And we had to hope the rental place was farther than ten minutes away, I supposed. “Wait. If I’m the landlord, why wouldn’t I have his contact information already?”

But it was too late. She shoved the phone into my hand, and it was ringing.

I glared at her.

“They’re not going to think that far ahead,” she said quickly. “And if they do, hang up.”

“Remember how much you hate the idea of jail and germs,” I said in a low tone.

“Jail? For what, impersonating a slumlord?” She sniffed. “Doubt it.”

“Hello?” a female voice said in my ear.

“Uh, hi,” I said, feeling ridiculous.

“Just be angry. Really angry!” Alona hovered at my elbow, coaching, which I ignored; but I did try to sound stern and landlordish, though I hadn’t a clue what that might actually sound like.

As it turned out the bored receptionist probably would have given me Malachi’s social security number, blood type, and anything else I asked, to avoid having to actually do work or walk away from FarmVille, or whatever was holding her attention.

“His real name is Edmund Harris,” I said to Alona after I’d hung up. “And his home address is in Decatur. Four twenty-two Sycamore, Apartment B. I can’t believe that worked.”

“Me either,” she said, shaking her head. “You were a ter riblelandlord.”

I rolled my eyes. “Let’s go.”

The apartment was empty. Dents in the dingy brown carpeting showed where the furniture had been. A cheap plywood entertainment center still remained in the corner, heavily listing to one side.

“Oh, my God, it’s like that part in Empire Strikes Backwhere they can never get into light speed,” Alona said with a disgusted sigh.

I stared at her.

Catching sight of me, she scowled. “What?

“Nothing. I just…” I tried to find the words. “Alona Dare making a Star Warsreference. I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

She arched an eyebrow at me. “At least one of us did.”She crossed the small room to the tiny hallway, which presumably led to a kitchen and bathroom. “Besides, it’s only because you made me watch it, like, a hundred times,”she called back, her voice sounding hollow in the empty space.

“It’s a classic, and it was twice,” I said, following her to a minikitchen. If I stood with my arms outstretched, I probably could have touched both walls. “And only because you fell asleep in the middle the first time.”

She shrugged dismissively. “The Dagobah stuff was so boring. No Han Solo.”

She looked around the room at the cabinet doors hanging open and sighed. “There’s nothing here.”

I should have figured that. He had, after all, been packing up to leave town.

“All right,” she said in the tone of someone done messing around. “Phone.” She held her hand out.

I pulled my phone from my pocket but held on to it. “Who are you—who am Icalling?” I asked cautiously. I’d saved the number the rental company receptionist had given me for Edmund, but I didn’t think calling was a good idea. “Malachi…Edmund, whatever, he’s not going to be thrilled to hear from us.” In fact, I was afraid calling him might make him bolt farther than he already had.

Alona shook her head. “I’m not calling anyone.” She peered with a grimace into an open drawer. “We’re going to—”

Before she could finish explaining her plan, my phone rang, echoing loudly in the empty apartment and startling both of us.

I looked at the number. Uh-oh.I felt a renewed surge of panic. “Uh, Al, did you have your phone on you when Erin—”

“No. Mrs. Turner still has it confiscated,” she said, bumping the drawer shut with her hip and moving closer to me. “Why?”

I held up my phone and showed her the words lily’s cell flashing on the screen. “Someone’s noticed you’re not where you’re supposed to be.”

Her eyes widened. “Answer it!” She reached for the phone.

I lifted it over my head, away from her grasping hand. “No way; it has to be the Turners,” I said. If Mrs. Turner had dropped Ally off at Misty’s this morning, it wouldn’t have taken much for her to connect the dots. Mrs. Turner had probably called Misty, and Misty had told them about their newly recovered daughter leaving with the guy Mrs. Turner hated most. Great.

“Exactly. You have to tell them I’m okay.” She crossed her arms and glared at me. Interesting that she cared so much about them now, when all she’d talked about before was how difficult it was to be around them.

“Except I don’t actually know if youare okay. The version of you that they know, anyway. And they might get a call about you— her—being very notokay at any time.” I didn’t know much about our legal system, but vouching for the safety of a girl who later turned up hurt or in jail or something struck me as a particularly bad idea.

She bit her lip.

There was a loooonggap between the final ring and the voice-mail signal, and even the happy little chime sounded angry.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“Are you going to listen to it?” she asked, seeming more anxious than I would have imagined.

“No,” I said, stuffing the phone back into my pocket. No sense in confirming things were as bad as, or worse than, I figured they already were.

“They’re going to be worried,” she mumbled, sounding annoyed; but she wouldn’t look at me, focusing instead on a splotch of something on the chipped and fading tile floor and kicking at it with the tip of her gym shoe. After all this time, she couldn’t fool me. If she was annoyed at anyone, it was at herself for caring.

“I know.” I looped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her toward me. She didn’t resist. What was it about family that had such an immense hold on you, even if it wasn’t your own, even if they didn’t understand who you really were?

And suddenly, pieces of what I knew about Edmund Harris connected in a new way. I turned away from Alona and started for the hallway.

Alona followed me. “Where are you going?”

“I know where Malachi, Edmund, whatever his name is—I know where he went,” I said over my shoulder. It’s where I would have gone if I’d been in his situation, or what I knew of it, anyway. But I wasn’t sure how long he would stay.

“Where?” Alona persisted.

I picked up speed, feeling like every second that passed was vital and one we could never get back.

“Home.”

Except, as it turned out, Will meant hishome, at least as a first stop.

“I can’t believe you don’t have Internet on your phone.” I flopped back in the passenger seat of the Dodge. We needed more information about Edmund—like another address—and without the ability to look it up on the go, which had been my plan, returning to his house and his computer was the fastest option.

“Do you know how much that costs every month?” he demanded.

Actually, I didn’t. When I’d been alive (the first time), I hadn’t worried about it, and I hadn’t yet regained phone privileges in my new reality, obviously. I thought about the message sitting in his voice mail from Mrs. Turner and flinched again.

“You have to promise me that no matter what happens, you’re going to try to talk to the Turners, to tell them none of it was their fault,” I said quietly. Mr. Turner was barely over feeling guilty for the first time something bad had happened to Lily, and I knew Mrs. Turner would probably blame herself—after she got done blaming Will for being a bad influence or something. And after yesterday’s blowup, Tyler would probably take on his share of responsibility, too, if something happened to his sister. Or if she simply never came home. God, we needed to find this Erin chick…and soon. “It’s important, okay? You need to promise me you’ll talk to them.”

Will frowned at me and tightened his grip on the wheel until his knuckles went white. “Stop it. Stop acting like you’re not going to be fine.”