Formymom,foreverything!

“Forgivenessisthefragrancetheviolet

shedsontheheelthathascrushedit.”

—marktwain

If you think you know what it’s like to be dead—if you think it’s just an eternity of harp music and

cloudlounging—well,thinkagain.

Everhearthesaying,Lifegoeson?
Itdoes.
Longpastthepointwheneveryoneelsethinksitstopped.
Takeitfromme,I’vebeendeadforjustoverayear,andfromthemomentIcrossedthatbridgetothe

otherside—well,that’swhenthingsreallygotinteresting.…

“Goon,Buttercup—gogetitboy!”
Icuppedmyhandsaroundmymouthandsquintedintoablanketofgooey,whitehazestillhoursaway

frombeingburnedoffbythesun.GazinguponabeachthatwasjustthewayIlikedit—foggy,cold,atiny
bitspookyeven.RemindingmeofouroldfamilyvisitstotheOregonCoast—thekindIsometimestried
tore-createonmyown.

ButdespitetheinfinitemanifestingpossibilitiesoftheHere&Now,somethingaboutitjustwasn’tthe

same.Sure,youcouldreplicatesimilarsensations,thewaythetiny,pebblygrainswedgedbetweenyour
toes,thewaythecooloceansprayfeltuponyourface,butstill,itdidn’tquitecutit.

Couldn’tquiteliveuptotherealthing.
AndclearlyButtercupagreed.
Hesprintedafterthestick,runningheadfirstintoadadenjoyinganearlymorningstrollwithhisson,

beforeemerging on theirother side. Causingthe kid to stopand stare andgaze all around—sensing the
disturbance,thesuddenchangeinatmosphere,theburstofcoldair—theusualsignsaghostispresent.

Theusualsignskidsalwaystuneinto,andtheirparentsalwaysmiss.
I shut my eyes tightly, concentrating on mingling my energy with my surroundings. Summoning the

vibrationofthesand—theseashells—eventhehaze—longingtoexperienceitinthesamewayIusedto,
knowingI’dhaveonlyafewmomentsofthisbeforeButtercupreturned,droppedthewet,slobberystick
atmyfeet,andwerepeatedthesequenceagain.

Hewastireless.Truetohisbreed,he’dhappilyretrieveforhoursonend.Anice,longgameoffetch

making the list of his top-five favorite things, ranking right up there with dog biscuits, a warm patch of
sun,birdchasing,andofcourse,hisnewestlove—flying.

Nudgingmylegwithhisnose,lettingmeknowhewasback,hestaredupatmewiththosebigbrown

eyes,practicallybeggingmetohurlthestickevenfartherthistime.

SoIdid.
Watchingasitsoaredhighintotheskybeforeitpiercedthefilmy,whiteveilandwasgone.Buttercup

dashing behind it, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, tail wagging crazily from side to side—the
furry, yellow tip the last thing I saw before the mist swallowed him whole and he vanished from sight.
Leavingonlyafaintechoofexcitedbarkstrailingbehind.

Iturnedmyattentiontothesmallflockofseagullscirclingoverhead,swoopingtowardthewaterand

fillingtheirbeakswithunsuspectingfish,beforetakingflightagain.Vaguelyawareoftheminutesslipping
pastwithstillnosignofButtercup,Icalledouthisname,thenchaseditwithaspot-onimitationofmy
dad’sspecialwhistlethatneverfailedtobringButtercuphome.Myfeetcarvingintothesand,leavingno
traceoffootprints,asIpushedthroughafogsothick,soviscous,itremindedmeofthetimeI’dflown
throughacloudstormforfun,onlytorealizeitwasanythingbut.AndIwasjustabouttoventureintothe
freezing-coldwater,knowinghisfondnessforswimming,whenIheardadeep,unmistakablegrowlthat
immediatelysetmeonedge.

Buttercuprarelygrowled.
Hewasfartoogood-naturedforthat.
Sowhenhedid,itwassafetoassumehe’dstumbleduponsomethingserious.
Somethingvery,verybad.

Ifollowedthesoundofit.Thatlow,gravelyrumblegrowinginintensitythecloserIcrept.Onlytobe

replacedwithsomethingmuchworse—ahorriblesnarl,ahigh-pitchedyelp,andasickeningsilencethat
mademygutdance.

“Buttercup?”Icalled,myvoicesoshaky,sounsteadyIwasforcedtoclearmythroatandtryagain.

“Buttercup—whereareyou?Thisisn’tfunny,youknow!Youbettershowyourselfnow,oryouwillnot
beflyinghome!”

Thesecondthethreatwasout,Iheardhim.Pawsbeatingagainstthehard,wetsand,hisquickpanting

breathgettinglouderandlouderthecloserhecame.

Isighedwithreliefandsankdowntotheground.Readyingmyselfforthebig,slobberyapologyhug

that soon would be mine, only to watch in absolute horror as the fog split wide open and a large dog
jumpedout.

Adogthatwasn’tButtercup.
Itwas—somethingelseentirely.
Big—thesizeofapony.
Black—itscoatmattedandgnarled.
Withpawsthesizeofhoovesthatcamehurtlingtowardme,asIscreamedlongandloud,desperateto

getoutofitsway.

Butitwastoolate.
NomatterhowfastImoved—itwasn’tfastenough.
Therewasnoescapingthechainsofitssharplybarbedcollarthatclangedominously.
No escaping the menacing glow of those deep yellow eyes with the laser-hot gaze that burned right

intomine,rightintomysoul.…

I curled into a ball, pressed my nose against my knees, and covered my face as I waited for the

impact.

Waitedforthepushofthosepaws,thebiteofthoserazor-sharpteeth,theheatofthatominousgazeto

searstraightintotheheartofme.

Butnothingcame.
And,really,whywoulditwhentherewasonemajorthingsavingmefromhisattack?
Onemajorthingsavingmefromanyattack.
OnemajorthingthatIstillhadn’tgrownusedto—oratleastnotwhenIwasinthemiddleofbeing

scaredwitless.

ThefactthatIwasdead.
Deadasadoornail.
Deadandburied.
Deadas…well,prettymuchasdeadasitgets.
TheironybeingthatwhileImayhavefeltmorealivethanever,thetruthwasthatmyphysicalbody

haddied just overa year ago.Leaving me with thisnew, light andfilmy, somewhat translucent version
thatlookedanawfullotliketheoriginal,gravity-boundversion,exceptforthefactthatthingscouldeasily
passthroughmenow,whereastheycouldn’tbefore.

Thingslikeoversizehellhoundswithmattedblackfuranddeepmenacinggrowls,forinstance.
And,asluckwouldhaveit,I’dfailedtorememberanyofthatuntilBodhihadalreadycaughtupwith

me.

Or,rather,makethatBodhiandButtercup,mysweetyellowLab,who’snotonlyknownmeforalmost

all of my life, but who died in the car accident right alongside me, which, all things considered, you’d
thinkwouldresultinsomeseriousloyalty.

Butnoooo.
TherewerenoloyaltieswhereButtercupwasconcerned.Hewasalltooeagertosniffandlickthe

fingers of just about anyone willing to pet him, feed him, or play fetch with him—including my ghost
guideBodhi.AndasBodhilaughedhimselfsillyatthewayIcoweredonthesand,allcoiledupintomy
own tiny, blond, ghost-girl ball of fear, Buttercup barked and drooled and tail-wagged happily beside
him,carryingoninawaythatseriouslymademerethinkmyloyaltytohim,andprettymuchhadmehating
BodhiasmuchasIdidthefirsttimewemet.

Thefirsttimehepushedme(literally!)intothatawfulroom,whereIwasforcedtoundergoasuper-

embarrassing,completelyagonizinglifereview.

A super-embarrassing, completely agonizing life review where I discovered that my whole entire

existence,mybrieftwelveyearsontheearthplane,hadamountedtolittlemorethanajoke—andthatthe
jokewasonme.

Thewholethinghadbeenawash.
Awaste.
Adecade-longexerciseintryingtoemulatemyoldersister,Ever,inhopesofbeingjustlikeher.
Onlytoresultinsomeseriouslyridiculous,seriouslybratty,seriouslystalkinglikebehaviorthat,inthe

end,wasprettymuchimpossibletodefend.

A super-embarrassing, completely agonizing life review presided over by various members of the

Council,whoinformedmethatbasedontheamountoftimeI’dlingeredontheearthplane—stubbornly
refusingtocrossthebridgetotheHere&Nowinordertostaybehindandspyonmysister,celebrities,
former teachers, and friends (along with anyone else who might prove interesting but was otherwise
unsuspecting)—Ihadajobtofulfill,onewhereIwasexpectedto“coaxandconvince”lingeringspiritsto
crossthebridgetotheirnewhome,actingasaSoulCatcher,ifyouwill.Andevenworse,I’dalsobeen
assigned a guide/teacher/coach/counselor/boss (or at least that’s how Bodhi likes to describe himself),
whoIwasexpectednotonlytoanswerto,butmaybeevenlearnfrom.

Despite the fact that he no longer dressed like the big dork he did then, despite the fact that he’d

swappedthenerdwearforsomemuchcoolerclothes,despitethefactthathe’dlethishairgoallshaggy
andloosetothepointwhereitcurveddownintohisfaceinthatcoolguy,slightlywindswept,effortless
way,despitethefactthateverytimeIlookedintohisbrilliantblueeyesIwastotallyremindedoftheZac
Efronposterthatusedtohangonmyoldbedroomwall,itstilldidn’tmakeitokayforhimtolaughatme
thewayhedid.

Icontinuedtoliethere,everysinglepartofmejustwishinghe’dstopandmoveonalready.Butwhen

itbecameclearthathewouldn’t,whenitbecameclearthathewastryingtocalmdownjustenough,to
catch his breath just enough, so that he could make the switch from laughing at me to making fun of me
verbally,Ijumpedtomyfeet.Istraightenedmywhitecottondressthat,inmyhaste,hadgottenalltwisted
around,tuggedonthestrapsofthepinkandturquoiseswimsuitIworeunderneath,andglaredathimasI
said,“Yeah,yeah,laughallyouwant.”Ishookmyheadandscowled,firstathim,thenatButtercupwho
promptly lowered his head, tucked his tail between his legs, and gazed up at me with those big brown
eyesthatwereimpossibletoresist.“ButI’mtellingyou,ifyou’dseenwhatI’dseen…well…”Ishook
myheadandmademymouthgoalltightandgrim,forcingthewordsbetweengrittedteeth,“Iknowfora
factyouwould’vescreamedtoo.”

Iwasreadyforafight,readyforsomemoreofthatnotentirelygood-naturedribbing,wheninsteadhe

justplacedhishandonmyshoulderandpeeredatmeinthishighlyseriouswaythathehad.

“Ididscream.”Hisgazelockedonmine.“Butinsteadofthestop,drop,androllactionthatyoujust

did,Iranlikethewind.”

Inarrowedmyeyesandshruggedmyselfoutfromunderhisgrip.Notquitesurewhathewasgetting

at,andstillnotconvincedhewasn’ttryingtopokealittlefunatmyexpense.

“It was back in England, in Devon, if I remember correctly.” He squinted as though trying to

remembertheexactdate,likeit’dbeencenturiesagoorsomething,whenwebothknewhe’dkickeditjust
overadecadeago,backin1999,courtesyofbonecancer,andjustdaysawayfromthemillenniumtoo.
Thenliftinghisshoulders,headded,“Anyway,they’remostoftenseeninDevon,Norfolk,Suffolk,and
Essex,butstill,I—”

“Wait—whatdoyoumean,they?”Iasked,awareofButtercupcreepingtowardmyside,nuzzlingmy

leginadesperateattempttoeasehiswaybackintomygoodgraces.“Youmeanthere’smorethanone?”

“SnarlyYows?”Bodhitiltedhisheadinawaythatcausedhisbangstoswoopintohiseyes.“Yeah,

lotsmore.”Henodded,combinghisfingersthroughhishairandpushingthestrandsbackintoplace.

“Snarly—what?”Myvoicesqueaked,unabletomakesenseoftheword.
“SnarlyYow,BlackShuck,PhantomDog,Galleytrot,ShugMonkey,HatefulThing,HellBeast…”He

shrugged, instantly manifesting a long green straw he started to chew as he looked all around. Face
arranged as though he expected to find a whole pack of them storming the sand, but coming away with

little more than a heavy shroud of mist, he just looked at me and said, “They go by a lot of different
names.Andthoughthelegendsslightlydiffer,whenyougetrightdowntoit,itallamountstobasicallythe
samething.Abig,black,menacingdogwithglowingeyes—sometimesoneinthemiddleofhisforehead,
sometimeswherehisheadwould’vebeenifitweren’tmissing—”Helookedatme.“Thatsortofthing.
Thoughthey’renotrelegatedtojustEngland.Once,whileIwasonassignmentinEgypt,Ispottedareally
bigone,muchbiggerthantheoneyoujustsaw.Imeanitwasfierce.Ithoughtforsureitwassomekindof
crazed black stallion. You can’t even imagine the size of that thing.” He shook his head at the memory.
“Anyway, it was guarding some centuries-old tomb. That’s what they like to do, you know—guard old
gravesandtombsandsuch.”

Hepeeredatmefromunderathicksetoflashes,lashesheprobablyenhancedinsomewayinorder

tomakehimselfappearirresistible.FromwhatIsawatgraduation—orwhatevertheycallthatdaywhen
hefirststartedtoglowinthatdeepgreenishshadethatwasenoughtosignaltowhoeverwasinchargeof
thesethingsthathewasreadytoserveasmyguide—fromallthecatcallsandwolfwhistlesthatfollowed
himrightfromhisseatallthewaydowntothestage,well,itclearlywasworking.

Oratleastonsomeless-discerningspiritsanyway.
Me,Iwasprettymuchimmunetoit.
Hecontinuedtolookatme,practicallybeggingformetobeimpressedwithhisexoticjourney.Butno

waywouldIgivethattohim.NowaywouldIgivehimthesatisfaction.

Sohe’dtraveledtoEgypt.Onassignment.Wherehe’dfaceddownsomephantomdogthatwaseven

biggerthantheoneIjustsaw.

Bigdeal.
Sowhat?
In the short amount of time since I’d crossed the bridge to my new home in the Here & Now, I’d

alreadyacedanassignmentataprettyimpressivecastleintheEnglishcountryside,hadalreadysoared
directlyabovethebustlingstreetsofLondon,andwasatthatverymomentenjoyinganicelittlevacayon
one of the Virgin Islands—all of that happening within a very short, very brief, amount of time,
thankyouverymuch.Whichleftmewithnodoubtthatthere’dbeplentymoretravelinstoreforme,what
withalltheassignmentsI’dhave,andallthelingeringsoulsI’dbeexpectedtocrossover.

“Anyway,”hesaid,stillchompingaway,thatgreenstrawbobbingupanddowninhismouthinwhat

wasclearlyanannoyinghabitheldoverfromhistimeontheearthplane,“eventhoughlegendsaysthat
comingacrossoneisabadomen—aportentofdeath—”

“Aportent?”Ilookedathim,mybrowrising,convincedhewastryingtoshowoffagain.
“Anomen,asign,a—”
“Iknowwhatitmeans.”Irolledmyeyesandwaveditaway,wavedawayhislameattempttoimpress

me,tolordhisoh-so-bigvocabularyoverme.

“Anyway, the thing is,” he continued, squinting as he gazed up and down the mostly empty beach,

“even though the legends all claim that whoever sees a Black Shuck will be dead within a year, that’s
obviouslysomethingyoudon’thavetoworryabout.Imean,seeingasyou’realreadydeadandall…”

“So that’s it, then?” I placed my hands on my hips and stared. “You’re just gonna let this psycho

phantomhellhoundrunamok,andbasicallyterrorizeallthepeopleonthebeach,anddonothingtostop
it?”

Heshrugged,obviouslynotnearlyasalarmedbytheprospectasIwas.“GuessIdon’treallyseethe

point,”hesaid.“Imean,faceit,Riley,theonlyonewhoseemstobeterrorizedbythedogisyou.”

Isearchedhisface,searchedforobvioussigns(portents!)ofmocking,butcameupempty.SothenI

said,“WhataboutButtercup,then?WhataboutthatyelpthatIheard?Hesoundedscaredtodeath—soto
speak.”

ButBodhijustlaughed.“Madmaybe,butdefinitelynotscared.Thatwasmybad.Icaughthisballin

midairandflewwithit.Hewasn’ttoopleased,butyougotoverit,didn’tyou,boy?”Hisvoicegrewall
softandmushyashereacheddowntogiveButtercupagoodscratchbetweentheears.AnditwasallI
could do not to cringe when I saw how quickly my dog abandoned my side in order to scooch back
towardBodhi’s,wherehesat,happilygazingathim,alldroolyandgoo-gooeyed.

“Besides, whatever lingering spirits you find here are to be left alone. No matter what. Just

remember,ifit’snotassignedbytheCouncil,thenit’snoneofourbusiness.”Hisfacegrewallserious,
wantingmetoknowjusthowmuchhemeantit.Thenassuminghisjobwasdone,assuminghe’dwaged
thewinningargument,headded,“Socomeon,whatdoyousayweforgetthebeast,ditchthisfogged-out
beach,andgocheckoutthetown?”

Iplacedmyhandsonmyhipsandgazedintoamistthatseemedasthoughitwasn’tabouttoburnoff

anytime soon. Still, if you knew where to look, you’d find a few patchy bits here and there, and I took
themtobeapromisethatabeautifuldaymightbeintheworks.

And even though we were there on vacation, even though this little trip was awarded to us by the

Council for a job well done after crossing over some ghosts who’d been haunting a castle for way too
long(ghoststhatnootherSoulCatcherhadbeenabletomoveon,includingBodhi,untilIcamealong),
eventhoughBodhiwasniceenoughtoletmechoosetheplaceanddidn’tlodgeevenasinglecomplaint
whenIpickedSt.John(theislandmyparentshadhoneymoonedon—solelybecauseI’dheardthemtalk
aboutitsooften,andsowistfully—Ijusthadtoseizethechancetoseeitformyself),eventhoughweonly
hadalittletimeleftbeforewe’dhavetoreturntotheHere&Now,appearbeforetheCouncil,andget
back to the business of our next assignment—even though I knew all of that—I still looked at him and
said,“I’mnotgoinganywheretillIconvincethatdogtomoveon.”

“Wecan’tdoit.Youcan’tdoit,”Bodhisaid,andeventhoughIchosetoignorehim,it’snotlikethat

stoppedhim.“Riley,didyounothearme?IftheCouncildidn’tassignit,it’snoneofourbusiness.”

Helookedatme,shotmethislong,hard,determinedstare,butIchosetoignorethattoo.
PartlybecauseIwasalreadymovingawayfromhim,alreadymakingmywaydownthebeach,headed

inthesamedirectionthattheHellBeasthadrunin.

AndpartlybecauseIwasn’tinterestedinlisteningtothatkindofdissent,nortoanydissent.Notwhen

Iwassobusyformingaplan.

“It’snotlikewecanjustgocrossingoverwhomeverwefeellike,wheneverwefeellike.Thereare

rules about these sorts of things, rules you’re not even aware of. Besides, it’s not like you’ll find him
anyway,”Bodhicalledoutfrombehindme,hisvoicefading,thepitchgrowingweakerandweakerwith
eachpassingstepItook.“Seriously,you’rejustwastingyourtime.Theyonlyshowthemselveswhenthey
wanttobeseen.Andeventhen,it’susuallyonlywhenthey’retryingtowardoffsomekindofthreator
something.”

Istopped.
Dugmytoesdeepintothewet,grainysandandreconsideredmywholeentiregameplan.
Iwasheadedthewrongway.
Insteadofgoinginthesamedirectionthebeasthadrun,Ishould’vebeenheadedthewayhe’dcome.
ThesamedirectionI’doriginallybeenheaded.
ThesamedirectionButtercupandBodhihadreturnedfrom.
Because if what Bodhi claimed was true, then there was something over there that the old Snarly

Yow/Phantom Dog/Hell Beast found worthy of guarding. And if I could just find what that was, then I
couldalsofindhim.

SoIturned,turnedandheadedrightbacktowhereBodhiwasstanding.Notingthelookofsmugrelief

onhisface,thewayhenudgedButtercupwithhisknee,signalingthatnowthatI’dcavedintohisinfinite
wisdom,nowthatI’dfinallycometomysensesandseenhissideofthings,itwastimeforustomoveon.

ButIjustkeptgoing.
Just sailed right past him, as I pierced though the fog and he called out from behind me, yelling,

“Riley!I’mserious.Whydoyoustillfinditsoimpossibletolistentome?Ithoughtwewe’repastthis.I
thought we had an understanding. I am the guide, and you—” He paused, searching for just the right
word,onethatwouldservetogethispointacross,buthopefullynotoffend.Hisvoicesureandconfident
the second he found it, he said, “And you are the apprentice. Which means you can’t go making up
assignments—youarenotafreeagent!YoucanonlygetthemfromtheCouncilorme.Riley!Thisisnota
joke.I’mcompletelyserious.Whatwillittaketogetyoutolistentome?Torespectme?”

Itwasalotofwords.
Quiteamouthfulreally.
Buttome,theywerejustawholebunchofconsonantsandvowelshaphazardlystrungtogether.
TheonlyreasonI’dheardanyofitwasbecausehe’ddecidedtofollowme.Andasherushedtokeep

up,headded,“Youcan’tjustdowhateveryouwant,youknow.Therearerulesandregulations,andallit
takesisjustoneridiculouslyirrationalmoveonyourparttojeopardizeeverythingI’veworkedsohardto
build! It’s my job to look after you. I’m responsible for you whether you like it or not. And yet, even

thoughyou’rewellawareofthat,eventhoughyouknowalltoowellhowIjustgotbackingoodwiththe
Councilafteralmostgettingdemotedandfallingoutoffavor,youinsistondoingthis.Refusingtostopand
considerhowyourrecklessideasmightaffectme.YoujustgetsomecrazyideaaboutsavingsomeHell
Beast that’s probably not even on the Council’s radar, and then you just dive in headfirst, without the
slightest consideration as to how you’re about to risk all my hard work! You have no idea what you’re
doing,noideawhattheconsequencesare,orjusthowmuchIhavetolose!Besides,littledoyouknow,
butjustlikepeopleontheearthplanehavedestiniestofulfill,spiritsalsohavedestiniestofulfill.Notto
mentionalittlesomethingcalledfreewill, which is something you have no right to interfere with. The
abilitytoexerciseone’sfreewillisanimperativepartofasoulrealizingitsdestiny!And,Ihatetobreak
ittoya,butforsomeonewhodidn’tgettheirglowonuntilveryrecently,forsomeonewhosebarelythere,
pale green shimmer clearly marks you as a member of the level 1.5 team, you are neither allowed nor
authorizedtointerfereinanyone’sdestinyorfateorchosenpathorfreewillunlessspecificallyordered
todosobyeithertheCouncilorme!Whydoyounotunderstandthis?WhydoIhavetokeepexplainingit
toyou?”

Andthat’swhenIturned.That’swhenIspunonmyheel,lookedhimstraightintheeye,andsaid,“As

itjustsohappens,that’sexactlywhatI’mdoingrightnow.”

He looked at me, his expression a little muddled, chaotic—a result of that hectic word deluge he’d

spewedforth.

“I’m exercising my free will. And though I may not be as well versed in the rule book as you, Oh

MightyGuideofMine,I’mprettydangsureyoulacktheauthoritytokeepmefromrealizingmydestiny.”

Then,withoutwaitingforaresponse,Iwasgone.Feetpushinghardintothesand,intentonkeeping

myprogresssteadyandsure,choosingwalkingoverflyingsince,inmyexperienceanyway,flyinginthe
fogisn’tnearlyasmuchfunasitmightseematfirst.Thepoorvisibilitymakesforaprettyblahview.

Bodhi’svoicecontinuingtohauntmeashehurledwordslikestubborn,obstinate,headstrong,overly

willful,misguided,irrational,impulsive—none of them the least bit flattering, but all of them piercing
throughthefogandtrailingrightbehindmenonetheless.

Andjustlikebefore,theyborenolastingeffect.
Tome,itwasjustabunchofbippidyblahblah.
Imean,maybewhathesaidwastrue.
Maybeitwasn’t.
Itwasofnoparticularinteresttomeeitherway.
BecausedespitewhatBodhiclaimedabouttherules,andtheCouncil,andmyownverylonglistof

extremelyflawedcharactertraits,therewasonethingIknewforabsolutesure:

Therewerenoaccidents,coincidences,orrandomevents.
Theuniversejustdidn’toperatelikethat.
I’dseenthatdogforareason.
AndIwasdeterminedtogettothebottomofit.

AlthoughIcouldn’tsayforsurehowfarIhadwalked—duetotheintensityofthemistIcouldneither

seebehindmenorinfrontofme—IdidknowthatI’dwalkedfarenoughforBodhi’svoicetocompletely
fadeintonothing.

WalkedforsolongIcouldnolongerhearButtercup’spantingbreathorexcitedbarks.
Aside from the constant lull and sway of the sea lapping the shoreline, and the familiar, almost-

plaintivecryoftheseagullssoaringoverhead,Icouldn’thearmuchofanything.

Couldn’tseeanything.
Couldn’thearanything.
WhichprobablyexplainswhyIwassosurprisedwhenIstumbleduponit.
AndIdomeanstumbled.
I’d been so intent on merging my energy with the sand, the sea, the sky, and all the rest of my

surroundings,sofocusedonmergingmyvibrationwiththatofthephysicalworld,thatonemomentIwas
juststrollingalong,moreorlessmindingmyownbusiness,andthenextI’dtoppledrightover,headfirst.

Yep,eveninmyghostlyformIcouldstillgettrippedup.
EventhoughitprobablyseemsasthoughIshould’vejustslippedrightthroughit,thethingis,inthe

end, it all came down to energy. In order to make contact with something more solid, in order to
experience the earth plane in the same way I used to, I had to draw upon its energy. And my being so
focusedondrawingupontheenergyofjustabouteverythingaroundme…well,let’sjustsaythat’spretty
muchwhatdidmein.

Iscrewedupmyface,pushedmylongblondbangsoutofmyeyes,andglaredattheoffendingpiece

justbeforeme.

Expectingtofindsomekindofjagged,water-carvedbeachrock,onlytoseethatitwasn’tarockatall

—oratleastnotthekindI’dassumed.

Somewherealongtheway,thebeachhadmanagedtotransitionfromamistyshroudofwhitesandand

turquoisewatersintoadesolate,seeminglyforgotten,fog-free,patchy-grassgraveyardwithoutmyeven
noticing.

Aseriouslydecrepit,seriouslyoldgraveyard.
The kind with crumbling tombstones, sunken graves, and creepy-looking trees with cruel, leafless

branchesthathoveredinsuchawaytheylookedasthoughthey’dpluckyourightoffthegroundandinto
theirclutches.

Thekindofgraveyardyouseeinscarymovies.
Onlythiswasnomovie,thiswastherealthing.
Isquintedatthetombstonethat’dtrippedme,searchingforaname,adate,somethingthatmightmean

somethingtomeorprovideaclueofsomekind.Itwassooldandcrumbly,allIcouldmakeoutwasthe
vague outline of what might’ve been an angel’s wing, but could’ve just as easily been something else
entirely,alongwithapartialnameanddatethat’dbeenetchedawaybythecruelhandoftime.

I looked all around, seeing there were more—lots and lots of them. Some similar, some not, some

withelaboratemarkingsandangelsandcrossesandthings,somenotmuchmorethanasadlittlestump.

AndjustasIrememberedwhatBodhihadsaidaboutthePhantomDog’spenchantforguardinggraves

andtombsandsuch,Isawit.

Notthedog.
Not—well,notanythingsubstantialenoughformetoreallyputalabelon.
Let’sjustsayitwasmoreofashimmer.
Asoft,pink-goldshimmer.
AndIwatched,mesmerized,prettymuchspellboundreally,asittwirledanddancedandflittedand

jumped.Bouncinglightlyfromtheheadofeachgrave,gracefullyleapingfromtreetotree,untilitfinally
landedbeforeme.HoveringinplaceasIscrambledtomyfeetandwatchedinamazementasthatglowing
ballofenergyslowlystretched,andcurved,andtransformeditselfintoapairofeyes,anose,amouth,
andteeth—

Transformeditselfinto—me!
Itwasallthere.
Allofmyfeaturespresentandaccountedfor.
Lankyblondhair:Check.
Brightblueeyes:Yep.
Semi-stubbynose:Rogerthat.
Completelyflatchest:Um,unfortunately,yes.
Fussy,overlyfrillydress,withwaytoomanysparklesandbows:Wha—?
Iwasspeechless.
Reallyandtrulyspeechless.
My eyes darting all around, searching for Bodhi and Buttercup, wondering if they were somehow

behind it, determined to freak me out, creep me out, and teach me a lesson about making up my own
assignments.

But when I turned back to her, er, me, er, it, I started to get really annoyed by the dress. I mean,

seriously, one frivolous accent would’ve been more than enough, but to add frills and lace and ruffles
andbowsand buttons that actually sparkled and shone, well, it clearly amounted to complete and total
overkill.

Besides,anyonewhoknewmeknewIwouldn’tbecaughtdead(literally!)wearingadresslikethat.

SothatmeanteitherBodhiwasseriouslydeterminedtogetbackatmeforignoringhisrules,orsomeone
else,someonewhoobviouslydidn’tknowmeatall,hadmadethemistakeofseriouslyunderestimating
me.

“Sorry.” She smiled, instantly transforming my features into ones that belonged to someone else,

someonewhowastotallyunrecognizabletome.

Thehairbecamebrownandcurledinsteadofblondandlimp,theeyesadeephazelinsteadofbright

blue,thenoselongandelegantasopposedto,well,thewayminewasbuilt,andachestthatbloomedinto
somethingalittlemoresubstantialthanthepatheticallyflatversionIwasstuckwith.

Achestthatbloomedinawaymineneverwould.
Butforsomestrangereason,shechosetokeepthedress,which,haditbeenme,would’vebeenthe

veryfirstthingIwould’veditched.

“It’salwaysgoodforascarethough.WhichIguessiswhyit’sjusttoogoodtoresist.”Shelaughedin

awaythatlitupherface,thesoundofitlightandmelodicand,well,tinklyeven.Thoughhergazestayed
thesame,heavyandobserving.“It’snaughtyofme,Iknow,butsometimes…”Shegazedallaround,andI
meanallaround.Herheadspinninginquickcircles,herneckcreasingandtwistinginthemostgrotesque
wayasshewrappedherslimarmstightlyaroundherimpossiblytinywaist.“Well,sometimesIjustcan’t

helpmyself.”Shelookedatmeagain,herheadhavingrotatedallthewaybackuntilitsnappedintoplace.
“But,seeingasyou’redeadlikeme,I’llplayfair.I’llstopwiththegames.Oh,andpleaseexcusemylack
ofmanners.Myname’sRebecca,bytheway.”ShesmiledanddippeddeepdownintowhatIimmediately
recognized as some old-school, ladylike curtsy. Bowing her head before me, and revealing an array of
evenmoreribbonsandbowsthatmeanderedtheirwaydownherback.

I hesitated, still a little shaken from the whole head-spinning display, and waiting to see what else

she’dcomeupwith,whatelseshehadplanned.

Butwhennothingmorehappened,whenshechosetoremainasthesame,over-accessorizedversion

of herself, I nodded slightly and said, “I’m Riley.” Hoping that alone would suffice, since I had no
intentiontocurtsy.Notthen,notever.

Only to hear her reply, “Riley?” She squinted, her eyes becoming two tiny pinpricks, devoid of all

light. “Why, excuse me for saying so, but isn’t that a boy’s name?” She tilted her head to the side and
stared.Hereyesprovidingnocluetowhatherrealthoughtsmightbe.Andstrangely,unlikealotofthe
other dead people I’d met before her, I was unable to hear them. Somehow she’d found a way to hide
themfromme.

“Do I look like a boy?” I responded, more than a little miffed by her comment, and wanting her to

knowshewastreadingonverythin,veryshakyground.

Butshejustpressedherlipstogetherandshruggeddaintily.Takingherownsweettimetoreply,acting

asthoughitwasjusttooclosetocall.Asthoughshewasactuallywaveringbetweenthetwochoicesof
maleversusfemale.

Iwasabouttowalkaway,decidingI’dhadenoughofhergames,whenshebroughtherhandtomy

shoulderandtapped.

Onlyonce.
Lightandquick.
Yetthatwasallittooktoinstantlytransportmeallthewaybacktomyveryfirstdayofschool.
Backtotheskinny,scrawny,jeans-and-sweater-wearingversionofme,sportingwhatcouldonlybe

describedasaveryill-advisedpixiecut.

Averyill-advisedpixiecutthatseemedlikeagoodideaatthetime(mostlybecausemysister,Ever,

hadgottenherhaircutshorttoo),butthatultimatelylefteveryone,bothclassmatesandteachers,assuming
Iwasaboy.

ItwasasthoughI’dgonebackintime.
I watched as the series of crumbly, old grave markers magically transformed into a group of small

desks,whiletheclumpoftall,creepytrees,withthewide,hollowed-outtrunksandlongspindlybranches
that reminded me of the gnarled old fingers on a storybook witch’s hands, turned into chalkboards and
easels.

The walls closing in all around me, keeping me, trapping me, until what had once been an old,

forgotten,abandonedcemeterytransformedintoanexactreplicaofmykindergartenclassroom.Thescene
playingoutexactlyasIremembered,completewithhystericallylaughing,fellowfive-year-olds,andan
overlyapologetic,red-facedteacher.

“Riley,I’msosorry,”Mrs.Pattersonsaid,hershouldersliftinginembarrassment,asaspotofcolor

burstforthonhercheeks.

ButthatwasnothingcomparedtothewayIfelt.
Ourfirstassignmentoftheday—justafterpinningournametagstoourchests—wastolineupintwo

separategroups:boysononeside,girlsontheother.Andaccordingtomyteacher,I’dalreadyfailedthat
particulartask.

One glance at my androgynous clothes and super-short, tomboyish haircut, and Mrs. Patterson had

assumedtheworst.

AssumedIwasaboy.
“Whatwithyour…Ijustassumedthatyou…”Herhandflutteredbeforeher,ashereyessearchedfor

adistraction,somekindofescape.

And I stood before my giggling classmates, my eyes squinched and stinging, my throat hot and dry,

experiencingthefullbruntofwhatitmeanstobehorriblyhumiliatedfortheveryfirsttimeinmylife.

Igazedatalltheothergirls,takinginaseeminglynever-endingseaofcurlsandbraidsandbarrettes

and ribbons, all of them dressed in varying shades of pink and purple and sky blue—not so unlike that
brattyghost-girlRebecca—andonethingbecameclear,perfectlyclear:Iwasprettymuchtheworstthing
apersoncouldbe.

Iwasdifferent.
Iwassomeonewhodidn’tfitin.
While I’d left my house just a little while before feeling nervous for sure, but mostly excited and

good,fifteenminutesintoit,I’dalreadybeentaggedasafreak.

I bolted from my place and made a run for the door. But unlike my real classroom, this door was

locked.

SothenIboltedtowardthelargewindows,buttheywerelockedtoo.
Leavingmewithnochoicebuttogazeallaround,searchingforanexit,andstrugglingtosettlemyself

asthehorribletruthslowlycreptuponme:

Iwastrapped.
Held hostage in a classroom full of giggling, mocking, sneering students, whose hysteria rose and

swelledandbecamesocontagious,evenmyteachercouldn’thelpbutjoinin.

Even though I knew, on some small level, that this wasn’t exactly real, that it hadn’t actually gone

down in quite that same way, it’s not like it mattered. Deep down inside, all the way down to the very
coreofme,theverysoulofme,theemotionswereexactlythesameastheyhadbeenthatday.

Ifeltembarrassed.
Humiliated.
Andfearful,andstupid,andcompletelyinsecure.
Butworstofall,Ifeltangry.
Angryatmyclassmatesformakingfunofme.
Angryatmyteacherforjoiningin.
Angryatmyselfformyinabilitytoblendin,fornotbeinglikealltheothergirls,fornottryingalittle

hardertofitin.

Surrounded by a chorus of laughter that threatened to swallow me completely, I railed against the

walls,thedoors,poundingharderandharder,untilonelaughinparticularstoodoutfromtherest.

One,single,tinklylaughthatraisedabovealltheothersandluredmerightoutofthatmess.
Theclassroomdissolved.
Theteacherandstudentsdisappeared.
Whilethesurroundingspacecontinuedtoshimmerandshineasthicksquaresofashraineddownall

around—driftinglazilyastheymadetheirdescent,clingingbrieflytomyshouldersandfeetbeforegetting

stirredupagain.Transformingthesceneintosomekindofdarklyglistening,sinistersnowglobeofsorts.

Shestaredatme,herfacesolemn,unforgiving,asherlongslimfingerstraipseddownthefrontofher

ridiculousdress.Pluckingatthefoldsofthebig,wide,yellowbowthatslashedrightacrosshermiddle,
shelookedatmeandsaid,“Hmmm,thatseemedmostunpleasantforyou.”AndbeforeIhadenoughtime
toreact,sheadded,“Infact,thatmust’veleftyoufeelingreallyawfulandangrynowdidn’tit?”

I lowered my head, gazing down past the swimsuit and cover-up I’d been wearing ever since I’d

arrived on the island, gazing all the way down to my ash-smudged toes and bare feet. Struggling to
compose myself, to regain my balance, my bearings, but the truth was that whole scene she’d just
manifestedonmybehalfhadleftmemilespastshaken.

WhileIhadnodoubtshewasbaitingme,tryingtoupsetme,getmeallriledupandangry,Ihadno

ideawhy.

AllIknewwasthatdespitetheabundanceofsparklesandbowsandcurls,thiswasonelittleghost

girlwhowasn’tmadeofsugarandspiceandeverythingnice.

Onthecontrary,Iwasprettydarnsureshewasmadeofsomethingmuchworse.
Rebeccahadadarkside.
Possiblyevenasecretofsomesort.
She’d been hanging around the earth plane for too long. So long she’d grown jaded and bored and,

let’sfaceit,meaninawaythatprovedjusthowmuchshedesperatelyneededtobecrossedoverbefore
shecouldgetanyworse.

ButeventhoughIknewallofthat,whenmyeyesmethers,IalsoknewtherewasnowayIcouldgoit

alone.

I’dstumbledinwhereIclearlydidn’tbelong,andIhadnoideahowtogetoutofthatmess.

Justasshehadappeared,shedisappeared.
Inaflashofshimmeringlightthatflitteditswayacrossthegravesuntilitvanishedfromsight.
Leaving me right back where I’d started, alone in that creepy graveyard with no sign of the psycho

dog, no sign of the psycho girl, no sign of anything other than the long-forgotten memory she’d so
effectivelyunearthed.

Theimpressionlingering,clinging,refusingtoletgo—stubbornlygrowingandstretchinguntilthatone

isolatedincidentbecamesobig,tookupsomuchspaceinmyhead,iteasilytrumpedeverythingelse.

IncludingtheversionIknewtobetrue.
While my more logical mind should’ve easily reminded me that the embarrassing scene I’d relived

wasjustasinglebriefepisodethatonlyoccurredthatonetime,asinglebriefepisodethatcertainlydidn’t
markmeasanoutcastforever—whileitshould’veremindedmehowI’dmanagedtoriseaboveitsoon
after,tothepointwherejustafewdayslater,twoofmyclassmates,SaraandEmma,eachtookapairof
scissors to their own hair in an attempt to mimic my look (much to their parents’ horror)—my logical
minddidn’tseemtobeworkingthatday.

My logical mind was taking a little vacay of its own, leaving me alone, defenseless, swarmed by

thoselong-buriedfeelingsofembarrassment,confusion,anddeepseethinganger.AndasImademyway
outofthatgraveyard,Icouldn’thelpbutgazeallabout,couldn’thelpbutwishtherewassomekindof
placeinwhichtodepositthosefeelings—asortofemotionaldumpingground,ifyouwill—sothatIcould
leavethembehindandsparemyselftheburdenofhavingtolugthemaround.

My thoughts were soon interrupted by the sight of Bodhi pushing his way through the fog that

continued to hover and pulse its way around the perimeter. Approaching me with a glaring gaze that
servedasaperfectmatchforhissteelytonewhenhesaid,“Okay,Riley.Nowthatyou’vehadyourfun,
now that you’ve enjoyed your little act of rebellion, I’m ordering you to come with me.” He leaned
forward, peering at me in a way that made it seem as though his face and voice were in a heated
competitiontoseewhichcouldcomeoffasthesternest.

IglancedbetweenButtercupandhim,wincingatthewaymydog,feedingoffBodhi’senergy,gazedat

mewithalookthatcouldonlybereadaspity.

“Becauseincaseyou’veforgotten,thiswassupposedtobeavacation.Anicelittletime-outsowe

couldbothrelax,havesomefun,and,yeah,maybeevengettoknoweachotheralittlebettersothatI’llbe
abletoguideyoumoreeffectivelyinthefuture.ButtheonlythingI’velearnedsofaristhatyouareeven
morestubbornthanIfirstthought.Imean,whenItellyouto—”

Istoppedhimrightthere,flashedapalminsurrenderandsaid,“Okay,okay,”asIquicklymovedpast

him.Morethanalittleeagertogetoutofthatdarkandcreepygraveyardandbackintothefog—desperate
toleaveitallbehind,bothliterallyandfiguratively,andgetonwiththerestoftheday.“I’mreadytohit
it,readytocheckoutthetownnow.I’mnolongerinterestedinthatpsychodog.Seriously,”Iadded,still
movingforward,mistakinghissilenceforskepticism,andwantingtoconvincehimthatmysuddenchange
ofheartwasforreal.Knowingalltoowellthatthepricefornotconvincinghimwouldbeanever-ending
stringofquestionsIhadnointentionofanswering.

Formorereasonsthanone,Iwasn’tabouttorevealwhatI’dbeenthrough—oratleastnotquiteso

soonanyway.NotwhileIwasstilltryingtomakesenseofitinmyownhead.

“Youwereright.”Inodded,alittletoovigorously,probablyoverdoingit,overstatingit,butit’snot

likethatstoppedme.I’dmadeamistake—aterrible,impulsivemistake.I’dmisjudgedmyabilitiesand,
even worse, I’d misjudged the seriousness of upsetting the Council. It was like a moment of temporary
insanity,butIwasoverit.Completelyoverit.Fromthispointon,IwasdeterminedtolistenanddoasI
wastold.I’dalreadyputitbehindme.IhopedBodhiwouldtoo.“Sowhatdoyousaywewalkorflyour
wayoutofhere?Eitherway,it’suptoyou.It’sallgoodasfarasI’mconcerned.”

I stopped. Stopped talking. Stopped walking. Just stood there with my back turned toward him,

reluctanttoglancebehindmeandseewhereI’dbeen.Butwhenmywordsweremetbynothingmorethan
along,lingeringsilence,Iwhirledaroundtofacehim.Readytosayordowhateverittooktogetoutof
thatplace,onlytorealizehehadn’theardasinglethingI’dsaid.

Bodhiwaspreoccupied.
Payingmenoattentionwhatsoever.
In fact, it was pretty much the opposite. He’d gotten all turned around and was headed off in an

entirelydifferentdirection.

Moving away from me in order to race toward a really pretty dark-haired girl, with the traitorous

Buttercupkeepingsharpathisheels.

AndthoughIcalledoutBodhi’sname,overandoveragain,itborenoeffect.Eitherhecouldn’thear

me,orhedidn’twanttohearme.Allofhisattentionwasclaimedbytheslim,petitefigurecrisscrossing
throughthesnarloftrees.

Allofhisattentionclaimedbytheswiftlymovinggirlwhoselongdarkhairliftedandbouncedand

whirledallaroundherlikeashinyblackcape.

Thegirlwhoselovelydarkeyesglintedandflashed,whosegleamingsmoothcheeksbrightenedand

flushed,whoseentirefacelitupinablendofjoyandloveanddelightedexpectationassheturnedand
smiledandbeckonedhimcloserwithacurlofherfingers.

Hecalledouttoher,thewordssoft,breezy,justbarelyawhisper,buttherewasnomistakingit.No

mistakingthetone,nomistakingtheallusionoflonging,ofyearning,whenBodhihaltinglycried,“Nicole
—please—don’tgo.Waitforme!”

His feet moving quickly, racing past clumps of dead grass, pressing through clusters of graves.

Gainingonher,gettingcloserstill,untilshestoppedbesideaparticularlygnarledoldtreeandshiftedher
gazefromBodhitome.

Andthat’swhenIsawit.
Sawwhatlaybehindthepetiteandprettyfacade.
ThoughIwastheonlyonewhosawit.
Therevealwasmeantsolelyforme.
Bodhicontinuedtoseewhathe’dalwaysseen,whichwassomethingelseentirely.
AndbeforeIcouldcallouttohim,beforeIcouldcatchuporwarnhiminsomeway,hewasgone.

Leavingmewithnochoicebuttojuststandthereandwatchassheliftedonedelicatefinger,andsmiled
asshetappedBodhi’sshoulder.

Onlyonce.
Lightandquick.
Butthat’sallittookforthebarriertoslamdownallaroundhim.
Slamdownaround—everything.
LeavingmewithnothingbutthewailofButtercup’splaintivehowls,thefadingwhisperofBodhi’s

yearningpleas,andthehorribletruthofwhatreallyjusthappenedbeforeme.

Rebecca.
Horrible,horrid,ghost-girlRebecca.
Withherglowing-eyedhellhoundbesideher—hadtrickedbothmyguideandmydogandstolenthem

fromme.

I stood there, gaping at a space that looked nothing like it had just a moment ago—nothing like the

spaceI’djustvacated.

Otherthanafewoftheoutlyingtreesandrocksandpatchyclumpsofdyingseagrass,therestofit,the

insidebits,werenowencasedinasortofglimmeringglow.

Itshimmered.
NotunliketheshimmerIsawbefore—theshimmerthathadturnedfromasmallbouncingballoflight

intoRebeccatheover-accessorized,meanlittleghostgirl.

Onlythisshimmerwasbigger.
Muchbigger.
Likeabig,shinybubblethatreacheditswayarounduntilithadnearlyencasedtheentiregraveyard.

Thebottompartblendingflushwiththeearth,whilethewallsandsidesweresosmoothandroundand
glossy,itwasnearlyimpossibletolookwithoutsquinting.

Likeamirror,itreflectedeverythingoutsideofit,whileobscuringthesecretsinside.
Although I couldn’t see past my own glaring reflection, I knew my guide and my dog were both

trappedinthesamewayI’dbeen.And,iftheirexperiencewasanythinglikemine—well,thentheywere
bothabouttofindthemselvesrelivingtheirownpersonalversionofhell.

Isquinchedmyeyestilltheywerenearlyshutandcontinuedtostareatthebubble,searchingmybrain

foranswers,clues,anythingBodhimight’vementionedaboutapretty,dark-hairedgirlnamedNicole,but
cameupempty.

Thetruthwas,Ididn’tknowmuchaboutBodhi’stimeontheearthplane.Asidefromwhenandhow

he’d died, aside from his claim that he was on his way to being a professional skateboarder, I was
ashamedtoadmitIdidn’tknowmuchofanything.

Iknewnothingaboutwherehecamefrom,nothingaboutwherehelived,whohisparentswere,his

friends,ifhehadanysiblings,andifheeverreallymissedhisoldlifeasmuchasIsometimesmissed
mine.

Though, I guess the amount of longing he held in his voice as he called out her name pretty much

answeredthatlastpart.

Hedidmissher.Alot.Thatmuchwasclear.ButwhatIdidn’tknowwaswhyhemissedher—who

shewas—whatshemight’vemeanttohim.

Islumpeddowntothegroundandcontinuedtosquintattheshinyglobebeforeme.Waveringbetween

feelings of deep-seated shame at being so self-centered I’d never even bothered to learn my guide’s
personalhistory—neverevenshowedtheslightestbitofinterestinlearning—andwonderingjustwhatit
wasIcoulddotobreakthemoutofthatplace.

HowIcouldfreethemfromRebecca’sworldofpain.
Whatmynextmovemightlogicallybe.
ThelongerIpondered,theworseitgot,asIallowedmyimaginationtotakeover.Runningamokwith

visions of Bodhi undergoing all manner of humiliation and emotional torture (our being dead may have
leftuswellpastthepointofphysicaltorture,butitdidnothingtoboostourimmunityagainstthingslike
fear and dread, and other forms of self-induced psychological warfare), while Buttercup … well, I
couldn’t imagine him ever experiencing a bad day in what had amounted to an overly cushy, almost

ridiculously indulgent, well-fed, well-cared-for, former life. But knowing Rebecca, she’d dig up
something,andIhadnodoubtitwouldinvolveherlaser-gazed,razor-toothedHellBeastcompanion.

Callitintuition,callitwhatyouwill:EventhoughIhadnosurewayofknowingwhatmight’vebeen

goingoninthere,Iknewitwaswrong.

Terribly,tragicallywrong.
IalsoknewthatI’dbroughtiton.
IfIhadn’tdecidedtogosnoopingaround,ifIhadn’tdecidedtogoagainstBodhi’swarningsandtrack

downthatstupidSnarlyYow,noneofuswouldbeinthispredicamentnow.

I’ddecidedtoexercisemyfreewillbystickingmystubbynosewhereitclearlydidn’tbelong.
Andnowmyguideandmydogwerebothtrappedasaresult.
Ifeltawful,guilty,and,truthbetold,morethanalittleworriedabouthowallofthiswouldgoover

withtheCouncil.Ihadnoideahowthey’dpunishme,thoughI’dnodoubttheywould.AndwhileBodhi
hadtriedtowarnmeagainstit,triedtowarnmeagainstdoingtheverythingIwassodeterminedtodo,
I’dfailedtolisten.Makingmesolelyresponsibleforgettingusintothismess,whichalsomademesolely
responsibleforgettingusout.

ButasworriedasIwasaboutwhatImightfaceonceIreturnedtotheHere&Now,atthatmoment,I

had to push it aside for more pressing concerns. My guide and my dog were trapped, and I could no
longer allow myself to sit there and do nothing about it. So I sprang to my feet, rushed toward that
gleamingbubble,andhurledmybodyagainstit.Poundingmyfistsintothesides,railingatitwithallof
mymight—butitwasnouse.

Itwasimpenetrable.
Despitemybestefforts,Ihadn’tlefteventheslightestsignofadent.
Onlyonethingwassure:
AbsolutelynoonewasallowedinoroutwithoutRebecca’sconsent.

Ishrankback,shrankawayfromitall.Feelinganxious,helpless,andwoefullyinadequateasIgazed

all around. Wondering if there was something else I could do that wouldn’t make it any worse than I
alreadyhad.

I’d already called out their names—already alternately pleaded with and threatened Rebecca—and

wasquicklynearingthepointoflosingittocompleteandtotalhysteria.

Waswellonmywaytobecomingsodesperate,Iwasactuallyconsideringmakingatripbacktothe

Here&NowsoIcouldtrytorecruitsomekindofbackupteamthatmightbewillingtohelpout—whenI
heardit.

Aslight,barelythere,rustlingkindofsoundthatseemedtoemanatefromeverywhereandnowhere.
Iturned,myfacewaryasIsearchedforthesource.Watchingasitslowlyemergedfromtheshrubbery

—afoot,aleg,atorso,ahead—allofitcomingforthtosay,“YouareRiley?”

His eyes bore into mine in a way that, well, had I still been required to breathe, let’s just say that

would’vebeentheexactmomentIheldmybreathuntilitswelledupintomycheeks.

Would’ve been the exact moment I held it for so long my face would’ve turned blue as my eyes

threatenedtopopfromtheirsockets.

But, as it was, I just met his stare with one of my own. Trying to decipher the truth from fiction—

unabletotellifwhatIwasseeingbeforemewasactuallyreal.

Eventhoughhewasn’ttheleastbitfamiliar,eventhoughthewordsthatfollowedmeantnothingtome,

thatdidn’tmeanRebeccawasn’tinonit,orsomehowbehindit.

Thatdidn’tmeanshehadn’tsenthimforthforthesolepurposeofterrorizingme.
“Howdoyouknowmyname?”Inarrowedmyeyesuntiltheywereslits.
“I am Kanta. Prince Kanta,” he said, keeping his face soft and still. “And you, Riley Bloom, have

nothingtofear.Oratleastnotfrommeanyway.”

I pulled my shoulders back, straightened my spine, and tilted my chin in a way that I hoped would

comeoffasfarmoreconfidentandcommandingthanImight’veseemedatfirst.Steadfastlyholdinghis
gaze as I said, “While that doesn’t really answer my question, just so you know, I have nothing to fear
fromanyone.Incaseyouhaven’tnoticed,I’mdead.”

Hehalfsmiled.Hintingatwhatcouldhavebeenadazzlingdisplayoflarge,slightlycrooked,boxy

white teeth, pink-tinged lips, and two very deep dimples that marked his smooth, dark skin—if only he
hadn’t dropped it so quickly. “As am I.” He nodded, presenting the words in a manner that was regal,
kind,andseriousallatonce.Thenhebowedlowbeforeme,hisshinybaldheaddippingandlifting,as
thosedeep,ebonyeyessettledonmine.“Normally,Iwouldallowtimeforamoreformalintroduction,
butI’mhopingwecanmovepastallofthatandgetdowntothebusinessathand.”

“What business?” My brow rose as I took note of the details: the impossibly high cheekbones, the

widenose,thefulllips,thestrongchin,andthewell-muscledbodywiththeultra-broadshoulderscladin
whatclearlyamountedtoadisgustingpileofrags.

My eyes grazing over a stained and battered white shirt that was neatly tucked into a pair of dark,

severely torn, threadbare trousers cut off and frayed at the knees, I couldn’t help but wonder just what
kindofprincewouldgoaroundlookinglikethat.Whysomeoneofnobility,royaltyeven,wouldpossibly
choosetodressso…shabbily.

ThoughIshouldn’thavebeensosurprised,sinceit’snotlikehewastheonlyone.Outofalltheghosts

I’dmetsofar,notoneofthemchosetostepitupanotch,keepupwiththechangingtimes,ortakethe
slightestbitofadvantageofthewonderfulgiftofinstantmanifestationthatprettymuchallowedforanall-
accesspasstotheclosetofyourwildestimagination.

AlloftheghostsI’dmetsofarhad(muchtomydisappointment)beenwillinglystuckinsomekindof

tragicallyunfashionabletimewarp,insistingonwearingthesametypesofclothestheywerelastseenin
alive,nomatterthedate.

“Iapologizeifmyhumbleappearancehasstartledyou,orleftyoudoubtingmygenuinenessinsome

way.”Heimmediatelyridhimselfoftherags,manifestinganelaboratelypatterned,colorfultunicintheir
place.“Itrustthislookwillnotoffend?”

I flushed, aware of the color rising to my cheeks as a look of embarrassment crept across my face.

And I couldn’t help but wonder when I would ever learn to think nicer thoughts now that pretty much
everyonearoundme(well,everyonewhowasdeadanyway)couldhearthem.Or,attheveryleast(and
farmoreplausibleconsideringitwasme),whenIwouldfinallylearnhowtoshieldthem.

I started to apologize, feeling bad for what he’d heard, but I didn’t get very far before he quickly

waveditaway.Liftinghishandandflashingoneheavilycallousedpalmashesaid,“Thereisnoneed.
Nor time for that matter. Please allow me to get right to the point since this is a matter of the utmost
urgency.Rebeccahastrappedyourgoodfriend,yes?”

“Whatmakesyousaythat?”Isquinted,notsureIcouldtrusthim.Notconvincedhecouldbeofany

realhelp.

“Iamawareofeverythingthathappensintheseparts.Every.Thing.Includingyourname.I’vebeen

awareofyouandyourproblemfromthemomentitstarted.Whichalsomeans,Iknowyouareinneedof
myhelp.”

I looked at him, part of me wanting to deny I even had a problem, mostly because I was a little

creepedout.

Okay, maybe I was a lot creeped out. I mean, here he’d pretty much just jumped out of the bushes,

appeared out of nowhere really, claiming to know everything—and since I couldn’t hear his thoughts
either,Ihadnowayofknowingjustwhathismotivesmightbe.

But when I gazed into his kind and shining eyes, I realized that thought had come from the more

paranoidpartofme.

ThemorereasonablepartknewIneededhelp.
Neededit,like,prontotosaytheleast.
I’d gotten myself into quite a mess—found myself in a situation so beyond me, I was left with no

choicebuttolookforasolutionoutsideofmyown,admittedlymeager,means.

Iwasfartoolostandcluelesstoeventrytogoitalone.
Andthat’sprettymuchtheonlyreasonIdecidedtotaketheleap—decidedtoplaceallmytrustinthis

odd,shabbystrangerwhoclaimedtobeaprince,despitethepileofevidencetothecontrary.

AllowingthemorelogicalpartofmetoreignasIsquaredmyshoulders,lookedhimstraightinthe

eye,andsaid,“Idoneedyourhelp.Ireallydo.Notonlydoesshehavemyfriend,butshe’sgotmydog
too.”

He regarded me carefully, his face solemn, eyes grave, his gaze sweeping mine as though giving it

somemajorlyseriousconsideration.

Then, without another word, with no other signal than the slightest nod of his shiny bald head, he

turned,motionedformetofollow,andledmerightoutofthatgraveyard,awayfromthebubbleandover
towhatappearedtobeasmall,straw-coveredhutonthesand.

Istoodattheentrance,totallyunwillingtoventureanyfarther.Drummingmyfingersagainsttheside

ofmyhip,asIsaid,“So,Iguessthisisyour…palace?”Iscrunchedupmynoseandsurveyedtheplace.

Takinginthethatchedroof,thefourdried-outbamboosticksthatsupportedit,thewoven-grassmat

thatstoodinassomesortofcarpet,andthetwobrightlycoloredpillowshe’darrangedinthecenter—
surroundingssoplainandhumble,Ihavetoadmitthatmyalreadyshakyfaithinhimtookaprettyswift
nosedive.

Imean,nottoberudeoranything,butdidn’theclaimtobeaprince?
Hadn’theactuallymadeitapointtoemphasizetheword?
Iwatchedashebusiedhimselfinthecorner,hisbackturnedtowardmeashetookonsomekindof

task.Ignoringmycomment,payingmeabsolutelynoattentionwhatsoever,anditwasthenthatIrealized
whatI’dfailedtoseebefore.

PrinceKantawascrazy!
Likeoneofthosepoor,destitute,homelesspeopleIsometimessawwanderingaroundandmuttering

tothemselvesbackonthestreetsintheearthplane.

Hewasdelusional.
Insane.
Livinginsomemade-upfantasyworldthatexistedonlyinhishead—aworldwhereprincesdressed

inragsandlivedinshacks.Fullyconvincedhewassomekindofroyalty,wheninfact,fromwhatIcould
see, he was anything but. And apparently I’d been just dumb enough, just desperate enough for him to
almostsucceedinconvincingmetoo.

I started to bolt, eager to get myself the heck out of there, when he turned, held his hands cupped

beforehim,andofferedmesomekindofteahe’djustbrewed.

Iroseuponmytiptoesandpeeredatthedark,steamingliquidinthesmallyellowcup—sawtheway

thesmallbitsofleafclungtoeachotherandcollectedaroundtheedges.Myeyesnarrowinginsuspicion
aseverywarningI’deverheardaboutthedangersoftakingcandyfromstrangers,especiallycompletely
wacko,psychostrangers,camebacktohauntme.(NevermindthefactthatmybeingdeadensuredIcould
nolongerbeharmedinthatway.)

“Takeit.”Hethrustituponmeashereachedforacupofhisown.Loweringhimselfontotheblue

patternedcushioninonequick,fluidmove,hepattedtheorangeonewiththelargestarburstdesignjust
besideit.“Nowsit,”hecommanded.

Iknewbetter.
Knew I should take that opportunity to get myself the heck out of there. Take advantage of my

proximitytotheentryandjusthititwhileIcould.

But instead, for some inexplicable reason, I found myself sitting right down beside him. Obediently

crossingmylegsasIheldthewarmcupinmyhands.

Heblewontheliquid,probablymoreoutofhabitandritualthanactualnecessity,gazingoutatthose

turquoisewatersforwhatseemedlikeaverylongtime.GazingattheseaforsolongIwasstartingtoget
morethanalittlebitantsy.Startingtogetmorethanalittleannoyedwiththewholesituation.Surethat
therewasnowaysomedumbMadHatter–styleteapartycoulddoanythingtowardhelpingmefreemy
friends.Ifanything,itwastheexactopposite—itwasallamountingtoabigwasteoftime.

And I was just about to express those feelings when he looked at me and said, “Drink.” Probably

figuringsinceI’dalreadygonealongwithhisearliercommands,I’djustblindlygoalongwiththattoo.

ButIwasdonebeingbossedaround.Donebeingtreatedlikeoneofhisroyalsubjects,andIwasjust

abouttostartmakingafewdemandsofmyownwhenheturned,lookedmerightintheeye,andsaidit
again.

“Drink.”
Itriedtobreakhisgaze,butcouldn’t.
Triedtogettomyfeetandgetmyselfoutofthere,butIcouldn’tdothateither.
Itwasasthoughhiseyeswereholdingmecaptive,paralyzed,inthestrangestofways.AndthemoreI

triedtofightit,themoreIrealizedjusthowuselessitwas.

Thewordcameatmeagain:
Drink.
Hisstaredeepeningashepluckedaloosethreadfromhisrobeanddroppeditrightintomycup.
Andeventhoughthesightofitdisgustedme,eventhoughImademydisgustknownbyshoutingout

“Ew!”—even though not one single part of me actually consented to the act—my hands somehow
magicallylifted,rosefrommylaptomymouth,whereItiltedthecup,broughtittomypartedlips,and
allowedtheliquidtoseepout.

Drink.
The word swirling, repeating, clouding my head, my vision, my will—until the cup fell from my

fingers,drainedofitscontents,andmybodycollapsedtotheground.

Iwassurroundedbymist.Thick,white,shimmeringmist.Myeyessquinting,straining,strivingtosee

mywaypastit,vaguelyawareofsomeplaceIneededtobejustontheothersideofit.

Someimportantdestinationheurgedmetoreach.
I pushed forward, my hands sweeping before me, trying to clear the space by batting away all the

haze.Myfirstfewattemptsyieldednosuccesswhatsoever;infact,ifanything,theyjustseemedtomake
thefoggrowthicker,butthen,littlebylittle,itbegantofadeawayuntilIfoundmyselfstandingbeforea
simple,butstillratherimpressive,castle,likeafortresswithasturdystonewallallaroundit.

“Isthisit?Isthiswhatyouwantedmetosee?”IglancedovermyshoulderatPrinceKanta,seeing

himnodinreply.

Andtherewassomethingaboutthewayheobservedit,somethingaboutthewayhiseyescreased,the

wayhisthroatbobbedjustalittle—somethingaboutthewayheheldhimselfsosilentandstill—thattold
methattohimanyway,thiswasmorethansomerandomoldpalacewe’djuststumbledupon.

HisfaceworeanexpressionIknewalltoowell.
ItwasthesameexpressionIsometimesworewhenIsnuckintotheViewingRoombackintheHere&

Now,whereIhunkereddowninoneofthosecurtainedoffcubicles,satononeofthosehardmetalstools,
punchedinmydesiredlocation,andwatchedthedailygoings-onofmysisterandfriendsbackhomeon
theearthplane.

Itwasthelookofresolvedlonging.
Thekindoflookyougetwhenyourealizethattheonethingyoulovedmostintheworldcanneverbe

yours.

“So,youreallywereaprince.”Ilookedathimwitharenewedsenseofawealongwithagooddose

ofguilt.Feelingterribleforstillhavingnotlearnedmylessonaboutjudgingbyappearancesandchoosing
to doubt him based purely on his clothes and the hut he chose to live in. But still, it’s not like I could
reallybeblamedfortheverdictwhenalltheevidencesoclearlypointedagainsthim.

“Iwasindeed.”Henodded,turninghisbacktothescene.“Iwasindeed.”
Hewavedatmethen,startedtoleadusaway,butafterworkingsohardtogetthere,Iwasn’tquite

readytoditchitsosoon.

“That’sit?”MybrowquirkedasItiltedmyheadandthrewmyhandsupbymysides.“Youseriously

wenttoallthetroubleofdruggingmewithyourspecialtea,onlysoyoucouldgivemeaquickpeekat
someoldcastlethentrytoconvincemetoleave?Becauseexcusemeforsayingso,butitseemslikethe
leastyoucoulddoafterputtingmethroughallofthatistogivemeatour,showmearoundabit.Atleast
getmepastthebiggate,Imean—sheesh!”

I started to shake my head, started to roll my eyes, not quite completing the loop before he said,

“There is plenty more to see, trust me on that.” His large dark eyes bore down on mine. “But there is
nothingmoretoseehere.Thisplacenolongerexists.It’sbeengoneformanycenturiesnow.Youmust
understand,Riley,thateverythingontheearthplaneisimpermanent.Every.Thing.Theonlythingyoucan
evercountoninthephysicalworldischange.Changeistheonlyconstantthereis.”

Heraisedhishandhighandpointedtosomethingjustpastmyshoulder.AndIturnedtofindthesky

thatjustamomentagohadbeenhazybutclear,turnedthickwithsmoke,whiletheplacewherethepalace
oncestoodwasreducedtoapileofrubbleanddust,asthegroundjustbeneathranredwithblood.

“Wewereinvaded,”hetoldme,hisvoicesteadyandsure.AndwhenIlookedathimagain,Inoticed

thatthetatteredoldragshadreturned,replacingtheeleganttuniche’dmanifestedearlier.“Asaresult,I
endeduphere.”

“Ontheisland?”Iscrunchedupmynose,surprisedtofindmyselfsuddenlyreturnedtothebeachonce

again.Onlyitwasdifferent.DifferentinawayIcouldn’tquiteputmyfingeron.

Henodded,wordlesslypointingtowardaverylargehouseonahill.Abig,loomingplantation-style

home—likethekindyouseeinmoviesorintextbooks—whichwhilenotnearasbigasthepalacehe’d
justshownme,stillheldafairamountofsquarefootagefromwhatIcouldtell.

I glanced between Prince Kanta and the house, knowing it was supposed to mean something,

symbolizesomething,butnotquitesurewhatthatwas.“So,basicallyyouwentfromanAfricanpalace,to
a Caribbean plantation house, to the thatched roof hut on the beach, where, for whatever reason, you
choosetoliveinnow.”Iturned,myeyestravelingthelong,talllengthofhim,buthejustremainedsilent
andstill.“Imean,youdochoose to live there, right? Because if not, if you’re really not all that happy
with that kind of…” I paused, searching for just the right word that wouldn’t come off as overly
judgmentaloroffensive,butunabletocomeupwithanythingquick,Iwentontosay,“Anyway,youdo
knowthatyoucanmanifestawholenewplacejustaseasilyasyoucanmanifesttheclothesyouwear?”I
lookedathim,tryingtoreadhisface,butdidn’tgetmuchofanything.“Astone,acastle,there’snolimit—
allyouhavetodoisenvisionit,seeyourselfhavingit,andit’syours—easy-peasy!”

Heturnedaway.Turneduntilhisbackwasfacingme.AndIhavetosay,thatreallyannoyedmesinceI

wasn’tquitedonewithmypitch.Ifanything,Iwasjustgettingstarted,wasjustabouttoinformhimofmy
positionasaSoulCatcher,andoffertoescorthimtothebridgeassoonasthiswasallover.

ButjustasIwasabouttolaunchintoallthat,heglancedoverhisshoulder,pressedhisfingertohis

lips, and pointed straight ahead as he whispered, “You make too much noise, Miss Riley Bloom. And
becauseofit,youmissthewholepoint.Justwatch.Don’tspeak.Allowthestorytocometoyou.”

Okay, in all honesty, that about quadrupled my annoyance. I mean, here he’d led me away from my

friendswhowereindesperateneedofmyhelp,onlytodistractmewithsomefreakyteaandarandom
collectionofnot-so-impressivepiecesofrealestatehewasdeterminedtoshowme.

AndnowhewastellingmethatItalktoomuchandtobasicallyshutup?
Oratleastthat’showitsoundedtome.
Andyet,despiteallthat,forsomereasonIfoundmylipsclampingtogetherasmygazefollowedthe

tipofhispointingfingerallthewaytowhereamanwholookedexactlylikePrinceKanta,amanwho,
after a few moments of observation, I realized was Prince Kanta, spent what must’ve been some major
backbreakingdaysworkingthefields.

“I—Idon’tgetit,”Iblurted,rememberingtoolatehowhedidn’twantmetospeak.Butstill,Iwas

confusedandinneedofsomeanswers,andhewastheonlyonearoundwhowasabletogivethem.“I
thought you were a prince? I thought you lived in that castle in Africa?” He looked at me, nodding in
confirmation.“Sowhywouldyouleaveacushylifelikethatonlytocomeheretogetbeatenandwhipped
nomatterhowhardyouwork?”

Butthenithitme.
Beforehecouldanswer,thereasonbecameclear.
PrinceKantamayhavemovedtothisisland,butitwasn’tbychoice.
PrinceKantamayhavebeenarulerinAfrica,butinthisplace,hedidn’tevenrulehisownlife.
He’dgonefromaluxuriouslifeofnobility—tothehorridlifeofaslave.

Forced to work the plantation from sunup to sunset, and suffer terrible beatings whenever he was

unfortunateenoughtodispleasehismaster.

“Impermanence.”Henodded,tearinghiseyesawayfromthebleaksceneinordertolookintomine.

“It’slikeIsaidearlier,nothinglastsforever,Riley.Wherewebeginisnotalwaysthesameaswherewe
end.”

Igulped—anoldhabitleftoverfrommytimeontheearthplane—asIturnedawayfromtheprince

andwatchedthehorriblescenethatunfoldedbeforeme.Watchedaseriesofbeatings,inhumaneactsof
torture,includingonethatwassounspeakable,sobarbaric,sounimaginablycruel,Iwassureitcouldn’t
bereal.Iwassurehewasseriouslypushingthetruthjusttomakeanimpressiononme.

Butdespitemybestefforttolookaway,despitemyturningmyback,shuttingmyeyes,andplacingmy

handsovermyearstodrownoutthoseawful,tormented,agonizedcries—despiteallofthoseavoidance
techniquesIemployed—therewasjustnoescapingit.

NomatterhowhardItriedtoshieldmyselffromit,thescenecontinuedtoplayoutbeforeme—behind

me—aroundme—insideme.

Andsincetherewasnowaytostopit,nowaytosilenceit,Iwasleftwithnochoicebuttoallowitto

runtillitsend.

SoIwatched.
Watchedasagroupofslaveswereroundedup,oneswho’dbeendeemeddisobedient,troublesome,in

awaythatangeredtheplantationowner.

Watchedastheywerehauledovertoalong,pristineexpanseofbeachwheretheywereburiedupto

theirnecksinwhitesand.

Watchedasacruelandsadisticmaster,alongwithhisfriends,enjoyedagameof“bowling”—using

theslave’sexposedheadsaspins.

Watchedasoneslaveafteranothersuccumbedtoatragicallyhorrendous,untimelydeath.
Itwashideous.
Thetruedefinitionofgruesome.
Anditwashardtoimaginethatanyonecouldenjoysomethingsocruel.
Yet, there it was, a revolting piece of history playing out before me. And thankfully, after a few

momentsofwatching,PrinceKantawaskindenoughtoremoveitfrommyview.

ButeventhoughIwasnolongerforcedtowatch,theimageslingered,continuingtoplayinmyhead.

Leavingmesickened,saddened,andsoincrediblyangrytothinkitwentonforaslongasithad,andthat
nooneevenoncetriedtostopit.

Iwasjustabouttoexpressthoseverythoughts,justabouttotelltheprincehowverysorryIwaswhen

anewsceneappeared.

Oneinwhichthetableswereturned.
Oneinwhichtheoppressedroseup,gatheredtogether,andsystematicallyovercametheiroppressors.
Arevoltwasinprogress—theslavesversusthemasters.
And if I’d still had a heart beating inside me, that would’ve been the moment when it lifted and

skipped.ReleasedfromtheweightysceneI’dwatchedonlyamomentearlier,Ifeltlighter,brighter,sure
thatIwasabouttoseesomemuch-neededjustice.

Thefirstonetogowasthatsadisticplantationowner.AndI’dbelyingifIsaidIdidn’traisemyfist

intheairandpumpitwithjoy.

Butitwasn’tlongbeforemyjoyturnedtosomethingelseentirely,whenPrinceKantaplacedhishand

overmineandslowlylowereditbacktomyside,silentlynoddingtowardthescenethatplayednext.

Theoneofthemaster’sdaughter—whowentjustafterherdad.
AgirlIfiguredtobearoundthesameageasme.
Agirlwithcurlybrownhair,deephazeleyes,along,elegantnose,anoverlyembellisheddresswith

abigyellowbowthatslashedacrossthemiddle,andasmallblackdogbyherside.

AgirlIimmediatelyrecognizedasRebecca.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself positioned in a way that left me staring directly at Prince

Kanta’scallousedbarefeet.Mycheekpressedhardagainstthewoven-grassmat,mybodystilltoppledon
itsside.

Andthat’swhenIrealizedthatdespiteallthethingsI’djustseen,Ihadn’tactuallygoneanywhere.
Hadn’tsteppedfootoffthebeach,orevenoutofhishutforthatmatter.
Theteawasthejourney.
Iscrambledtogetmyselftogether,rearrangingmylimbsuntilIwasuprightagain.GazingatPrince

Kantawhosatrightbeforeme,asamessofconflictingemotionsranamokinmyhead.

Iwasspeechless.
Completelygobsmackedandspeechless.
Which,ifyou’vefollowedmetothispoint,thenyouknowisnotexactlyafeelingI’musedto.
ButtoPrinceKanta’scredit,it’snotlikehetriedtorushme.Infact,heseemedprettycontenttojust

remainrightthereonhispillow,legscrossed,feetproppeduponhisknees,ashecalmlyobservedthe
ceaselesslullandswayofthesea.AllowingmeallthetimeIcouldpossiblyneedtomakesomekindof
senseoutofallthehorriblethingsI’djustseen.

“So Rebecca haunts the earth plane because she was murdered?” I ventured, figuring I had to start

somewhereandthatwasasgoodaplaceasany.“Andifso,isthatwhyyouhauntittoo?”

Hefacedme,observingmewiththatinfinitegazeofhis.HoldingthelookforsolongthatIstartedto

growalittleantsy,alittleuneasy,untilhefinallysaid,“Notexactly.”

Iscrunchedmybrowupundermybangsandwaitedforhimtoelaborateinsomeway.Butwhenhe

didn’t, when he just continued to sit there, I decided to press full speed ahead and say, “So, I guess I
reallydon’tgetitthen.Imean,whyisshehere?What’sthepointofthebubbleand…andalltherest?”I
wincedatthewaymyvoicecrackedinthemiddle,knowingitrevealedthefullextentofmydesperation
tomakesomekindofsenseofit.

BackonmyveryfirstassignmentasaSoulCatcher,itdidn’ttakelongtolearnthatknowingaghost’s

motivations,theirreasonsforlingeringbehindontheearthplane,couldonlyhelpwhenitcametimeto
dealingwiththem.AndseeinghowRebeccahadtrappedmyfriends,well,Iwasmorethanalittleeager
tolearnjustwhatitwasthatmotivatedher.

SoIwaited.Waitedforwhatfeltlikearidiculouslylongstretchofthemostagonizingsilence.Waited

untilPrinceKantafinallylookedatmeandsaid,“Rebeccahauntstheearthplanebecausesheisangry.
Very,veryangry.Andwhileit’struethatherangerisaresultofhermurder,themurderitselfisnotwhat
keepsherboundhere.Theangeraloneisresponsibleforthat.”

Okay,ononelevelIgotit,butontheother,Ireallydidn’t.Andknowinghewasn’tthetypetojustgive

awaytheanswers,thatheprettymuchinsistedIworkforthem,Isaid,“So,isthatwhyyoustaybehind
too?Becauseyou’realsoangryaboutwhathappenedtoyou?”

Iclutchedmyhandsinmylap,nervouslyentwiningmyfingers.Seeingthewayhisfacetransitioned

through a variety of expressions, sure I’d somehow insulted him, overstepped some sort of unseen
boundary,whenhedidprettymuchthelastthingIexpected.

Hesmiled.
Okay,maybeitwasmoreofahalfsmile.

But still, his cheeks widened, his lips lifted and curled at the sides, just enough to encourage those

twin dimples to spring into view. It was all right there before me—the full-on beginnings of what
could’veresultedinatrulylovelygrin—butthenhedroppedthatsmilesoquicklyIwasleftwonderingif
itreallyhadoccurred.

“Inthebeginning,Iwaskeptherebymyanger,yes.”Henodded,facesolemnandseriousonceagain.

“Butnolonger.”

I sat with his words, tossing them around in my head, going over them carefully, repeating them

silently again and again. But despite all my efforts, despite my analyzing as best I could, I was still no
closertounderstandingjustaboutanythinghe’dsaid.

Obviously,IgotthepartaboutangerbeingthegluethatboundRebeccahereandthatusedtobindhim

hereaswell,andbippidyblahblah.Imean,duh,it’snotlikeI’mstupid.ButwhatIdidn’tgetwasthatif
hewasnolongerangry,ifhewasnolongerboundtotheearthplaneinthatparticularway,thenwhystay?
Whyhangontosuchahorrifyingpast,whenitwasjustaseasytomoveontosomethingelse—something
betterthanwhathecurrentlyhad?

FiguringI’dtakeonelaststabatofferingmyservices,Ilookedathimandsaid,“So,ifyou’vemoved

past your anger, then why not cross the bridge already? I mean, I’m not trying to brag or anything, but
gettingpeopletotheothersideisprettymuchmyspecialty.”

I couldn’t help but smile when I said it; I felt so empowered by the words. Reminded that I had a

purpose,onethatIwasactuallygoodat,andforamomentanyway,itlessenedsomeoftheguiltIhadfor
gettingmyfriendstrapped.

ButPrinceKantawouldhavenoneofit,andifhewasimpressedbymyareaofexpertise,well,let’s

justsayhedidaprettygoodjobofhidingitfromme.

Apparently, he had no interest in the bridge, the Here & Now, or anything of the sort. He seemed

perfectlycontentjustmakingdowiththefunkygrasshut,theshabbyclothes,andthefreakytea.

“Icannotbefreeuntilmybrothersandsistersarealsofree.”Thewords,simple,crisp,spokeninan

accentthatwasreallystartingtogrowonme.AndyetIcouldn’thelpbutfeelasthoughtheyweren’tquite
whattheyfirstseemed.

Itwasasthoughhewasspeakinginriddles.
Asthoughhewashidingsomethingfromme.
Andthat’sprettymuchallittooktoignitemysuspicionsagain.
“Too many remain stuck here. I cannot enjoy my release until they are also released,” he added,

thoughthewordsdidn’tdomuchtoappeaseme.

It’slike,ifhewassoreluctanttomoveon,thenfine,whatever,hischoice.Imean,maybeBodhiwas

right—maybe I should just stick with the jobs the Council assigned, and ignore all the other lingering
soulsIhappenedtocomeacross.

AllIknewforsurewasthatforeveryminuteIspentinthathuttalkingnonsensewiththeprinceand

viewingscenesthathadnothingtodowithme,IlostanothersixtysecondsduringwhichIcould’vebeen
helpingmyfriends.

Irosetomyfeet,myvoiceagitated,alittlebitangryeven,whenIstaredrightatPrinceKantaand

said,“Listen,excusemeforsayingso,butIdon’treallygetwhyyoucouldn’thavejusttoldmeallthat
fromthestart.Imean,whyallthis?”Iwavedmyarmbeforeme.“Whydragmeoutheretodrinkyour
freakytea,whenyoucould’vejustsummarizedthewholethingbackinthegraveyard?”Iglared,knowing
myemotionswerestartingtogetthebestofme,butatthatmoment,Ididn’treallycare.“Imean,it’snot

like you don’t know that my friends are trapped and in desperate need of my help, and yet, instead of
offering the help that you promised, you chose to drag me out here just so you could totally waste my
time.”Ishookmyheadandmadeforthedoorway,notevenbotheringtolookovermyshoulderwhenI
said, “Listen, if you ever feel like leaving this place, let me know. I’ll see if there’s room in my
schedule.”

Ihadeveryintentionofbolting,hadplacedonefootfirmlyoutsideofthathut,butIwassoonstopped

byhisvoicewhenhesaid,“Theteaiscalledmemorytea.”

Ipaused,glancingovermyshouldertofindhimshootingmeapointedlook.
“And you are right, I could have just told you the story. That would have been easy enough. But I

chosetheteaforareason.Iwantedyoutoobservethestoryonyourown,ratherthantohearmypossibly
biased version. I also could have immersed you in the scene and let you experience it directly, but I
thoughtittoohorrific,toofrighteningforachildyourage.Besides,thatsortofthingismoreRebecca’s
domain.”

Inarrowedmyeyesintoslits.NarrowedmyeyestillIcouldjustbarelymakeoutthetall,darkoutline

ofhim.AndeventhoughI’msurehiswordsmadeallthesenseintheworldtohisears—tomine,notso
much.

Itwasjustanotherriddle.
Morecraftilywordednonsensethatmademedoubthimevenmore.
I folded my arms across my chest, screwed my lips to the side, and took another step forward.

Stopped again by the sound of his voice when he said, “Words have the power to harm or heal, Riley.
Theycanbeusedtopaintmanyemotionallandscapes.Andtheyareofteninfluenced,ifnotbiased,bythe
speaker.Itwasnecessaryforyoutoexperiencethestorywithyourowneyes,toviewitthroughyourown
filter,yourownsetofbiasesandprejudices,andtonotbeinfluencedbymine.Thereisnothinglikebeing
atruewitnesstosomethingtogainyourownuniqueunderstandingofit.Sotellme,Riley,wereyounot
movedbywhatyousaw?I’mcurioustohearyourperceptionofit.”

I was more than ready to bolt, eager to get back to that snow globe from hell where Bodhi and

Buttercup were in desperate need of my help. But just like before, the one thing I wanted most at that
momenthappenedtobeindirectoppositiontotheonethingIdid.

Insteadofleaving,insteadofbiddingadiostotheprince,Iturned,turneduntilIwaslookingrightat

himagain,andtriedtoexplaintheconfusingarrayofemotionsI’dfelt—emotionsIwouldhappilychoose
toneverexperienceagain.ButnowthatI’dfeltthem,nowthatthoseawfulsceneshadenteredmymind,I
knewtherewasnogettingridofthem.

Later,theymightgettuckedawaysomewheredarkandnotoftenvisited,butit’snotlikethey’dever

reallyvanishcompletely.It’snotlikethey’deverdisappear.

Onceintroduced,they’dstaywithmeforever.
Therewasnoemotionaldumpinggroundforthatsortofthing.
AndbeforeIknewit,Iwasbackinthehut.Leaningagainstoneofthebamboosticksthatheldupthe

roof, avoiding his gaze as I searched for a way to explain. Part of me wanting to say something sassy,
snarky—thekindofthingmymomreferstoasmouthy.

Imean, how didhe think Iperceived what I’d seen?How would anysane person—either living or

dead—perceiveit?

Thewordspracticallyleaptoffmytongue,beggingtobeheard,butthen,whenIlookedathimagain,

whenmyblueeyesstaredintohisdarkbrownones,well,thosewordsdisappearedasawholestringof

newonesjumpedintotheirplace.

“Atfirst,Iwasamazedthatyouwerereallyaprince.Ithoughtforsureyouliedaboutthat.”Isnucka

quickpeekathim,relievedtoseethathelookedalotclosertoamusedthanoffended,whichItookasa
sign to continue. “I felt awful when you lost everything, and even worse when I saw the beatings you
suffered.Andwhentherevoltbegan,well,Iwasseriouslyreadytocheer,butthen…”Ihesitated,seeing
thewayheurgedmeonwithhisrisingbrowandnoddinghead.“Butthen,itallstartedtoseemlikesome
horriblecycleofviolence.EspeciallywhenIrealizedthattheslaveswererevoltingsotheycouldtake
overandbringinawholenewsetofslaves.Anditjustseemedsopointless.Likeabattlenoonecould
evertrulywin.Anendlesscycleofabuse,anditleftmereallysad.”

Hehalfsmiledagain.Remindingmeofthewaythesunwouldpeekoutfromthecloudsonanovercast

dayontheearthplane,justlongenoughtobestowabriefhintofwarmthbeforedisappearingagainand
turningeverythinggray.

Andthat’sprettymuchtheexactmomentwhenmysecondgoalwasadded.
AftermakingsurethatBodhiandButtercupwerefreedfromRebecca’strap,Iwasdeterminedtosee

theprincesmileforreal.

Watchingasherosequicklytohisfeetandsaid,“Youareright.Itisaviciouscycleindeed.During

myreignasprince,IkeptmyownsetofslavesuntilmycastlewasinvadedandIwassoldasaslaveand
senthere—onlytorevoltagainstmymasterwiththehopeoftakingovertheislandandenslavingothersin
thesamewayI’dbeen.”Heshookhisheadandtookhistimeinlookingmeover.“Ihaveseenbothsides
of this madness, and now, after sharing that with you, and because of your deep understanding, you are
readytomakethejourneyinsideRebecca’sworld.”

“Youwillneversucceedwithsuchamethod.Youaregoingaboutitallwrong.”
Wewerestandingjustoutsideofthebubble—
No,scratchthat.
The truth is Prince Kanta was standing just outside the bubble while I was pressed up against it,

poundingandkickingthesmooth,glossyexteriorwitheverybitofmy(undeniablymeasly)strength.

Iglancedovermyshoulder,noteventryingtohidemyannoyance.“Oh,yeah?Sowhydon’tyoucome

overandhelpinsteadofjuststandingtherewatchingmefail.Whydon’tyoushowmehowit’sdone,if
youknowsomuch?”

But the prince made no move to help. He just remained right where he was. Neither flinching nor

wincing—not reacting to my tone or my words in any way, shape, or form. In fact, he was so still and
serious,Iactuallywonderedifhe’dheardme.ThoughI’dyelleditsoloudly,Iwasprettysureit’dbeen
impossibletomiss.

I’djustturnedbacktotheglobeandwasabouttostartpoundingagainwhenhesaid,“Youwillnever

succeedwithresistance,Riley.Inthiscase,asinmostcases,resistancejustbegetsmoreresistance.Or,in
otherwords,whatyouresist—persists.Acceptanceistheonlyway.”

Oh,brother.
Irolledmyeyesandshookmyhead,annoyedtothepointwhereInolongercaredifhesaw.
AsfarasIwasconcerned,itwasjustawholelotofpsychobabble,morecrazytalkcomingrightup,

and it was getting me nowhere. For whatever reason, rather than actually helping me, he’d chosen to
distractme,annoyme,andjustgenerallywastemytimeinstead.Andonceagain,I’dfoundthatI’dpretty
muchreachedmylimitwithhim.

Inarrowedmygaze,glaringathiminsuchawaythatIwouldn’thavebeentheleastbitsurprisedif

greatplumesofsmokeshotoutfrommynoseandmyears.Myvoiceharsh,edgy,makingabsolutelyno
furtherattemptatgoodmanners,littleniceties,orthesmallestofpleasantries,whenIsaid,“Listen,maybe
youmeanwell,maybeyoudon’t,onlyyouknowforsure.Buteitherway,Ithinkyouneedtoknowthat
I’mprettymuchdonelisteningtothesecrazyphilosophicalriddlesthatIdoubtevenyouunderstand.”I
pushedmylong,side-sweptbangsoffmyface,triedtotuckthembackbehindmyears,butbeingjusta
smidgentooshort,theyfellrightbackintomyeyes,soIdecidedtoleavethemthere.“Soeitheryouhelp
mebreakintothisbubblesoIcanfreemyfriends,or—”

Oureyesmet.
“Oryou…don’t.”Iliftedmyshoulders,knowingthatasfarasthreatswent,itwasaprettypathetic

one,butstill,atthatmoment,itwasthebestIcoulddo.“Eitherway,Ihavenotimetowaste,soifyou
don’tmind—”

Ireturnedtothebubble,myfistrisinghighabovemyhead,justabouttobringitbackdownandsmash

ithardagainsttheside,whenitwascaughtinmidairbytheprince.

Hisfingerscircledmywrist,ashiseyesboreintomine.Thenslowly,withnocooperationonmypart,

heunfoldedmyfingers,oneatatime.Straighteningandspreadingthemasheloweredmypalmandgently
placeditontothebubbleuntilitwasflushagainstthesurface,hisfacecalm,eyeskind,softlycooingina
waythatstrangelysentasoothingwaveofcalmcoursingthroughme.

“Shhh…”Helookedatme.“Youmustremainquiet,peaceful,andstill.Youmustacceptthesituation

younowfindyourselfin.Allofthisfighting—allofthisresistance—isonlymakingitworse.Rebecca
thrivesonanger.Itisthefuelthatfiresherworld.Andyou,MissRileyBloom,areonlyaidingher.”He
paused for a moment, long enough to make sure I was listening, before he continued. “Your friends are
trapped,thereisnogettingaroundthat.Butratherthanfightingwhatis,youmustfirstlearntoacceptit.
Onlythenwillyouclearapathinyourmindthatwillleadyoutothesolution.”

Ilookedathim,lookedrightintothosedeep,mysteriouseyes,andIstartedtosay:What?
Started to say: Are you crazy? Why should I even think about accepting such a horrible thing—

whenIhavetodowhateverittakestostopit?

ButbeforeIcouldgettoanyofthat,thestrangestthinghappened.
Thebubble’ssurface,thereflective,roundedpartthatlayjustundermyfingers,begantosoftenand

givejustthetiniestbit.

IlookedatPrinceKanta,myeyeswide,jawpracticallydroppedtomyknees,seeinghimnod,press

hisfingerbrieflytohislips,andthenmotionformetoplacemyotherhandjustbesideit.

SoIdid.
Andthesamethinghappenedagain.
Thesurfacecontinuingtoconformandgiveashesaid,“Ratherthanfightingthebubble,youmustlearn

toacceptit.”Hemovedintoplace,positioninghimselfrightnexttomeandpressinghispalmsagainstit
inthesamewayIdid.“Areyoufamiliarwiththecornstarch-and-waterexperiment?”

Ilookedathim,myvoicehigh-pitchedandscreechyasIblurted,“Oobleck!”Rememberingthedayat

summercampwhenthecounselorsseparatedusallintosmallgroups,thenhandeduseachabowlfilled
withapileofcornstarchandwaterthey’dmixedtogether,andhowsurprisedIwaswhentheytoldusto
make a fist and pound on it as hard as we could, only to find my fist bouncing right back. It was
impossible to penetrate, or at least not by force anyway. “If you try to force your way into the mix by
poundingitorjabbingit,itdoesn’twork.It…resists.”MyeyesgrewwideasIgazedathim,suddenly
understandingwhathe’dbeentryingtotellmeallalong.“Butifyoupressslowlyandgently—”

“Then your fingers sink right in.” He nodded, his expression showing how pleased he was that I

finallyunderstood,eventhoughherefusedtograntmeasmile.“Soyoumustthinkofthebubbleasthis—”

“Oobleck.”Inodded.
“Youmustacceptthatyourfriendsareinside,acceptthatRebeccaisveryangryandwilldoallthat

shecantoworkagainstyou,acceptallofthatasyourcurrentreality,andthenonceyou’veacceptedwhat
is,youarefreetoproceedwithouttheneedtoforceanything.”Hepaused,makingsureIunderstood,and
I’mhappytosaythatIdid.

“There are many trapped inside, many others whom you’ve never met, but who are in need of your

helpnonetheless.ImusttellyouthatIhavedreamedthattheglowingoneswouldarriveoneday,andnow
thatyouarehere,Iamverymuchpleased.”

He continued to speak, but I was no longer listening. All I could focus on was the part about the

glowingones.

While my glow may not have been all that—while it may have only been a barely there green (as

Bodhiwassoquicktopointout)—itwastherenonetheless.

RadiantenoughtowhereevenPrinceKantahadseenit.
RadiantenoughtowherehethoughtImightbeofsomehelp.
“Onceweareinside,inordertohelpthem,inordertorelease them, we must learn the stories that

keepthemimprisonedinordertocompassionatelyfreethemfromtheirownpasts.”

Ilookedathim,acknowledgingthatwhilehewasdefinitelyweird,abitofanoddballforsure,Iwas

still glad to have him around, since I was pretty sure that, glow or no glow, I wasn’t really all that
equippedtotacklethejobonmyown.

Iwatchedashepressedupagainstthebubble,movedhimselfsoclosehisentirebody,includinghis

noseandhisface,werepressedflushagainstit.Then,withaquickwaveofhisfingers,hemotionedfor
metofollowsuit.

Andafterpositioningmyselfthesamewayashehad,weclosedoureyesandmeldedwiththesurface,

andnotlongafter,wefoundourselvesinside.

Itwasdifferentfrombefore.
Lasttimeit’dbeenmorepersonal.
Anexactreplicaofmykindergartenclassroom.
Ahellmadeexclusivelyforme.
Andthoughthesceneryhadsufferedsomeprettydramaticchanges,Iwasrelievedtofinditchangedin

amoregeneral,lessindividualkindofway.

While it wasn’t exactly the hell of flames and pitchforks and devil horns one might expect when

visitingsuchaplace,itwasstilldarkanddrearyandhellishinitsownright.

It was also so quiet and desolate and calm, I had the odd sensation of being plopped down in the

middleofastilllifeoralandscape.Onlyinsteadoftheglisteningstreamsandsun-dappledgardensyou
often see in oil paintings, this one was a completely dry and barren scene. Created from a palette of
varyingshadesofblacks,grays,anddeepreddishbrowns—likeaforestunabletoovercomethelasting
effectsofafirethatragedalongtimebefore.Leavingnothingbutburned-outtreecarcasses,drieduplake
beds,andanever-endingdelugeofthicksquaresofashthatroseandswirledandcircledandswooped
onlytofallonceagain.

“Wherearewe?”Iwhispered.EventhoughIdidn’tseeRebeccaoranyoneelse,forsomereason,I

wasafraidofbeingoverheard.

“Weareinsideherworld.”PrinceKantaturnedtillhewasfacingme,hismouthdrawn,faceserious,

ashesaid,“BothRebecca’sheartandsoulhavebecomesosoiledwithangerandhate,thisistheresult.”

Ilookedallaround,curioustoseewhatelsetheremightbe,howfaritmightgo,andifitwasactually

possible to see the rounded, sloping smooth walls that separated us from everything else. But while I
couldn’tseemuchofanythingbesidesawholelotofscorchedearth,it’snotlikeIwascuriousenoughto
venture off on my own. I was far too reluctant to leave the prince’s side, and though I had no way of
knowing just how bad it might get, I was pretty sure this was only the beginning of what that evil little
ghostgirlhadinstore.

Besides,it’snotlikeIhadtimeforatour.IneededtofindBodhiandButtercupasquicklyaspossible,

sowecouldgettheheckoutofthere.

“Doessheknowwe’rehere?”Iasked,sensingtheanswerwellbeforeIsawhisnoddinghead.
“Oh,yes.Thisisherworld.Sheisawareofeverythingthatoccurshere.”
“Sowhatnow?”Igazedupattheprinceandbitdownonmylip,hopinghe’dhaveagoodideaor

two,sinceIhadn’taclue.“Wheredowefindthem?Wheredowego?Whatdowedo?”

ButeventhoughIwasfullyresolvedtofollowinghislead,PrinceKantajustlookedatmeandsaid,

“The journey is mostly here.” He tapped the side of his head, the space between his temple and ear,
before adding, “And less here.” He arced his arm out before him, motioning toward an expanse of
scorchedearth.

Andseeingthat,well,Ihavetoadmitittookprettymuchallofmywillpowernottogroanandrollmy

eyes,butsomehowIrefrained.NomatterhowgratefulIwastohavehimaround,therewasnodoubthe
wasabitofanutcase.Still,hehadbeenthroughanawfullot,experiencedthekindsofthingsthatwould
definitelyenduptestingthesanityofjustaboutanybody,andso,withthatinmind,Idecidedtodomybest
nottojudge,which,Ihatetoadmit,wasreallyquiteastretchforme.

SoinsteadIjustsaid,“Um,caretotranslate?”
Watchingashemoveduntilhewasstandingafewfeetbeforeme,takingamomenttosurveytheland

withhishandpressedtightlyagainsthisbrow,shieldinghiseyesfromthedelugeofashthatcontinuedto
fall. Then dropping his hand just as quickly, he snatched up an old, burned-out tree branch from the
ground,usingthepointybrokenendtodrawasmallcircledeepintoabedofashashesaid,“Thiscircle
representsyou.”Heglancedatme,makingsureIunderstood,beforehewentontodrawamuchbigger
circlejustoutsideofit.“Andthisisthebubble.”

Inodded.Sofar,sogood,Iwasabletofollow.
Thenafterdrawingazigzaggylinethatfilleduptheentireareabetweenthesmallandlargecircles,he

added,“Andsomewhereinhereareyourfriends.”

“Yeah,BodhiandButtercup,”Isaid,eagertogetonwithit,surehewasjustabouttogettothegood

part—thepartthatwouldtellmeexactlywheretofindthem.

“And so, knowing what you know about this Bodhi and … Buttercup.” My dog’s name sounding

almosthilariouslyforeignonhistongue,hetappedthegroundwithhisstickandasked,“Wherewouldyou
beginlookingforthem?Whatwouldbetheverylastplacethey’deverwanttorevisit?Whatwouldbethe
placethatholdsthemosttrauma—themostangerforthem?”

Mycheeksbegantoflush,andIquicklyavertedmygaze.Ihadnoideahowtoanswer,andIcouldn’t

helpbutfeeldeeplyembarrassedforthat.

Sure,Bodhi’suntimelydeathbybonecancerseemedliketheobviouschoice,butwhenIremembered

thecasualwayinwhichhetoldme,thewayhejustshruggeditoffandsaidsomethinglike,“Butthat’sthe
wayitgoessometimes,right?”well,Iwasn’tsosure.

Imean,wasthatjustabitofbravado?
Some big, phony, tough-guy act he put on because he wanted me to respect him and make a good

impression?

Hadhereallybeensoacceptingofhisearlydemise?
Or did that acceptance come only after the point when he could no longer change it—when he was

alreadydeadandcouldn’tdoadangthingaboutit?

Becausewhenitcamedowntomyownuntimelyexit,IfullyadmitthateventhoughIwaslearningmy

placeandfindingmywayontheotherside,IstillhadmymomentswhenIcouldn’thelpbutfeeloutraged
thatI’dnever,evergettobetheonlythingIreallywantedtobe:thirteen.

Theonlyreal,actuallyfeasible,seeminglyattainablegoalthatI’dhadwastobeabonafide,real-deal

teenager—andjustlikethatitwasstolenfromme.

Butstill,maybethatwasjustme.AsfarasIknew,Bodhihadanentirelydifferentwayofseeingthese

things.

IturnedbacktoPrinceKanta,myshouldersliftingasIsaid,“Therewasagirl.Areallypretty,dark-

hairedgirl.AndeventhoughIknowitwasRebeccaindisguise,Bodhicouldn’tseethat.Tohim,itwas
someone he recognized, and he raced after her like…” I paused long enough to replay the scene in my
head,rememberingthelookonhisface,thelonginginhisvoice,beforeIlookedbackattheprinceand
said,“Heracedafterherlikehereally,reallymissedher.ThoughI’mafraidIdon’tknowanythingmore.”

Theprince’sgazenarrowedanddartedasthoughhewasalertedtoasuddenchangeinthearea,his

backstiffening,shoulderssquaring,ashesaid,“Nowjustkeepthatinmind.Nomatterwhathappensnext,
nomatterwhereyoufindyourself,juststayfocusedonyourfriend.Donotallowhertogettoyou.Donot
allow her to introduce anything personal. The moment you focus on yourself, the moment you let your

mindstrayfromyourfriends,youlose.”Helookedatme,oureyesmeetingbrieflybeforehelookedaway
again.“Canyoudothat?”heasked.

And even though I wanted to smile and nod and give him two big thumbs-up along with a

superconfidentreplyofHeckyeah,Icandoit,noproblem—noproblematall!

Therealityis,Ijuststoodthereandgaped.
The words “The moment you let your mind stray from your friends, you lose” running amok in my

head.

Becausethetruthwas,therewasnodenyingthefactthatIwasn’tallthatgreatatstayingfocused.In

fact, I had a really bad habit of jumping from one thing to the next. And as far as my thoughts were
concerned,well,mostofthetimemymindwasnothingbutabigol’,jumbled-upmess.

But unfortunately, I didn’t get to express those concerns. Instead, I just stood there, wide-eyed and

mute,asPrinceKantawhispered,“She’shere.”

Andthat’sthelastthingIheardbeforeIwasseparatedfromtheprinceandsuckedevendeeperinto

herworld.

It’slike,onemomentIwasstandingbeforetheprinceliketheworld’sbiggestshell-shockeddoofus,

andthenextIwassomewhereentirelydifferent.Noticinghowthescorchedlandscapehadmadewayfor
acarpetofpatchyweedsandrich,red-tingedsoil,whiletherelentlesslyfallingashhadtransformedinto
aclearandsunnyday,allowingmeabeautifulviewofapristinebluelake.

I narrowed my eyes and gazed all around, seeing the still navy waters, the towering pine trees, the

smoldering campfire … the memory of something nudging me, prodding me, as I gazed down at my
clothingandtookaquickinventoryoffadedhand-me-downjeans,mud-coveredpink-and-silversneakers,
andalimegreensweatshirtwiththesleevesyankeddownwellpastthetipsofmyfingersinordertohide
thecharmbraceletI’dborrowedfrommysister.

Andsuddenly,Ineedlooknofurther.
IknewexactlywhereIwas.
Mylasttriptothelake.
Mylasttripwithmyfamily.
ThelastplaceIevervisited—oratleastasaliving,breathingresidentoftheearthplane.
ThelasttimeI’deverhugmyparents,playfetchwithmydog,orjokearoundwithmysisterasareal,

live,flesh-and-bloodperson.

The last time I’d ever be dumb enough to believe that the thing I’d looked forward to most—my

thirteenthbirthday—wasjustaroundthecorner.

Everythingaboutthatscenefeelingasrealasitdidthatday.
Onlyitwasn’treal.Notevenclose.
Andwhilepartofmeknewthat,itwasonlyaverysmallpartofme.
Somewhereinside,onsomedeep-downlevel,IknewIneededtoturnawayandfocusonsomething

else.Somethingextremelyimportant.Somethinginneedofmyutmostattention.

But the truth was, I was so caught up in the scene, I could no longer remember what that important

thingwas.

Couldn’timagineanythingmoresignificantthanfocusingonthesplendorthatplayedoutbeforeme:
Buttercup running in circles and barking like crazy before jumping into my dad’s SUV and settling

ontomyknee.

EverandIbickeringandfightingandbasicallydrivingbothourparentscrazy.
Everdiscoveringshe’dleftherprizedskybluePineconeLakeCheerleadingCampsweatshirtbehind,

andbeggingmydadtoturnthecararoundandheadbacktothelakesothatshecouldretrieveit.

Mydadagreeingtodojustthatdespitehisconcernsaboutthetraffic.
MesingingalongtoaKellyClarksonsongIblastedonmyiPod—partlybecauseIlikedit,andpartly

becauseitannoyedEver.

A deer appearing out of nowhere, dashing right into our lane, as my father swerved to avoid it,

smashedthroughtheguardrail,downtheembankment,andintoatreethatleftusalldead.

MenotrealizingIwasdead.
Mefeelingsofine,andgood,andalivethathalfwayacrossthebridgetotheothersideIchangedmy

mindandwentbacktosearchthroughthosevastfragrantfieldsformysister.

Onlytofindshe’dreturnedtotheearthplane—toherbody—tolife.

OnlytodiscoverthehorrifyingtruththatInolongercould.
Afactthatmademesoangry,thenextthingIknewIwasstuckinamomentofflamingredrageIwas

forcedtoreliveoverandoveragain.

A rage so deep, burning so bright, it turned the once vibrating, pulsating field back into its original

stateofscorched,burned,andunforgivinglysearedearth.

PrinceKanta’swarningThemomentyouletyourmindstrayfromyourfriends,youlosereducedtoa

long-forgottenmemory.

PrinceKantawasgone.
Hehadnoroleinthisstory.
My entire world had been reduced to a small plot of land consisting of nothing more than my deep

seethingangerandme.

Isanktomyknees,threwmyselfontoalargepileofashthatinstantlyblackenedmyclothes,andcried

andscreamedandcursedandwailed,justlikeIhadthen.

Thoughit’snotlikeitbroughtmyfamilyback.
It’snotlikeitreturnedmetothewayIhadbeen.
Still,Iwasunabletostop,unabletoremovemyselffromthescene.
Unable to focus on anything other than the neverending cycle of anger and rage that threatened to

consumeme.

Ifyouaskedhowlongitwenton,well,thetruthis,Ihavenoidea.Somewherebetweenaneternity

andahandfulofsecondswouldbemybestguess.Eitherway,itwasfartoolongformetobecarryingon
likeI’dbeen.

Butthen,eventually,somewhereinthemidstofalltheshoutingandtantrum-throwingcameasortof

break.

Abriefrespitethatlastedasplitsecondatbest.
AbriefrespitethatcontainedwhatIcanonlydescribeasasmallpatchof—silence.
Asmall,brightspacewhereangercouldnotexist.
Andthoughitonlylastedamoment,fromthatmomenton,apartofmewasfocusedsolelyonwaiting

forittohappenagain.

Andwhenitdid,itseemedtolingerjustalittlebitlonger.
Andthetimeafterthat—longerstill.
Untilfinally,thatbrightandtinygapofsilencestretchedandgrewuntilitexpandedintoaspacejust

largeenoughformetocrawlinto.

My rage stilled, and soon my anger disappeared, as everything around me and inside me began to

settleandcalm.Allowingmetoobservemysituationwithsuchclarity,therewasnodenyingthefactthatI
wasnotatalldifferentfromanyoneelsewhogotstuckinthisplace.

WewerealljustasangryandunforgivingasRebeccawantedustobe.
Iwasconnectedtoalloftheselostandlonelysoulsjustassureastheywereconnectedtome.
Forthatbriefsplitsecond,Icouldseethetruthofeverything—andthat’sallittooktobreakfree.
That’sallittooktoknowthatIwasn’talone,andneverhadbeen.Ihadnothingtofear,nothingtobe

angryabout,andwhileitwastruethatI’dneverexpectedmylifetoendupquitelikeitdid,therewasno
denyingthefactthatinalotofwaysit’dendedupalotbetterthanIevercould’veimagined.

Irosefrommyplace,watchinginastonishmentasthescorchedfieldgaveway,revealingthebubble

initsrealandtruestate—sodifferentfromtheviewRebeccawantedmetosee.

No longer was there falling ash or burned-out trees that morphed into kindergarten classrooms, no

longerweretherevastandlonelyfields,andfamilytripsendingabruptly:Therewasnothingbutadark
andmurkycrowdedseaofwretched,writhingsouls,eachonetrappedinatormentedhellofhisown.

Imovedamongthem,wonderingwhathappenedtotheprinceasIsearchedforBodhiandButtercup—

eagertotryandreleasetheminthesamewayI’dbeen.Pushingthroughathrongofneverendingcyclesof
painandmiseryandcenturies-oldsuffering,asIstruggledtoholdmyfocusonwhatI’djustlearned,what
Ineededtoremembermost,whilesuppressingmyownrisingpanicthatfoughttosummonmyowndarker
impulses.

Then, just as quickly, I stopped. Stopped right in the middle of all that continuous pain and chaos,

thinkingthatifitwastruethatwewereallconnected,thenIshouldn’thavetowanderveryfar,ifatall.I
shouldbeabletostayrightwhereIwas,keepingjustcalmenoughandjustquietenoughtotuneintothis
bubbleoflostsoulsand,liketheprincesaid,allowtheirstoriestocomeforth.

SoIshutmyeyestightlyandtriedtosortthroughthehazeoffreneticenergyinordertolocatemydog

andmyguide.

AndwhileI’mhappytoreportthatitdidn’ttakeallthatlongtofindBodhi—beingabletoreachhim

wasawhole’nothermatter.

I hung back, not quite sure how to proceed. Carefully observing Bodhi, who remained completely

unawareofme.

Hisbrowcreased,hishandsclenchedintofistsheheldtightlytohissides,hislipsquivering,teeth

gnashingtogethersoharditrenderedhislongstringofwordsimpossibletodecipher.

Knowing he probably wouldn’t like it, knowing that as soon as he was released from whatever

tormentplayedoutinhishead,he’dfindsomelameexcusetorailonmeaboutinvadinghisprivacy(or
someotherinfractioneitherrealorimagined),Iwentinanyway.

SlowlyinchingmywaytowardhimuntilIwascloseenoughtoreachforhisballed-uphandandgrasp

itinmine,allowingmyenergytostreamandmergewithhis,untilI’deasedmywayinsidehishead.

Atfirst, it wasimpossible to makesense of much ofanything. It wasmessy, chaotic, and extremely

confusing—likeasuper-disorganizedbedroomwithbigpilesofpapersandclothesandbooksandstuff
litteredalloverthefloor—anditwasawhilebeforeIwasabletogetmyselfsettledandgetitallsorted
out.

Unlike my thoughts (and my room!), which had always been more or less orderly and clear, his

weren’tevenclose.So,Iwentdeeper,eventuallysinkingsofarinside,itwasasthoughI’dbecomehim.

I stood there, feeling tall and awkward as I tried to get used to being inside his body, watching

everythingplayoutbeforemeasthoughitwereactuallyhappeningtome.Thoughitallseemedsorandom
andconfusingallIcouldreallymakeoutwasaschool.

Fromthelooksofthelockersandthehand-paintedsignsthatlinedupanddownthehallwaywhereI

stood—all of them touting football games, bake sales, and upcoming dances—I figured it was a high
school.

Then,justafterI’dfinallynailedthat,Iwasonthemove.Runningwithapairoflegsthatwerefar

more powerful than the short, skinny ones I was used to, racing to keep up with some girl whose long,
darkhairliftedandwavedinsuchaway,I’dconvincedmyselfitwasaninvitationtofollow.

She slipped around a corner and into a library, and I ducked in right behind her. Shielding myself

behindthetallshelvesofbookswhereIwatched,partofmehopingshe’dnoticeme,partofmehoping
shewouldn’t,willingtogivejustaboutanythingtoseewhatshescribbledsofuriouslyinhernotebook.

Myeyesroamedher,notingthewayherhairspilledoverhershoulders,thewayherbackpackleaned

againstthelegofherchair,thewayherbootswerecrustedwithathinlayerofmud,thewayherpurple
ballpointpencontinuedtoflyacrossasheetoflinedpaper,asmymindswirledwithwords,declarations,
thingsIlongedtotellherbutknewIneverwould.

Too scared to approach her, I chose to just watch her instead. My head spinning with a series of

jumbled-upimages,alongstringofsnapshotsandphrases,tryingtosortthroughalltherandompiecesof
Bodhi’smemory,thehaphazardscrapbookofhisbrain.

IknewthegirlwasNicole—thesamegirlwhoseimageluredhimintothebubble—butwhatIdidn’t

knowwaswhathecouldpossiblybesoangryabout.Imean,inordertobetrappedinRebecca’sworld,
youhadtogetprettyriledupaboutsomething.And,uptothatpointanyway,Ihadn’tseenasinglething
worthyofthatkindofrage.

Imean,wasitthewaysheignoredhim?
Thewayshepretendednottonoticehim,despitethefactthathemadeapointtoalwaysbewhereshe

was?

Andifso,wasthatreallyworthgettingalltrippedupover?
WhileIobviouslycan’tspeakforBodhi,Icansaythatforme,itallseemedalittleridiculous.And

notbeingthemostpatientpersonintheworld(notevenclose),well,thetruthis,Istartedtogetmorethan
alittlefrustratedwithhim.

SofrustratedI’djustmadeupmymindtopoprightbackoutofhisbodyandtrytofindanotherwayto

reach him, when his whole world went so dark and dim, I had to squint my eyes and strain my ears to
makeanykindofsenseofit.

Andstill,eventhen,therewereonlyfourthingsIcouldreallymakeout:
1.Abell
2.Agirl
3.Aboy
4.Abody
Thosefourimagesrepeatingthemselveslikeaseriesoffasttakescaughtinacontinuousloop.Though

nomatterhowmanytimesIwatched,noneofitmadeanymoresensethanithadthefirsttimearound.

Abell—agirl—aboy—abody—
Aquicksnippetofeachflashingoverandoveragain.
AndjustwhenIcouldn’ttakeanothersecond,couldn’tbearanotherglimpseofit,theimagesbecame

clearer,moredefined,untiltheyeventuallysettledintosomekindoforder—thoughit’snotlikeitmadeit
anyeasier.

IlistenedasthebellrangsoloudlyIactuallywincedatthesoundofit.
IwatchedasaclassroomdoorflewopenandagirlIrecognizedasNicolespilledout.Hershoulders

stooped, head bent in a way that encouraged her long, dark hair to provide cover for her tear-stained
cheeks—theresultofthelongstringofinsultsbeinghurledherway.

AndwhileIwasn’ttheleastbitsurprisedwhenIcaughtaglimpseofmyselfinaclassroomwindow

and realized that I—er, I mean, Bodhi—was the boy (I mean, after all, it was his memory I was
experiencing),still,itwasaversionofBodhiIwasn’tquiteusedtoseeing.

Thoughhisoutsideappearanceremainedmoreorlessthesame(maybealittlemoresolid,alittleless

filmythanhowheusuallylooked),itwasstillreallyoddtoviewhimasaliving,breathingpersonwho
couldneitherflynorglowandhadnoideathathesomedaywould.

Never mind the fact that he was so incredibly unsure and insecure and overly preoccupied with

comingoffascool—itwaskindofhardtowatchhim(andevenhardertobehim)withoutfeelingmore
thanalittleembarrassedforhim.

ButitwasonlyamomentbeforethefocusreturnedtoNicole.
Stillcrying.
Stillstalked.
Stillharassedbyagroupofclassmateswhofollowedherwherevershewent.
Bullyingherinawaythatwasn’tjustapatternofbehavior—butafavoritepastimeoftheirs.
Istoodofftotheside,myvoicerisingabovealltheothersasIheatedlydefendedher.Screamingat

themtostop,toleaveheralone,tofindabetter,moreproductivewaytospendtheirfreetime.Abetter
waytobuildthemselvesup.

Andthenthebellagain…
Theseriesofscenescontinuingtorepeat,andyetstillnotmakingtheslightestbitofsensenomatter

howmanytimesIwatchedthemplay.

Then,Iremembered.
Therewasmore.
AfourthsceneI’dglimpsedonlythehaziesthintof…
Abody.
AndthenextthingIknew,Iwaspropelledfromtheschooltoanice,modesthousewhereaparadeof

copsandparamedicsandcrying,distraughtpeoplestreamedinandout.

Allofthemhoveringaroundastretcher—likethekindyouseeinmovies.
Astretcherholdingasmall,slim,sheet-covered,completelylifelessform…
AndIknewwithoutbeingtoldthatthebodywasNicole’s,andthatBodhiblamedhimself.
Ifoughtmywayout.Souncomfortablewithbeinginsidehisguilt-riddenmindandself-hatingskin,I

wasdesperatetolookhimintheeyesandconfronthimmyself.

TugginghardonhisarmasIsaid,“Butyoutried.Youtriedtostopit.Isawyou—Iheardyou—Iwas

you!”Practicallyscreamingathim,sodesperatetofreehimsothatItoocouldbereleasedfromallthis.

But Bodhi wasn’t having it. He just shook his head, eyes blazing with anger, voice laced with

bitterness,whenhesaid,“Oh,really?Andjustexactlywhatisityouheard,Riley?Whatisityouactually
saidwhenyouwereme?”

Isquinted,havingnoideawhathewasgettingat—Imean,hadn’tweexperiencedthesamething?
Followingthelengthofhispointingfingerallthewaytotheplacewhereitplayedoutagain.
Abell,aboy,agirl…
Finallyrealizingthetruth:
The real reason no one reacted when Bodhi and I both screamed those words—the real reason we

weresoeasilyignored.

Wehadn’tactuallyspokenthem.
Hadn’tutteredanythingatall.
ThosewordsneverfoundtheirwayoutofBodhi’smouth,muchlesspasthisheart.
Ididn’tknowwhattosay.Didn’tknowhowtoevenbegintotrytocomforthim.
All I knew for sure is that anger and guilt mixed together made for a pretty strong brew—one that

couldtrapapersonforever.

“I was gonna say something that day, I had it all planned out, but then, at the very last moment, I

chickenedoutandputitoffuntilMondayinstead.”Hisvoicewassolemnashecontinuedtostarestraight
ahead.“FiguredI’dtaketheweekendtogetupthecouragetotryandconvinceherthatshewassmartand
beautiful and unique and cool, and that nothing those other kids said was the slightest bit true. I mean,
don’t get me wrong, I knew she didn’t like me. Or at least, not in the way I liked her. I was just some
stupid, runty freshman, and she was the exotic, older new girl.” He swiped his palm across his face,
across his eyes, and I quickly looked away, pretended not to notice. I just waited patiently beside him,
sensinghemightneedamomentortwobeforehewasreadytocontinue.

“IjustwantedhertoknowIwasonherside—but,asitturnsout,Inevergottosayanyofthatbecause

Mondaynevercame.Oratleastnotforher,anyway.”

I stood there beside him, watching a family entrenched in a grief so big and raw, it threatened to

consumemeaswell.

“Iguessshecouldn’ttakeitanymore,feltshehadnowheretoturn.Andso…”Helookedatme,eyes

filledwithsadnessasthewordsreverberatedbetweenus.“Iwenttoherfuneral.”Hisshouldersslumped.

“AndIusedtoleaveaflowerinhermailboxeverydayonmywayhomefromschool,oratleastuntilthey
moved,anyway.”

“Andthoseotherkids?Thebullies?”Iasked,feelingalmostasawfulashedid.
Helookedatme,shakinghisheadinaworld-wearyway.“Thingsweredifferentbackthen.Aslapon

thewrist,ananti-bullyingseminarintheschoolauditorium,andawholelotofnonsenseabouthowkids
willbekids.”

“Andthat’swhyyou’restuck,then?”Iscrunchedupmynoseandpeeredathim.“Becauseyouthink

youwereaccountable?”

“Iparticipatedwithmysilence.”Heshrugged.“Iwasaccountable.Ididnothingtostopit.”
Tobehonest,Ihadnoideawhattodoatthatpoint—hadnoideawhattosay.So,IdidtheonlythingI

couldthink of, Isqueezed his handtighter and imagined asmall golden bubbleof love and forgiveness
shimmeringallaroundhim,rememberinghowit’dworkedoncebefore,andhopingitwouldworkonce
again.

Andwhenhelookedatme,well,that’swhenIsawit.Sawthehateandangerbeingedgedoutbythe

smallglimmerofsilencedisplayedinhisgaze.

“Holdontoit,”Iurged.“Holdontothesilenceforaslongasyoucan.There’snoroomforthebad

stuffinthere.”

AndthenextthingIknew,hewasback.Answeringthethoughtinmyheadaboutwhetherhe’dever

seenheragain,whenhesaid,“TheHere&Nowisabigplace,Riley.”Helookedaway,runninghishand
throughhishair,beforepluckingthatchewed-upgreenstrawfromhisshirtpocketandpoppingitbetween
hisfrontteeth.“IthoughtIsawheroncefromadistance,butthat’sit.”

Isquinted,wantingmore.Unabletobelievehe’djustleaveitlikethat.
“Ididn’tapproachherifthat’swhatyou’regettingat.AndIreallydon’tthinkIshouldhavetoexplain

myself.”

“Butwhynot?”Igazedupathim,surprisedtostillfindthesmallesttraceoftheinsecureboyhehad

been,oratleastwhereNicolewasconcerned.“Whynottalktoher?You’dthinkshe’dbegladtoseeyou
—afamiliarfaceifnothingelse.”

“Trustme,there’snothingfamiliaraboutme.Shedidn’tevenknowIexisted.”Hebitdownhardon

thestraw,clearlyfrustratedwithme.“It’shighschoolstuff,Riley.Stuffyouwouldn’tunderstand.”

I rolled my eyes and turned away, but not without letting him see just how angry that made me.

Honestly,thatwasaprettylowblow.Imean,it’snotlikeitwasmyfaultI’dneverbethirteen,infact,it’s
notlike—

I scowled at the ground, my anger rising, flaring, threatening to consume me completely, and that’s

whenInoticedapatchofscorchedearthbeginningtospreadjustundermyfeet.Andthat’swhenIstopped
those thoughts right in their tracks, watching in astonishment when the scorched earth disappeared once
again.

Focus,vigilance,concentration—justliketheprincesaid.
Ihadtoguardagainstmytemper,myanger,andBodhididtoo.Thisplaceencouragedit,thrivedonit,

whetheritwasjustifiedornot,itdidn’tmakeadifference.AsfarasRebeccawasconcerned,itwasfuel
allthesame.

“Canyouseeit?”Iasked,notsurewhichworldhewasin:theoneofoldhighschoolsandscorched

earth,ortheoneIcouldsee—theoneoflostandtormentedsouls.

Henodded,lookingallaround,seeingtherewerehundredsofthem,thensighingashesaid,“Weneed

tofindButtercupandgettheheckoutofhere.”

But I quickly shook my head. While I may not understand the world of tragic high school romance,

thankstoPrinceKanta,thishorribleworldofhate,Ididunderstand.

“No.”IlookedatBodhi.“FirstweneedtofindButtercup,thenweneedtofindmyfriendtheprince,

thenweneedtofindawaytofreeallofthem.”ImotionedtowardtheseaoftormentedsoulsasBodhi
stood beside me and winced, adding, “And only after we’ve done all of that, can we even think about
leavingthisplace.”

Having known him since he was just a tiny pup, I gotta say, I had a pretty hard time believing that

Buttercupcouldhaveanythingtobeangryabout.

Evencomparedtoalltheotherwell-cared-forpetsonourblock,therewasnodoubthe’dlivedthe

cushiest,mostinsanelypamperedlifeofthemall.Onethathadnoshortageofdoggytreats,carrideswith
the windows rolled down, and nice outdoor spots for napping in the sun. And the times we did play
pranksonhim—likethetimesEverandIdressedhimupfortheholidaysinSanta,EasterBunny,oreven
cupid costumes, or the time we dabbed a chunk of peanut butter onto the tip of his nose and laughed
ourselvessillyaswewatchedhimbarkandruncirclesashestruggledtolickitoff—well,youcouldtell
hewasinonthejoke.

Youcouldtellhewashavingfun.
So why we found him all curled up into a tight little ball of angst, with his eyes shut tight, teeth

gnashingtogether,pawsthrashingandkickingashewhinedandwhimperedlikehewastheobjectofthe
mosthorrifyingtorturewasbeyondme.

Buttercuphadneverbeentortured.Neverbeengivenareasontocarryonlikethat.And,tobehonest,

itkindofannoyedmetoseehimactinglikehehad.

ButwhenIsawthewaythetreesstartedtoappearagain,thewholeburned-out,shriveledupsightof

them,Itossedthatfeelingasideandinsteaddroppeddowntomyknees.

I was staring at my dog, having no idea what to do, when Bodhi said, “What’s his problem?” He

glancedbetweenButtercupandmewithaconfusedexpressionthatservedasaperfectmatchformyown.

I lifted my shoulders and sighed. As hard as I’d tried, I couldn’t recall one traumatic moment in

Buttercup’slife—orevenhisdeathforthatmatter.

He’d just seamlessly transitioned from a breathing state to a not-breathing state as though it were

reallynodifferent.Makingstraightforthebridgewithnohesitation,histailwagging,pawsscurrying,as
thoughsomewonderfuladventureawaitedusall.

Iplacedmyhandonhishead,combingmyfingersthroughasofttuftoffurjustunderhischinbefore

scratchingthespotbetweenhisears.FiguringthatifIwasconnectedtoallthoseothersouls,connectedto
theenergyoftheverygroundIkneltupon,thenwhywouldn’tIbeconnectedtoButtercuptoo?

I concentrated on merging my energy with his, allowing it to stream and meld until I found myself

inside his canine head, where I was amazed to see my dog’s own personal version of a hellish
experience:

Themomenthewaspulledawayfromhismamaandhisfiveotherlittermatessohecouldcomelive

withus.

Iadmit,thesecondIsawthat,Istartedtofeelangryagain,butknowingthatcamewithconsequences,

Iquicklymovedpastit.Still,whatwasIsupposedtomakeofthat?Imean,really—washeserious?Had
hereallyviewedthemovetoourhouseassomekindofwretchedexperience?

ButthenIremembered.
Rememberedhowheactuallyspentthatfirstnight—or,shouldIsay,howweallspentthatfirstnight.
Allofusforcedtotaketurnsgettingoutofourbedssothatwecouldtrytocomforthimashecried

andwhimperedandrefusedtorelax.

Itwasawful.

Forus—forhim—butprobablymostlyforhim.
Hehadnowayofknowingthatthewayhefeltatthatmomentwouldn’tgoonforever.
Hehadnowayofknowingjusthowgooditwasabouttoget.
ThoughIhadnoideahowtogetthatpointacrosstohim,hadnoideawheretoevenbegin.
Thanks to Rebecca and this horrible bubble she’d created, Buttercup was stuck in the one and only

trulybadmomenthe’deverknown,andasfarashewasconcerned,he’dneverknownanythingelse.

So, I did the only thing I could think of—I curled up beside him and continued to scratch that spot

betweenhisears.Tryingtofillmymindwithvibrant,happymemoriesofallthefuntimeswe’dshared,
hoping they’d somehow find their way into his brain and maybe even carve out a little space for that
sweet,quietsilencetocreepin.

Anditwasn’tlongbeforethewhimpersdieddown,thewhiningceased,andButtercupliftedhishead,

poppedhiseyesopen,andjumpedtohisfeet.

Bodhiheavedabigsighofrelief,asIwrappedmyarmsaroundmydogandgavehimagiantsqueeze.

Cradling his muzzle with both hands, I peered deep into his big brown eyes to make sure he truly was
back.

ThenIlookedatBodhiandsaid,“Wehavetogofindtheprince.”
ButBodhiwasalreadyshakinghishead.
AlreadyliftinghisarmandpointingtowardtheveryspotwhereRebeccanowstood.

Her dog stood right alongside her, looking nothing like the Snarly Yow/Black Shuck/Hell Beast I

rememberedfrombefore.

Thisdogwastiny.
Andnervous.
Thekindwithyippybarksanddancingpaws.
WhileI’ddonemybesttofillBodhiinoneverythingthatI’dlearnedaboutRebecca,whenwewere

stillsearchingforButtercup,whileI’dtriedtomakeitclearjusthowdarkandevilshewas,onelookat
hisfacewasallittooktoseehewasn’tquitesureifheshouldbelieveme.

Hewasconflicted.
Despite all that I’d said, he was so swayed by her sugary-sweet, beribboned exterior he seriously

doubtedthatsomeonewholookedasharmlessandfluffyasthatwascapableofcreatingabubblefrom
hell.

Boys.
Theyareallthesame.
Allsoeasilyinfluencedbyabrightandshinysaccharinedisplay.
I tensed as she approached, noting the way she made the ground just under her feet transform and

bloomintoabouncy,vibrantcarpetofgreengrassandyellowfloweringbudsthatperfectlymatchedthe
bowonherdress.Hersmileheldfirmbutradiant,hereyeshidingawholeworldofsecretsIcouldn’t
evenbegintoguessat,asshethrustforthherhandandofferedatall,sweatyglassfilledwithsomekindof
icedmurkyliquid.

“Thirsty?” she asked, her voice so high-pitched and syrupy, I felt like I’d overdosed on Halloween

candyjustbylisteningtoit.PromptingmetograbholdofButtercup,determinedtokeephimclosetomy
side.Notwantinghimtogetanywherenearthatruntylittlepoochofherswhocouldjustaseasilyturn
intotheworstkindofHellBeast.

IglancedatBodhi,seeingthewayhelookedather.Carefullyobservingasthoughtryingtofindsome

kind of middle ground between all the things I’d said, and all the things his eyes were telling him. His
brow lowered, eyes narrowed, while his normally bobbing straw paused against his lips, coming to a
completeandtotalstandstill.

“Whynotgiveyourselfabreakandenjoyalittletaste?Afterallyou’vebeenthrough,youdeserveit.”

Shepushedtheglasstowardhimandstareddeepintohiseyes,butBodhijustcontinuedtostandthere,
takingherin.HiseyessquintedinsuchawaythatIhadnowaytoreadthem,nowaytoknowwhathe
might’vebeenthinking

“Youshouldn’tbesohardonyourself,youknow.YoushouldtrustmewhenIsayInolongerblame

youforbeingsocowardlyandcaughtupinyourownfragileimagethatyoumadenomovetosaveme.”

Isqueezedmylidstighter,squeezedtillmyeyesturnedtoslits,andthoughIstillcouldn’tseeexactly

whathewasseeing,Isawenoughtoknowsomethinghadchanged.

Itwas the waythe air movedand shimmered all aroundher, making herappear fuzzy and obscured

frommyview.AndIknewatthatinstantthat,toBodhianyway,shelookedjustlikeNicoleagain.

Igraspedforhishand,afraidoflosinghimtothatbrandofanguish,buthesteppedoutofmyreachin

favor of her. His fingers outstretched, gaze unwavering, reaching for the drink I couldn’t allow him to

consume.

Ithrustmyhandbetweenthem,determinedtokeepBodhiaway,thesuddenmovementalertingherdog

andcausingittoloweritshead,raiseitsback,anddirectadeep,menacinggrowlrightatme.

ButbeforeIcouldintervene,Bodhihadalreadygrabbedit.
AlreadygrippedhisfingersaroundtheglassashestaredatRebeccaandsaid,“You’rewastingyour

time.”Knockingthedrinksoharditshotclearoutofherhandandintothetrees.“Yourglamourdoesn’t
workonmeanymore.You’renotNicole.Infact,you’renotevenclose.Andjustsoyouknow,I’veletit
allgo.I’veforgivenmyself.Whichmeansyou’vegotnoholdovermenowthatI’mnolongerangry.”

Shetriedherbesttohideit.I’llgiveherthat.Butstill,itwasclearbythewayshetiltedherheadand

liftedherchin,bythewaysheflutteredhereyesasshegazedoverhim,thatshewasn’tquiteexpecting
that.

“Suityourself.”Sheliftedhersmall,slimshoulders,allowingtheshimmertofadeuntilshewasfully

back to being her overdressed self once again. Her eyes flitting toward mine when she added, “How
aboutyou,Riley?Wouldyoulikeasip?”Herbrowrisingashergazegrewdarkanddeep,shemanifested
awholenewglassofteainherhand.“Ipromise,it’snothingatalllikethatfalsememoryteatheprince
servedyou.”Sherolledhereyesandshookherdaintyhead.“Youdorealizehe’scrazy,right? I mean,
youdon’tactuallybelievehe’saprince,doyou?” Her lips curled and smirked as her brow arced in a
superior,haughtyway.

“He was one of my father’s workers—and not a very good one, I might add. And he was also a

murderer.”Shepausedwithmeaning,allowingenoughtimeforherwordstofullypenetrate.“Butnevera
prince,Iassureyouofthat.Youknowhe’sresponsibleforwhathappenedtome,right?He’samemberof
the same group of rebels who planned the revolt. It’s true!” she urged, reading my gaze and correctly
assuming I didn’t believe a single word that she’d said. “And you’re a fool for both believing him and
feelingsorryforhim.Nottomentionthatyou’reahypocritetoo.”

Iquirkedmybrow,curiousastowhatshecouldpossiblybegettingat,andshewasalltooeagerto

informme.

“Murderersgetsenttoprisonallthetime,sowhyisthisanydifferent?”
“Becauseitisdifferent.”Bodhijumpedtomydefense,eventhoughIwasn’treallyinneedofit.“It’s

notthesameatall.Youhavenorighttointerferewithanysoul’sjourney—norightatall!Anddeepdown
inside,Ihaveafeelingyouknowthat,oryouwouldn’tbenearasdefensiveasyouare.”

She bristled. Her eyes practically glowing like her Hell Beast’s just had. “You think you know so

much—youthinkyoucanbargeintomyturfandpushmearoundjustbecauseyoubothhavesomekindof
weirdglowaroundyou?”ShegrippedtheglasssotightlyIwassureitwouldshatterinherhand.Staring
usdowninawaythatmadeitclearjusthowtrulyoutragedshewas,asthoughalltheuglinessinsideher
wasfindingitswaytothesurface.Herhairlifting,becomingcrazy,wiry,asherhateshonesobrightit
tookeverythingIhadnottolookaway.

And I couldn’t help but wonder if she truly did believe what she’d said about the prince and her

reasons for keeping him and all the other slaves she’d imprisoned, or if that’s just the story she told
herselfsoshe’dhaveanexcusetodowhatshedid.

Therewasonlyonewaytofindout.
“Youdon’tknowanything!”shescreamed,herwholefacetransforming.“Youknownothing—nothing

atall!”

Shecontinuedtocarryonlikethat,ragingandshriekingwithnoendinsight.Andfeelingmorethana

little fed up with all the threats and dramatics, and more than a little eager to get to the bottom of it, I
lookedatherandsaid,“Fine.I’llseeformyselfthen.Handitoveralready.”Totallyconvincedshewas
littlemorethananevil,spoiled-rottenbrat,butalsoknowingthatthereweretwosidestoeverystory,and
inordertogethers,Ihadtoseeitfromherpointofview.

Shestopped,hereyeswidening,clearlywonderingifitwassomekindoftrick.
Butitwasnotrick.Iwasentirelyserious.AndthoughBodhiwastednotimeingrippingmyarmin

warning,well,itwastoolate.

Iwasalreadyreachingfortheglass.
Alreadypluckingasparklefromherdressandtossingitin.
Alreadybringingthebrewtomylips.
AlreadycommittingtothejourneynomatterwhatsortofsceneI’dfindmyselfin.
Bodhi’svoiceameretraceofanechoashebeggedmetostop,beggedmenottogothroughwithit.
Butitmadenodifference.
I’dalreadyenteredherworld.

Itwasn’tatalllikeIthought.
Imean,notthatIcanreallyexplainjustexactlywhatIwasexpectingsinceithappenedsofastIhadn’t

reallyallowedmyselfallthatmuchtimetothinkaboutit.Butstill,ifIhadn’tdownedthatteasoquickly,
ifI’dstoppedlongenoughtoactuallyponderafewthings,Idon’tthinkIwould’veenvisionedanything
evenclosetothesceneinwhichIfoundmyself.

Iwasababy.
No,scratchthat.Becauseactually,Rebeccawasthebaby,andIwasjustalongfortheride.Observing

theeventsfromherpointofview,immersedinaneventsovivid,sodetailed,soreal,itwasasthoughI
washer.

Icouldseethemorningsunekeitswayaroundthescallopededgesofthecurtainsashermother’ssoft

armscircledme,cradlinggently,asshegazeddowninthemostloving,deeplyprofoundway.

I could feel the depths of Rebecca’s sorrow, the full range of her confusion, from that very first

morningwhenhermotherfailedtoappear—andallofthemorningsthatfollowed—tothemomentwhenit
came as no surprise that her first word spoken was “Mama!” soon followed by “Dead” and then
“Buried.”Thetwomostoftenusedwordstoexplaintheabsenceofthefirst.

Igrewalongwithher,transitioningfromacrawlingbabytoawalkingchild,feelingherbodystretch

andgrowasthesoftrollsofbabyfatmeltedaway,allowinghertoslimdownforatime,beforeshebegan
toblossomintoaprettyyounggirlwhosethirteenthyearfoundherwithaclosetfullofsparklydresses
and drawers stuffed with colorful ribbons and bows. Longing for her father to take notice of her, to
appreciatethewayshelookedinthem.Buthehadneitherthetimenortheinterest,viewinghisdaughter
asanuisancethatwasbestlefttotheservantstodealwith.

Andsotheydid.
So fearful of her father’s legacy of anger, they indulged her every whim in hopes she’d never bad-

mouththem.Givinghersweetsandtreatsandpresentsofeverykind:avastarrayofdelicaciessheonly
vaguelydesired;avastarrayofdelicaciesthey’dlongbeendenied.

Itwastherecipeformakingamonster.
Andtherewasnoendinsight.
Iftherewasresentmentintheireyes,Rebeccaremainedunawareofit.Shebarelypaidthemanyreal

notice. To her, they had no other purpose than to fulfill her demands—she was sure that was the sole
reasonfortheirexistence.HerindulgentlifehadturnedherintothekindofbratI’donlyseenonreality
TVbutneveronceintherealityofreallife.

Shewasabratofmammothproportions.
A spoiled-rotten, clueless, friendless girl, who was so firmly entrenched in her fantasy world—one

whereeverythingrevolvedsolelyaroundher—shehadnoideahowawfulshe’dbecome.

Noideathatthepeoplewhoservedherhadnotactuallyaskedtobeemployedbyherfather.
Noideaofthesadisticgameof“bowling”heplayedwiththosehe’ddeemedunworthyofajobthey

didn’tevenwantinthefirstplace.

Andyet,Icouldn’thelpbutfeelsorryforher.
Couldn’thelpbutpityher.
Eventhoughtherewasnogettingaroundthefactthatshewasjustasbeastlyasthatdogofhers,there

wasalsonodenyingthatshejustdidn’tgetit.

Liketheprincewouldsay—shewasresistingthetruth.
AndthenextthingIknew,shewasonthemove.
RunningsofastIcouldactuallyhearthehuffofherpantingbreathinmyears,couldactuallyfeelthe

momentofconfusionwhenshelostherfootingandsprawledacrossthedirt.Herbodyhittingsohard,I
wasjoltedevendeeperinsideher.

Sodeep,I’dbecomeher.
Iliftedmyfacefromtheground,snortingoutapileofdirtI’dinhaledwhileclearingabunchofsmall

rocksfrommymouth.

SpittingandgaggingasIstruggledtostand,wipingmysleevehardagainstmyface,thenspittingand

gaggingsomemoreasIpausedlongenoughtolookaround.

Awareofavoiceinmyhead,urging,“Move!”
AndthoughItriedtoobey,Iwassounusedtobeingher,sounusedtohavinglimbssomuchlonger

thanmine(nottomentionthestiff,pouffydressandtightshoesthatwerepracticallybindingmyfeet),it
wasprettyroughgoingatfirst.

Butwhenthevoicerepeated,adding,“Hurry!There’snotimetowaste!They’recoming!”
Istumbledforward,feetfumbling,heartbeatingfrantically,turningtowardthehousejustintimetosee

a man racing away from the barn, a man I immediately knew was my father, with a confusing array of
emotionsheldinhisgaze.

“Git!” he yelled, pointing at the house, allowing no time for pleasantries. “Git upstairs and hide in

thatclosetinyourmama’soldsittingroom,anddon’tcomeouttillIgityoumyself.Doyouhearme?”

Itriedtoreadhisgaze,wonderingwhatitwashewashidingfromme,butthenhesaiditagain,louder

thistime,andIcouldn’thelpbutobey.

“Donotcomeoutforanyonebutme.Nomatterwhat!Now,git!”hepracticallyscreamed.
Iwasoff.HiswordstrailingbehindmeasIracedthroughthefrontdoorandupthecreakywooden

stairs.Thethoughtofsayinggood-byenotevenenteringmymind,sinceitallseemedsurreal,likeagame
ofsomekind.

Badthingshappenedtootherpeople,notme.
Iwasrich,privileged,theonlychildofabig,important,plantationowner,whichmademespecialin

awaythatfarsurpassedalltheothers.Asidefrommymother’suntimelydeath,anythingnegative,dreary,
orbadhadalwayswhizzedpastmeonitswaytowardsomebodyelse.

Imadeformymama’soldsittingroom,justlikemypapahadordered.AndthoughIwassurenoone

knew,thetruthis,I’doftenvisitedthatroom.

I liked to sit in the soft, cushy upholstered chair she used for reading, before switching to the less

comfortablestraight-backedonesheusedforcorrespondenceandlistmaking.Andmoreoftenthannot,
I’dplayeitheroneoftwogames:oneinwhichIpretendedshewasstillhere,readingandchattingwith
me,andanotherinwhichI’dsomehowbecomeher,findawaytostandinherplace.

Buttodaytherewasnotimeforgames.
Soonenoughmypapawouldclimbthestairsandcomefindme.Andwhenhedid,well,Iwaseager

forhimtoseejusthowperfectIwas.

JusthowwillinglyI’dobeyedhiseveryword.
Thenmaybehe’dfinallytakenoticeofme,sinceheneverseemedtonoticebefore.
Imadeforthecloset,crawledintothesmall,dark,rarelyusedspace,wrappedmyfingersaroundthe

edgeofthedoorandpulleditshutaswellasIcould.Crouchingallthewayagainstthebackwall,just
aboutallsettledin,whenIrememberedmydog.

I scooched forward, propped the door open, peeked my head out, and called, “Shucky! Here boy!”

beforechasingthatwithalow,evenwhistleIprayedmyfatherwouldn’thear.

RelievedbythesoundofShucky’spawsscurryingacrossthewoodfloors,Icaughthimasheslipped

insidetheclosetandjumpedrightontomylap.Yippingsoftly,heexcitedlylappedatmycheeks,asIshut
thedooragainandmovedusbackintoplace.

I clutched him to my chest and tried not to giggle at the way his icy-cold nose prodded against my

shoulder and neck. Struggling to ignore the cloying scent of mold and mustiness and various things that
hadn’tbeenusedinaverylongtime,whileIworkedtodecipherthelookI’dseeninmyfather’seyes.

WasitlovethatI’dseen?
AndwouldIevenrecognizeitifitwas?
It’dbeensolongsinceanyonelookeduponmethatway,Ihadnowaytorecognizethesigns.
Andthat’showIspentmylastmoments.
Fendingoffoldclosetsmells,fendingoffmydog’sstale,pantingbreath,whiletryingtodeterminejust

exactlywhatmyfather’sgazehadmeant.

Mylegsbeginningtoachefrombeingsoawkwardlybent,mybackandbuttocksgrowingsorefrom

leaningforsolongagainstthehardwoodfloor.

WonderingifIshouldmaybetakeaquickpeek,seewhatmightbetakinghimsolongtofindme,when

mydogsuddenlystiffened,perkeduphisears,andnarrowedhiseyesasheletoutalow,menacinggrowl.

Butwhilehemayhavebeenthefirsttosenseit,itwasn’tlongtilltherewasnomistakingit.
Thesoundofastampede—hundredsofbodiesrunningwithpurpose.
The sound of violence—things crashing and breaking as a series of screams rang out, one in

particular,onethatIrecognizedasmyfather’s,thatroseabovealltherest.

Thesoundofmyfrontdoorbeingpulledfromitshinges.
Thesoundofmyhousebeingstormed,invaded,ransacked,andlooted.
Thesoundofthehorrible,lingeringsilenceofapapathatnevercamelookingforme.
Andyet,Icontinuedtowaitlikeheasked.
Waitedlongpastthetimethecracklingbeganandtheclosetfloorsbegantoheat.
Longpastthetimegrayribbonsofsmokecurledtheirwayinandaroundthedoorframeandrendered

itimpossibletobreathe.

Longpastthetimetheflameslickedatmyheelsandroseupmydresslikesnakes.
Longpastthetimemyfrighteneddogclawedhugegapingholesinmydressashefoughtwithallofhis

mighttoescape.

ButIwouldn’tlethimgo,wouldn’tlethimleavewithoutme,Ijustheldhimfasttomychest,mylips

incessantlywhisperingmyfather’swarning:

Donotcomeoutforanyonebutme,nomatterwhat!
My body blistering and burning, as the bow on my dress worked like some kind of accelerant and

encouragedtheflamestoleapontomyhairandmyface.Engulfingmeinapainsowrenching,sogreat,I
toldmyselfitwasagame.

Thatitcouldn’tpossiblybehappeningtosomeoneasspecialasme.
Repeatingthewordsasawaveofred,searing-hottimberscrasheddownuponus,reducingmydog

andmetonothingmorethanapileofcharredbonesandblackdust.

Obedienttilltheend,I’ddiedintheexactlocationwheremyfatherhadtoldmetowait.
Then,justasquickly,Iwasout.
Gazing down at what little remained of myself and my dog as the scene continued to play, seeing

smoke, fire, destruction, and blood, most of which belonged to my father, judging from the looks of his
severelymangledbody.

And when I saw what had caused it or, rather, who had caused it—when I realized we’d all been

murdered—well,fromthatmomenton,allIcouldseewasred.

A bright, raging red that shimmered and glowed and bubbled all around until it was big enough to

houseme.

Anger.
AllIcouldfeel—allIcouldsee—wasaburninghotangerthatrageddeepinsideme.
Anangersointenseitcametodefineme.
AndsoIvowedmyrevenge,vowedthateverysingleoneofthemwouldpayformakingmelikethis.
Ignoring the vague, magnetic pull of something bright and promising and good—preferring to spend

therestofmydaysinmyangrynewworld.

Iwatchedthemassacrecontinue,lastingjustoveramonth,watchedasthedeathtollandbodiesall

piled up. Allowing those I’d deemed innocent to follow that pull to whatever bright thing lay beyond,
while luring the rest of them into my shimmering trap of revenge—watching it grow bigger and bigger
witheachandeverysoulIadmitted,untilitbecamethelarge,darkglobewherewelived.

Mythroatgrewdryandconstricted,andforsomeonewhonolongerbreathes,Ihadthesensationof

desperately needing to before I was suffocated. The weight of Rebecca’s soul becoming so heavy, so
burdensome,Icouldn’tevenbegintodescribemyreliefwhenIfoundmyselfbackontheothersideofit.

Icoughedandsputtered,andtriedmybesttocentermyself.AndeventhoughBodhipattedmyback

andButtercupsoftlylickedmyhand,ittookawhiletillIwasabletofacethemagain.

WhenIdid,IlookedrightatRebeccaandsaid,“I’msorryforwhathappenedtoyou.”Ifoughttokeep

my voice steady, sincere. “But I’m also sorry to tell you that you’re wrong. Dead wrong. Every thing
you’redoinghereandallofyourreasonsbehinditarewayoff.Youaresorelymisguided,andtoomany
peoplearesufferingbecauseofit.”

ButeventhoughItriedtogazeuponherwithloveandcompassion,IguessIdidn’treallyrealizeuntil

it was way past too late that the look, the word, and the emotion was completely unrecognizable,
completelymeaningless,tosomeonelikeher.

ThenextthingIknew,littleShuckyhadtransformedintotheHellBeastI’dfirstmet,asRebeccastood

beforeus,shakingwithuncontrollablerage,hereyesglowinginthesamewayasherdog’s.

“Youwillneverleavethisplace!”shescreamed.“Youwillneverfindyourwayoutofhere!Never,I

swearit!”

Thegroundshook,thewindhowled,andasteaminghotblazeflaredandburnedallaround,andless

thanasecondlater,RebeccaandherHellBeastweregone.

Iwillneverforgetthesoundofit.
ForaslongasIcontinuetoexist,Iknowforafactthatthatsoundwillexistrightalongwithme.
Imean,howdoyougetpasttheshriekofhundredsofsoulsscreaminginagony?
Howcanyoupossiblygetoversomethinglikethat?
Justbecausetheywerenolongerencasedinreal,physical,flesh-and-bloodbodies—justbecausethey

were no longer in possession of a beating heart and central nervous system—didn’t mean they were
awareofthat.

Rebeccaruledtheirperceptioninawaythatmadealloftheirmentalandphysicalagoniesseemall

tooreal,justasshecontinuedtoruleourrealitytoo.

The gale raged around us, whipping my hair into a frenzy, causing it to lash hard against my face,

leavingmewithnochoicebuttoduckmyheadlow,squintmyeyestightly,andyellintothehowlofthe
wind.Myvoicerough,hoarse,asIstruggledtobeheardovertheblare,warningBodhiandButtercupto
concentrate,tolocatethesmallgapofsilenceintheirownheads,remindingthemaswellasmyselfthatit
wastheonlywaytokeepusfromsinkingevendeeperintoRebecca’shell.

Yet,despiteallofthat,despitethefactthatweallknewbetter,itwasprettyroughgoingforeachof

us.ItwasonethingtoknowwewereplayingintothefalserealityofRebecca’sworld—quiteanotherto
spareourselvesfromit.

I manifested a leash for Buttercup, something he usually hates, but at that moment he was all too

willing to be anchored to me, and we clung to each other, making our way between souls, our bodies
gettingbatteredandbuffetedaswedesperatelysearchedfortheprince.Buttherewassomuchwindand
smokeanddebris,somanytraumatizedsouls,itwasimpossibletoseehis.

“Wehavetosplitup.”Bodhigraspedmyarmandshoutedintomyear.“Iknowyoudon’twantto,but

trust me, it’s the only way. We have to free these souls one by one. If we stay like this and do nothing,
we’llnevergetanywhere.We’lljustgetsuckedintothevortexofextremesuffering,alongwiththerestof
them.”

I looked at him, not at all sure if I was really up for the task. Even though I felt like I knew the

territory,possiblybetterthanhim,therewasstillasmallpartofmethatdidn’ttrustmyself.

Therewasstillasmallpartofmethatdidn’tquitebelieveIcouldactually,effectivelyaccomplishall

that.

Iwasbarelyhandlingmyselfwiththem,sohowcouldIpossiblymaintainmyconcentrationandfocus

withoutthem?

Imean,it’sonethingtotalkthetalk—it’squiteanothertoactuallywalkit.
AndasfarasIandfocusingwent,well,let’sjustsaywewereliketwodistantcousinswho’drarely

met.

ButBodhi,sensing,ifnothearing,myhesitation,alongwitheveryworriedthoughtinmyhead,looked

atmeandsaid,“Youcandoit,Riley.You’regoingtobefine.Heck,youhelpedme,didn’tyou?”

Inodded.Thatmuchwastrue,thoughthereminderdidn’tdomuchtoeasemyownnaggingdoubt.
“AndwhataboutButtercup?Wherewouldheberightnowifitwasn’tforyou?”
Igazeddownatmydogwhowasgazingupatme,andIcouldn’thelpbuthopehecouldn’thearmy

thoughtsjustlikeIcouldn’thearhis.Ididn’twanthimtoknowwhatabigwimpI’dbecome.

Iwrappedmyarmsaroundmywaistandbentmyheadlow,myhairwhippingallaroundme,getting

thrashedprettygood,asIdancedaroundonmytippytoestokeepmyfeetfrombeingburned.

Some apprentice I was turning out to be—I couldn’t even concentrate my way past Rebecca’s

manifestedweatherstorm.

I’dbargedmywayinherewithouteveroncestoppingtoconsiderjustwhatImightbegettingmyself

into,onlytoflipoutandloseallmynerveattheexactmomentittrulybegantomatter.

Itwaslikegazingintoamirrorandseeingtheabsoluteveryworstversionofme.
Butthenagain,Iwasonlytwelve.
Eternallystuckattwelve.
Andwiththatinmind,howmuchcouldreallybeexpectedofme?
It’snotlikebeingdeadmademeanywiserthanI’dbeenwhenIwasalive.
It’snotlikebeingdeadmademeanymoremature,orinstilledanymoreconfidenceorstrengthinme

thanI’dhadonmyverylastdayontheearthplane.

Imean,maybeifI’dbeenallowedtomakeittothirteen,I’dbegrown-upenoughtofacesomething

likethis.Butasitwas,thirteen,andallthatitpromised,wasnevergoingtohappenforme,sowhyshould
Ibeexpectedtodealwithsomethingasbigasallthis?

ButjustafterI’dfinishedthethought,Bodhituggedhardonmysleeveandsaid,“You’rewrong.”
Iraisedmyheadslightlyandpeeredathimthroughmytangledupbangs.
“Youcanconcentrateandfocus,you’vealreadyprovedthat.”
Iswallowedhard.EventhoughmybodynolongermadesalivathatIcouldactuallyswallow,Ididit

anyway.Oldhabitsreallydodiehard,itseems.

“Nottomentionthefactthatyoudon’tknowsquatabouttheHere&Now.”
Hehadmyfullattention.
“Youhavenoideahowitworks,doyou?”Bodhiasked.
Myeyeslockedonhis.
“Nooneiseverstuckanywhere,Riley.Seriously,whatkindofaplacedoyouthinkitis?”
I looked at him, because to be honest, I really wasn’t sure. At that point, I still had a whole lot of

questionsastohowitallworked.

Heduckedhisheadlowerandclenchedthatgreenstrawbetweenhisteethashesaid,“Thenagain,I

guess now you’ll never find out just what you’re truly capable of over there. You know, since you’re
choosingtobestuckhereinstead.”

Igaped,atfirstunabletoutterthewords,thoughitwasn’tlongbeforeIsaid,“Youmean,Ican…I

can,maybe…actually…turnthirteensomeday?”Ipressedmylipstogether,sureitwastoogoodtobe
true.

But Bodhi just quirked his brow and shrugged in a vague, noncommittal kind of way. “There’re no

limitsthatI’mawareof—prettymuchanythingispossiblethere.But,thesadpartisyou’llneverevenget
closeifyoucan’tfindyourwayoutofhere.”

I stared down at my toes, my dancing scorched toes. Hearing his voice in my head urging,

“Concentrate.Focus.Seethetruerealityofthisplace,nottheoneRebeccawantsyoutosee.”

SoIdid.
Anditwasn’tlongbeforethewindstopped,thefireextinguished,thegroundwentstill,andmytoes

cooled,thoughmyhairstilllookedlikeafrightwig.

“Youcandealwiththatlater.”Bodhilaughed,chuckingmeundermychin.“Butfirst,wehavesome

soulstorelease.”

Buttercup and I went one way, while Bodhi went another. Each of us approaching the nearest,

sufferingsoul,takingholdoftheirhand,andimmersingourselvesintheirworldofpainuntilwecould
introducethatsmallspaceofsilencethatguidedthemoutoftheirhell.

Andifyouthinkthatsoundssimple,ifyouthinkthatsoundseasy-peasy,well,letmetellyou:Itisn’t.
Notevenclose.
Thetruthis,weweresubjectedtosomeprettydarkthings—alongwithsomeprettyscarythings,and

someprettyhorrificthings,andsomeprettysadthings.AndI’llspeakformyselfwhenIsayIpersonally
witnessedthekindofsufferingInevercould’veimagined,neverwantedtoimagine,before.

Ifeltthecrackofthewhipagainstmybarebackthatcausedmyskintobreakopenandooze.
I watched with an indescribable fear as an intentionally aimed bowling ball whizzed right past my

face,missingmebyonlyafractionofaninch.

Iheardthehorriblethwonkasthatsamebowlingballslammedintoafarlessfortunatefriend,filled

withthehorrifyingknowledgethatyetanotherbrotherhadpassed.

Butstill,Ikeptrightongoing,offeringhope,love,andcompassion—thethreebiggest,mostpowerful

forces in the universe—and when I saw that moment of reprieve, when I saw that small gap of silence
introduced, well, I encouraged them to seize it, focus on it, and grow it until it became big enough for
themtoclimbinto.

Bigenoughforthemtoflyawayin.
Andsomewherealongtheway,afunnythinghappened.
Witheverysoulwereleased,Rebecca’sworld,herdarklyglisteningbubbleofanger,grewalittlebit

smaller.

ThoughIcouldn’tseeher,IcouldtellbythewayButtercupstilled,loweredhishead,andpulledin

histail,thatRebeccawassomewhereamongus.Butforthetimebeinganyway,shedidn’tdareapproach,
andhonestly,IfeltsoempoweredbytheworkIwasdoing,I’mnotsureIwould’vecaredifshehad.

Suddenly, I had something that was missing before: a strong belief in myself and the promise of a

futureIhadn’tdaredtoeventhinkabout.

BecauseifwhatBodhisaidwastrue,Ijustmightgettoexperiencemybiggestdreamyet:thatofbeing

thirteen.

Butfirst,wehadsomeseriousbusinesstoattendto.
Each soul was different. No two were alike. Some were angry with themselves, some were angry

withothers,whilesomehadlivedlivessohorrendousitwastrulyimpossibletofathom.

Still,Iwasn’ttheretojudge:Iwasmerelytheretoprovidesomerelief.SoIcontinuedtomakemy

waythroughtheranks,thinningthecrowdsignificantly,untilIstoppedtotakeagoodlookaroundandwas
amazedtofindtheworldhadbeendwindleddowntoBodhi,Buttercup,PrinceKanta,andme.

TosayIwasthrilledtoseetheprinceagainwouldbeputtingitmildly.ThoughI’dtriednottothink

too much about it, tried to stay focused on the soul at hand, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been pretty
disturbedbyhisabsence.

ButwhenItriedtointroducehimtoBodhi,Irealizedthey’drunintoeachotherjustalittleearlier,

aroundthetimethewallsreallystartedtocloseinandthey’dbumpedrightintoeachother.

Andthoughnoneofusactuallysaidit,IknewwewerealllookingforRebecca.Herworldhadshrunk

tothepointwheretherewasonlyoneplacelefttohide—inthebigyellowhouse,amanifestedreplicaof
theoneshegrewupin.

Istaredatthemansion,unsureifweshouldmakethefirstmoveandgogether,orwaitforhertocome

tohersenses,acknowledgeherdefeat,andfindherwayoutsidetowaveherwhiteflag.

ButwhenBodhimentionedtearingthehousedowninordertogettoher,Ihadanotheridea.
Islippedrightinfrontofthemandmademywayin,swiftlyascendingthestairswithmyfriendsright

behindme,knowingexactlywhereI’dfindhersinceI’dalreadylivedtheexperience.

Iwentstraightforthecloset.AndwhileIadmit,forasplitsecondIconsideredmanifestingsomekind

of facade that looked just like her father, knowing that would certainly lure her right out, in the end, I
decided against it. Partly because it just didn’t seem right—it seemed cruel and unkind—and partly
becauseIreallyhadnoideahowtodothat(thoughImadeamentalnotetoasklater).

I paused before the door, glancing over my shoulder to see the prince and Bodhi nodding their

encouragement,whileButtercupthumpedhistailagainstthefloor.

ThenIgrabbedholdoftheknobandyankedthedooropen,myeyesnarrowingastheyadjustedtothe

dimness,spyingnothingmorethanthetipsofhershinybrownboots,thehemofherflouncydress,andthe
straypawofthedogsheclutchedtoherchest,untilImovedalltheoldhangingclothesasideandcould
gazeupontherestofher.

Oureyesmet.Andforamoment,IwassureIcouldn’tgothroughwithit.Butthethoughtwasquickly

overcomebysomethingIcanonlydescribeasathoughtwave—thisbig,wonderfulswarmofloveand
supportthatcamefrommyfriends.

Strengthenedbythewayitsweptrightoverme,pooledallaroundme,IlookedatRebeccaandsaid,

“It’sover.Everything’sover.You’retheonlyoneleft,andnowit’stimetocomeout.”

ButifI’dhadanyillusionsitwouldbeanywherenearthateasy,well,Iquicklygotoverthem.
Rebecca wasn’t going anywhere. And somewhere in the midst of all her yelling and cursing and

rantingandraving,she’dtoldmeasmuch.

“He’snotcoming,”Isaid,deflectingeachverbalblow,lettingitjustwhizrightpastme.“Yourfather

isgone.Hemovedonalongtimeago.Whichmeansthere’sreallynopointinrelivingallthis.”

Shescoochedbackevenfarther,clutchedherdogtighter,andkickedatmewithherboots.Andwhen

itwasclearIwasn’tgoinganywhere,whenitwasclearthatnoneofuswere,shedidtheunthinkable.

SheletgoofherdogandsiccedhimonButtercup.
Iscreamed.
Icouldn’thelpit.
Thesightofthatbeastchargingmydogcausedmetoloseallmyfocus.
Butluckily,Ihadbackup.
Backupthatwasn’ttheleastbitfazedbyanyofit.
And no, I’m not referring to Bodhi, or even Prince Kanta as I definitely heard them suck in a fair

amountofair—I’mtalkingaboutButtercup.

MysweetyellowLabwho,seeingthedognowgrowntoonehundredtimeshissize,equateditwith

thegameoffetchhe’dbeenplayingearlier,thegamethatstartedallthis.Manifestingalimegreentennis
ball,justliketheonewe’dbeenusing,hesentitbouncingtowardthedoor,downthehall,thenbarkedand
waggedhistailharderashewatchedthehellhoundchaseafterit.

ThelastthingIheardasShuckyrandownthestairsandoutthefrontdoorwasthesoundofRebecca

screaming, “Nooooooo!” when she realized her dog, thanks to mine, was now on the other side of her

globe.

We tried to cajole her, tried to convince her to join him, but she refused. Even after we’d stripped

away the closet, the house, and tried to show her just how quickly her world had shrunk down, that
besidesthethreeofus,shewastheonlyinhabitantleft,shestillresistedthetruth.

Choosingtofightbackbymanifestingallmannerofhateful,anger-makingmemoriesalongwithevery

naturaldisastershecouldthinkof.

Butweremainedcalm,focused,andunited—eachofushappilyresidinginthesmall,quietspaceof

silenceshecouldnolongertakefromus.

“Whatnow?”IglancedbetweentheprinceandBodhi,lookingforsomewisewords,ifnotguidance.
“We leave her.” The prince shrugged. “Now that my brothers and sisters are freed”—he nodded

towardtheplacejustoutsidetheglobewheretheyallstood,peeringinatus—“itistimeformetogo.I
washopingtoreachher,butthatdoesnotseemtobepossiblejustyet.Andforthat,Iamsorry.Itisavery
greatfailureonmypart.”

ThoughBodhiwasquicktoagreethatweshouldalljustleaveandpossiblyrevisitthatsad,angrygirl

onsomeotherday,Ihadanotherideaentirely.

“Iknowexactlyhowtogetheroutofhere,”Isaid,lookingateachofthem.“Justfollowmylead.”

“Youcan’tdoit,”Bodhisaid,butIturnedmybackonhim,determinedtogothroughwithitnomatter

how he might choose to protest. “You cannot force someone to cross the bridge. It goes against all the
rules.AndIcan’tbelieveIhavetorepeatthistoyouwhenyoualreadyknowthat.”

I glanced at the prince, embarrassed to be bickering in front of him like this. Still, I had every

intentiontostandmyground.I’dhadanidea.AgoodoneifImightsaysomyself.AndIwassureitwould
work,ifBodhiwouldjustgiveithalfachance.

“Noone’sforcinganyonetodoanything,”Isaid,makingitapointtorollmyeyesandshakemyhead.

“Imean,sheesh,whaddayatakemefor?Somekindofamateur?”Iscrewedmylipstotheside.

“Then what?” he asked, voice still full of the fight. “You can see she’s not cooperating, so short of

forcinghertodowhatyouwant,howareyoupossiblygoingtoconvinceher?”

Iclutchedmyhipsandgazedallaround;justbecausehewasinchargeofguidingme,didn’tmeanhe

knew squat when it came to the depths of my imagination. “I’m not going to force her, and I seriously
doubtI’llbeabletoconvinceher—thoughIdoknowsomethingthatwill.”

Bodhisquinted,takinghisannoyanceoutonthestrawhemangledhardbetweenhisteeth.
“Thebridgewillconvinceher.”
Hesighed.Oneofthosebig,loud,exasperatedkindofsighsthatwassoonfollowedby,“Excuseme,

butdidInotjusttellyouthat—”Buthiswordswerecutshortbytheflashofmyhand.

“Maybeyou’reright,”Isaid,gazingbetweenhimandtheprince.“MaybeIcan’tforcehertocrossit,

butthatdoesn’tmeanIcan’tleadhertoit.”

Theylookedatme.
“Andoncesheseesthepromiseitholds,well,there’snowayshecanresist.”
“Yeah? And what if she does?” Bodhi asked, stubbornly refusing to see the absolute genius of my

plan.

But I just shrugged. “Well, then I guess we’ll cross it, and leave her to stare at it for the rest of

eternity.Butthere’snowayit’llcometothat,”Isaid,myvoicebearingfarmoreconvictionthanIactually
felt.

“Sohowdoyouproposewegetherthere,tothis…bridge?”theprinceasked,stilldressedinthe

ragsheworewhenwefirstmet.

I dropped my hands to my sides and squinted at her—at the world she’d created, the one that once

seemedsolargeandoverwhelming,onlytobereducedtothesizeofanaveragethirteen-year-oldgirl.

Sheglaredatus,allofus.Herfistsraisedinanger,shoutingeverytypeofthreatshecouldthinkof.

AndshewassofurioustoseeherlittledogShucky(backtobeingthetinyversionofhimself)sittingright
alongsideButtercupthatsheevenincludedhiminthosethreats.

Tobehonest,ifyou’daskedmeatthatmomenthowIplannedtogetheranywhereevenclosetothat

bridge,well,Ireallycouldn’thavesaid.Imean,it’snotlikethejourneywasallthatlong,sinceallwe
hadtodowasmakethesoftgoldenveiloflightandslipthroughittotheotherside,butstill,howwould
wegetherthroughit?

HowwouldweleadherfirsttoSummerland,andthen,hopefully,totheHere&Nowjustbeyond?
Thenithitme—whynotjustrollherthere?
Afterall,thebubblewasperfectlyround,whichshouldmakeiteasyenough.AndthoughIknewshe

wouldn’tlikeit,bythatpoint,Iadmit,Iwasn’treallyallthatconcernedaboutthat.

Iapproachedtheglobe,placedmyhandsoneithersideofthespacewherehereyesglowedandher

cheeksflamedbrightred,andIstartedtopush.Rollingherslowlyatfirst,seeinghertumbleandfalland
totally freak as her whole world was sent upside down and a crazy swirl of ash sprayed all over the
place.

And just as I was about to deem it a somewhat awkward, but still overall, success, one of Prince

Kanta’s brothers, a former slave whom I recognized from that sadistic bowling game of Rebecca’s
father’s, placed his hand on my arm, and when our eyes met, what I saw practically brought me to my
knees.

AndIwatchedinamazementashetookmyplace,kneltdowntotheground,andattemptedtoliftthe

bubblerightontohisback.

AtfirstIdidn’tunderstandthegesture.Didn’tunderstandwhyhe’dchosetoburdenhimselflikethat.

Butthen,whenalloftheotherslavesjoinedin,itsuddenlybegantomakesense.

Theyhadforgivenher.
Theyhadreleased themselves not just from her manifested world but also from their centuries-long

connectiontoher.

By holding on to their anger, hatred, and calls for revenge, they’d remained enslaved well past the

timeoftheirdeaths.

Theirtrueliberation,theirtruepathtofreedom,layintheirabilitytoforgive.
Aforgivenessthatdidn’tabsolveRebeccaorherfatherofthehorriblethingstheyhaddone,butrather

freedthe slaves oftheir connection tothose horrible things, aswell as theirconnection to those who’d
committedthem,allowingthemtofinallymoveon.

Then,justwhenIwassureI’dseenitall,PrinceKantashockedmeevenmorewhenhesaid,“Allow

me.”

Andamomentlater,he’dmanifestedabeautiful,luxuriouslitter—likethekindCleopatrarode—and

together,theyplacedtheglobeuponit,immunetothesightofRebeccakickingandscreamingandsending
greatplumesofashallaround.Asawholegroupofformerslavessteppedforwardtograbholdofthe
shiny,goldenrailthatranalongitssides,asBodhiandIjoinedhands,closedoureyes,andmanifested
thatsoft,goldenlightthatleadstoSummerland.

Thetwoofusstandingbackinawe,watchingastheverypeoplewhowereenslavedbyRebeccaand

herfathercarriedherrightthroughthatveilinwhatIwillforevercarryinmyheadastheultimatepicture
offorgiveness.

When we got to Summerland, they lowered the litter onto that vibrant, buoyant grass. Each of the

slavestakingamomenttoplacetheirhandsontheglassandleaveherwithablessingofpeace,before
PrinceKantasteppedforwardtosay,“Youhaveliberatedmybrothersandsisters.Becauseofyou,Miss
RileyBloom,theyarenowfreednotonlyfromtheirphysicalenslavementbut,moreimportantly,fromthe
enslavementoftheirownminds.IspeakonbehalfofallofuswhenIsaythatweareeternallygratefulto
youforshowingtheway.”

Iquicklyshookmyhead,foughttoworkpastthatchoked-upfeelinginmythroat,andglanceddown

the long line of them as I said, “I only introduced them to that glimmer of silence. They grew it from
there.”

EventhoughImeantit,eventhoughIknewthey’dtrulydonethehardestworkofall—quietingtheir

minds of all the anger and hatred and judging and chaos, along with their very justified rage regarding
theirownhorrificpasts—Istillcouldn’thelpbutfeelalittlebitproudofmyself.

Ialsocouldn’twaittogetinfrontofamirrortoseehowanactlikethatmight’veaffectedmyglow.
Butthatwouldhavetowaittilllater.Muchlater.Atthatpoint,Istillhadawholelotofsoulstocross

over.

So when Prince Kanta peered from me to the bridge—a rather ancient, rickety-looking, splintered-

wood-and-rope contraption—I just nodded and said, “Yep, that’s it. Paradise awaits you on the other
side.Onlytheydon’tcallitparadise,theycallittheHere&Now—but,anyway,you’lllearnaboutall
thatsoonenough.”

“And Rebecca?” he asked, turning back toward the globe. “Will she ever find the peace to free

herself?”

ButIjustshrugged.Ihadnoanswerforthat.Itwasprettymuchanyone’sguess.
Hemotionedforthegrouptogobeforehim,andaftershakingmyandBodhi’shands,afterkneeling

down to pat Buttercup and Shucky on their heads, they squared their shoulders, lifted their chins,
straightenedtheirbacks,andmadeforthebridgeinwhatlookedtobeaseeminglyendlessprocession.

AndeventhoughIknewtherewouldbeplentymoresoulstocatchinthefuture,eventhoughIknew

I’dsoonrackupallkindsofinterestingassignments,inpossiblyevenmoreexoticlocationsthanSt.John
intheVirginIslands,somehowIknewthatthiswouldalwaysstandoutinmymind.

NotbecauseI’dinsistedonexercisingmyfreewillandgoingitalone.
NotbecauseI’dhadnoideahowitwouldgooverwithAuroraandRoyceandtherestoftheCouncil

(somethingIhadn’treallystoppedworryingaboutdespitethesuccessofmymission).

ButbecausetherewasareallygoodchanceImightneveragainwitnesssomethingaspowerful.
Andastheycontinuedtheirmarch,thebridgeswayinganddippingbutstillstrongenoughtoholdthem

all, making their way past the heavily fogged and shrouded halfway mark, this particular part of
Summerland,anareathatwasalwayswetandmistyandshroudedinhaze,becameasbrightandwarmas
anyspringdaybackhomeontheearthplane.

Itactuallybegantoglow.
Iturnedtotheprince,seeinghimhesitate,gazingatRebeccawithgreatconcernasshecontinuedto

screamandrantandrave.AndwhatbotheredmemostaboutseeinghercarryingonlikethatwasIknewit
madetheprincefeellikehe’dfailed.

“Thisisnotgood,”IwhisperedtoBodhi.“Ireallythoughtshemightcomearoundonceshesawthis

place,but,apparently,she’smorefargonethanIthought.”

ButBodhijustlookedatme,strawbobbingupanddowninhismouthashemumbled,“Maybe.”
Isquinted,havingnoideawhatthatwassupposedtomean.
“It means, we’ll see.” He shrugged, clearly taking advantage of the fact that his thoughts were

completelyunavailabletome.

Ifocusedbackontheformerslaves,andassoonasthelastonehadcrossed,Iwatchedincomplete

and total astonishment as Bodhi reached toward the former Snarly Yow/Black Shuck/Phantom
Dog/Galleytrot/Shug Monkey/Hateful Thing/Hell Beast-turned-tiny-yippy-breed-of-indeterminate-mix,
grabbed the ball that lay at his feet, and aimed it straight toward the bridge. Smiling in triumph as it
piercedthroughthehazethatobscuredthemiddleandlittleShuckywentyappingandyipping,andchasing
rightafterit.

“Hey!That’scheating!”Icried,gapingathimincompletedisbelief.“Ican’tbelieveyoudidthat—I

can’tbelieveyouforcedhimlikethat.”

ButBodhijustlookedatme,shakinghisheadashesaid,“Nooneforcedanyone.Thatdogactedupon

hisownfreewill.Hechosetogoafterthatball,justlikeyouchosetoexerciseyourfreewillwhenyou
chosetogoafterhim.”Hebobbedhisstrawatme.“Freewillisapowerfulthing,Riley.Sometimesit’s
the only way to realize your true destiny, though it does require a fair bit of trust—in yourself, in the
universe—asI’msureyounowknow.”

Inodded,carefullycollectinghiswordsandstoringthemawayforlater.KnowingI’dwanttogoover

them,reviewthem,butatthatmoment,allofmyattentionwasclaimedbyRebecca.

Claimedbythewayherjawdropped,thewayhereyeswentimpossiblywide,thewayherfacewore

anexpressionofbothoutrageandsurpriseasshewatchedherdoghappilysprinttotheotherside.

“Where’dhego?”sheasked,herangeredgedoutbywonder.
“Hewenthome,”Isaidquietly,lookingrightather.“Andyou’rewelcometojoinhimifyouwant.

Thechoiceisyours.”

Sheglancedbetweenus,andthewayshelookedatthatmoment,well,allIcansayisIwasfilledwith

hopeforherforthefirsttimethatday.

Imean,don’tgetmewrong,shestilllookedalittleredaroundthecheeks,alittlegrimaroundthelips,

butstill,itwasprettyclearthatthefightwasbeginningtoleakrightoutofher.

She stood facing us, locked inside a world she’d already spent far too much time in. Her fingers

beginning to unclench, her hands to uncurl, as she stared into the glowing golden promise of light and
whispered,“Ohmygoodness…It’salltrue!”

Iadmit,Itotallymisreadthatatfirst.
Iwassureshewasreferringtothelight,toparadise,theHere&Now,whateveryouprefertocallit.

Itwasanawesomesight,andoncewitnessed,thepullwasnearlyimpossibletoresist.

ButIwaswrong.
Asitturnsout,itwasevenbetterthanthat.
Rebeccawasn’tjustreferringtothatawesomegoldenglow—shewasreferringtothetruthshe’dseen

residinginsideit.

A truth she’d resisted for so many years, centuries really, that was now projecting in a way that

couldn’tbemissed.

Shesawthetruthofherlife—andthatofPrinceKanta’saswell.Butdespiteherhorrible,selfishacts,

shealsosawitwasn’tthegrimplaceofpunishmentshesecretlyfeared.

Itwasaplaceofloveandwarmthandunderstandingofthedeepestkind.
Itwasaplacewhereshe’dneveragainfeelsoaloneasshehadinherlife.
Shealsosawthedimoutlineofhermother,waitingforheratthehalfwaymark.
AndthenextthingIknew,herentireworldshattered.
Herglobebroke.
Herbubbleburst.
Asahailofglasslikeshardsflewabout,hoveringintheairforamomentinawaythatresembleda

shimmeringblanketofstars,beforesoftlyfallingtothegroundwheretheylandedatherfeetandmelted
intothegrass.

Shemovedtowardtheprince,andIcouldn’thelpbuttense,butthenBodhiputhishandonmyarm,

Buttercupnudgedupbesideme,andIbegantocalmagain.AndjustwhenIwassureshewasgoingto
curtsybeforehiminthewayshe’ddonewithme,shedidsomethingentirelydifferent.

SomethingIwasn’texpecting.
Shekneltallthewaydowntoherkneesandrestedherheadathisfeetintheultimateactofhumility.
Refusingtoriseagainuntiltheprincegentlyurged,“Child,please.Itisnotnecessary.”
Hereachedforherhandandhelpedhertostanduntilshewasonceagainfacinghim.Onlythistime

herragewasallgone,havingdissolvedwiththebubble,leavingaverysorry,veryhumbledyounggirlin
itsplace.

“Iamsoverysorry,”shesaid,hervoicefaint,tremulous,“forwhatI’vedonetoyou—forwhatmy

fatherdidtoyou…”Sheshookherheadandwincedatamemoryshe’ddeniedforcenturies.Finallyable
toseethetruthofeverything—ofeveryhorribleactcommittedagainsthim—andIknewatthatmoment
thattheoldRebeccahadgoneandanewonehadtakenherplace.“IhavenoideahowI’llevermakeitup
toyou,butIpromiseIwill.I’lldowhateverittakes,justtellmewheretobegin.”

Hereyesandcheeksglistenedasastreamofcrystallinetearsspilleddownherface.AndIwatchedin

amazementastheprinceleanedforward,caughtoneofthosetearsonthetipofhisfinger,andturnedit
intoabeautifulolivebranch.

“Thereisnoneed.”Heplacedthebranchintoheroutstretchedhands.“Iforgaveyoulongago.Iwas

just waiting for you to rid yourself of your anger. Believe me when I say that the physical suffering I
enduredasaslavewasnothingcomparedtothesufferingofthebubblewhenIwastorturedbymyown
mind,myownmemoriesofthehorriblethingsthat’dbeendonetome,aswellasthehorriblethingsIhad
donetoothers.”Hepaused,makingsuresheunderstood,beforeheofferedhisarmandsaid,“So,whatdo
yousay?Shallwe?”

Shenoddedsoftlyandentwinedherarmaroundhis,thetwoofthemstoppingbeforeus,asRebecca

lookedatmeandsaid,“I’msosorry,I—”

But I just flashed my palm and stopped her right there. “No worries,” I told her. “Trust me, this is

hardlygood-bye.TheHere&Nowmaybeaprettybigplace,butI’msureI’llseeyouagain.I’lljustlook
forthegirlwiththebrightyellowbowandthesparklydress.”

Shegazeddownatherself,clearlyembarrassedtowearsuchattirewhiletheprincewasinrags.
Andsoheimmediatelymanifestedanewtunicforhimself,whileshetooktheopportunitytochange

intosomethingalittlelessgaudy,alittlemoredrab.

Then after shaking hands and hugging, and saying what turned out to be a pretty tearful good-bye, I

startedtoturnaway,sureitwasreally,trulyover,whentheyreachedthefootofthebridgeandtheprince

turnedtosay,“MissRiley!”

Iglancedovermyshoulder,meetinghisgaze,and,well,let’sjustsaythat’swhenIfinallyreachedthe

secondgoalIhadmade.

Not only had I broken down that bubble and ushered all those lost souls toward their true intended

destinies, but because of it, the prince had rewarded me with the most warm and wonderful full-on,
white-toothed,dimple-inducingsmile.

“What’sthatabout?”Bodhiasked,glancingbetweenus.
But I just shrugged, smiling and waving good-bye to the prince as I said, “Trust me, you wouldn’t

understand.”

Thesecondtheyweregone,Bodhilookedatmeandsaid,“Sowhatnow?Youstillwanttofinishyour

vacation?Weneverdidcheckoutthetown.”

ButIjustshookmyhead.AsfarasIwasconcerned,mylittlevacaywaso-v-e-r.Nomatterhowcool

thattownwasreputedtobe,nowaycoulditholdacandletotheplacesI’dbeen.

I’djustexperiencedthekindofamazingSt.Johnadventurethatcouldneverbefoundinanybrochure,

whichprettymuchguaranteedthatanythingthatfollowedwouldonlypaleincomparison.

“So what, then?” He crouched down to pet Buttercup, while still gazing at me. “You wanna go

somewhereelse?TheCouncil’snotexpectingusbackanytimesoon,whichmeanswecanprettymuchdo
whateverwewant.”

Inarrowedmygaze,drummedmyfingershardagainstmyhips,andtookalittletimetoanalyzewhat

he’djustsaid.

Whywashetryingsohardtokeepmeatapartythatwassoclearlyover?
Washebaitingme?
TryingtotrickmebyseeingifI’dchooselingeringinSt.JohnoverheadingbacktotheHere&Now

andfacetherepercussionsfortakingonajobthathadn’tbeenassignedtome?

Orwasheseriousaboutcontinuingthevacation?
Andifso,forwhatreason?
Wasitsowecouldcontinuetogettoknoweachotherbetter?
Because, quite frankly, after experiencing what it was like to be him during that whole scene with

Nicole,IwasprettymuchfeelinglikeIknewhimbetterthanIeverwantedto,thankyouverymuch.

And,Ihavetosay,thelongerIpondered,themoreofaconundrumIfoundmyselfin—oneinwhichI

was,yetagain,tornbetweenboththemorerationalandparanoidsidesofme.

“Let’sgo,”Isaid,noddingfirmlysohe’dknowIwasserious.“Let’sjustmakeourwayback.”
Helookedatme,hiseyesgoneallsquintyashemadesometotallydisgustingslurpingsoundwithhis

straw.

“Seriously.Imean,we’realmostthereanyway,sowhydelayanyfurther?”
Andthewayhelookedatme,well,let’sjustsayitwassorevealing,Icouldn’thelpbutrealizethat

Bodhiwasn’tactuallybaitingmeperse—itwasmorelikehewasbaitinghimselfthroughme.

Hewastheonewhodidn’twanttoreturn.
HewastheonewhowasafraidtogobeforetheCouncil.
Aftereverythingwe’djustaccomplished,whichwasprettydangmajorifIdosaysomyself,hewas

feelingprettyinsecureabouthowitmightgoover—doubtingtheCouncilwouldviewitinhisfavor.

Afterall,hisjobwastoguideme,andifyouthinkaboutitinitsmostbasicterms,itwasprettyclear

he’dtotallyfailedonthatone.

He’dtriedtoguidemetowardnotgoingaftertheHellBeast.ButdidIlisten?Ofcoursenot!Ijust

willfullywentoffonmyown,leavinghimwithnochoicebuttochasemedown,andevenso,oncehe
caughtupwithme,hestillcouldn’tstopme—he’dhadnochoicebuttofollowmylead.

Thethoughtalonemademefeelbad.
Maybeevenatinybitashamedofmyself.
Clearly,IwasjustasdifficulttoguideinmydeathasIhadbeeninlife.

I was still stubborn, still impulsive, still impatient—I was all the awful things he’d accused me of

beingandmore.

Itwasasthoughnothinghadchanged—oratleastnothinghavingtodowithmypersonalityanyway.
Andyet,ashehimselfsaidearlier,I’dhadeveryrighttoexercisemyfreewill.
Andnoone,notevenmyguide,couldrobmeofthat.
“Let’sgo,”Irepeated,glancingovermyshouldertoseeButtercuprunning,tryingtocatchupwithme.

“Wecanfly,wecanwalk,wecanignorethebridgeandtakethelong,scenicrouteifyouwant.I’llleave
thatuptoyou.Intheend,itallleadsbacktothesameplace.Itallleadsbackhome.”

BythetimewegotbacktotheHere&Now,Bodhiseemedprettyeagertoberidofme.
Ididn’tevengetsomuchasagood-bye,seeyalater,adios,nothing,beforehewaswellonhisway.
“Um, hel-lo!” I called, narrowing my eyes at his retreating back and shaking my head. “Aren’t you

forgetting a little something called the Council?” Sure, he was trying to avoid what I knew to be
inevitable.

He stopped, spun on his heel, and looked right at me. “We don’t approach the Council, Riley, the

Councilapproachesus.”

Oh.
Igazeddownattheground,feelingpainfullyawarethatforallmybravadoontheearthplane,Iwas

stillprettyincompetentHere.

“So,howwillIknowwhenit’stime?”Iasked,feelingkindofstupidforasking,buthowelsewasI

supposedtolearn?

ButBodhijustlookedatme.“They’llsummonme,andthenI’llsummonyou.”Hegazedallaround,as

though he had somewhere urgent to be. “So—are we through here?” he asked, never more eager to get
awayfromme.

Inodded,watchinghimretreatagain,andhavingtophysicallyrestrainButtercupfromgoingafterhim.
Traitor!I’dstartedtosayasIglareddownatmydog,thewordmeltingfastonmytonguethesecond

hegazedupatmewiththosebigbrowneyes.

Still, it’s not like I could blame him for preferring Bodhi over me. From what I’d seen, Bodhi was

liketherockstarofthisplace.Infact,heprobablyhadawholeslewofgroupiesandfriends,anentire
entourageoffansjustwaitingtocatchupwithhim,whileIjusthadme.

Okay,maybethat’snotexactlytrue.
MaybeIhadmyparentsandmygrandparentstoo.
Butstill,asniceasitwastoknowtheywereoutthere,somewhere,itstillcouldn’tcomparetothe

kindoffriendshipsIlongedfor.

ThekindI’dhadbackontheearthplane.
Thekindthatcamewithlaughsandgoodtimesandasharedinterestinalot,ifnotall,thesamethings.
Andtobehonest,notonlywasItotallyconfusedbythewaythingsworkedHere,butIwassobadat

controllingwhatcouldonlybedescribedasmyoverlyjudgmental,superficialthoughtsandopinionsthat
apparentlyeveryonecouldhear,thatIdidn’tevenknowhowtogoaboutmakinganyfriends.

SoIwandered.Tellingmyselfitwouldhelpmegetthelayoftheland,thoughthetruthis,deepdown

inside,Iknewitwasalie.

IknewexactlywhereIwasheaded,whichmeantitcameasnosurprisewhenIendedupjustoutside

theViewingRoom.

EventhoughIknewitwasdiscouraged,ifnotdownrightfrownedupon—eventhoughIknewitwould

disappointmyparents,theCouncil,andprobablyBodhiaswell,eventhoughmydogstoppedjustshyof
it,refusingtobeanaccompliceandgoanyfarther,gazingupatmewithanOh,noshedidn’tkindofgaze
—Iduckedinanyway.

Grabbinganumberfromthedispenserandtakingmyplaceinwhatturnedouttobeaprettylongline,

lyingtomyselfyetagainwhenIvowedI’djusttakeaquickpeek,checkinonmysisterandmaybeafew

oldfriends,andthenbeonmyway.

Iwaitedmyturn,checkingoutallthebluehairs,manyofwhomIrecognizedfrommylastillicitvisit,

andIcouldn’thelpbutwonderwhyitwasokayforthemtolookinontheearthplane,butnotme.

Wasitbecausetheyallclaimedtobemerelycheckinginontheirgrandkids,asopposedtosalaciously

watchingthegoings-onasthoughitweresomekindoflive-actionsoapoperalikeIdid?

Or was there some kind of Here & Now double standard that allowed only the geriatrics to get all

nostalgic,whiletheyoungoneswereurgedtoforget?

ThelinegrewasIinchedmywayclosertothefront.Determinedtokeeptomyself,tomindmyown

business,whenIheardsomeoldguybehindmesay,“Shestillworriesaboutme.Afterallthistime,she
justwon’tstopgrieving.NomatterhowmanytimesIvisitherinherdreams,nomatterhowmanytimesI
takeherhandandsay,‘Helen,listentome,Ipromiseyou,IamA-OK.Nowplease—getbacktoliving!’
as soon as she wakes up, she convinces herself it wasn’t really me, and the grief starts again. And
sometimes…”Hepaused,asItookamomenttosurreptitiouslycheckouttheshinyblackdressshoesand
matchingblacksocksheworewithhisplaidBermudashorts.“Itellya,Mort,sometimesIcan’thelpbut
wonderifI’mnotmakingitworse.”

Iturned.Icouldn’thelpit.Iturnedandblatantlystaredrightathim.
I’dneverheardofsuchathing.
Didn’tknowitwasevenpossibletovisitanotherperson’sdreams.
AndbeforeIcouldasktohearmore,helookedatmeandsaid,“CanIhelpyou?”
Thoughthewordsmayseemkindonthesurface,believeme,thatwashardlytheirintent,notinthe

least.Thetoneinhisvoiceinformedmeloudandclearthathewasn’ttheleastbitcharmedbythesightof
me,andwasclearlyannoyedbymyeavesdropping.

“Um,sorry,”Isaid,myeyesdartingbetweenhimandhisfriend.“ButIcouldn’thelpbutoverhear,did

youjustsaysomethingaboutenteringsomeone’sdream?”

Henarrowedhiscrinklylidsandlookedmeovercarefully,ashisfriend,theoneinthebrightpurple-

and-orange Hawaiian shirt, the one he’d called Mort, decided to answer for him. “A dream visitation,
that’sright.”Hestudiedmecarefully.

Mymindswirled,spinningwithallthemajorpossibilitiesofsuchathing,beforesaying,“And,um,

could you maybe tell me how someone might go about doing something like that?” I pressed my lips
togetherandprayedthatdidn’tsoundnearlyasdesperatetotheirearsasithadtomine.

Theypeered,scrutinized,practicallydissectedmeinawaythatmadeitcleartheywereveeringway

closertowardnothelpingme,andIcouldn’thelpbutwonderifmaybemyglowwasatfault.

Mypalegreen,barelythereglowthat,accordingtoBodhianyway,clearlymarkedmeasamemberof

thelevel1.5team—avirtualnewbieasfarastheywereconcerned.

EventhoughIhadn’thadachancetocheckit,toseeifit’dbeeninanywayaffectedbyeverythingI’d

accomplishedbackinSt.John,onelookatthewaytheybothglowedthissoft,sereneshadeofyellow,
well,Ifiguredtheyprobablythoughtthatsortofinformationwaswaytooadvancedforsomeoneaslowly
asme.

I’d started to turn away, telling myself to just let it go since they were obviously reluctant to help,

whenMortlookedrightatme,rubbedhischinwithasetofsurprisinglyshiny,manicurednails,andsaid,
“Well,firstyougottagototheplacewhereallthedreamstakeplace.”

Iswallowedandsquinted,butotherwisedidmybesttoremainstill.Notwantingthemtoknowthatup

untilthatmoment,I’dhadnoideathereevenwassuchaplace.

Still,itwasprettyclearbythelookheexchangedwithhisfriendthattheybothsawrightthroughme.
WhichiswhyIwassosurprisedwhenheignoredhisfriend’selbownudginghardinhissideashe

said,“It’seasyenoughtofind,allyouhavetodois—”

I leaned forward, eager to hear every last detail, only to have his words interrupted by someone

shouting,“Next!”

Iturned,seeingmynumberflashonthescreen.
“Lookslikeit’syourturn.”Mortshrugged,alongwithhisfriend.
Iwastorn.Tornbetweenwantingtocheckinontheearthplane,checkinonmysisterandfriends,and

mysuddenbutdesperateneedtolearnmoreabouttheplacewhereallthedreamshappen.

I’djuststartedtobroachitagainwhenMort’sfriend,theonewhostartedallthis,said,“Listen,you

gonnatakeyourturnornot?”

Iglancedbetweenthetwoofthem,anditwasclearbythewaytheybothlookedatmethatneitherone

ofthemhadanyplanstotellmeanythingmorethantheyalreadyhad.

Butwhilethemomentmayhavepassed,theseedhadbeenplanted.
AndasfarasIwasconcerned,itwasgoodenoughforastart.
I thrust my ticket into Mort’s hand and made a quick exit, hoping to find some kind of library or

research center, some lofty place that might offer some answers, only to find Buttercup waiting right
whereI’dlefthim,withBodhi,chompinghardonhisstraw,standingrightalongsidehim.

“It’snotwhatyouthink!”Iscreeched,regrettingthewordstheinstanttheywereout.Imean,seriously.

It’snotlikeIdidn’tknowbetter.Iwasprettywell-versedinhowthatsortofdenialneverworks.

“We’ve been summoned,” Bodhi said, choosing to ignore my ridiculously transparent statement.

“Whichmeansyoumightwanttotakeaquickmomenttospruceyourselfup.Oh,andyoumightalsowant
totakeamomenttohopeandpraythatnoonefindsoutthattheveryfirstthingyoudiduponyourreturn
wascomehere.”

Iscrewedupmyface,annoyedbyhiswords,butstill,Ididwhathesaid.Riddingmyselfofwhathad

becomeaprettyfilthyswimsuitandcover-up,beforemanifestingacoolpairofjeans,someballetflats,
andasupercuteT-shirtinitsplace.

“Better?”Iliftedmybrowandtiltedmychin.
But Bodhi just grunted and rushed ahead, calling over his shoulder to say, “Whatever you do, just

followmylead,okay?Please.Justdoyourselfafavorand—”

Hepausedlongenoughformetocatchup.
“Doyourselfafavorandletmehandleeverything.”
Heroundedacorner,andthenanother,thenheledusupawholelotofstairstothesamesmoky-glass

buildingwheremylifereviewhadtakenplace.

Andtobehonest,ifI’dhadastomach,that’sprettymuchtheexactmomentitwould’vebeguntospin

andcurlandsomersaultitswayallthewaydowntomyknees.

Theywereinside.
Aurora, Claude, Samson, Celia, and Royce—the entire Council assembled together, waiting to hear

mysideofthings.

Therewasnowaytoavoidit.
Ihadnochoicebuttofaceit.
I’dactedwillfully,rashly,stubbornlyinsistingonflauntingmyfreewilldespitebeingwarnednotto.
No matter how well it may have turned out in the end, the fact was, it wasn’t an assignment. If

anything,itwastheopposite.Myguidehadstrictlyforbiddenit.

I squared my shoulders, checked my posture, and promised myself that whatever happened next,

whateverhappenedontheothersideofthatdoor,I’ddoeverythingIcouldtofollowBodhi’sinstructions
andnotmakethingsanyworsethantheyalreadywere.

HelookedatmeandInoddedsagelyinreturn,actingasthoughIwasready,eventhoughIwaspretty

darnsurethatIwasn’t.

Myhandstremblingashereachedforthedoor,startedtoflingitwideopen,onlytohavemeslammy

palmhardagainstit,slamitsoIcouldgetabetterviewofmyself.

Myeyesgluedonmyreflection,whichwasnothingatalllikethelasttimeI’dseenit.
Suretheusualsightswereallthere:blondhair,blueeyes,stubbynose,flatchest—prettymuchexactly

thesameasthelasttimeI’dchecked,buttheglowthatsurroundeditwasentirelydifferent.

Okay,maybeI’mexaggerating.
Maybeitwasn’tentirelydifferent.
Imean,afterall,itwasstillgreen.
Buttheshadeofgreenwasdifferent.Thetoneofitwaschanged.
Likeaseriouslynoticeable,markedalteration.
Thekindthatcan’tbedisputed.
“Congratulations.”Bodhinodded,flashingaquicksmilemyway.Thoughhisfacefelljustasquickly,

asheshookhisheadandsaid,“Butbeforeyougettoocarriedawaywithyourself,youshouldknowthat
thereareconsequencestoouractions,asyou’reabouttofindout.”

Inodded,awareofthewords,notingthewarningtheycontained,butstilltooentrancedbymyown

reflectiontoreallypaythemmuchnotice.Seeingthewaythedeeper,richershadeofgreenglowedand
swirledallaroundme,andknowingitwasthedirectresultofthechoicesI’dmade.

“RememberwhatItoldyou,”hesaid,hisgazesignalingthathedidnottrustmyabilitytonotsaya

word,tonotblowit,tolethimhandlethings—notforamoment.

Ifrowned,startedtopushpasthim,watchingmyglowwaveandretreatashestoodtothesideand

usheredmein.

“Incaseyouhaven’tnoticed,”Isaid,pausingtolookathim,“I’vetotallygotmyglowon.Soreally,

howbadcanitbe?”

I checked my reflection again, convinced that no matter what happened, no matter what the Council

mightsay,myglowwouldbewithme.ItwassomethingI’dearned.Itwasn’tgoinganywhere.

ThethoughtinstantlycanceledbyBodhi’svoiceatmyear,saying,“Wrongagain,Riley.Whateverthe

Councilgives,theycanalsotakeaway.Andnow,thankstoyou,bythetimewegetoutofhere,wemay
neverglowagain.”

author’snote

Whilethecharactersandthesituationstheyfindthemselvesinarefictional,thestoryitselfwaslooselyinspiredbythe1733slaverevoltin

the Danish West Indies (now known as St. John, U.S. Virgin Islands). In Africa, a number of noblemen and -women, as well as wealthy
merchants,hadbeensoldintoslaveryafterarevoltagainstthem,thenbroughttotheCaribbeantoworkasslaves.Eventually,theyrebelled
againsttheplantationownersandmanagerswiththepurposeofretainingotherAfricanslavesfromdifferenttribestodotheirlabor.

Purportedtobeamongthefirstofthosekilledwasaplantationownerandhisyoungstepdaughter.
Also,thesadisticgameof“beachbowling”isallegedtobetrue.

CominginFall2011

Riley’sadventurescontinuein

Dreamland

ThesecondIlaideyesonAuroramyshouldersslunk,myfaceunsquinched,andIheavedadeepsigh

ofreliefknowingIhadanally,afriendonmyside.

Iwassureitwouldallbeokay.
It was the way her hair shimmered and shone, transforming from yellow to brown to black to red

beforestartingthesequencealloveragain.

Herskindidthesame,changingfromthepalestwhitetothedarkestebony,andeverypossiblehuein

between.

Andhergown,hergorgeousyellowgown,sparkledandgleamedandswishedatherfeetlikeacrush

ofshootingstars.

Even though I no longer mistook her for an angel like I did the first time I saw her, still, the whole

glisteningsightofhercalmedmeinamajorway.

Butasitturnsout,I’dmisreadthewholething.
AssoonasItookonelookatheraura—assoonasInotedthewayitsusualbrightpoppingpurplehad

dimmedtoamuchdullerviolet—well,that’swhenIknewwewereonoppositesides.

ItwasjustlikeBodhihadsaid.
Ihadaheckuvalottoexplain.
Myshouldersdrooped,myheadhunginshame,anditwasallIcoulddotoshufflealongbehindhim,

myscragglyblondhairhanginglimplybeforemelikesomeflimsy,uselessshield.

Butitwasnouse.
Nothingcouldsparemefromwhatwasclearlyinevitable.
SoIusedthoselastremainingmomentstorunafranticsearchthroughmybest,mostplausibleexcuses

—mentallyrehearsingmystoryagainandagainlikeapanickyactoronopeningnight.

EventhoughIknewI’ddonetherightthing,eventhoughIwasonehundredpercentsurethatafailure

toactwould’veresultedindisasterofmonumentalscale,eventhoughI’dtotallysucceededinmyjobasa
SoulCatcherbyconvincingawholelotofghosts,includingoneparticularlyevilone,tocrossthebridge
towheretheybelonged,eventhoughIknewallofthat,therewasnodoubtthatIwasalsoonehundred
percentresponsibleforcausingtheprobleminthefirstplace.

I’dbeentoldtolooktheotherway.
I’dbeenwarnedtomindmyownbusiness.
Tonotgetinvolvedbystickingmysemi-stubbynoseinplaceswhereitmostcertainlydidn’tbelong.
ButdidIlisten?
Uh,notexactly.
InsteadIchargedfullspeedaheadintoaheapoftrouble.
Andyet,ifIdosaysomyself,despitethedangerIputusallin,theendresultwasimpressive.
Exceedingly,undeniablyimpressive.
IjusthopedtheCouncilwouldagree.
IfollowedBodhitowardthestage,hisbacksostiffandhishandssoclenchedIwasgladIcouldn’t

seehisface.Though,ifIhadtoguess,I’dbewillingtobetthathismouth,freeofthelonggreenstrawhe

usuallychompedonwhentheCouncilwasn’taround,waspinchedintoathin,grimline,whilehisgreen
eyes, heavily shadowed by his insanely thick fringe of lashes, were sparking and flaring as he tried to
concoctthebestwaytogetridofme.AndthoughIcouldn’thearhisthoughts,couldn’tgettheslightest
inklingofjustwhathemightbethinking,Idecidedtobegladforthattoo.Itwasclearhisannoyancewith
mehadprettymuchscaledthesummit.

Ipeeredoutfromundermybangs,mygazeperformingaquicksweepoftheaudience,seeingAurora

takingherplacenexttoClaude,whosatnexttoSamson,whowasrightbesideCelia,whowassotinyand
petiteshewasabletoshareanarmrestwithRoycewithouteitheroneofthemhavingtocompromiseor
fightforequalspace.Andseeingthemallassembledlikethat,waitingforonegoodreasonwhyourlittle
Caribbeanvacationhadgonesotragicallywrong(or,asIlikedtoseeit,heroicallyright—itwasalla
matterofperspective),well,that’swhenIrememberedthemostimportantevidenceofall.

Theoneundeniablethingthatrequirednoverbalexplanationasitwasrightthere,smack-dabinthe

frontandcenter,visibleforalltosee.

Ihadmyglowon.
Actually,scratchthat.Itwasn’tjustmyusualglow.Itwasfarmoreimpressivethanthat.
As a reward for all I’d accomplished back in St. John, my glow had significantly deepened. Going

fromwhatstartedoutasabarelythere,palegreenshimmerstraightintoa…well…asomewhatdeeper
greenshimmer.

Okay,maybethechangewasn’tallthatdrastic,butthethingis,whatitlackedindramaitmadeupfor

in…er…substance.

Let’sjustsaythatitcouldn’tbemissed.
Afterall,I’dseenit.
Bodhihadseenit.
EvenButtercuphadlookedrightatmeandbarkedafewtimesashewaggedhistailandspunaround.
AllofwhichItookasaprettygoodsignthattheCouncilwouldseeittoo.FromwhatIknewofthem,

theydidn’tmissmuchofanything.

SoIrelaxed.PushingmyhairoffmyfaceasIthought,Howbadcanitbewhenmyglowissoclearly

mintygreen?

Butthen,justafterthat,IrememberedwhatBodhihadsaidrightafterhe’dfoundmeattheViewing

Roomandmademecomehere.

Somethingaboutconsequencesandactions.
SomethingabouttheCouncil’sabilitytogiveandtakeatwill.
SomethingaboutthefactthatbecauseofwhatI’ddone,becauseofmyfailuretofollowhisorders,it

wasreallyquitepossiblethatbythetimewelefthere,neitherofuswouldeverglowagain.

KnowingIhadtoactfast,knowingIhadtodowhateverittooktogetthemtoseemysideofthings,I

chargedahead.WhateverBodhiwasupto,Iwassureitwouldn’tworkinmyfavor.He’dletmeknow,on
plentyofoccasions,justhowmuchofaburdenhefoundme.

Ihadnotimefortrouble.Notimetowaste.I’djustlearnedsomethingextraordinary,hadjustheard

aboutsomemysteriousdimensionwhereallthedreamstakeplace—andIwasdeterminedtofindit.

Bodhicouldn’tbetrusted.Andwhenitcamerightdowntoit,itwaseveryman,er,makethatghost,

forhimself.SoIsqueezedhimrightoutandtookcenterstage.

Hegaspedinastonishment,triedtopushmeaway,buthewastoolateandIwastoofast,andbefore

hecoulddoanythingmore,Iwasalreadystandingsmack-dabinfrontoftheCouncil.

Iwasreadytotellthemmysideofthings.
Mystory.Myway.
AndIwasjustabouttobeginwhenInoticedhowAurora’sauragrewdimmer,andthendimmerstill,

astherestoftheCouncil’sfollowedsuit.Darkeninginawaythatmademymouthgrowsodryandmy
throatgosolumpythewordswouldn’tcome.

Leavingmetostandthere,shaky,mute,andcompletelyabandonedbyBodhi,myguide,theoneperson

whosejobitwastohelpme.

Hiseyesmeetingmine,heshookhisheadandsmirked,leavingnodoubtinmymindjusthowmuch

he’denjoywatchingmeburn.

acknowledgments

Onceagain,greatthanksareowedtoJeanFeiwel,MatthewShear,RoseHilliard,AnneMarieTallberg,JenniferDoerr,KatyHershberger,

BrittneyKleinfelter,andAngelaGoddard—justafewoftheawesome,hardworkingpeoplewhohelpbringmybookstolife;toBillContardi,
forthewisdomandlaughs;toJeanetteHarvey,whois,withoutadoubt,thebestassistantIcouldeverimagine;toSandy,forsharingthemagic
thatisOobleck;andofcourse,tomyamazinglyawesomereaders—yourenthusiasmandsupportmeantheworldtome!

QuestionsfortheAuthor

Inwhatwaysareyousimilar(ordifferent)toRileyBloom?
Actually,RileyandIsharealotincommon.Iknowwhatit’sliketobethebabyofthefamily,andthoughIhatetoadmitit,I’vealsobeenknowntohogthe

microphonewhileplayingRockBandontheWii!

Howdoyoucomeupwithyourcharacters?
Honestly,I’mnotreallysure!Thestoryideausuallycomesfirst,andthenasI’mbusyworkingonalltheinsandoutsofthenewworldI’m

creating,thecastjustsortofappears.

WhatwasyourinspirationfortheHere&Now,themagicalrealmwhereRileylives?
BackwhenIfirststartedworkingontheImmortalsseries,Ididquiteabitofresearchonmetaphysics,quantumphysics,ghosts,spirits,

andtheafterlife,etc,allofwhichsortoffedintotheconceptoftheHere&Now.Iguess,inaway,it’showIhopetheafterlifewillbe.

Doyoubelieveinghosts?
Inaword—yes.I’vedefinitelyexperiencedenoughunexplainablephenomenatoeverruleitout.
DidyougrowupwithanoldersisterthewayRileydid?Howmanybrothersandsistersdoyouhave?
Ihavetwooldersisters,bothofwhomIcompletelyidolized.There’sabitofanagegapbetweenus,oneistenyearsolder,andtheother

fiveyearsolder,andtrustmewhenIsaythatIdidmybesttoemulatethem.Ilistenedtotheirmusic,watchedtheirTVshows,andreadtheir
books—all of which was way more appealing than my own, more age-appropriate stuff. And like Riley, I used to try on their clothes and
makeupwhentheywereoutwiththeirfriends,thoughIsuspectthatrevelationwillcomeasnosurprisetothem!

Wheredoyouwriteyourbooks?
IhaveahomeofficewhereIputinvery,verylonghourssevendaysaweek—butIhavethebestjobintheworld,soI’mnotcomplaining!
Haveyoualwayswantedtobeawriter?
Well,first,Iwantedtobeamermaid,andthenaprincess,buteversincesixthgradewhenIfinishedreadingmyfirstJudyBlumebook,

Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, I decided I’d rather write instead. I’d always been an avid reader, but Judy Blume’s books were
someofthefirstthatIcoulddirectlyrelateto,andIknewthenthatsomedayIwantedtotrytowritelikethattoo.

Whatwouldyoudoifyoueverstoppedwriting?
Oh,Ishuddertoeventhinkaboutit.Itrulycan’timaginealifewithoutwriting.ThoughIsupposeI’dprobablystarttravelingmore.I’ve

traveledagoodbitalready,bothwhenIwasworkingasaflightattendantandjustonmyown,buttherearestillsomanyplaceslefttoexplore.
Oh,andI’dprobablyenrollinsomeartclassestoo—painting,jewelrymaking,craftystufflikethat.

Whatwouldyourreadersbemostsurprisedtolearnaboutyou?
Notlongago,everytimeIfinishedwritingabookIwouldcelebratebycleaningmyhouse,which,Ihavetosay,wassorelyinneedofitby

then.Butrecently,I’vecometorealizejusthowverysadandpatheticthatis,sonowIgetapedicureinstead(andsavethehousecleaningfor
anotherday)!