It had taken me forever to fall asleep the night before. It might have been all the Mountain Dew I had drunk to keep me awake for a few more completely useless Internet searches, or worrying that Erin was going to suddenly show up again, or hoping my mom's life wasn't wrecked because of me. But then again, it also could have been that, right as I dozed off, two dead middle-aged brothers — Tim and Bob? Jim and Bill? It was never clear, as they were too busy shouting — strode through the wall into my room, still arguing and wanting me to take sides.
From what I'd gathered, they'd inherited a piece of land from a grandfather, and each had different ideas about what should be done with it. And they'd killed each other over it… about forty years ago.
That alone might not have been enough to do more than piss me off, except they both still had the shotguns they'd used against each other. You die with it, it's yours even in the afterlife. Would those work against me? No idea. Didn't particularly want to find out, especially at two in the morning. Well, really, at any time, but in the middle of the night, ghosts with guns take on a certain amount of creepy intensity. It was almost enough to tempt me into finding Erin and having her try again.
I'd tried pointing out to the brothers that they were dead, so it didn't matter anymore. However, it was the principle of the thing, apparently.
I'd only gotten rid of them — after more than an hour of trying to get them to shut up and listen — by saying that they should have split the land in half evenly. Not that they thought this was a reasonable solution. Dividing it up made it far less valuable, I guess. But my utter stupidity, proven to them by the fact that I'd bothered making this suggestion, gave them something to agree on for the first time in years. I love it when I can help families come together.
I'd finally dozed off after they left… and promptly overslept. So now I was running late to Misty's, on top of everything else, which didn't help my mood, either.
The neighborhood was between mine and Alona's, in location and wealth. Misty's house — which I missed the first time down the street because they had all these huge hanging flowerpots covering up the number on the porch — was a rambling multilevel house. It had a three-car garage with one of those big turnarounds for the cars. I recognized Misty's Jeep in the driveway on my second pass and pulled to the curb across the street to park.
There was no sign of Alona, of course. If she'd gone in without me, I was not going to be happy. Correction: I was already not happy. If she'd left me out here to ring the doorbell at Misty Evans's house, which was not exactly my home turf, on my own, I was going to be pissed.
Gritting my teeth, I started toward the driveway, already trying to think of what I would say when someone answered the door. Misty's house wasn't as ritzy as Alona's, but I didn't fit in here any better than I did over there. It wasn't that I particularly cared what Misty or her family thought about me, but I didn't feel like defending myself against potential stalker accusations if Alona hadn't bothered to explain that I was coming along. Plus, it was a giant waste of time. I was almost positive Misty wasn't being haunted; not in the traditional sense, anyway.
About ten feet up the driveway, I caught movement from the corner of my eye. I turned, half expecting Misty's angry dad or an unwelcome ghostly tagalong. But it wasn't either of those; it was a girl, who'd obviously been waiting on the edge of the lawn, her presence hidden by the overgrown shrubs on the side of the drive (someone in the Evans family loved plants, evidently).
She smiled almost shyly, tipping her head down so her blond-streaked hair would fall forward over her face. It took me a second to put the pieces together. Not because I didn't recognize her. That would be dumb. It was more like my brain refused to make the connection between this girl and all the data and images previously stored in the “Lily” file in my brain.
“You're late,” she said, edging closer, the limp on her left side pretty much the only familiar thing about her.
I couldn't think, couldn't speak. The words wouldn't come, fighting against each other and the shock. Of all the things I'd thought Alona might be planning — and trust me, I ruled out very little when it came to her ambitions—
