“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
“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.”
Did he think I hadn't noticed when I'd gone all see-through back there? I opened my mouth to point that out, but what good would it have done? He was still angry, and right now it seemed he was determined that I would be sticking around, if only so he could yell at me some more.
The car bumped up over the curb into the driveway, taking out a portion of the dried-out yard with it.
“Wait here.” Will unbuckled his seat belt and got out, leaving the car running.
“Yeah, right,” I said. I switched off the engine, snagged the keys before he got too far away, and scrambled after him.
He caught a glimpse of me following him and sighed heavily. “Do you ever listen?” he asked.
“When someone's trying to tell me what to do? Uh, no. Besides, who died and made you the boss of me?”
He shot me an unhappy look as he rounded the corner.
“Oh, touchy, touchy,” I muttered. “Like I'm going to just sit out there while you waste time online,” I said in a louder voice. In truth, I didn't want to be by myself at the moment. It felt like if Will wasn't there to glare at me, I might slip away. And while I'd accepted that was a possibility, I… I didn't particularly want to be alone if/when it happened. Besides, it wasn't like we'd be disturbing anyone. His mom's car wasn't in the driveway.
“I think you're confusing me with you, Miss I Have Nine Thousand Friends on Facebook,” he said darkly, yanking open the screen door and reaching for the doorknob. Then he stopped, flummoxed momentarily by the locked door.
“Oh, ouch, seriously wounding me there.” I dangled the keys over his shoulder, and he snapped them away without so much as a thank-you. “Between the two of us, who do you think has better research skills? I would have graduated with honors.”
“At least
I sucked in a breath. “I think
“If you say so.” He shrugged, but I saw the corner of his mouth turn up in a faint smile. So maybe I wasn't the only one taking comfort in the familiar nature of our exchange.
He shoved the door open, and I followed him into the kitchen, where he stopped short and I nearly bumped into him.
“Not now,” he said under his breath, seemingly to himself.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
He turned with a grimace and held his hands up in the classic stop position.
