She jerked her head up to glare at me, and the all-too-familiar fierceness in her expression made me step back. That was all Alona. I could almost see her beneath the surface of Lily. It was…unsettling, to say the least. “Someone is pretending to be me, the spirit of me, to scare my best friend.” She jabbed a finger in my chest with the last three words. “How is that not a concern?”

I sighed. “Or maybe her guilty conscience is finally catching up to her, and she’s seeing ghosts where there aren’t any because she feels bad.” It happened all the time. Sometimes picture frames just fall over. Doors slam shut, screws fall out, etc. Not all of it is the result of ghosts, but when people feel like they deserve to be haunted, that’s usually the first explanation they believe. “Which do you think is more likely?”

With a sound of disgust, she shoved past me and limped back toward Misty, who honestly looked a little frightened at her approach. Faux Lincoln and Severed Arm Guy scattered to get out of her way.

I groaned silently and hurried after her. This could not possibly end well.

“I’m sorry about that,” Alona said to Misty, as she reclaimed the chair next to her. “You took me by surprise is all.”

Misty gave a harsh laugh. “You don’t believe me.”

Alona shook her head. “No, I do. Actually, wedo,” she said, giving me a “go along with this or die painfully” look.

Oh, good.

“But I’m not sure why you think it’s Alona. From what I know of her, she would never—”

“Wait.” Misty held up her hand with a frown. “Who are you again?”

I held my breath.

“Ally Turner. It was Lily, but I go by Ally now,” Alona said. “I was…I am a year behind you at school.” Her words sounded forced and false, but maybe only because I knew the truth.

“But,” Alona continued quickly, “we have experience dealing with this kind of thing.”

“We’ve been haunted before,” I added, lying to save our asses. Was she trying to get us killed? Why not just announce to all the ghosts in the room that we could see and/or hear them?

Misty nodded slowly, as if that was not a surprise. Then she shook her head with a sad smile. “Well, whatever you know about ghosts, you did not know Alona. And trust me, it’s her. She…” Misty hesitated. “She was my best friend. But she wasn’t exactly the forgive-and-forget type, you know? Revenge. That was her thing.”

Alona stiffened.

Oh, crap.

“Have you considered that maybe those people deserved what they got?” Alona demanded.

I poked her and she swiveled to face me with a frown. Shut up, I mouthed.

But fortunately, Misty seemed too lost in her memories to notice. “I took Chris from her. Actually, Chris and I…We just kind of found each other.”

“Found each other, right,” Alona muttered. Hmm. Maybe she hadn’t yet completely forgiven Misty.

“I didn’t think Alona knew before she died, but now I…I’m not sure. It wasn’t intentional for either of us,” Misty added defiantly.

“And that makes a difference how?” Alona demanded.

I cleared my throat sharply. “I think what Ally”—

I emphasized the name, glaring at Alona, who rolled her eyes—“means is, what signs are you seeing that make you think Alona, specifically, is haunting you, not some other random ghost?”

“Oh.” Misty looked startled and then confused. “Why would there be a random ghost haunting me?”

I was pretty sure there wasn’t a ghost involved at all, but trying to explain to Misty that she was likely haunting herself probably wouldn’t have helped. All I could do was try to show Alona that it wasn’t someone impersonating her. “There probably isn’t. But I’m just trying to understand why you think it’s her. Other than the fact you think she’d be angry if she knew about you and Chris, which she doesn’t,” I said, aiming my last words at Alona, who slumped in her chair and folded her arms over her chest.

“Whatever,” she muttered.

Misty lifted her hands in exasperation at my apparent idiocy. “Hello? Who else would it be? And why would it start right after Chris proposed?

Alona froze. “Proposed?” she whispered.

Oh, boy.With a sigh, I sat down.

Misty gave an uncomfortable shrug. “He’s going away to IU and I’m staying here. He wanted us to be engaged first.”

Alona sat up. “You can’t do that,” she said, shaking her head.

“I think what she means is you’re young,” I said quickly. This conversation was going to kill me. “Can we get back to the signs, please?”

Misty was looking back and forth between us like we were crazy, which wasn’t far from the truth today. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Picture frames knocked over, covers pulled off me in the night, footsteps in my room but no one is there, and sometimes, when I’m falling asleep, I hear someone call my name.” She shuddered.

And…picture frames fall over, covers slip off, people often think they hear footsteps or someone calling them when they’re half asleep.

“Oh, and she wrote her name in the steam on the mirror in my bathroom.”

Whoa.I leaned forward in my chair. “You saw that happen?”

She shook her head. “No, it was just there one day when I got out of the shower.”

Huh, well, that changed things a little. Maybe it wasn’t a guilty conscience. But that didn’t necessarily mean it was a ghost, either. A living person could do all of those things she mentioned, including the mirror writing. Steam up the mirror, and write the words you want. Then, when the mirror is covered in steam again, the words reappear. Maybe a living someone wasn’t pleased with this new development in Misty’s love life and had decided to express it as “Alona.”

“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” Alona said. “What are you going to do for a maid of honor? It better not be Leanne.”

Misty gaped at her, but before she could respond, the door to the back rooms opened, catching everyone’s attention.

An elderly woman in a tidy black suit and heavy black shoes shuffled out, clinging tightly to the arm of a guy who had to be Malachi the Magnificent. For one, he was wearing a cloak. In August.

The sight of that was enough to shake Alona from her sulk. “Seriously?” She snorted. “I’m beginning to think this guy doesn’t understand the difference between a magician and a medium.”

Probably a lot of people didn’t. It was all in that mysterious realm of “might be real” to most. And if this guy was willing to play up the mystical part of it, that likely helped sell the bill of goods.

Other than his cloak, “Malachi”—no way was that his real name—didn’t seem too extraordinary. He was maybe in his mid-twenties, a thin, kind of dweeby guy with curly red hair and heavy black-rimmed glasses. The effect, actually, was of someone who’d gotten lost on his way to a Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings costume party.

Great.

A few steps behind the elderly woman and the caped douche bag, a young guy in an Al Capone–era suit and hat followed, looking kind of pissed.

“You’re not listening. That’s not what I said at all,” he shouted at Malachi.

Next to me, Alona stiffened, and I knew she’d heard the ghost, too.

But Malachi just smiled fondly at the old woman and walked her over to the main door. She squeezed his hand, leaving him with a wad of cash, which he quickly tucked inside his cloak.

I relaxed, relief warring with disappointment. Malachi was a fake. We weren’t any closer to finding a solution for Alona or figuring out what my dad had been doing checking out all these fake ghost-talkers. But at least we didn’t have to claim Malachi in our ranks.

I leaned over to Alona. “When he takes the next person in, we’ll get out of here.”

She frowned at me. “No way. What about her?” She tipped her head toward Misty, who was staring at Malachi like he was a walking ray of hope.

I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s anything we can fix.”