoot.”

“What?” Kasey appeared from her bedroom and plunked down onto the sofa. “Kendra?”

The cameras turned from the front of the Charnows’ house to show the side yard, which was cordoned off with bright yellow crime-scene tape. A bunch of neighbors milled around as busy-looking police officers walked from the house to the street and back again.

Mom sat next to me. “You’re kidding me…and on Christmas.”

I was watching a woman in the background who had to be Kendra’s mother. She had short reddish hair and dark circles under her eyes, and leaned heavily on the arm of the man next to her.

Then they cut to footage of Kendra’s bedroom. There was crime-scene tape blocking the doorway, but they showed her unmade bed, her open window, and her dresser.

“Wait.” I grabbed the remote and skipped back to the shot of the bedroom. The end of the news camera’s pan settled on the surface of Kendra’s dresser. What you were supposed to notice was that her purse was still there, with her wallet sitting next to it.

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.

Because what I noticed was the single yellow rose.

COULD LYDIA REALLY BE BEHIND THIS? Did she hate me so much that she was going after not just me but random people I knew, too?

And then it hit me: Kendra had been in the Sunshine Club.

Yet another girl who’d survived when Lydia died.

Maybe it wasn’t just me Lydia was coming after—maybe she was planning to hunt all of us down, one at a time.

Unless someone stopped her.

Well, it won’t be me. The thought was like a command from my subconscious. I was done playing with ghosts. Done thinking I knew how to fight them.

But who else would—who else could?—if I didn’t? I was the only person who could even see Lydia.

It’s still not my problem.

Only…the longer I thought about it, the more it kind of looked like my problem.

“Police are searching the densely wooded areas nearby—both the Pelham Nature Preserve and Sage Canyon are within a mile of the Charnow home,” the reporter said. “Unfortunately, though, rescuers have told us that it could take days to canvas the area—and last night’s rain washed away a lot of important information.”

Pelham? That was the nature preserve where Jared and I had been. Where we’d run into Kendra the day before her parents reported her missing.

They cut to an overhead shot of the area, taken from a news helicopter.

In the upper right corner of the screen, among the trees, was a bright splotch of white. At first I thought there was something wrong with the TV, but when the camera moved, the position of the white light moved, too. So, its source was actually there in the forest.

“What is that?” I asked.

“What’s what, honey?” Mom asked.

It was a small, glowing spot of light—like someone was aiming a really powerful flashlight directly at the screen.

I’d never seen anything like it before…except for the brilliant white light in my car. Which came immediately before Lydia’s yellow rose showed up.

Because of my “special” relationship with Lydia, I could see, hear, and interact with her in ways that I couldn’t with other ghosts. So it was possible that she could appear as a bright glow in photos—and on TV—when regular ghosts didn’t. I didn’t actually have any idea—I’d never gone out of my way to photograph her.

The helicopter spun to reveal the thin line of the highway. The light glowed on, about halfway between the main hiking trail and the road.

“What?” Kasey asked. “What are you looking for? Did you see something?”

The camera panned a little farther to reveal a billboard bearing the logo of a car dealership.

“I thought I did, but I didn’t,” I said, getting up off the couch and going to my room.

A few minutes later, I came back to the kitchen and found both of my parents huddled protectively near Kasey, who was on the phone with one of her dozens of friends.

“What’s up?” Dad asked.

I held up my car keys. “I think I’ll go for a little drive.”

Kasey gave me a worried look. “Don’t you want to talk to anybody? Did you call Megan?”

“Why would I call Megan?” I asked, leaning against the doorway.

“She knows Kendra. She was in the—”

“Kase,” I said. “Trust me. Megan’s not waiting for my call.”

My parents looked stricken.

“It’s fine. Don’t look at me like that,” I said. “I’ll be home in a while.”

“Where will you go?” Dad asked.

“Just…out,” I said, leaving before they had a chance to ask me not to.

As I drove past the entrance to the nature preserve, I saw that the lot was choked with police cars and news vans. So I kept going, about a half-mile farther, until I came to an abandoned diner. I parked my car behind the building and backtracked on foot toward the billboard I’d seen on the news, staying close to the trees until I was directly below the sign. Then I plunged straight into the woods, my phone in my hand to keep track of my location.

I stepped over exposed roots and low, rough brush, dividing my concentration between not falling and looking for Kendra. The cold cut right through my sweater and bit into my skin. Added to that were the chills I got when I took the time to wonder what Lydia could do to someone who couldn’t see her, someone she caught off guard.

Kendra might already be dead.

I kept my eye out for Lydia, but I also had my camera strapped around my neck. Every once in a while I’d take a volley of photos and search them for any sign of the bright light.

Nothing.

Finally I came to a small, rocky cliff and paused, unable to go farther without climbing down. I lifted the camera and fired off a few shots.

Bingo.

The photo showed the white light directly in front of me, glaringly bright.

“Lydia?” I called.

My only answer was the distant chopping of helicopter blades.

Silent night, I thought.

“Boo.” Lydia had materialized a few feet away from me, eyebrow cocked.

At the sound of her voice, I hurried away from the edge of the cliff.

“Merry Christmas, Alexis,” she sneered. “Get lots of presents? I’ll bet you did. I’ll bet it was super awesome. So tell me: did you stop for a single minute and think about me or my family? I’ll bet anything you didn’t. You’re completely wrapped up in yourself, as usual. And I’m just a rotting corpse in the ground.”

But I did. Before I fell asleep last night, I thought about your mother sitting alone in the darkness, and it made me cry. Sometimes it feels like all I do is cry.

“I wish you were just a rotting corpse.” I put my hands on my hips. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Kendra,” I said.

She gave me a flat stare. “What am I, a bloodhound?”

Then she vanished.

I sighed and walked back toward the cliff, turning around and carefully edging my way down, scraping the bejeezus out of my hands and balancing precariously on wobbly rocks and slick piles of gravel.

When I reached the bottom, I started to go to the right.

Lydia appeared in my path. “She’s actually behind you,” she said, tossing her hair. “Better hurry. She looks dead.”

Then she gave me a nasty glare and disappeared again.

Just as Lydia had said, Kendra was about thirty feet away. She lay on the rocks, her eyes closed and her leg canted at a sickening angle; she must have fallen and broken it.