Radiance

anovelby

alysonnoël

St.Martin’sGriffin

NewYork

ToJeanFeiwel,formakingthispossible—

thankyou,thankyou,thankyou!

QUARE

ISH

OOK

AnImprintofMacmillan

RADIANCE

DistributedinCanadabyH.B.FennandCompanyLtd.PrintedinJuly2010intheUnitedStatesofAmericabyR.R.Donnelley&Sons

Company,Harrisonburg,Virginia.Forinformation,addressSquareFish,175FifthAvenue,NewYork,N.Y.10010.

SquareFishandtheSquareFishlogoaretrademarksofMacmillanandareusedbySt.Martin’sPressunderlicensefromMacmillan.

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData

Noël,Alyson.

Radiance.Book1/AlysonNoël.—1sted.

p.cm.

Summary:Aftercrossingthebridgeintotheafterlife,aplacecalledHerewherethetimeisalwaysNow,Riley’sexistencecontinuesinmuch

thesamewayaswhenshewasaliveuntilsheisgiventhejobofSoulCatcherand,togetherwithherteacherBodhi,returnstoearthforher

firstassignment,aghostcalledtheRadiantBoywhohasbeenhauntinganEnglishcastleforcenturiesandresistedallpreviousattemptstoget

himacrossthebridge.

ISBN:978-0-312-62917-5

[1.Futurelife—Fiction.2.Ghosts—Fiction.3.Dead—Fiction.]I.Title.

PZ7.N67185Rad2010[Fic]—dc222010015840

Coverphotographs:bridge©HiroshiWatanabe/Gallerystock;girl©BetsieVanderMeer/GettyImages;dog©RadiusImages/Jupiterimages;

field©plainpicture/Maskot

SquareFishlogodesignedbyFilomenaTuosto

BookdesignbySusanWalsh

FirstEdition:2010

10987654321

www.squarefishbooks.com

“Imaybedead,butI’mstillpretty.”

—buffythevampireslayer

Mostpeoplethinkthatdeathistheend.

Theendoflife—ofgoodtimes—theendof,well,prettymucheverything.
Butthosepeoplearewrong.
Deadwrong.
AndIshouldknow.Idiedalmostayearago.

Theweirdestpartaboutdyingisthatnothingreallychanged.

Imean,you’dexpectabigchange,right?Becausedying—well,let’sfaceit,it’sprettydramaticstuff.

Theywritesongsaboutit,booksandscreenplaystoo.Heck,it’sevenamajorthemeonSaturdaymorning
cartoons.Butthethingis,it’snothinglikeyouseeonTV.

Nothingatall.
Takemeforinstance.I’mliving,er,makethatdeadproofthatitreallyisn’tsodifferent.Oratleastnot

atfirst.Andatleastnotinabadwaylikeyouprobablythink.

Because the truth is, the moment I died I actually felt more alive than ever. I could jump higher—run

faster—IcouldevenwalkthroughwallsifIwanted.Andthat’sprettymuchwhatgaveitaway.

Thewalking-through-wallspart.
Sinceit’snotlikeIcoulddothatsortofthingbefore,sothat’showIknewsomethingwasup.
Somethingserious.
But up until then, it all just seemed like a really cool side trip. Like my dad just decided to take a

suddenturnnoneofuswereexpecting.

Onemomenthewascruisingdownacurvinghighway,whileIwassingingalongtomyiPodwithmy

dog Buttercup resting his head on my lap, doing my best to tune out my bossy older sister Ever who
practicallylivedtotormentme.AndthenextthingIknew,weweresomewhereelseentirely.

Nolongeronthehighway,nolongerinOregon,we’dsomehowlandedsmackdabinthemiddleofthis

beautiful shimmering field full of pulsating trees and flowers that shivered. And when my parents went
onewayandmysisterwentanother,Ijuststoodthere,headswivelinglikecrazy,unsurewhotofollow.

Partofmeurging,“CrossthebridgewithMomandDadandButtercup—theyknowwhat’sbest!”
Whiletheotherpartinsisted,“Don’tbesuchagoody-good—ifEverseessomethingawesomeandyou

missout,you’llregretitforever!”

AndbythetimeIfinallydecidedtogoaftermysister,I’dtakensolongshewasalreadygone.
Just—disappeared.
Straightintotheshimmeringmist.
Rightbacktotheearthplane.
Andthat’showIendedupstuck.Stuckbetweenworlds.
UntilIfoundmywayHere.
That’swhattheycallit,“Here.”
Andifyou’redumbenoughtoaskwhattimeitis,they’llsay,“Now.”
Probably because there’s no time Here, which means everything happens, well, in the moment it

happens,whichisalwaysjust—Now.

So,IguessyoucouldsayIliveintheHere&Now.
Which,strangely,isn’tsodifferentfromwhereIlivedbeforebackinEugene,Oregon.
Asidefromtherebeingnotime.Andofcourse,thatbitaboutbeingabletowalkthroughwallsandstuff.
But other than that, and the fact that I can manifest anything I want—stuff like houses and cars and

clothes,evenanimalsandbeaches,simplybyimaginingit—it’sallprettymuchthesame.

My parents are Here. My grandparents too. Even my sweet yellow Lab Buttercup made it. And even

thoughwecanliveanywherewecouldeverconceivablywant,inanykindofhousewecouldevertruly
desire, the funny thing is that my new neighborhood is pretty much an exact replica of my old
neighborhoodbackinOregon.

Everythingidentical,allthewaydowntotheclothesthathanginmycloset,thesocksthatarestuffedin

mydrawers,andthepostersthataretapedtomywalls.Theonlythingthat’sdifferent,theonlythingthat
kind of bugs me, is all the other houses around us are empty. Mostly due to the fact that all my old
neighborsandfriendsarealiveandwellandbackintheearthplane(well,fornowanyway!).Butstill,
otherthanthat,it’sexactlylikeIrememberit.

ExactlylikeIwishedit.
IjustwishIhadsomefriendstoenjoyitwith.

When I woke up this morning—oh, that’s another thing—you probably thought I didn’t need to sleep,
right? Well, at first, that’s what I thought too. But as my parents explained it to me, we are, in a sense,
more alive than ever, made up of energy in its purest form. And after a long day of creating and
manifestingand,well,whateverelsepeoplechoosetodoHere,theenergyrequiresalittledowntime,a
littleshut-eye,inordertorest,recuperate,andregenerate—which,again,isnodifferentfromlifeonthe
earthplane.

Soanyway,whenIwokeupthismorningwithButtercupwagginghistailandlickingmyface,despite

thefactthatit’saprettynicewaytowake,thatdidn’tstopmefrompushinghimaway,pullingtheblanket
overmyhead,androllingoversothatmybackwasfacinghim.Myeyelidssquinchedtogetherastightly
astheywouldgo,andItriedtofindmywaybacktomydreamasButtercupcontinuedtowhimperand
whineandpawatme.

AndjustasIwasabouttopushhimawayyetagain,that’swhenIremembered:
Buttercupwasexcitedforme.
Everyonewasexcitedforme.
From the moment I got Here, I’d pretty much kept myself busy with getting adjusted to my new life,

gettingreacquaintedwithmyfamily,andbasicallytryingtolearnhowthingsaredoneinthisplace.And
now that I was settled, it was time for my first day of school (yes, we have school Here—it’s not all
cloudloungingandharpplaying,youknow),andsinceeveryonewasactingsoexcitedaboutit,itbecame
myjobtoactexcitedtoo.

Excitedenoughtogetoutofbed,getmyselfready,andtakethetimetomanifestsomethingcooltowear,

soIcould,well,accordingtomyparentsanyway,headofftoaplacewhereI’d:

“Meetsomenewfriends,learnsomenewthings,andinnotimeatallfindmyselfpickingupright

smackwhereIleftoffbackhome!”

AndnomatterhowmuchIdoubtedthat,nomatterhowmuchIwaswillingtobetjustaboutanythingthat

there was no way that would turn out to be even remotely true, I just smiled and went along with it.
WantingthemtothinkIwasaseagerforthemomentastheyclearlywere.

NotwantingthemtoknowjusthowmuchImissedmyoldlifebackhome.Misseditsomuchitwaslike

aconstantacheinmymiddle.AndhowIwasprettydangsurethatthisschool,nomatterhowcoolthey
claimedittobe,couldnevercompetewiththeoneI’dleftbehind.

Soafterenjoyingalittlebreakfastwithmymomanddad(andno,wedon’treallyneedtoeatanymore,

butwouldyougiveupthetasteofLuckyCharmsifyoudidn’thaveto?),Isetoff.Atfirstdressedina
typicalprivate-schooluniformofwhiteblouse,plaidskirt,blueblazer,whitesocks,andcoolshoes,since
I always wanted to go to a school that required that, but then halfway there I changed my mind and
swappeditforsomeskinnyjeans,balletflats,andasoft,fuzzybluecardiganIworeoverawhitetanktop
featuringthelogoofmyfavoriteband.

Seriously, manifesting is really that easy—or at least it is Here. You just think of anything you want,

anythingatall,pictureitreallyclearlyinyourhead—etvoilà—justlikethat,it’syours!

So anyway, I kept going like that, switching back and forth, forth and back, between the two looks.

Taking two steps forward as a private-school girl, and another two dressed as an extremely stylish
twelve-year-old girl. Figuring I’d stick with whatever ensemble I was wearing by the time I reached
campus,knowingIcouldalwayschangeitinaninstantifitturnedouttobethewrongchoice.

Butthen,somewherealongtheway,Isawit.
TheViewingRoom.

Theplacemyparentshadwarnedmeabout.
Insistingitwouldleadtonogood.ThatIwouldonlybecomeobsessedyetagainjustwhenIneededto

focusmyenergiesonmovingon,settlingin,andacceptingthefactthat,likeitornot,Iamnowanofficial
residentoftheHere&Now.ClaimingitwashightimeIturnmybackonmyoldlifeandconcentrateon
embracingmyafterlife.

“You lingered on the earth plane long enough,” my dad said, giving me his usual compassionate yet

concernedlook.

Whilemymomlookedon,eyesnarrowed,armscrossed,notfooledbymyclaimsofmeremildcuriosity

forasecond.“Yoursisterhasherownlessonstolearn,herowndestinytofulfill,andit’snotyourplace
tointerfere,”she’dsaid,refusingtobudgeoreventrytoseemysideofthings.

Buteventhoughtheirintentionsweregood,thethingis,theydidn’tknowmysisternearlyaswellasI

did.Didn’trealizesheneededmeinawaytheycouldneverevenbegintocomprehend.Besides,ifit’s
truethatthere’snotime,thenit’snotlikeIcouldbelateforschool,right?Soreally,what’stheworstthat
couldhappen?

With my mind fully made up, I took a little detour and ducked inside, snatching a ticket from the

dispenser on the wall before taking my place in a very long line. Surrounded by a whole gang of gray
hairs gushing on and on about the grandkids they couldn’t wait to look in on, until my number finally
flashedontheoverheadscreenandImarchedstraightintotherecentlyvacatedcubicle,closedthecurtain
behindme,settledontothehard,metalstool,andpunchedinmydesiredlocation,carefullyscanningthe
screenuntilIfoundher.

Ever.
Mysister.
Myblond-haired,blue-eyed,teenagedsisterwholooksanawfullotlikemeexceptforournoses.She

wasluckyenoughtogetourmom’sperfectlystraightnose—whileIgotmydad’s,er,stubbierone.

“Anosewithcharacter,”mydadlikedtosay.“There’snotanotheronelikeit,notanywhere—excepton

yourface!”Alwayschasingitwithoneofthosenostriltweaksthatneverfailedtomakemelaugh.

ButeventhoughIwatchedforwhatfeltlikeaprettylongtime,Icouldn’tsayIsawallthatmuch.Orat

leastnothingimportantanyway.Nothingthatcouldbeconsideredheartstopping(andno,myheartdoesn’t
reallybeatanymore,it’sjustafigureofspeech).BasicallywhatIsawwasagirljustgoingthroughthe
motions,tryingreallyhardtomakeeveryonearoundherthinkshewasaperfectlynormalperson,livinga
perfectlynormallife,whenthetruthis,Iknewforafactthatshewasanythingbut.

Still,Icouldn’tstoplooking.Couldn’tstopthatoldfeelingfromovertakingmeagain.
TheonewheremyheartfeltasthoughitwouldswellsobigIwassureitwouldburstwide-openand

blowabigholerightthroughmychest.

Theonewheremythroatwentallhotandlumpy,wheremyeyesstartedtosting,andIwasfilledwith

suchlonging,suchoverwhelmingyearning,Iwaswillingtodoanythingtogoback.

Backtotheearthplane.
BacktowhereItrulybelonged.
Becausethetruthis,ashardasI’dbeentryingtoputonabravefaceandmakeeveryonethinkIwas

adjustingjustfineandreallylearningtolovemynewlifeHere—thefactis,Iwasn’t.

Iwasn’tadjusting.
Iwasn’tlearningtolovemuchofanything.
Not.At.All.
Infact,giventheopportunity,Iwould’vedoneanythingtolocatethatbridgeagainsoIcouldsprintright

acrossitwithoutoncelookingback.

I’ddoanythingtogobackhome,tomyrealhome,andlivealongsidemysisteragain.
Anditdidn’ttakeawholelotofscreentimetoknowthatEverfeltprettymuchthesameway.Because

notonlydidshemissme,itwasprettyclearsheneededmeasmuchasIneededher.

Andthat’sallIneededtogoontoknowI’ddonetherightthing.
That’sallIneededtoseetonotfeeltheleastbitbadforgoingagainstmyparents’wishesandsneaking

intotheViewingRoom.

Becausethetruthis,Ifeltjustified.
Sometimesyoujusthavetoactonyourown.
Sometimesyouhavetodowhatyouknowinsidetoberight.

After watching for what seemed like a while, I gave up my stall to some middle-aged guy with one of
thosecurlicuemustachesthatyouseewaymoreincartoonsthanreallife,vacatedtheViewingRoom,and
arrivedatschooldressedintheplaidskirt,whiteblouse,andblueblazer,anddecidedtojustgowithit
barringsomesortofmajor,catastrophic,fashion-relatedembarrassment.

HappytoseeIwasn’ttheonlyonewearingauniform,thatplentyofotherkidswerewearingthemtoo.

Thoughtherewerealsokidsdressedinsarisandkimonosandallsortsofreallycool,internationalwear,
withprettymucheveryethnicitypresentandaccountedfor.Andthat’swhenithitme—thefullscopeof
whatwasreallyhappeningHere.

IwasfinallytheexchangestudentIalwayswantedtobe.
When the soft, tingling sound of wind chimes trilled through the air, everyone started heading in the

samegeneraldirection,andsinceIhadnoideawhattodo,orwhereIwasexpectedtobe,Ifollowed.

Mergingintothethrongofstudentsaswemadeourwaydownabeautifullylandscapedpathfilledwith

allsortsofexoticflowers,plants,andtrees,overasmallbridgethatspannedthebiggest,mostamazing
koipondI’deverseen,andintosomebuildingthatlookedjustlikethepicturesI’dseenoftheParthenon
in Greece, except this one wasn’t all old and crumbly with missing columns and stuff. This particular
versionwasmadeofmarblesoshiny,white,andpristineitlookedasthoughithadbeenbuiltthatvery
sameday.

Wemadeourwayupthestairsandtookourplacesonalongmarblebench.Squeezinginnexttoagirl

inaroyalblueandbrightyellowcheerleadinguniformononeside,asaboyinalongbeigecottontunic,
matching cotton pants, and old leather sandals squeezed in on my other. And I was just about to turn to
him, eager to strike up a conversation and ask him where he was from and how long he’d been dead,
whenthisolddudewithlong,sparkly,golden-coloredhair(yes,itactuallysparkled—I’mnotmakingthat
up)inalong,shimmeringrobethatwassolongitpuddledaroundhisfeetanddraggedonthefloorbehind
himlikeabridaltrain,sortofglidedintotheroomaseveryonerosefromtheirseats.

Everyonebutme,thatis.
Becausethethingis—seeinghimstandingtherebeforeuslikethat,well,Iwasalittletakenaback.
Nottomentionchokedup.
Imean,eventhoughIfiguredI’dbeenHereforprobablywhatamountedtoaweek(Ikepttrackoftime

by how many times I went to sleep, counting one for each day), I’d yet to see the Big Guy, otherwise
knowninthesepartsasTheOne.

ButapparentlyIstillhadn’t,becausecheerleadergirlsittingnexttomegrabbedholdofmyjacketand

continued to yank on my sleeve until we were standing shoulder to shoulder, her mind hissing at mine:
What’reyadoin’,mate?YoubetterstandupsoPerseuscancountyou!

“Perseus?”Ilookedather,notrealizingI’dspokenoutlouduntilthedorkyguywiththegreasyhairand

nerdglassessittingrightinfrontofmeturnedandthought:Shhh!

Iclampedmylipsshutandstaredstraightahead,feelingasthoughthatPerseusdudewaslookingright

atme,butthen,aftergazingaroundabit,Irealizedhewas.Butnotjustatme,hewasprettymuchlooking
ateveryone,conductingasortofmentalrollcallitseemed,whichprobablyexplainedwhyeveryonewas
ontheirbestbehavior.

Upuntilthen,I’dneverseensuchalargegroupofwell-behavedstudents,especiallyatanassemblylike

this.AndIcouldn’thelpbuthopethatwouldn’talwaysbethecase.Thatwedidn’talljustimmediately
turn into angels and saints by virtue of being Here. That somewhere in the crowd was at least one
potentialfriendwho’dunderstandthefundamentalvalueofgoofingoff.

Becauseifnot,well,howboringwouldthatbe?
AndIwassolostinthethoughtIdidn’tevenrealizethemusichadstarteduntilcheerleadergirlnudged

meonthearmandpointedtowherePerseusnowstoodcenterstage.Anelectricguitarstrappedacross
hischestasheledusallinarousingchorusof“YouCan’tAlwaysGetWhatYouWant.”Draggingthe
songoutformuchlongerthannecessary,muchlongerthanIrememberitbeing,andevenaddinginsome
major guitar riffs I know for a fact I never heard on my dad’s old CDs. Gladly accepting his standing
ovation the moment it was finally, mercifully over, and promptly discarding his glittering robe and
revealinghimselftobejustanotherold-schoolhippieinfadedjeans,vintageRollingStonesconcerttee,
andbarefeet.

You shoulda been ’ere last time when he made us sing “Get Off of My Cloud,” cheerleader girl

thought,pushingdownonmyshoulder,signalingthatitwastimetositonceagain,andleaningtowardme
whenshewhispered,“Itwentonforever.Iswear,he’sjustbidinghistime’tilMickandKeithshowup,
then we’ll never see ’im again.” And when she pulled away, she smiled so brightly it made her whole
bodyradiatewiththemostwonderfulgreen-tingedglow.

“How’dyoudothat?”Iasked,ignoringwhatevertelepathicmessagePerseuswasnowsendinginfavor

of taking in her long rows of braids with the beautiful, multicolored beads dangling from the ends, her
large,browneyes,fullpinklips,anddarkskin.Seeingthequestioninhergaze,thewayherheadcocked
totheside,andfurtherexplainingwhenIthought:Youknow,glowlikethat?How’dyoudoit?

She looked at me, eyes narrowed as she took her time taking me in. Starting at my shoes and slowly

working her way up to my bangs that were brushed to the side in the way I’d recently started
experimentingwith.Seeminglyjustaboutreadytogivemetheanswerwhentheguyonmyleftnudgedme
andsaid,“Excuseme,but—doyoumind?”

Ipulledmyfeetin,watchingasheglidedpastmyknees,downthestairs,andontothestagewherehe

stood beside Perseus. Beaming into the crowd as though he’d just accomplished something majorly
importantandbig,thoughIcouldn’t,forthelifeofme,evenbegintoguesswhatthatmight’vepossibly
been.

Andwhenthedorkyguyinfrontofmemadehiswaydowntoo,Iwassurprisedtoseehimgreetedbya

series of cheers and claps and even a couple wolf whistles along with a catcall or two. Then, just a
momentafterthat,cheerleadergirlturnedtome,placedherhandrightonmyknee,andinherthickBritish
accentsaid,“You’renew’ere,right?”

Inodded,eventhoughIdidn’treallyneedtosincesheonlypausedforasecondbeforeshewastalking

again.

“Icanalwaystell.Butdon’tworry.Eventuallyallofyerquestionswillbeanswered.Everysingleone.

Butonlyeventually.”Sheeyeballedmeagain,adding,“Andnot’tilyerready.”AndbeforeIcouldeven
respond,shewasgone.

That radiant glow practically drifting behind her as she made her way down the stairs and onto the

stage,smilingandwavingatthoseofusstillleftsittinginthestands.Hergazemeetingmineandholding
foramomentasshethought:Justchill.Therightpersonwillfindyouandshowyoutheway.Andthen
sheturnedtowarddorkyguyandwhisperedinhisear.

Igazedallaround,wonderingjustexactlywhothatrightpersonmightbe.Weretheyonthestage?Inthe

stands?Ormaybeevensomewhereelseentirely?Andhowdidthosepeoplestandingonthestageeven
knowitwastheirturntoheaddown?Imean,it’snotlikeI’dheardanysummoning-typethoughtsorany
long list of names shouted out. Somehow, it just seemed as though everyone knew exactly where to go,
whentogothere,andwhattodooncetheyarrived.

Everyoneseemedtoknowjustexactlywhatwasgoingon—andjustexactlywhatitmeant.

Everyonehadapurpose.
Everyonebutme.
Tome,italljustseemedlikeaconfusinglyrandom,completelyunrelatedstringofevents.
But then, after watching a little bit longer, I realized that it might not be nearly as random as it first

seemed,becauseeveryoneonthatstagesharedonethingincommon.

Onemajorlybigthingthattherestofuslacked.
Theywereallglowing.
Theirbodiesradiatingthemostbeautiful,shimmering,deepgreenglow.
While the rest of us left sitting in the stands were made up of the varying shades of the ghostly pale

spectrum.

IheldmyhandsoutbeforemeandexaminedthemcloselyjusttomakesureIwasn’tmissingsomething.

Butdespiteseeingamanicuredesperatelyinneedofado-over,itwasprettymuchbusinessasusual.Slim
fingers,smallknuckles,afreckleortwo,butnoglowinsight,notevenahint.

Oncethestagewasprettymuchfull,everyonearoundmestoodinapplause.Andnotwantingtoappear

totally clueless, I rose along with them. Jumping to my feet and covertly readjusting my blazer and
smoothingmyskirt,itwasn’tlongbeforeitwasoverandIwasmergingalongwiththecrowdonceagain,
directingmyquestionatanyonewhomightbekindenoughtoanswerwhenIcalledout,“So—whereto
now?”

Hopingsomeonemightbewillingtopitchinandhelpoutanewbieinneed—givealittlepushinthe

rightdirection,oreventhegeneraldirectionwoulddo—sinceIwasbeginningtofeelevenmoreclueless
thanwhenIfirstarrivedatthisplace.Andsofar,nothingI’dseenresembledanythingschool-like,nordid
itmaketheleastbitofsense.

“Wegotoourassignedplace,andyougotoyourassignedplace,”theguybeforemesaid,glancingover

his shoulder long enough to tack on a not-so-polite-sounding “Where else?” that immediately made my
cheeksflushbrightpinkandmylipsclamptightlyshut.

Itookadeepbreath(andno,Inolongerhadtobreathe,butsomehabitsreallydodiehard)anddidmy

best to keep to myself and just shuffle along with the rest of them. My mind spinning with questions,
wondering: Where the heck were we going—why was everyone acting so quiet and obedient—not to
mention, just exactly where were these supposed friends my parents swore I’d find—the ones with
commoninterests—theoneswholikedtogoofoffandhaveagoodtime?

AndthemoreIlookedaround,themoreconvincedIbecamethatasfarasschoolswent,thishadtobe

theweirdestoneofall.

Andasfarasthestudentswent,well,theywereweirdtoo.
Andtherewasjustnogettingaroundit—thewholethingwasgivingmeamajorcaseofthecreeps.
I continued to gaze all around, desperate to find someone, anyone, that I might be able to talk to,

someonewhomightbeabletocluemeintowherewewereallheading—andwhatIwasinforoncewe
gotthere.

But—nothing.
Mostofthemwouldn’tevenlookatme,andthefewwhodidmerelysmiledpolitelythenquicklylooked

away.Anditleftmefeelingsolonelyandhomesick,itfeltlikeIhadaviseshoveddeepintomymiddle
—onethatwasclampingdownonmyinsides.

Still,Ikeptmoving,placingonefootinfrontoftheother,ignoringmyworstfears,whiletryingtostay

hopefulandbright(oratleastappearthatway),andtojustallowmyselftoseewhereitled.Butdeep
downinside,Iwasanxious,nervous,andmorethanalittlescared,andallIreallywantedwastohead
home,slipintomyPJs,andcurluponmybedwithButtercupbymyside.

The day I’d been dreading, the day my parents swore would open up a whole exciting new world,

providingallofmyfavoritethings,likeartclasses,andliteratureclasses,andforeignlanguageclasses,
andmaybeevenclassesonsinging,andacting,anddancing,andfashiondesign,andhorsebackridingtoo
—thedaythatwassupposedtomakemeforgetallaboutmyoldlifeandhappilyembracemynewone—
well,itwasturningoutjustasIfeared:

Itwasawful.
Nothingatallliketheysaiditwouldbe.
Anditwasprettydangclearthatwhenitcametothesesortsofthings,theyreallydidn’thaveaclue.

Nothingthey’dpromisedcouldbefoundontheagenda—oratleastnotmyagenda.

FromeverythingI’dwitnessedsofar,thisschoolwaschock-fullofbizarreritualsandbizarreglowing

peoplewhosaidbizarrethingsIcouldn’tevenbegintocomprehend.AndanyforcedexcitementthatImay
have started my day with, well, it was quickly snuffed out and completely obliterated by my absolute
certaintythatIdidn’tfitin.

Wouldneverfitin.
Andmostcertainlyandpositively,didnotbelongHere.
Therehadtobesomeotherplacebettersuitedforme.
AndnotonlywasIsureofit,butIwasdeterminedtodowhateverittooktofindit.

Aftereveryonedisappeared,andImeanseriously,justtookoffinwhatseemedlikeagazilliondifferent
directions, I decided to take cheerleader girl’s advice and try to appear like a person who was just
chilling.Butthetruthis,itwasatotalfakeout.BecauseinsideIfeltallnervousandtwitchyandmore
thanalittlehumiliatedtobestandingthere,allbymyself,lookingsolostandcluelesslikethat.

Likeacompleteandtotalfailureonmyfirstdayofschool.
AndIknewthatanyonewhosawmewouldagreeitwastrue.
Iploppedmyselfdownonanelaboratelycarvedwoodenbench,actingasthoughIwasjustmindingmy

ownbusinessasItookinthewater-spouting,stonecherubsthatlinedthefountainbeforeme,whenwhatI
wasreallydoingwastryingtodecipherjustwhatthatcheerleadergirlmeantwhensheclaimedtheright
personwouldfindmeandshowmetheway.

Didshemeanlikeaguide?
Likeacounselororguardianangelofsomekind?
Andifso,wasIsupposedtodosomethingtoletthemknowIwasHere?Ready,willing,andabletoget

thispartystartedbeforeIlostallmynerveanddecidedtoheadbackhomeandneverreturn?

ThecrowdthinnedaroundmeasIchewedonmynailsinawaythatinstantlydowngradedmymanicure

from ragged to downright pitiful. Not stopping until my nails were bitten to the quick, the quad was
completelycleared,anditwasjustmeandhim—thedorkyguywhohadsatinfrontofmeattheassembly.

TheonewhotoldmetoShhh!
Theonewiththegreasy,slicked-backhairandblacknerdframesperchedhighonhisnose,theglassof

whichwassothickandheavyitobscuredhiseyestothepointwhereIcouldbarelyevenseethem.

The one with that deep, greenish glow who elicited a startling amount of catcalls and whistles as he

madeforthestage.

ThoughthelongerIstudiedhim,themoreconvincedIbecamethatthatlittlefanclubofhiswasmeantto

bemoreironicthanreal.AndwhenItookinhisdorkshoesandweird,darksuitwiththewhiteshirtand
skinnyblacktiethatmadehimlooklikehewaseitheronhiswaytoanerdconventionorajobinterview
withtheCIA,Iwassure.

AndallIcouldthinkashestoodtherebeforemewas:
Great!Myfirstdayofmiddleschool,andI’mleftwithMonsieurDorkyGuy.
Andadeaddorkatthat.
Prettymuchmybiggestnightmarecometrue.
Temporarilyforgettingthefactthatthoughtsareenergy—thattheycanbeheardbyeveryoneHereuntil

he turned to me and said, “Dorky guy?” Balking in a way that made his eyes bug out so much they
practicallypressedagainsthislenses,gapingatmeasthoughhe’dneverbeencalledthatbefore,which,
sorrytosay,Ifoundveryhardtobelieve.“Didyouseriouslyjustcallmeadork?”herepeated,clearly
offended.

Istoodthere,lipsscrewedtotheside,shouldersliftinginembarrassment,knowingtherewasnowayto

takeitback,oratleastnotgracefullyanyway.DecidingtojuststepupandownupwhenIsaid,“Well,
maybeifyoulostthesuitandtieandungreasedyourhairalittle—youwouldn’tlookquiteso—er—” I
paused,reluctanttousetheoffendingwordyetagaineventhoughitwasclearlytheonlyonethatwould
fit.

“Dorkish? Dork-like? Like the sole inhabitant of Dorkville?” He looked at me, brows merged, lips

grim,andcertainlynotglowinglikehedidearlier.“Isthatwhatyoumeant?”

Ishrugged,unsurewheretotakeitfromthere,butlookingrightathimwhenIsaid,“Listen,I’mnew,

andthisisallstillalittleconfusing.ApparentlyIhavesomebadhabitsleftoverfromtheearthplane,and
Ihaven’tlearnedhowtoguardmythoughtsyet,orevenifthat’sactuallypossible.Butthepointis,Ihave
noideawhereI’msupposedtobe,IjustknowI’msupposedtobesomewhere.So,ifyoudon’tmind,I’m
justgonna—”

Istartedtoleave,startedtopushpasthim,buthejustappearedrightbeforemeagaininallofhisfour-

eyed,greasy-haireddorkitude.Armscrossedtightly,headtiltedtotheside,asheslowlylookedmeover
andsaid,“Asitjustsohappens,Iknowexactlywhereyoushouldbe.Youneedtobefollowingme.”

Irolledmyeyes,sincerelydoubtingthat.Besides,nowaywasIfollowinghim.Hewastooweird,too

dorky,andtooobviouslyoffendedbythefactthatI’dcalledhimthat.Standingmyground,Iwatchedashe
headedforthishuge,all-glasspavilion.Takingthesteepsetofstairsinahandfulofsteps,justassuming
I’dfollow,which,eventually,leftwithnobetteroptions,I’mashamedtoadmit,butIdid.

“Hey—um—”Isquintedatthebackofhishead,havingnoideawhattocallhim,butprettysurethat

dorkyguywasoff-limitsfromthispointon.“Whatisthisplace?”Iasked,dreadingtheembarrassmentof
showinguplateformyveryfirstclasswhereI’dinstantlybepeggedasthecluelessnewgirlfortherest
oftheyear.“Seriously,whereareyoutakingme?”Icalled,staringathisretreatingback,seeinghowhe
wasprettytallforhisage,whichIfiguredtobesomewherearoundfourteeneventhoughhedressedmore
likesomebody’sdad.

Followinghimaroundacornerandstoppingjustshortofbumpingrightintohimwhenhepausedbefore

alarge,smoked-glassdoor,openeditwide,andsaid,“They’reallinside.Waitingforyou.”

Iglancedbetweenhimandthedoor,seeinghimnodencouraginglyasIpokedmyheadinandpeered

aroundatabigemptyroomwhereabsolutelynoonewaswaitingformeoranyoneelseforthatmatter.
My eyes adjusting to the light as I took in the large, raised stage partially hidden by heavy, red velvet
drapes,andtherowsofsoft,cushychairsthatfacedit.Andeventhoughtheroomseemedperfectlynice,
andnotatallthreateninginanyway,shape,orform,Icouldn’thelpbutnoticetheawfulfeelinginvading
mymiddle,urgingmetogettheheckoutofthere,beforeitwastoolate.

AndjustasIturnedtoaskifthiswassomekindofhoax,somekindoflamepick-on-the-new-girlhazing

ritual,hepressedhishandbetweenmyshoulderbladesandshovedmeinside.

Saying,“Goodluck—you’regonnaneedit!”asthedoorslammedshutbehindme.

Ireachedforthehandle,eagertogettheheckoutsoIcouldtrackhimdownandreallylethimhaveit.
AndI’dalmostsucceeded,whensomeonecalledoutfrombehindmeandIturned,scowlplantedfirmlyin
place, dreading even a moment’s delay, only to find myself face-to-face with what I assumed to be an
angel.

Anincrediblybeautiful,glitteringangel.
ThefirstoneI’dseensinceI’darrivedHere.
“Riley?”Shelookedatmewitheyessokind,Iimmediatelyeasedthefrownfrommyface.“Youare

RileyBloom,right?”

Inodded.ItwasallIcoulddo.Iwassoawed,sostruckbyherappearance,thewayherlongcurlyhair

shimmeredandshone,transformingfromyellowtobrowntoblacktoredbeforestartingthesequenceall
over again, while her skin did the same, converting from the palest white to the darkest ebony and
everything else in between. And her gown, her beautiful, blue, sparkly gown, swished all around,
gleaminginawaythatmadeitlooklikeitwaswovenfromgenerouspilesofstardustandlongyardsof
lace.Theonlythingmissingwerewings,orifshehadthem,theyweren’tquitevisibletome.

Shesmiled,beckoningformetocomecloser,andIinstantlyfollowedwithoutthinkingtwice.Because

thetruthis,shewassomesmerizing,sostunning,Ijustcouldn’trefuse.Radiatingalightsobrilliant,so
vibrant, so deep, so—purpley—it made cheerleader girl and dorky guy seem like burned-out bulbs in
comparison. And though I was sure I’d never met her before, she somehow seemed strangely familiar.
And the moment she smiled, her kind eyes studying mine, I knew why—she was like every fairy-tale
princesscometolife.

“We’resoverygladtoseeyou,”shesaid,handsfoldedbeforeher.
We?
Iblinked,once,twice,amazedtoseetheseatsthathadsatemptyjustamomentagowerenowoccupied

byasmallgroupofrobe-cladpeople.Buteventhoughtheyglowedtoo,notoneofthemshinednearlyas
brightlyasthebeautifulangelbeforeme.

“I’mAurora,”shesaid,andtobehonest,Iwasn’ttheleastbitsurprised.Ifanyonecouldpulloffaname

likethat,itwasher.“AndthishereisClaude.”Shemotionedtowardaguywithalong,darkponytailthat
pretty much matched the long, scraggly beard that hung almost to his waist. “And Royce.” She nodded
toward the guy next to Claude who, with his wavy brown hair, dark skin, and glinting green eyes, was
definitelyhotenoughtobeamajormoviestarbackhomeontheearthplane.Samsonwastheguysittingto
his right, and honestly, he looked so old, he almost looked young again, like he’d come full circle or
something,eventhoughIknowthatdoesn’treallymakeanysense.AndnexttoSamsonwasCelia,who
wassopetite,sheseemedalmostlikeapersoninminiature,andhercreamysilkrobewascoveredinthe
mostbeautifulembroideryofbrightblossomingflowersandlong,spindlyvines.

But despite how kind, welcoming, and completely non-threatening they all seemed, despite how they

glowedinvaryingshadesrangingfromCelia’scornflowerbluetoAurora’svibrantpurple,Istillcouldn’t
ditch this increasingly uncomfortable feeling that lived inside me, though it’s not like I could place it
either.NorcouldIcomeupwithonegoodreasonforhavingitinthefirstplace.AllIknew,asIstood
therebeforethem,wasthatsomethingwasup.

Somethingbig.
And even though now, looking back, it all seems pretty obvious, at the time, I didn’t have even the

slightestclueofwhatIwasinfor.

FromeverythingI’dseenuptothatpoint,itdidn’tevenoccurtomethatthatkindofthingcouldactually

betrue.

“We’remembersoftheCouncil,”Aurorasaid,asthoughthatsomehowmadesense,smilingasshetook

herseatamongthem.“Doyouknowwhatthatis?”

I shook my head and bit down hard on my lip, unable to speak, unable to even think for that matter.

Prettymuchunabletodoanythingmorethanstandthereandgape.MyeyesdartingaroundasItookinthe
roomonceagain,gutpracticallygoingintospasmswhenIsuddenlyrealizedwhatthestagewasfor.

Whyitjustsatthereallempty.
Whatthiswasreallyabout.
“Noworries,”saidthehotone,whoIthoughtwasnamedRoycebutIwastoofreakedtobesure.
“Nothingtoworryabout.You’reperfectlysafe.Noneofusbite,”saidSamson,which,forsomestrange

reasonelicitedabiglaughfromeveryonepresent.

Well,everyoneexceptme.
Iwasaboutasfarfromlaughingasapersoncouldget.Becausethetruthis,Iwastoobusylookingfora

wayout.Completelyovercomebythishorrible,sinkingfeeling,nowthatIhadaprettygoodideaofwhat
myimmediatefuturewouldbring.

And yet, that hard slab of fear in my gut was really no match for the rising wave of annoyance. The

overwhelmingfeelingthatI’dbeenPunk’d.

Suckerpunched.
Setupinthemostunfairway.
Rememberinghowjustalittlewhileearlier,myparentshadsimplyhuggedmegood-byeastheysang

“haveaniceday!”asthougheverythingwereperfectlynormal.

AsthoughIwasn’tabouttobefaced,ambushedreally,withthis.
Nowarning.Noheads-upofanykind.Justtossedintoadenoflions,withnoammo,nodefenses,no

tipsonhowtosurvive.

MygazemovedoverthemasIsighedandshookmyhead.
Thiswasit.
Judgmentday.
ItwasmeagainstthemandtherewasnothingIcoulddoaboutit.
NottheleastbitsurprisedwhenIsuddenlyfoundmyselfstandingcenterstageeventhoughI’darrived

therethroughnowillofmyown.

Watchingincompleteandtotalhorrorastheyallleanedforwardintheirseats,eagerlywaitingforthe

showtobegin,asthedrapesslidopenbehindme.

Claude,thebeardedguy,gotupfromhisseat,wentovertotheginormousbookcasethatlinedthefarwall
that I somehow missed in my initial nervousness, and withdrew a small, slim book he casually flipped
through.Proceedingtomakeaseriesofclickingsoundsashistonguehittheinsideofhischeek,onlyto
finallyslamthebookshut,placeitbackontheshelf,andreturntohisseat.

“Well, it seems someone’s lived a very interesting life,” he said, arranging his robe over his crossed

legsashelookedatme.“Whydon’tyoutellusabitaboutthat?”

Igaped,theeye-bugging,jaw-droppingkindofgape.Shootinghimmybestyou’recrazylook,surethat

hehadtobejoking,eventhoughtheglintinhiseyesassuredmehewasanythingbut.

Theywerewaiting.Allofthempatientlywaiting.Eagertoheartheextremelyshortstoryofmyover-

before-I-knew-ittwelveyearsoflife.

Andthetruthis,thelongertheysatthere,waitingformetobegin,themoreannoyedIbecame,untilthe

anger bubbled up so high inside me it boiled right over and spilled out when I said, “Are you kidding
me?”Ipaused,waitingforsomeonetocoptoit,toletmeinonthejoke,butwhennobodydid,Ishookmy
head and continued. “How interesting could the story possibly be when I didn’t even make it to
thirteen?” I pressed my lips together to keep them from quivering in an embarrassing, visible way.
Crossing my arms tightly across a chest that, now, thanks to the fact that I was sent Here, would stay
stubbornly flat for, well, for eternity as far as I could tell. And when my eyes started to sting, and my
throat went all hot and tight, it just made it all seem that much worse. I mean, the one thing—the only
thingIeverreallywantedwastobeateenager—andthesepeoplehadyankeditrightoutfromunderme.

“So,isitaccuratetosaythatyoufeel—shortchanged?”Royceasked,headcockedtotheside,eyesall

squinty.StudyingmelikehewasthescientistandIhismostinterestingrat.

“Is that why you lingered so long on the earth plane?” asked Celia, in a polite, demure way, though I

wasn’tfooledforaninstant.Notwiththewayhereyesroamedoverme,notmissingathing.

Andhavingthemallstaringatmelikethat,well,itjustmadeitworse.
MademefeellikeIwassomekindofsideshow.
Somekindoffreak.
Eventhoughtheywereallstrivingtoappearcalmandthoughtfulandfriendly,asthoughtheyhadallthe

time in the world for me to get my bearings and give them the big reveal of how I spent my twelve,
patheticallyshort,years,Iwasn’tfooledforasecond.

Thesepeoplekneweverything.Itwasallinthebook.Theyjustwantedtohearitfromme.Theywanted

metoownuptoit.

Anafterlifetest.
That’swhatthiswas.
Therewasnodoubtinmymind.
“It’s true that we know everything,” Aurora confided, confirming what I’d already guessed. “But you

havenothingtoworryabout,there’snojudgmenthere.Wejustwanttogiveyouachancetoexplainit,
that’sall.Totelluswhatmotivatedyoutomakethechoicesyoudid.We’reinterestedinyourinput,to
hearyoursideofthings,sowecanbestdecidewheretoplaceyou.”

Isquinted,mygazemovingoverthem,allofthem,buttheyweretoogoodatthis,toowellpracticed,

andIcouldn’tgleaneventheslightestcluetowhatshemight’vemeantbythat.

“Everyonehasaplace,”Celiasaid,hertinyhandssmoothingthesleevesofhergown.“Itisourtaskto

find yours,” she added, as though that should somehow mean something, as though that should make
perfectsensetoanewbielikeme.

Ishookmyhead,feelingcompletelyannoyed,upset,and,well,mostlyannoyed,saying,“Listen,I’mnot

reallyallthatintothis,soI’mwonderingifwecouldmaybe,um,catchupanothertimeorsomething.I
mean,sinceyoualreadyknowallthereistoknow,Idon’treallyseethepointofallthis.And,thetruthis,
Ifeelalittlecreepedouthavingtostandhereonthisstage.Butfine,ifyouinsistonknowing,then,okay,I
guessthetoptwoitemsonmyshortlistofsinswouldprobablybe:One,sometimes,oncertainoccasions,
IusedtohogthemicwhenIplayedRockBandontheWiiwithmyfriends—”Istopped,hearingmyown
voice in my head saying, Really? You’re seriously going to lie about that? Here, of all places? And
clearingmythroatwhenIadded,“Um,okay,Imight’veactuallyhoggeditmorethansometimes,butthat’s
onlybecauseIwaspracticingtogoonAmericanIdol,which,youprobablydon’tknow,butit’sthisreally
popularshowon—”Ishookmyhead,knowingIneededtokeepitmovingifIwantedtogetoutofthere
anytimesoon.

“So,anyway,whatelse?Okay,well,Iguessnumbertwowouldbethatonetime,backinfourthgrade,

whenwehadthatsubstituteteacherandsomeone,er,ImeanI,changedtheseatingchartallaround,sothat
allthegirlshadboy’snamesandalltheboyshadgirl’snames—but,again,I’dliketomakeitclearthat
therewereextenuatingcircumstancesinthatcasetoo.Forstarters,itwasn’tentirelymyidea.Infact,it
wasn’tmyideaatall.Butanyway,theonlyreasonIevenagreedtogoalongwithitisbecauseFelicia
Hawkinsdaredme.Andjustincaseyou’reunfamiliarwithher,well,sheismajorlymean.Seriously,she
wasoneofthemeanest,nastiest,snobbiestkidsintheschool,and,bytheway,thatincludesallofthefifth
andsixthgraderstoo.So,withthatinmind,Ithinkit’sfairtosaythatIreallyhadnochoicebuttoprove
that I wasn’t the least bit afraid of her, the substitute, or anyone else. Otherwise she would’ve been all
overmefortherestoftheyear,ifnotlonger.So,ifanyoneshouldbepunishedHere,it’sFeliciaHawkins,
notme.Butnooo,she’sstillliving,stillbreathing,andlastIsaw,stillterrorizingherclassmates,withno
consequenceswhatsoever,whileI’mtheonewhogetsstuckHere,standingonsomedumbstage,insome
dumbroom,defendingafewdumbacts.Imean,seriously,howunfairisthat?”

Istaredatthem,allflushedandredfaced,buteventhoughthequestionwasn’tnearlyasrhetoricalasit

may have seemed, not one of them answered. They just all leaned forward, practically in unison, like
they’drehearseditorsomething,completelyignoringmyoverlyemotionaloutburstthatleftmemorethan
alittleembarrassed,astheireyesfocusedonthescreenjustbehindme.Ascreenthatsuddenlyflickered
tolife,showingastreamofimagesof—

Well—
Me.
Me,athomeinEugene,Oregon,notevenayearoldandcrawlingaftermybigsisterEverwhowasjust

fouryearsolderandfromwhatIcouldsee,alreadymourningthelossofherprivacy.

Me, a few years later, pedaling furiously on my new purple bike with the training wheels attached,

doingmybesttokeepupwithEver,whosebikewaslimegreenandaheckofalotfasterthanmine.

Me,afewyearslaterstill,sneakingEver’sclothesandwearingthemtoschoolwithoutherknowing,

eventhoughtheydidn’texactlyfitandIhadtorollupthehemsandthesleeves.

Me, just last year, not long before the accident, spying on her and her old boyfriend Brandon with a

mixtureoffascinationandrevulsionastheykissedonthecouchinourdenwhenourparentswerehaving
oneoftheir“datenights”andshewassupposedtobebabysittingme.

Andhonestly,IhavenoideawhattheCouncilmight’vebeenthinking,butasforme,Iwasmortified.

Unable to tear my eyes away from the screen of horrors that unfolded before me, and cringing with
embarrassmentasIwatchedanunmistakablepatternofbehaviorI’dneverrealizedbefore.

ApatternofbehaviorIactuallyswore,timeandagain,didn’tactuallyexist.
Having successfully convinced myself it was Ever who wouldn’t stop bugging me, who practically

livedjusttotormentme,andwouldn’tleavemealonenomatterhowmuchIcomplained.

But at that moment, watching the no-holds-barred, well-documented truth play out before me—well,

therewasnodenyingthefactthatI’dspentthemajorityofmyridiculouslyshortlifestalkingher,spying
onher,copyingher,andprettymuchbugginghertothepointofharassment.

Overadecadespentinone,long,pitifulattempttobejustlikeher.
My insides churned as fresh new images filled up the screen, each one that streamed past as equally

humiliating as the one just before it. Causing me to wrap my arms around my waist, wanting to make
myselfsmaller,todisappear,tobeanywherebutthereinthatroom,onthatstage.Feelingallnauseousand
clammy,likethattimeIgotseasickatthelake.

Mywholelifehadbeenalie.
NotatallwhatI’dthought.
Andtherewasjustnohidingfromthatfactanymore.
Suretherewereothermomentsmixedin,oneswhereEverwasoffsomewherewithherfriendswhileI

hung out with mine. But, for the most part, well, it was completely unbalanced, and there was just no
gettingaroundit.

Asfaraslittlesisterswent,Iwasyoureveryday,garden-variety,textbook,paininthebum.
“Are these like—edited—or maybe even, um, you know, Photoshopped, or something?” I asked, my

voicegoingallhighandscreechy,inwhatmymomusedtocallmyliar’svoice.TheoneIusedwhenthe
lastcookiewasgoneandIwasundersuspicion,orthehousewasamessandI’dbeentheonlyonehome.
Anddon’tthinkthemembersoftheCouncildidn’tnotice.

Ihungmyheadlowandturnedawayfromthescreen,knowingtherewasnothingmoretodo.Nothing

more to say. It was all over now, and all I could do was sit back and wait to learn just what would
becomeofme.

Itwasn’tover.

Itseemedlikeitshould’vebeen.
Iwantedittobe.
Butnoooo.Notevenclose.
JustasIwasawaitingtheverdicttocomedown,thisscratchy,statickykindofsoundcameatmefrom

allfourwalls,andIcouldn’thelpit,nomatterhowmuchIdidn’twanttoseeit,Ilooked.Peeringovermy
shoulder,andseeingthewaytheimagessuddenlychanged,goingallhazyandmistyasthelightdimmedto
ayellowyglowIimmediatelyrecognized.Myinsidescurlinginonitselflikeafist,instinctivelyknowing
thatnomatterhowbadithadseemedjustafewmomentsbefore,thingshadjusttakenamajorturnforthe
worse.

They’dcaughtmeinSummerlandtoo.
ThatmysticaldimensionbetweentheearthplaneandthisonewhereIlingeredfor—well,let’sjustsayI

stayedthereformuchlongerthanIwassupposedto.

AndsoIwatched.
Watchedwhattheywatched.
Me,newlydead,butstilluptomyoldtricksasthoughmyearlydeparturehadn’tmadetheslightestbit

ofdifference.Hadn’thamperedmeinanyway.

Hadn’tchangedasinglething.
Ifanything,beingdeadhadjustmademeevenworse.GrantingmethekindofaccessIcould’veonly

dreamedofbefore.

Itwaslikehavingabackstagepasstonotonlymysister’slife,buteveryoneelse’saswell.Spyingon

old neighbors and friends, former classmates, favorite and not-so-favorite teachers, even a few well-
knowncelebrities—justmaximizingmyinvisibilityforallitwasworth.Andjustlikebefore,backwhenI
wasalive,I’dspentthebulkofmytimespyingonmysister,completelyunawarethatIwasbeingspiedon
aswell.

Myentireexistence,mybirth,mydeath,andbeyond,hadbeendocumentedandstudied,andnowIwas

expectedtofindawaytoexplain(ifnotjustify),whatclearlyamountedtoaheckuvalotofwastedtime.

Butthetruthis,Ihadnoideawhattosayformyself.
Iwasthemostsurprisedpersoninthatwholeentireroom.
And,whenwegottothepartwhereIsneakedintotheViewingRoomonmywaytoschool—well,Ijust

sank right down there onto the cold, hard stage, not even bothering to manifest a comfortable chair for
myself first. Anxiously waiting for this horrible show to finally end, so that they could determine my
place.

The whole room went silent as the screen went blank, and I knew it was up to me to make the first

move.

“Well,Ithinkthefootagespeaksforitself,no?”Itriedtosmile,butitfeltallsloppyandwrong.Sothen

Itriedtogivethemmybig-eyed,sadlook,theonethatalwaysworkedonmydad—butstill,nothing.They
justsatthere,sosilentandstillitwasclearI’dhavetodomuchbetterthanthat.

Iwouldn’tbeletoffsoeasily.
SoIclearedmythroatandfocusedhardonmyshoes,saying,“Okay,somaybeIwasabitofabrat.”I

shrugged, trying to keep it casual and relaxed. “But the thing is, last time I checked that wasn’t exactly
listedasoneofthesins,right?”Ilookedup,desperateforalittleconfirmation,understanding,something,
andIfounditinAurora—theonepersonIcouldcounton,theoneIchosetofocuson.“Imean,maybeif

youguyshadallowedmejustafewmoreyears,Icould’veturneditaround.MaybeIwould’veevendone
somethinggreat,somethingtrulytremendousandworldchanging,youknow?Butnow—well,now,we’ll
never know just what I was capable of, since, you know, you called me out so early in the game.” I
sighed,partlyfordramaticeffect,andpartlybecause,well,thewholethingwasalittleexhausting.And
when that was also met with more stares and silence I said, “Okay, fine. You want to know the truth?
Well,hereitis.IfeellikeIwasrobbed!Seriously.Deadattwelve?Thatissonotfair!AndwhyamIthe
onewho’sexpectedtoexplainmyactionsanyway?Iwasjustakid—Iwassupposedtobeimmature!But
youguys—well,maybeoneofyoushouldexplainafewthingstome.MaybeI’mtheonewhodeserves
someanswersHere?Huh?Didanyoneeverstopandthinkofthat?”Istopped,pantingandagitated,and
it’snotlikeIneededamirrortoknowthatmyfacewasbeetred.

Iconcentratedonmyshoesagain,shakingmyheadasIpledgedastrictvowofsilencefromthatpoint

on.Pledgingthatnomatterwhathappenednext,Iwouldn’tsayanotherword—wouldn’ttrytodefenda
singlethingthatI’ddone.MylifeasIknewitwasover,andtherewasnotakingitback.Nodo-overs
allowed.Whichmeanttherewasreallynopointtoanyofthis.Itwastortuous,andmean,andcompletely
unfair,andnowaywasIgivingthemanymoreammotouseagainstmethantheyalreadyhad.

Icontinuedtositthere,firmlycommittedtomaintainingmysilenceandwaitingitoutforaslongasit

took,whenAurorafinallylookedatmeandsaid,“Iknowyoumaynotunderstanditjustyet,butintime
youwill.It’llallmakeperfectsense,Ipromiseyouthat.Butfornow,justknowthateverythingworksout
inthewayit’ssupposedto.Thereisnopunishment,noharshjudgment,andnoaccidentsofanykind.All
isasitshouldbe.We’rejusttryingtounderstandthingsfromyourpointofview,tostudyyourlifewith
compassion,notdiscrimination.Allofusrealizejusthowharditistofindone’swayintheearthplane—
there are so many distractions, so many directions in which to turn. We don’t condemn a single one of
youracts,Riley,sothere’snoreasontobefearfulorangry.We’remerelyattemptingtounderstandyou
better,that’sall.”

Mygazemethers,andyesshewaskind,andnice,andohsoglowyandangelic,butIneededsomething

more.Irefusedtobebrushedoffsoeasily.

“Andso,it’smydestinytobedead?”Isaid,immediatelybreakingmyvowofsilenceandwonderingif

my tendency toward mouthiness, as my mom calls it, would get me in as much trouble Here as it did
there.

ButAurorajustsmiledastherestofthegrouptookamomenttochuckleamongthemselves,which,truth

betold,didnotmakemefeeleventheslightestbitbettersinceit’snotlikeIwastryingtobefunny.

“It’llallmakesenseinduetime,”Claudewiththelong,scragglybeardpipedin,proppinghisbarefeet

ontheseatjustbeforehimasheadded,“butfornow,doyouhaveanythingtosayonyourbehalf?Any
commentsaboutwhatyoujustsawuponthescreen?”

Myshouldersdrooped.Allofmedrooped.Iwasdonewithwordsandoutofexcuses.Ijustwanteditto

end.Tolearnmyplace,andmoveon.

Theygazedateachother,communicatinginawaythatwascompletelyblockedfromme,finallycoming

tosomesortofmutualagreementwhentheynoddedtowardCelia,whoturnedtomeandsaid,“Basedon
youraccumulatedhistoryandyourstrongattachmenttotheearthplane,youwilltrainasaCatcher.Any
questions?”

Trainasa—what?Aquestionthatwassoonfollowedbyagazillionothersjustlikeit.
“ASoulCatcher,”Samsonsaid,pushinghislongsilverhairoffhisfaceandsettlinghisvioleteyesright

onmine.Adding,“Acatcherofsouls.”Asifthatmadeanymoresense.

And I was just about to ask the obvious, when Aurora cut in with her soft, soothing voice that made

everywordsoundlikethemostperfectlychosenlyrictoabeautifulsong,andsaid,“Riley,yoursituation

isnotasuniqueasyouthink.ThereareplentyofsoulswhoresistthecalltocomeHere.Manyofwhom
arestillwanderingtheearthplane,unwillingtocrossthebridgeandmoveon.Someresistforcenturies,
ignoringanyandallattemptstolurethemHere,whilesomeonlylingerforashorttime.Andwhileeach
individualsoulisgrantedfreewill,everynowandthenwefindtheyrequirealittleextra...push,ifyou
will. A little reminder that they have choices, better choices, than those that they’ve chosen. And that’s
whereyoucomein.”

My eyes darted between them, and even though I was brimming with questions, lots and lots of

questions,it’s like I had so many Ihad no idea where to begin. All Iknew for sure is that I was going
back.

Backtotheearthplane.
Thegloriousearthplane!
AndasfarasIwasconcerned,Icouldn’tleavesoonenough.
“We’venodoubtthatcarefullyguidedandgiventhepropertraining,you’llbeaverysuccessfulSoul

Catcher for us,” Royce said, granting me a smile that was made for spotlights, movie screens, and
magazinecoversastheothersnoddedtheiragreement.

“So,whendoIleave?”Ijumpedtomyfeet,suddenlybrimmingwithanabundanceofenergythatwas

lackingjustafewmomentsearlier.“WhendoIgetmyoldlifeback?”Iasked,picturingmyselfmoving
rightbackintotheoldneighborhoodandenrollinginmyoldschool,notquitesurehowallthelogistics
would work. You know, how they would go about fixing the fact of my being dead one day, and, well,
prettymuchundeadthenext.Thendismissingitjustasquickly,figuringthattobetheirproblem,notmine.

Me,Iwasfulfillingamission.
Averyexcitingmission.
But my excitement barely had a chance to take hold when Aurora looked at me, her

brown/red/black/silver/blondhairswirlingaroundherinawhirlofwavesandrivuletsasshesaid,“You
willreturninspiritformonly.Invisibletoallbutyourfellowspirits,andthegiftedfewwhoareableto
senseus.”

My eyelids grew heavy, my shoulders sank, and I sighed. Deflated, disappointed, disillusioned—not

one of those words even begins to describe how I felt. And yet, I was still going back. There was no
changingthat.IftheCouncilsawfittosendmepacking,well,whowasItofightit,nomatterwhatform
I’dbein?

AndfromwhatI’dseensofarofthisschool,withtheassemblyandthesingingandtheglowing,andall

theotheraccumulatedweirdness,well,IfiguredIwouldn’treallymissit.

“WhendoIleave?”Iasked,instantlyashamedwhenIrealizedIhadn’tgivenasecondthoughttowhatI

wouldtellmyparentsandgrandparentsuntilthewordswerealreadyout.

“Noreasontodelay,”Celiasaid,checkingwiththeotherswhonoddedtheiragreement.
“Thesoonerthebetter,”Samsonchimedin.
“Nowwouldbegood,”agreedRoyce.
AndeventhoughIwasexcited,Istillhadtoask,“But,whataboutmyfamily?What’llItellthem?”
TurningasClaudemotionedtowardthescreenthatwasnowsplitdownthemiddle—onesideshowing

mydadenjoyingsomekindofjamsessionwithabunchofothermusicians,whiletheothersideshowed
my mom painting in some brightly lit studio, her smock splattered with virtually every color in the
rainbowasasmilelitupherface.AndeventhoughIhadnoideawhatitmeant,myinsidesstartedtodo
thatweirdclenching/curlingthingagain.

I pressed my lips together, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Wondering why they weren’t

wheretheysaidtheywouldbe,whythey’dchoosetolieandplayhookyfromwhatthey’dtoldme.But

then, before I could blink, the screen split again, and I saw each set of grandparents engaged in some
pretty surprising activities of their own, especially once their age was factored in. Enjoying stuff like:
surfing,andhiking,andranching,andsymphonycomposing,aswellasoverseeinganurseryfullofbrand-
spankingnewborns.

“They’vealreadybeenplaced,”Aurorasaid.“They’reenjoyingtheirsoulworknow.There’snoneed

toworryaboutthem.”

Soulwork?Iblinked.Thingsweregettingweirderbythesecond.Imean,initially,Iwasworriedabout

themworryingaboutme.ButfromwhatIcouldsee,I’dbesurprisediftheyevennoticedIwasgone.

“Yourfamilyalreadyunderstandswhat’sjustnowbecomingcleartoyou.Sometimes,backontheearth

plane,reallifegetsinthewayofwhowearetrulymeanttobe,butHereyoucandowhatyou’vealways
dreamedof,youcanfulfillyourdestiny.”Shesmiled.

AndeventhoughsheclearlythoughtthiswasaReallyGreatThing,andclearlyexpectedformetoagree

—Ididn’t.

Icouldn’t.
Knowingallofthatjustmademefeelevenmorealone,completelyunnecessary,andmorethanalittle

unwanted.

“So—you’resayingthatbackhome,backontheearthplane,me,andEver,andButtercup—gotinthe

way?”Instantlyashamedbythewaymyvoicesuddenlycracked,butstill,thewholeideaofitmademy
insidesgoallweirdagain.

ButAurorajustsmiled,asdideveryoneelse,noddingtowardCeliawhosaid,“Ofcoursenot.”
“Yourparentsandgrandparentsloveyou,andtheywouldn’tchangeathing!”Samsonnodded.
“ButHere,youhaveyourownguide,whichfreesyourfamilyuptoliveouttheirdestinies.Itdoesn’tall

endwithdeath,youknow.Wehavetasks,thingstoaccomplish,learningtodo.Yourparentshavefound
theirplace,andnowyou’vefoundyours.Allisasitshouldbe,”Roycesaid,pressinghishandstogether
andbowingtowardme.

“But—what about my house? And—and my dog—” I shook my head, unable to finish, unable to

understandhowitgottothispoint.AtfirstIwassoexcited,sureI’dwontheafterlifelotterybygettingto
goback,onlytohaveitallrippedoutfromundermeaseverythingfamiliarslippedawaytoo.

“You’refreetocomebackandvisitbetweenassignments,”Aurorasaid,glowinginthemostbeautiful,

mesmerizingway.“AndButtercup,”shesmiled,“isfreetotravelalongsideyou.”

“Really?”Icockedmyheadtotheside,wonderinghowButtercupmightfeelaboutthat.“Doeshehave

adestinytofulfilltoo?”Iasked.

OnlytobemetbythesoundofRoyce’sdeep,heartylaughwhenheshookhisheadandsaid,“Dogsare

agifttomankind.Theyarehappyandjoyfulandloyalbynature.Theyarepure,positiveenergyandteach
byexample.Thatisallthat’srequiredofthem.”

Inodded,doingmybesttotakeitallin.ItmaynothavebeenwhatI’dfirstthought,orevenwhatI’d

hopedfor,butstill,itcould’vebeenalotworse.

MythoughtsinterruptedbyAurorawhenshesaid,“Riley,howaboutweletgoofyourpastandlook

insteadtowardyourfuture.Whatdoyousay?Areyoureadytomakethatleap?”

AndbeforeIcouldanswer,beforeIcoulddomuchofanything,Buttercupranoutfrombehindthered

velvetcurtain,tailwagginglikemad,lickingmyface,andknockingmedowninthewaythatalwaysmade
melaugh.AndbythetimeIfinallygothimtocalmdown,everyonewasgone.

Notevenwaitinglongenoughformetorespond.
Andthat’swhenIrealizedthequestionhadbeenrhetorical.
Myplacehadbeendetermined.

WhetherIlikeditornot.

IstoodoutsidewithButtercupbesideme,bothofusonhighalert,waitingforsomekindofsign.

Bothofusequallycluelesswithabsolutelynoideawheretogo,whichwaytoturn,orwhattodonext.
Andwhileitmayseemweirdforapersontolooktotheirdogforguidance,thethingwas,Buttercup’s

the one that led my family to the bridge. He’s the one that leaped across first. So, with that in mind, I
figuredhemighthavesomekindofunique,canineability,somekindofyellowLabinstinct.Likeadog-
onlyradarforthesekindsofthings.

Butnope,hejustsattherewithhisbigbrowneyesandpinknose,blinkingatmeasIgazedallaround,

thinkinghowalittleinstruction,alittleguidanceofsomesortwould’vebeennice.

Butnooo.
TheCounciljustvanished,justcompletelydisappeared.
Whoevenknewwheretheywent?
All I knew was that between me and Buttercup we hadn’t a clue how we were supposed to get from

HeretoThere.

WasIsupposedtojustwishit—justdesireitlikeeverythingelseinthisplace?Orwastheresomekind

ofregularlyscheduledtransportation,likeabus,oratrain,orevensomekindofwingswecouldrent?

AllIknewforsurewasthatthebridgeIhadcrossedovertomakethetripHerewasstrictlyaone-way-

onlykindofthing.AndIknowthisbecauseIhappenedtolookbackthesecondI’dmadeittotheother
side.

Iwasn’tnearlyascommittedtothecrossingasI’dpretendedtobe.
Onlyitwastoolate.
It’dcompletelyvanishedfromsight.
Nevertobeseenagain.
So,withnosignsheadedourway,Imadeforthenearestbuildinginstead.MotioningforButtercupto

followalong,figuringweshouldtrytolookforsomeonewhomightbewillingtohelp,andwewerejust
abouthalfwaytherewhenIheard:

“So,how’ditgo?Didyoucry?Grovel?Promiseyoucoulddobetterifonlythey’dgiveyouanother

chance?”

Mygazenarrowed,asmylipspressedtightlytogether,watchingasdorkyguycameupfrombehindme,

headbent,clumpofgreasyhairswoopingintohisfaceashepausedtocleanhisglasseswiththeendof
his tie. And I hate to admit it, but for that split second, he actually looked really different, almost like
someoneyou’dcall,well,cute.

ButlikeIsaid,itdidn’tlast.Itwasprettymuchoverinaflash,andamomentlater,theglasseswerein

place,hishairwasgreasedback,andhereturnedtobeingdorkyguyagain.

“Whydoyouevenwearthose,anyway?”Imotionedtowardhisthick,nerdframes,purposelyignoring

hisquestion.Ihadnointentionofconfidinganythingaboutmylifereviewtohim,oranythingelseforthat
matter.Infact,Icouldn’twaittogetmyselftotheearthplanewhereI’dneverhavetoseehimagain.Iwas
reallylookingforwardtothat.“Can’tyoujustwishforbettereyesight?Ormaybetrytomanifestacooler
pairofglasses?”Ilookedathim,waitingforaresponse,butwhenhefailedtoanswer,Isaid,“Seriously,
therearemuchcoolerframesyoucouldwear,fashionshavereallyadvancedinthelastseveral—decades
—you’dbeamazed!”Inodded,assuringmyselfIwasveeringmuchclosertohelpfulthanjudgmental.Just
statingthefactsasIsoclearlysawthem.“Imean,it’sprettyobviousyouhaven’tbeenanywherenearthe
earthplane,since—”Iscrunchedmybrowandsquinted,hewassooutofdateIcouldn’tevenguesswhen
hewaslastseenalive.

“Whathappenedtoyouanyway?”Iasked.“How’dyouenduphere?Didyougoheadtoheadwitha

newlysharpenednumbertwopencil?Didyouaccidentallychokeyourselfwithyourtie?Or,perhapsyou
actuallydiedoftheembarrassmentofwearingclotheslikethat?”Ishookmyheadandlaughed,Icouldn’t
helpit—sometimesIreallycrackmyselfup.Andeventhoughhefailedtojoinin,thatdidn’tstopmefrom
saying, “You do know you can manifest a whole new wardrobe, right? We’re really not bound to the
mistakes of our past. So go ahead, knock yourself out. Just close your eyes and ask—What would Joe
Jonaswear?”

Buteventhoughthatlastpartreallygotmegoing,likethebent-over,thigh-slappingkindofgoing,my

laughterwassoonhaltedbythesoundofhimsaying,“Ifyouhavetoknow,itwascancer.ThebigbadC
did me in. Osteosarcoma—or bone cancer, as most people know it. They even removed my leg in an
attempttosaveme,butitwastoolate,it’dalreadyspreadallovertheplace.”

Igulped,myeyeslockedonhis,knowingIshouldsaysomething,anything,butnowordswouldcome.

Telling myself he was just one of many. That this place was full of sad stories like his. Every tragic
endingfounditswayHere.Butstill,itdidn’tmakemefeeltheslightestbitbetter.I’dhadnorightmaking
funofhimlikeIdid.

“Iwaswellonmywaytogoingprotoo.”Heshrugged.“Itwasbackin1999—missedthemillennium,

the timing couldn’t have been worse.” He looked at me and shook his head, his gaze so matter-of-fact,
bearingnottheslightesttraceofillwillorregret.“Butthat’showitgoessometimes,right?”

Inodded,weakly,Ididn’tknowwhatelsetodo.AndeventhoughIwascuriousastojustwhatkindof

prohewastalkingabout,Iwasfartoouncomfortabletoask.

I just stood there, watching as he turned, glanced at Buttercup sitting patiently beside me, and said,

“Seriously?You’rebringingthedog?’

I rolled my eyes, my mood going from shamed to annoyed in a fraction of a second, as I looked all

around,wonderingwherethehallmonitorswere.Atmyoldschool,you’dnevergetawaywiththiskind
of harassment, this kind of covert bullying and truancy. But Here, it seemed like pretty much anything
goes.Likewewereallonsomekindofhonorsystemorsomething.

MotioningforButtercuptofollowalongasIturnedandcalledoutbehindme,“Foryourinformation,the

doghasaname—it’sButtercup.”Iglared, shootinghimmy bestover-the-shoulderdeath stare.“As for
therest,well,it’sreallynoneofyourbusinessnowisit?”

I picked up the pace, eager to put some distance between us, but it didn’t make the slightest bit of

difference.NomatterhowfastIwent,hewasrighttherebesideme,lookingatmewhenhesaid,“Well,I
can see why you might think that, but you’re wrong. It is my business. All potential travelers must be
clearedbyme.Idecidewhogetsinandwhodoesn’t.Thinkofmeasthebouncerforthisparticulartrip.”

“Dressed like that, it’s pretty much impossible to think of you as anything other than dorky guy,” I

mumbled,takingamomenttorollmyeyesatButtercup,completelyannoyedbyhistendencytobeoverly
affectionate toward strangers, especially this stranger. Going so far as to actually sniff, then lick dorky
guy’shand,carryingonliketheworstkindoftraitor.

“Andanotherthing,thiswholedorkyguything?Itendsnow.Ihaveaname,andI’dlikeforyoutouse

it,”hesaid,appearingrightbeforemeagain.

Istopped,therewasnouserunningaraceIcouldn’twin.Handsclutchingmyplaid-coveredhipswhen

Isaid,“Yeah?So,let’shearit.Whatwouldyoulikemetocallyouinstead?”

“Bodhi.”Henodded,seeminglypleasedwiththesoundofit.
“Bodhi,”Irepeated,thinkingthatasfarasnameswent,itwasagoodone.Onlythingis,itdidn’twork.

Infact,everythingaboutitwaswrong.Bodhiconjuredupimagesofcute,tan,surferboys,liketheones
who live in Ever’s Laguna Beach neighborhood. The kind who were pretty much the opposite of Mr.

PocketProtectorwiththebadhair,worseglasses,andnerdyclotheswhostoodrightbeforeme.

“Seriously,” he said, eyes narrowed on mine for a moment before he looked around nervously. “You

havetostopthis.Iheardeverywordofthat—andsodid—”Hepaused,grittinghisteethtokeepfrom
sayinganythingmore.Hisgazelockedonminewhenheadded,“Listen,allyouneedtoknowisthatI’m
yourguide.I’mtheoneyou’vebeenlookingfor.Thinkofmeasyourteacher,guidancecounselor,coach,
andboss,allrolledintoone.Whichmeansyoucannotcontinuetotalktomelikethat,ortocallmethat.
Therewillbeconsequencesforthatsortofinsubordination.Seriousconsequences.Sojuststop—okay?
MynameisBodhi,andIexpectyoutouseit.Youneedto—”Hehesitated,hiseyesdartingallaroundin
themostparanoidway,hisvoiceloweredtoawhisperwhenhesaid,“Youneedtorespectme,okay?”

Isquinted,alertedtotheundercurrentofbeggingthatrangloudandclear,withjustapinchofparanoia

throwninforgoodmeasure.

Sothisismyguide,Ithought,suckinginamouthfulofair,wonderingwhatotherpunishmentsmightbe

instore.Imean,hehadnowings,noshimmeringrobe,nohalo,nothingthatindicatedheshouldinany
waybethebossofme,andyet,thereitwas.Hewasthebossofme.Anddespitemywantingtobelieve
otherwise,somehowIjustknewitwasreal.SomehowIjustknewhewasn’tlyingaboutthis.

“So,you’relikemyguardianangelthen?Forreal?”Iwatchedasheshrugged,obviouslyuninterestedin

the details. And something about him, something about the slouchy way he stood—not bad-posture
slouchy—notlow-self-esteemslouchy—butmorelikecoolguywithacoolnameslouchy—justdidn’tfit
withhisoveralllook.

Somethingwasweirdabouthim.
Off.
SomethingIcouldn’tquiteputmyfingeron.
“Listen,”hesaid,eagertomoveon.“It’smyjobtoteachyoueverything,ifyouwanttogettothenext

level,thatis.Andbelieveme,youhavealottolearnbeforeyoucaneventhinkaboutthat.But,firstthings
first—weneedtogetmoving.Areyoureadytoheadbacktotheearthplane?”Heburiedhishandsinhis
pocketsandlookedallaround,obviouslyaseagertovámanosoutofthisplaceasIwas.

“The next level?” I eyeballed him carefully, as I walked alongside him. “What’s that supposed to

mean?”

Buthewasalreadytenstepsahead.Glancingoverhisshouldertosay,“Allingoodtime,Riley.Allin

goodtime.”

Ittookatrolley,atram,abus,andasubwayjusttogetpartofthewaythere.

OratleastIcalleditthesubway.
Bodhicalleditthetube.
Whiletheguywhocheckedourticketscalleditthetunnel.
Sowhoreallyknew?
AllIknewforsureisthatIwasmorethanalittledisappointedtherewasn’tanyflyinginvolved.
AndIdon’tmeanflyingonanairplaneflying,Imeanthekindofflyingusuallyreservedforbirds,or

butterflies,orangels,ormaybeevendeadpeoplelikeme.

The kind of flying you sometimes get to experience in your dreams, when you just take off and start

soaringthroughthecloudsfornoapparentreason.

That’sthekindofflyingIwashopingfor.
Andwhenitdidn’thappen,whenIrealizedwe’dbestuckwiththesameoldmethodsoftransportation

I’d known back home, well, I’m not even sure why I was so disappointed. Especially since, up to that
pointanyway,nothingintheafterlifewasanythingatalllikeI’dexpected.Sowhywouldflyingbeany
different?

“Wrongagain,”Bodhisaid,eavesdroppingonmythoughts,which,bytheway,wasreallystartingtoget

on my nerves in a very big way. I mean, it was bad enough knowing my entire existence had been
documented,buthavingwhatIoncethoughtofasmyprivatethoughtssoeasilyaccessedbymyafterlife
guide,well,itreallybuggedme.

“Thereisflying.”Henodded,notbotheringtopushhishairbackwhenitfellintohisfaceyetagain,just

leavingittohangthere,danglingbeforehisglasses,likeathick,greasynoodle.“Andtrustme,it’sasfun
asyouthink,ifnotfunner.”

“Funner?” My eyes grew wide as a smile pulled at my lips. “You sure about that—that it’s actually

funner?”

Icouldn’thelpit,Ijustburstoutlaughingrightthereinfrontofhim.AndI’mtalkingtheeye-squinching,

belly-clutchingkindoflaughing.Buthejustignoredme,andcontinuedyammeringonandonasthoughI
hadn’tevencalledhimoutonhisgrammar.

“Itdoesn’trequirewingslikeyouthink,”hesaid,straighteninghislegsuntiltheytookupthetwoempty

seatsontheaislerightacrossfrommeanddangledofftheend.

“So,whendoIgettofly?”Iasked,calmingmyselfdownenoughtolookrightathim.
WatchingasheleaneddowntoscratchButtercupbetweentheears,glancingatmewhenhesaid,“Allin

goodtime.”

Irolledmyeyes,alreadysickofthephraseandcorrectlyassumingIhadn’tevencomeclosetohearing

the last of it. Scrunching way down in my seat, bringing my knees to my chest, and wrapping my arms
tightlyaroundthemasIstaredoutthewindow,tryingtograspholdofthepassingscenery,topauseit,to
makesenseofit,butthetrainwasmovingsofastitwashardtograspanyonethinginparticular.Still,I
hadthissortofinnersenseofawholestreamofimages.Likeacontinuousflowofpictures,eventsthat
happenedontheearthplane,includingstuffthatwasbothwaybeforeme,andwayafterme.

Theentirestoryofmankind.
Thehistoryoftime.
Andeventhoughitwasimpossibletotelljusthowlongthejourneytook,itdidn’tseemlikeittookall

thatlong.Oratleastnotnearlyaslongasyou’dthinkatriplikethatwouldtake.AndbeforeIknewitwe
wereoutofthetunnel,offofthetube,andstandingonaplatformasBodhilookedallaroundusandsaid,

“Thisisit.”

Agushofwindsweptpastmeasthetrainwe’djustdisembarkedvanishedfromsight,leavingthethree

ofusgazingallaround,tryingtogetourbearingsinaplacethat,whileIwassureitwaspartoftheearth
plane,didn’tlookeventheslightestbitfamiliar.

I stayed focused on Bodhi, hoping he knew where he was going as he wordlessly led us down one

street,andthenanother,beforereachingalong,narrowalleywaywhicheventuallyletoutontoanarrow
cobblestonelane.Hepointeduptowardtheskyandsaid,“That’sit.”Thenhepausedforamomentbefore
adding,“Ithink.”

“You—think?”Inarrowedmyeyes,theminisculeamountofconfidenceI’dgrantedhimgone,justlike

that.

“No, I’m sure of it. Really. That’s definitely it,” he repeated, straightening his shoulders and nodding

firmly,tryingtoappearcertain,commanding,likeaconfidentsure-footedguide,butstillIhadthesinking
feelinghewasascluelessasButtercupandI.

“So,whatisitexactly?”Isaid,followingpastthetipofhispointingfinger,tryingtosquintthroughthe

clouds,grayskies,andextremefogbutnotgettingveryfar.

“That, right up there.” He continued to point into the distance, at what I was sure was nothing in

particular.“That’swhereweneedtobe.WarmingtonCastle.That’swherehelives.”

“He?”Iturned,takinghimin,fullyawareofButtercuppressinghimselfhardagainstmylegsinaway

thattoldmehedidn’tfeelanybetteraboutthisthanIdid.

WatchingasBodhismiled,closedhiseyes,andmanifestedtwoskateboards,ablackoneforhim,anda

purple one for me. Wasting no time before jumping onto his and glancing over his shoulder as he said,
“Yourfirstsubjectawaits.TheRadiantBoy.Nowfollowme,andtrytokeepup.”

AllIcansayabouttheskateboardingisthatBodhididnotrideatalllikeI’dassumedhewould.Because
tobehonest,Iexpectedtoseeaprettybadspectacle—arealwince-worthydisplay.Butthetruthis,he
didn’tfall,didn’twipeout,didn’tevenfaltertheslightestbit.

On the contrary, he did so many loops and turns and spins and tricks—it was all I could do to keep

pace.

IguessIjustdidn’tseethatcoming.
Iwasstunnedineveryconceivableway.
Andjustincaseyouthinkitcanallbeattributedtothefactthathe’sdead—well,thinkagain.I’mdead

too, and I could barely stay upright, much less loop and spin my way up and down those winding,
swooping,curvinghills.Nope,thatwaspureskillonhispart,askillIclearlylacked.Andbythetime
we’dreachedthetop,Iwatchedasheclickedtheendofhisboardinawaythatmadeitflipeffortlessly
into his hand as he looked me over and said, “Told you I was about to go pro.” He tilted his head,
motioningtowardthebuildingbeforeus.“So,whatdoyouthink?It’sprettyamazing,isn’tit?”

Inodded.Becauseeventhoughitwasmyfirstcastle,afactthatleftmeprettymuchinaweandeagerto

be impressed, it was obviously one of the good ones. Made of smooth, grayish stone, it was tall and
impressiveandseemedlikeitmeanderedforever.Dottedwithlotsandlotsofthosehigh,pointytowersI
think they call turrets. The only thing missing was a moat filled with alligators, but I was willing to
overlookthat.

Iswallowedhard,unsureifIreallywasreadyforthis.Imean,ifIlivedinaplacethisamazing,Imight

notbesowillingtogiveitupeither.

Keeping a nervous eye on Buttercup who was off sniffing and marking the extensive, well-manicured

grounds, I cleared my throat and said, “So, what exactly is it we’re doing here anyway?” Discreetly
kickingmyskateboardunderanearbybush,hopingIwouldn’tberequiredtouseitagainanytimesoon.

“Thisiswherehelives,”Bodhisaid,hisvoicefilledwithreverence.“TheRadiantBoy.He’sbeenhere

foryears.Centuries,really.”

“Whydoyoucallhimthat?”Isquinted,moreinterestedindelayingthaningettingtheactualanswer.
“Becausethat’shisname.”Heshrugged,chewingonhisbottomlipinthisweirdwaythathehas.
“So,you’retellingmethathismomactuallynamedhimtheRadiantBoy?”Ishookmyheadandrolled

my eyes, fingers drumming against my wool, plaid skirt. “No wonder he’s still here, still haunting the
place.He’sangry.Hewantsado-over.Asecondchancewithabettername.It’snothisfault.Thekidgot
abumdeal.”

Bodhipeeredatmefromthecornerofhiseye,clearlynotamused.“Nooneknowshisrealname,or

evenwherehecamefrom.Allthat’sknownabouthimisthathe’sspenthundredsofyearsscaringpeople.
Thehowandwhyisamystery,andthat’swhereyoucomein.”

Heturnedtowardme,staringrightintomybugged-outeyesandwide-openmouth.Myguide,myboss,

my teacher, my coach, whatever he was, whatever authority he claimed to have over me, I sincerely
doubtedhetrulyhadthepowertojustexpanduponmyjobdescriptionlikethat.TheCouncilalreadytold
meI’dbetrainedasaSoulCatcher,onewhocatchesearthboundsoulsandmakesthemmoveon.That’sit.
Nooneeversaidanythingaboutlearningpeople’spersonalhistories,motivations,orsolvingmysteriesof
anykind.

“LastIheard,itwasmydutytoleadhimtothebridge,nothingmore,nothingless,”Isaid,wantinghim

toknow,beforethiswentanyfurther,thatwhilehemayshamemewhenitcametoskateboarding,Iwas
notonetobemessedwith.

He smiled. Well, he almost smiled—his lip lifting just the tiniest bit at each corner, before dropping

backdownagain.“And,justhowexactlydoyouplantodothatwithoutgaininghistrustfirst?”heasked.

Igulped.Ihadn’treallythoughtaboutthat.Hadn’treallythoughtaboutmuchofanythingpastreturningto

theearthplaneagain.AndnowthatI’dmadeit,andrealizedtheenormityofmytask,well,let’sjustsayit
wasmakingmestarttomissmynewschool,Perseus,cheerleadergirl,tunicboy,andallthatwentwithit.

Iswallowedhard,suddenlyfeelingverysmallandinadequate,unsureifIwasreallyequippedtohandle

anyofthis.

Andit’snotlikeBodhiwasabouttomakeiteasier.Hejustwentonandon,likesomenarratorinoneof

thoseboringdocumentaryfilmstheymakeyouwatchonraindaysatschool,saying,“He’sknowntobea
golden-hairedspecterwhoactuallyglowsinthedark,andthelegendsallclaimthatseeinghimisanomen
ofmisfortuneordoom.Though,inthelastcentury,thatseemstobedisproven,asmanypeoplehaveseen
himandnotoneofthem,oratleastnotyetanyway,have,um,foundtheirdoom—sotospeak.Also,there
are more rumors about him maybe being German and perhaps even murdered by his own mother, but
again,that’sjustpurelyspeculation.WhatIcantellyouforsureisthatthere’vebeenmanyaccountsofa
seriesofRadiantBoyshauntingvariouscastlesinbothCumberlandandNorthumberlandcounties,butmy
guessisthatallthoseothersarefakes,aliestartedbythecastleownersinanattempttocompetewith
Warmingtonandtrytodrawbusinessandputthemselvesonthemap.Nottomentionhow—”

“Wait—whatcountiesdidyousay?”Iasked,gazingatthelargestonecastlebeforeme,andstallingin

theveryworstway.

“SomecountieshereinEngland.Anyway,theyalsosay—”
“Wait—we’reinEngland?”Ilookedathim,eyeswidewithexcitement.Thatwasthefirstgoodnews

I’d heard all day. Bodhi nodded, eager to continue with his lecture, but I wasn’t interested. I was still
stuckonthepartthatI’djustmademyfirstinternationaltrip.“So,canwecheckoutLondon?Afterwe’re
donewith—um,pushingtheRadiantBoyacrossthebridge?”Iasked,discreetlycrossingmyfingersand
hopingwecould,becausethatwouldmakeitallworthwhile.Thatwouldbereally,reallycool.

Bodhifrowned,clearlyannoyed,saying,“Yeah,sure,whatever.Butfirstyouneedtopayattention.You

need to know just what you’re dealing with here. Not to mention how nobody is pushing anybody
anywhere.Youwillcoaxhim,andconvincehim;hehastocrossoveronhisownvolition.”

IglancedatBodhi,thinkinghowfunnyitwashowoneminutehewaslikeanyothernormalfourteen-

year-oldkidusingwordslikefunner,andthenexthewasallseriousandbusinesslike,usingwordslike
volition.Andassomeonewhoalsolikestomixupmyvocabularyabit,IdecidedI’dlikehimforthat.

Butonlyforthat.
Igazedupatthecastle,overcomebyexcitement.
IwasgoingtoLondon!
HomeofRobertPattinson,DanielRadcliffe,PrincesWilliamandHarry,nottomentionmydad’sall-

time favorite band, the Beatles (okay, maybe, technically, they were from Liverpool—but still, it was
closeenoughforme).

All I had to do was rid this place of a ghost and I was there. Convince some pampered mama’s boy

withanunfortunatenamewhorefusestogiveupthebighousewiththefancygardensandfountainsand
pointy-topped turrets to move on to, well, from what I’d seen of it, a really weird school and a really
uncomfortablelifereview.

And in that moment, I knew I could do it. Easy peasy. I had all the motivation I’d need. I mean,

seriously,Iwassosuddenlysureofmyself,Iwasjustbrimming,overflowingwithconfidence.

CuttingoffBodhi’snever-endingspeechwhenIsaid,“Okay,solet’scuttothechasehere.Whatexactly

amIdealingwith?Justhowoldisthiskid?”Figuringitwasbesttogoinwithaplan,andknowinghis

agewouldtellmejusthowtoapproachhim.

Eitherhewasyoungerthanme,andthereforelessscary,maybeevencompletelyinferiorineveryway.

Orhewasolder,and,well,I’dhavealittlemoreworkcutout,butnothingIcouldn’thandleforsure.

“Idon’tknow.”Bodhisighed.“Nobodyknows.Thiskid’sarealenigma,acompleteandtotalmystery.

Butsomesayheappearstobearoundten.”

“Ten?”Igaped,glancingbetweenthecastleandBodhi.Icouldhardlybelievemygoodluck.Thiskid,

this scary ghost kid, was only ten? “Please.” I laughed, shaking my head and allowing for a slow,
dramatic roll of my eyes. “I remember ten.” I blew my bangs off my face, squared my shoulders, and
straightenedmyskirt,preparingmyselftogoin.“So,whereishe?Where’sthisscarylittleten-year-old
kid?Letmeathim.I’vegotatriptoLondonwaitingforme.”

Bodhi looked at me, obviously weighing something in his mind. Clearly deciding against whatever it

was,whenheshruggedandsaid,“Fine,we’lldoityourway.Fornow.Followme.”

ButtercupandIfollowedhimacrossalargegarden,cuttingacrossapathofcarefullytrimmedhedgesthat
madeforaprettycomplicatedmazeforthosewhocouldn’tjustwalkstraightthroughthemlikewecould.
Continuingrightpastthethickstonewallandemergingontheothersideintoahuge,oversizedroomwith
asuperhighceiling,largestained-glasswindows,threadwornrugs,dustychandeliers,and,like,atonof
oldthingsthatIguessedtobepricelessantiques.

“He’ssaidtohaunttheblueroom,”Bodhiwhispered,eventhoughnoonewaspresentandnoonecould

hearus.Hiseyesdartingallarounduntilhespiedthelarge,sprawlingstaircase,droppedhisboard,and
skatedtowardit.

“So,thisplacehassomanyroomstheyhavetocolorcodethem?”Iasked,havingvisitedmorethana

fewcelebritymansionsinmyearlierdeaddays,butneveranactualcastle,neveranythingquitesobigand
sprawlingandamazingasthis.

ButBodhijustshrugged,havingalreadyreachedthetopofthelandingandtiltinghisheadtotherightas

hesaid,“IfIremembercorrectly,it’sthatway,thirddoorontheleft.”

Istopped.Stoppedrightthereinmytracks.Notlikingthesoundofthat.Notlikingitonemeaslybit.
“Whatdoyoumeanifyouremembercorrectly?”Istudiedhimclosely,tryingtofindsomekindoftell,

some kind of giveaway nervous tick, twitching eye, jerking knee, something. But other than that odd
chewingofhisbottomlip,Igotnothing.Hewasstone-faced.Completelyunreadable.Unwillingtogive
anythingaway.“Youmeanyou’vebeenherebefore,right?”Icontinuedtoprobe,knowinghewashiding
something,somethingImightverymuchneedtoknow,forfutureuseifnothingelse,andIwasdetermined
tomakehimspill.“WasitfortheRadiantBoy?Wereyousentheretoconvincehimtomoveon?Andif
youwere,doesthatmeanyoufailed?Doesthatmeanyouwereunableto—”Iraisedmyhands,curling
myfingersintoairquoteswhenIsaid,“coaxandconvincetheten-year-oldtocrossthebridge?”

Helookedatme,hiseyesbetrayingnothingwhenhesaid,“It’salongstory,Riley.Oneweclearlydon’t

have time for if you want to make it to London.” And even though his voice was curt, and more than a
littledismissive,itdidn’twork.Iwasontohimnow.Icouldfeelitinmynonexistentbones.

He’dfailed,whereIwasabouttoconquer.
Ha!Someguidehewasturningouttobe.
“Fine.”Hesighed,givingalittle,butonlyalittle.“Let’sjustsayyou’renotthefirsttohaveacrackat

thiskid.Manyhavetriedoverthelast,uh,severalhundredyears.Butthatjustmeansthatthebarissetso
incrediblylownoone’sexpectingmuchfromyounow.Whichislucky,sincetenbuckssaysyourunoutof
therescreamingthefirstsecondyoulayeyesonhim.”

“Ten bucks?” I rolled my eyes, swinging my blond hair over my shoulder. “Please. I can manifest

mountains of ten-dollar bills, as can you. You wanna bet for real, then bet me something that’s actually
worthsomething.Seriously,givemealittlesomethingtostriveforhere.”

Hesquinted,lipsliftingatthesideswhenhesaid,“HowaboutthattriptoLondon?Youconvincethe

RadiantBoytomoveon,yougetyourtrip.Ifnot—”Heshrugged,leavingtheresttohangthere,thoughthe
meaningwasclear.

ButIjustshookmyhead.We’dalreadydecidedIwasgoing,allIhadtodowasgetthejobdoneina

timelymanner.Nowaywashechangingtherulesnow.Notafterthey’dalreadybeenset.

Heturnedaway,tryingtohidethesmilethatsnuckontohisface.ThesmileIdidn’thavetoseetoknow

itwasthere.Bythetimeheturnedbackagainitwasgone,wipedawayclean,andreplacedbyalookof
deepskepticismwhenhesaid,“Fine,youdon’trunoutoftherescreaming,yousucceedwhereallothers
havefailed,youactuallygettheRadiantBoyallthewayacrossthatbridgeandI’llteachyouhowtoflyto

London,okay?There.How’sthat?”

Andwhenhelookedatme,itwasclearhewasproudofhimself.Sosurethatitwouldneverhappen,

thatI’dfailmiserably,andthewholethingwouldbeoff.

Whichwasfinebyme.Astheyoungestinmyfamily,Iwasusedtobeingunderestimated,andIloved

nothingmorethantoproveeveryonewrong.

“WhataboutButtercup?Canheflytoo?”
Bodhiglancedbetweenmydogandmeandjustshrugged.
“Fine,”Isaid,tuckingmyhairbackbehindmyears,preparingforthebattleahead,figuringtherestof

thedetailscouldbeworkedoutlater.“Yougotyourselfadeal.”

Ifollowedalongsidehimasheheadeddownthehall,stoppingabruptlywhenhesaid,“Well,thisisit.”

Hepointedtowardaheavy,elaboratelypainteddoorjustafewfeetaway.“Theblueroom.Homeofyour
newfoundfriend.”

“Homeofaten-year-old,”Imumbled,shakingmyhead.
JustabouttowalkrightthroughthedoorwhenBodhireachedtowardme,hisarmwavering,hovering,

before he dropped it back to his side, rearranged his expression from serious to friendly, as he said,
“Riley—”

Iturned,catchingalookofreal,genuineconcernglintinginhiseyes.
“It’s—it’snotwhatyouthink.There’splentymoretothestory.Stuffyoushouldprobablyknowabout

beforeyougoin.”

ButIjustsighedandrolledmyeyes,figuringitwasjustanotherstallingtactic,orsomekindofpsych-

out.Figuringhewasprettymuchwillingtodoanythingatthispoint,tomakesurehewonthisoneand
keepmefromaflyinglessonhewassoclearlyreluctanttogive.

“He’s a ghost. He’s ten. He goes by a bizarre name that either is or isn’t his fault—that’s yet to be

determined—andIneedtoconvincehimtomoveon,”Isaid,uncurlingafingerwitheachpointmadeand
stillleftwithathumbpressedagainstthecenterofmypalm.“Seriously,howhardcanitbe?Andwhat’s
theworsthecando?It’snotlikehecankillme,youknow?So,nowthatthat’ssettled,canIpleasehave
athim?I’dreallyliketocrossthisoneoffmylist—I’vegotaflyinglessontogetto.”

Bodhilookedatme,along,hard,conflictedstare.Thenheshookhisheadandwavedmeawaywithhis

hand.Maybemumblingsomestuffaboutwishingmegoodluck,abouthowhe’dbewaitingrightoutside
formeincaseIneededanyhelp—andmaybenot.

I’dneverknowforsure.
I’dalreadymovedon.
ButtercupandIwerealreadyontheothersideofthatdoor.

ThefirstthingIsawwhenIenteredthatroomwas—

No,scratchthat.Firstletmesaywhatitwasn’t.
Itwasn’ttheRadiantBoy.
Italsowasn’ttheblueroom.
Infact,nothinginthatroomcameanywherenearacolorthatanyonewouldeverrefertoasblue.
Ifanything,whatI’denteredwastheyellowroom.
Aroomsoincrediblybrightandyellow,justlookingatitmademyeyeshurt.
“Backsosoon?”Bohdicalled,loungingonthebanisterinthatslouchywayofhis,chewingonalong,

greenstraw,likethekindtheygiveyouatStarbucks,insteadofhisbottomlipwhichhewaschewingon
justafewmomentsearlier.Lookingmeovercarefullyandseeminglynottheleastbitsurprisedtoseethat
I’dcavedsoearlyinthegame.

OnlyIhadn’tcaved.
Notevenclose.
Ifanything,Iwastotallyontohim.
Hewasstilltryingtomind-gameme.Goingsofarastosendmetothewrongroom.
Somecoachhewasturningouttobe.
Butnobiggie.It’snotlikeIactuallyneededBodhi’sguidanceanyway.Imean,whatkindofhelpcould

hepossiblyprovidewhenitwassopainfullyclearhewasactuallytryingtosabotageme?

SoafraidI’dsucceedatwherehesomiserablyfailed,he’dstopatnothingtodoomme.
That’sit,Idecided.AssoonasIgotback,thefirstthingIwoulddowasfindAurora,orevenoneofthe

otherCouncilmembersifshewasn’tavailable,andI’ddemandanewguide.Or,betteryet,I’d become
Bodhi’sguide.Andthefirstthingonmyagendawouldbetogivehimahead-to-toemakeover.Insisthe
ditchtheglasses,theclothes,startoverwiththehair—andthatwasjustforstarters.Then,oncethatwas
settled,oncehewasn’tsocompletelyembarrassingtobeseenwith,well,thenwe’dsee...

“Sittight.We’renotoutofhereyet,”IcalledovermyshoulderasButtercupandImadeourwaydown

thehall.“Yousentmetothewrongroom,asI’msureyoualreadyknow.Butdon’tgetup.You’regonna
need all of your energy for that flight to London, so stay right where you are. It won’t be long before I
trackdownthisscarylittleten-year-oldandsendhimontotheSweetHereAftersothatwecanbeonour
way.”

Ipokedmyheadthroughalongseriesofdoors,andafterspyingagreenroom,awhiteroom,andapink

room,I’dfinallyfoundit.

NottheRadiantBoy,mindyou;fromwhatIcouldsee,hewasnowheretobefound.Buttherewasan

abundance of blue. And I mean, lots and lots of blue. Like an ocean. Yard after yard of the same blue
fabricusedtomakeupthedrapes,thepillows,theblankets,eventhelittleantiquecouch-and-chairset,
what I think is called a settee, was upholstered in the stuff, while the walls were painted in an almost
identicallymatchinghue.

Blue,blue,Iwasdrowninginblue.AndwhenIgazedoveratButtercup,whowasbusysniffingallfour

cornersandthensome,Icouldn’thelpbutwonderhowallthoseearlierroomshadlookedtohim.Ifbeing
deadsomehowcuredhimofthatcanineinabilitytoseemostofthecolorsinthespectrum.

Buteventhoughwewereclearlyintherightroom,therewasn’tasingleten-year-oldRadiantBoytobe

found.Norwasthereanythingthatevenremotelyresembledone.

AsidefromButtercupandme,theroomwascompletelyclearedofallearthboundentities.
Butthat’sthethingwithghosts.Theydon’talwayssticktooneplacelikemostpeoplethink.Surethey

havetheirpreferencesandtheirsteadyroutines,placestheyliketohanginmoreoftenthanotherswhere
theyrepeatthesameactsoverandoveragain.Butforthemostpart,theyhavenoboundaries.Theycango
anywheretheywant,whenevertheywant.It’sallthereforthetaking.Alltheyhavetodoischooseit.And
Ishouldknow,Iwasonceoneofthem.

Thoughthat’snottosayIwasabouttogoonsomekindofbighuntforhim,’causefromwhatIcould

tell,therewereatleastahundredmoreroomsintheplace.Andsinceitwasclosetobeingnighttime,and
sinceBodhihadsaidsomethingabouttheboylikingtoscarethebeejeemumsoutofpeople,Iprettymuch
figuredthebest,mostenergy-efficientthingtodowouldbetojustwaititoutuntilthesunwentdown,the
skywentdark,andhe’dbeginhisnightlyfrightfest.

Becauseifthere’sonethingIknewforsure,it’sthatallten-year-oldboyswerethesame.Dead—alive

—itdidn’tmaketheleastbitofdifference.Theywereallannoying,alldisgusting,allofthemroyalpains
inthebumswhojustlovedtotormentpeople.AndfromeverythingI’dheard,thisonewasnodifferent.

I climbed up onto the big canopied bed that was situated so high they actually provided a little step

stool to get onto it, arranged all the pillows just the way that I liked them, then patted the bedspread,
invitingButtercuptoleapupandjoinme.Thenwesatbackandwaited.Waitedforsolongwebothfell
intoanice,deep,soundlesssleep.

Untilsomeonehadthenervetocrawlinbesideus.
Atfirst,whenIfeltthemattresskindofdip,shift,androll,IwassodeeplyinvolvedinmydreamstateI

didn’t really think much about it. But then, when the snoring started, coming at me from both sides, my
eyessnappedwide-open,andIturnedmyheadtotherighttofindalarge,bushy-browedmanpractically
vibratingwithhisownsnores.AndwhenIlookedtotheleft,Iwasgreetedbythesightofaslightly(but
onlyslightly)lessbushy-browedwomandoingthesame.

Iwassandwiched.
Sandwichedbetweentworathersizable,loudlysnoringpeopleI’dneverseenbefore.
AndIwassodiscombobulatedthat,well,Icouldn’thelpit—mymouthpoppedopenandalong,loud

scream jumped out. Instantly waking Buttercup who pointed his nose toward the ceiling and started
howlingandbarkinglikemad.Peeringatmewithhisearsallperkedup,histailthumpinglikecrazy,as
heawaitedfurtherinstruction,surethatitwassomekindofgame.

Onlyitwasn’tagame.
Notevenclose.
I’dbeenrudelyawakened,andshakentothecore,butmoreimportantlyI’dscreamedsoloudly,Icould

practicallyseeBodhistandinginthehall,doingalamelittlevictorydance,strawbobbingcrazilyinhis
mouthwhilehegavehimselfahigh-five.

“Great,”Imumbled,pattingButtercuponthehead,tryingtogethimtocalmdownagain,eventhoughI

knewthesleepingcouplecouldn’thearusunlesswewantedtobeheard,andtruthbetold,mostofthe
timenoteventhen.Itwastherarepersonwhocouldtrulytuneintothedead,thoughtheydidexist,ofthat
Iwassure.“That’sjustgreat.”Ishookmyheadandslidoutfrombetweenthesnoringcouple,wishing
thisradiatingkidwouldjusthurryupandshowhimselfalreadysothatIcouldcrosshimoverandbedone
withallthis.

Imovedtowardthedressingtableandpeekedattheirstuff,tryingtogetahandleonjustwhattheywere

doinghere.Liftingthetopoffabottleofcolognethatsmelledjustlikedeadpineneedles(blech),before
sniffingfromtheperfumejustbesideitandinhalinganastycombinationofmothballsandold,dried-out
shrubs (double blech). A scent so startlingly bad the bottle accidentally slipped from my fingers and
landedwithahorrifyingthud.

Well, make that a series of thuds, as I watched, frozen in panic, as it tumbled across the floor with

Buttercupchasingbehindit.

I peered at the sleeping couple, knowing that even though they couldn’t hear us or see us unless we

wanted them to, unless we tapped into their own energy supply in order to manifest before them, there
wasnothingtostopthemfromhearingthesoundofaninanimateobjectcrashingtotheground.Andseeing
thewaytheybothshudderedandstirred,Iknewthatonsomeleveltheyhadheardit,butweredetermined
tosleepthroughit.

Imovedontotheiroverflowingsuitcases,curioustoseewhatkindofclothesthey’dpackedfortheir

hauntedcastleweekendgetaway,whenButtercup,stillentrancedwiththeperfumebottle,hititwithhis
pawsoharditwentspinningacrosstheroomandslammedintothewallwhereitcrackedintoamillion
littlepiecesoffoul-smellingshards.

“Goodone,Buttercup.”Ishookmyheadandrolledmyeyesathim.“Waytogo.”Isighed,watchingas

hetuckedinhistailandbowedhisheadlow,knowinghewasintroubleandunwillingtocomeanywhere
near me. And I was just about to manifest a leash, which I knew he would hate but was obviously
becomingnecessary,whenIheardaclick.

Followedbyasoftwhirringsound.
Andthenanervouslywhispered:
“Didyougetit?”
Iglancedovermyshoulder,clutchingawhiteT-shirtfeaturingapictureoftheUnionJacktightlyinmy

hand,onlytofindmyselfface-to-facewiththedynamicduo—otherwiseknownasthehusbandandwife
team who’d sandwiched me earlier. The two of them dressed in matching his and hers forest-green
sweatshirts,withthewords

PENNSYLVANIA’SOWNINTERNATIONALGHOSTBUSTERS

writteninalarge,loopy

whitescrawlacrossthefront.

The husband holding some kind of recording device that seemed to really excite him, while the wife

held the camera with a noticeably shaky hand. Creeping toward my general direction, clearly bent on
capturinglive,streamingfootageof—

Well—
Me.
Croucheddownlow,T-shirtstilldanglingfromthetipsofmyfingers,knowingI’djustbeencaughtin

theembarrassingactofnosingthroughtheirbelongings.

My eyes darted frantically, realizing the full scope of what was really going on—not only had I been

caught peeping—I’d also been caught inadvertently haunting a haunted room I’d fully intended to, well,
de-haunt.

And there was nothing I could do about it. No way I could leave. I was stuck right there in that blue

roomuntilIcouldfindawaytoaccomplishwhatIsetoutfor.OtherwiseBodhiwouldneverletmeflyto
London,neverletmeheartheendofit.

“Buttercup!”Ihissed,droppingtheT-shirtandhearingthembothgaspatthesightofitseeminglyfalling

throughtheairofitsownaccord.Determinedtokeepmyvoicetoawhisper,butbythewaytheygapedat
theirrecorder,atthelittlesquigglesandlinesthatjumpedallaround,itwasclearthateventhoughthey
couldn’tseemeorhearme,theirequipmentregisteredeverylastbit.“Comehere,now!”Icalledbetween
grittedteeth,annoyedbythewayhe’dlopedtowardthem,sniffingthenlickingtheirhandsasthoughthey
werelong-lostfriendssuddenlyreunitedagain.

Heslunktowardme,tailtuckedtightlybetweenhislegsashisbigbrowneyesgazedintomine.“That’s

better,”Icooed,scratchinghisheadtoshowIwasmoreannoyedthanmad,watchingasthecouplelifted
their hands and studied the fingers Buttercup had just slobbered all over, before turning to each other,
bushybrowsraisedasiftosay:Didyoufeelthat?

“Youneedtostickbyme,notthem.Nomatterwhathappensfromhereonout,Ineedyoubymyside,

okay?Wecan’ttakeanychances—Ijusthavetofigureoutwhattodobeforethey—”

Thewomanmovedtowardme,movedinsmallbabystepsasshecreptacrossthefloor.Herlargebare

feet, riddled with corns and bunions, with nail polish so badly chipped they made my own nails look
salonfresh.Raiseduphighontohertippy-toes,paddingacrosstherug,videocameraheldoutbeforeher,
thesoftwhirofittheonlysoundintheroomasitrecordedwhatIcouldonlyassumewereaseriesof
white, glowy, wavering images of one smallish blob of light and one even smaller blob of light, since,
fromalltheshowsI’deverseenonTVthatcoveredghostsandhauntingsandsuch,itwasprettyrarefor
thoserecorderstopickupanythingmore.

“He’snotalone,”shewhispered,wavingtoherhusbandfromoverhershoulder.“There’ssomeonewith

him,someonesmaller,likethey’recroucheddownlow.”

He?
Inarrowedmyeyesandscowled,nudgingButtercupevenclosertomyside.Tuggingonmyskirtand

runningmyfingersthroughmyhairuntilitwasarrangedalittlemorenicely,alittlemoregirly,completely
offendedbythefactthatI’djustbeenmistakenforaten-year-oldboy.

“Isithim?IsitreallytheRadiantBoy?”herhusbandcalled,thewordsrisingattheendinapotentmix

ofexcitementandfear.

“Yes,”shesaid,hervoicehavingfirmlydecided,thoughhereyesweren’tquiteasconvinced.“Atleast

itcertainlyseemslikeit.Andhe’sgotsomeonewithhim—someonesmaller—therearetwoRadiantBoys
here!”

Ohbrother.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head, sitting back on my heels as she continued to creep closer and

closer.

Some ghost buster she was turning out to be. Mistaking what was clearly a cute blond girl and her

adorableyellowLabfornotone,buttwobrattylittleboyghosts.Sheesh!

“Trytospeakwiththem—trytomakecontact,”herhusbandurged.Hisgazewasfixedonthescreenof

hislittlehandhelddevice,eagertoseethelinesshiftandmoveonceagain.“Askhimwhythey’rehere,
and what they might possibly want. Ask them if they have any messages they might like to pass on.”
SayingallofthatasthoughIcouldonlyhearthewordsifshesaidthem.Asthoughshehadsomespecial
patentedwayofcommunicatingwiththedearlydeparted.

Herhusbandcameupbehindher,seizingthecamerashepassedoverhershoulderandsteadyingitin

one hand while keeping the voice recorder going in the other. Watching as his wife crept even closer,
runningherhandsoverherwrinkledgreensweatswhilecompletelyignoringthebedhairthat,hadIbeen
her,Iwould’vebeenwaymoreconcernedabout.

“Isthereanymessageyou’dlikeustopasson?Isthereanythingwecandoforyou?”thewomanasked,

squatting down on her haunches, as her knees cracked so loudly and violently, I actually jumped in
surprise. Cringing back against the wall as she angled her face until it was dangerously close to
Buttercup’sandmine.

“Yes,”Isaid,findingmyvoiceagainandnoddingsincerely.“I’dreallylikeitifyoucouldjustpackup

your equipment and move on, so I can deal with this Radiant Boy on my own. You know, the one you
actuallycameheretosee?Seriously,moveitalongsoIcanfinishthejob.”

Iscowled,knowingshewasn’tabouttogoanywhere.NotaslongasButtercupandIwereinadvertently

givingherthethrillofherghost-bustinglifetime,eventhough,technicallyspeakinganyway,neitherofus
couldtrulybeconsideredasearthboundentities,sincewewereonlythereonamission,andthereforehad
noplanstostay—asmall,butprettysubstantialfactthatwascompletelylostonher.

I sat back and sighed, long, loudly, no longer caring when she turned toward her husband, her eyes

wide,headbobbingupanddownasshesaid,“Didyoufeelthat?Justnow?Thatrushofcoldair?”

Henodded,hisgazerunningthetrackbetweenthecamera’sdisplay,thevoicerecorder,hiswife’scrazy

eyes,andback.

“Areyougettingallthis?”sheasked,risinginawaythatmadeherkneescrackagain,causingButtercup

towinceandmetocringe.

“Allofit,”hemumbled.“Everylastbitofit.”Hesmiled,hiseyesshiningbrightly.
“Fantastic!”sheexclaimed,facebeaming,cheeksflushedwithexcitement,asherhair,stillnotattended

tosinceshe’djumpedoutofbed,prettymuchstooduponend.

Andwatchingallofthat,well,itwasjusttoomuch.
NotonlyhadIbeenrecordedandfilmed,destinedforsomepatheticallydorky,homegrown,schlocky,

ghost-bustingWebsite,butI’dyettoseetheRadiantBoy,andaslongastheykeptthisup,itwasclear
thatIwouldn’t.

I slumped against the wall, and glared at the couple before me, hoping they’d get a good shot of that

amongsttherestoftheirfootage.Watchingastheyclosedinonus,stoppingjustshortofwhereButtercup
wascrouchingdownlow,transitioningintofull-onguarddogmode,asheletoffalow,menacinggrowl.

“Oh, now you decide you don’t like her?” I looked at him, and shook my head. “What about earlier

whenyouwereslobberingalloverherhands?Huh,whataboutthat?”

Butjustafterthewordswereout,Inoticedshewasn’ttheonehewasgrowlingat.
Therewassomeonebehindher.
Someonecreepingupbehindbothherandherhusband.
Someonewhoglowedsobrightlythewholeroomlitup.
Someonewhocouldonlybedescribedas—
Radiant.

Behindhim,theroomshook.

Objectsflew.
Astheghost-bustingcoupleboltedthroughthedoorwithButtercupcloseontheirheels.Droppingtheir

equipmentandabandoningtheirbelongingswithoutasecondglance,theshriekingechoofthehusband’s
high-pitchedscreamlingeringintheairlongafterthey’dleft.

LeavingmetofacetheRadiantBoyallonmyown,aspracticallyanythingandeverythingthatwasn’t

naileddownorweighinginatovertwohundredpoundswentsoaringthroughtheair,directedsolelyat
me.

Achairnearlyslicedmeinhalf.
Alampnearlycutoffmyhead.
As a pair of graying old tube socks with holes in both the toes and the heels lifted right out of the

couple’ssuitcaseandheadedstraightformyneck,completelybentonstranglingme.

All of it whirling about in a frenzied gale-force wind that could rival any Midwestern tornado, and

refusingtostopuntiltheentireroomanditscontentswereeitherbroken,upended,ornolongeranywhere
neartheiroriginalplace.

Icoweredagainstthewall,narrowlyavoidingarogueblowdryerthathissedandloopedbeforemelike

avenomoussnake.TooafraidtoclosemyeyesincaseImightmisssomething,tooafraidtokeepthem
open for what I might see. Squinting into the wind and debris at the Radiant Boy glowering over me,
wishing I’d just grabbed hold of Buttercup’s tail and sailed right out of there while I’d still had the
chance.

Butitwastoolateforthat.Myfailuretorunleftmewithnochoicebuttodealwithit.IfI’danyhopeof

makingittoLondon,learningtofly,orevenjusthavingthecouragetofaceBodhiagain,I’dhavetostay
put,nomatterwhatcameatme.

Nomatterwhatbecameofme.
TheRadiantBoytoweredmenacingly,havinggrownthreetimeshissizeinjustahandfulofseconds.

The blond curls that had been springy and bouncy just a moment before morphed into angry, vicious,
three-headedsnakes,whilehisbodyemittedaglowsobright—soradiant—itwasallIcoulddonotto
cover my face. As his eyes raged ominously, two fiery, flaming pits of anger focused on me—though it
wasnothingcomparedtohismouth—aninfiniteblackhole—abottomlessabyss—gapingsowideIhad
theunmistakablefeelingheintendedtoswallowmecompletely.

Iclampedmymouthshout,desperatetokeepthescreamfromescaping.Myeyeslockedonthosetwo

flamingpitsashemovedcloserandcloserstill,knowinghewasthescariestthingI’deverseeninboth
mylifeanddeathcombined.Andthatincludesmyworstnightmares,showsonTV,andeventhemoviesI
wasn’tallowedtowatchbutdidanyway.

NowherehadIeverseenanythingquiteasfrighteningashe.
His fiery eyes raging in a way so intense I could actually feel their white-hot scorching heat, as the

infinitevoidofhismouthpracticallysuckedtheairrightoutoftheroom.Knowingonlyonethingforsure:

NotriptoLondoncouldeverbeworthit.
Andasforflying,well,itwasclearlyoverrated.
But just as I turned, sneaking one foot halfway through the wall, eager to make my escape—I thought

aboutBodhi.

Thoughtaboutthesmirkylookhe’dsurelygivemethesecondhefoundmeinthehall,allwide-eyedand

scaredwitless.

Ithoughtaboutfailing,andjusthowawfulthatalwaysmakesmefeel.
AndIknewIcouldn’tdoit.
Couldn’tallowmyselftocavequitesoeasily.
Notwithoutputtingupagoodfightatleast.
No matter what would become of me, no matter what that Radiant Boy tried to do, I had to see it

through.

Ispunonmyheelandplacedmyhandsonmyhips,squaringmyshouldersasInarrowedmygazeand

screwed up the courage to say, “Just what is it that you’re trying to prove here, anyway?” Hoping he
couldn’tseethewaymylimbsalltrembledandshook.

He crept closer, eyes glowing like crazy, mouth gaping wider—wider than I ever would’ve thought

possible—as he closed the gap between us with surprising speed. Those angry, hot orbs practically
singeingthebrowsoffmyfaceasheleanedtowardmeandshookthesnakesloosefromhishead.Freeing
hundreds of slimy, red-eyed, three-headed, angrily snapping snakes with razor-sharp fangs—all of them
slithering,wriggling,andwrithingtowardme.

I sprang toward the settee, balancing myself on the slick marble-topped table as the snakes slid all

around. Their numbers multiplying so quickly they completely obliterated the smooth, polished wood
floorthathadbeentherejustamomentbefore—morphingitintoabottomless,hissingsea.

AndeventhoughItriedtostaycalm,triedtoremindmyselfthatIwasalreadydead,thattheycouldn’t

reallyhurtmenomatterhowmuchtheytried,itwasnouse.Therewasnoovercomingmyfear.

Aseaofsnakeswithnoescape.
Itwasprettymuchmyveryworstnightmarecometrue.
Or, at least that’s what I thought until the flaming-eyed, snake-haired, demon-faced Radiant Boy

morphedintosomethingfarworse.

Transforminghimselfintoacompletelycrazedcircusclownwithhugeredshoesthatbouncedrightover

thesnakes,stirringthemintoawild,lashingfrenzyasheleeredatmewithhiscreepy,exaggeratedface.
Hisoversized,sloppyredmouthajaggedgashinhisflesh,drippingthickrivuletsofbloodalldownhis
front,astheflamescontinuedtoburstfromhiseyes.

Heleanedtowardme,allowingthefrenzied,snappingsnakestoslitherupanddownhisarms,andIwas

justabouttobolt,justabouttocry“uncle”andgetmyselftosafety,nolongercaringaboutwhatBodhi
mightdo,nolongercaringaboutanythingbutfreeingmyselfofthisbeast,whenIfoundthatIcouldn’t.

Couldn’tmove.
Couldn’trunnomatterhowhardItried.
Somehow,entirelyagainstmywill,andwithoutmyevenrealizingit,I’dbeenstrappedandharnessed

intowhatIsoonrecognizedasadentist’schair.

I opened my mouth to scream, hoping to alert Bodhi, Buttercup, the ghost-busting couple, someone—

anyone—knowing I needed all the help I could get. Clamping it shut the second I saw the horrifying
assortment of drills and picks and needles he wielded before me—leaving me no choice but to silence
myself.

Andthat’swhenIrealizedwhatwastrulygoingon.
Thisscary,sadistic,completelycrazy,drill-wielding,snake-charming,orthodontist/clown/RadiantBoy

hadseenrightthroughme.Rightintotheveryheartandsoulofme.

He’dtappedintomyveryworstfears.
Snakes—three-headedonesatthat!
Clowns—stemmingfromthathorriblesummerdayattheOregonCountryFair,whenIwasjustalittle

kidandsomecrazymime/clowngotallupinmyfaceandrefusedtostopfollowingme,stopmockingme,

untilmydadwasforcedtointervene.

Dentalinstruments—anapprovedformoftorture,I’dnodoubtaboutthat.
ButwhatIdidn’tknowwashowhemanagedit—howhe’dreadmesowell.
Anditterrifiedmetothinkofjustwhatelsehemightknow.
Hisflamingeyesandbleedingmouthveeringcloserandcloserasatangleofsnakesleaptontomychair

causingmetocringe,squishingbackinmyseatasfarasIcould,wishingIcouldscream,findawayto
call for help, but knowing that to do so would only allow admittance to those horrible, whirring
instruments. Pressing against the thick canvas straps, struggling against them with everything that I had.
Butitwasnouse.

He’dalreadywon.
IwaswellonmywaytojoiningtheranksofeverySoulCatcherwho’dcomebeforemeandfailed.

Igroundmyteethtogetherandsquinchedmyeyesshut,unwillingtoseeanymore.CursingBodhiunder
mybreathforputtingarookielikemeinasituationlikethiswithvirtuallynowarning,nopropertraining
ofanysort,andcursingButtercupaswellforabandoningmeinwhatwasclearlyatimeofdeepneed.

AndIwasjustabouttodoit,justabouttobeghimtostop,totellhimthatforallIcaredhecouldhaunt

thisplaceforthenexthundredyears,whenheemittedaroarsoloud,Icouldn’thelpbutpeek.Couldn’t
helpbutpeerintothatcreepywreckofaface,watchinginterrorasittransformedfromcrazyflaming-
eyedclowntoeveryhorrormoviemonsterofthelastthirtyyears.

Andthat’swhenIknew:
Hedidn’tknowmeatall!
Hadn’ttappedintothedeepestpartofmelikeI’dthought.
Hewasmerelytappingintoalltheusualfears—theonesmostofusshared.
Andtheonlythingkeepingmehere,scaredoutofmywitsandchainedtothatchair,wasmybeliefthat

hehadsomekindofpoweroverme.

My belief that the flying furniture could’ve harmed me, when clearly it would’ve just passed right

through.

My belief that I couldn’t overcome the snakes and the dental instruments—that they were bigger than

me,toopowerfultofight.

Whenthetruthistheyweren’t.
Andneitherwashe.
Notintheleast.
Andrealizingthat,well,itdidn’tmakethesnakesgoaway,didn’tmakethedentaldrillsdisappear,but

itdidmakemestronger—strongenoughtoconquermyfears.Sobythetimehereachedhisarmstoward
meandthrewbackhishead—well,Ididn’tcringe.

Infact,Ididn’tdomuchofanythingatall.
IjustcalmlyunbuckledalltheharnessesandstrapsasIwatchedtheRadiantBoy—falter.
Falterinawaythatsethimcompletelyoffbalance.
Falterinawaythatsomehow—splithimintothree!
Isatthere,mouthhangingopen,afreshunheardscreamticklingthebackofmythroat,thinkingtheonly

thingscarierthanoneangryRadiantBoy—washalfasix-packofangryRadiantBoys.

Butonlywhentheywereallgroupedintoapyramidliketheywerejustbeforethefall.Afterlosingtheir

balanceandtumblingtotheground,well,therewasnodoubtthatIwasinchargenow.

Islidoffthechairandclearedthefloorofsnakessimplybywishingforthemtobegone.Thenjutting

myhipandtossingmyhairovermyshoulder,Icockedmyheadtothesideandsaid,“So,youworkasa
team.”Inodded,pausingforamomenttotakethemallin.“Well,Iguessthatexplainswhynoone’sbeen
abletoconvinceyoutomoveonalltheseyears.You’veprobablyspentthelastseveralcenturieseither
workinginshifts,organginguponpeopleinyourbigscarypyramidmaneuver.Notquiteafairfightwhen
youthinkaboutit,nowisit?”

They scrambled to their feet, trying to assume a tough-guy pose but it was too late. Two of them

choosing to hang back, as one of them stepped forward as their leader, and I couldn’t help but wonder
whythey’dchosenhimsincetheyallseemedprettymuchthesametome.Butashedrewcloser,asallof
themdrewcloser,Isawthattheyweren’tthesameatall.

Whentheywereallbunchedup,piledhighontopofeachotherandpoolingtheirenergy,theytookon

thatsame,bright,radiantglow.But,takeninseparatelyandindividually,well,theyhadsomeverydistinct

differences.Onewastall,onenotsotall,andonemoreorlessmedium,andwhiletwohadhairthatcould
bestbedescribedasplatinumincolor,theonewhosteppedforwardwasmoreofthestrawberryblond
variety,andhe’stheonewhochosetolifthisshoulders,puffuphischest,tilthischinhigh,andaddress
me.

“Icommandyoutoleave,”hesaid,voicesteadyandstrongandmorethanalittleintimidating.
Andeventhoughthevisionsofsnakesandthecrazyclownwieldingdentalinstrumentswerestillfresh

inmymind,Ihadnochoicebuttomovepastit,justclearitoutcompletely.IfIwastogetanywherewith
them,makeanyprogressatall,itwasimperativeIshowthemIwasn’tthatsamescaredlittleghostgirl
fromamomentago.

“Pleasetellmeyou’renotserious,”Isaid,knowingImightbepushingit,butstill.Eventhoughthere

werethreeofthemandonlyoneofme,theywerestillonlyabunchoften-year-olds,which,inmymind,
prettymuchmademethebossofthem.“Imean,you’renotseriousaboutcommandingme—are you?” I
gazed all around, noting every little detail as I vowed to remember this exact moment. What the room
looked like, what they looked like, knowing it would become one of my favorite parts to retell later. I
shookmyhead,correctlyreadingthesuddenburstofflamesinhiseyesasoutrage,whenIsaid,“Ohboy,
itlookslikeyouareserious.Okay.”Inodded,tryingnottocringeatthesightofit.“Butsee,here’sthe
thing,Ican’tleave—oratleastnotyet.I’vegotajobtodo—and—well—I’mnotgoinganywhereuntil
it’sdone.So,itseemslikewe’vegotourselvesalittleproblem,Imean,whatwithyourcommandingme
andall.”

Heglancedoverhisshoulderandlookedattheothers,receivingtwohalfheartedshrugsforhisefforts,

butstill,itwasenoughforhimtofacemeagainandsay,“Ipronounceyoutobegone!Youmustleaveat
once!”Heliftedhisarms,palmsfacingupasmorethree-headedsnakesslithereddownthemandsprang
towardme.

ButIjustbattedthemaway,knowingtheywereonlyasrealasIallowedthemtobe.Inthebigscheme

ofthings,therewasnothinghecoulddotohurtme.

Ishruggedmyshouldersandmadefortheblueupholsteredsettee.Turningthechairbackontoitsfeet,

andploppingmyselfuponit.CorrectlyassumingthiswasgoingtotakealittlelongerthanI’dhoped,what
withallthecommandmentsandpronouncementsI’dbeexpectedtogetthrough,soImayaswellmake
myselfcomfortable.

Hestoodbeforeme,reddish-blondbrowsmergedovertheangryredorbsthatstoodinforhiseyes.But

Ididn’treact,Irefusedtogivehimthat.Andthenafterafewmoredemands,afewmoredecrees,anda
wholeslewofurgentlystressedproclamations,heswitchedoff.

Infact,theyallswitchedoff.
Sothattheynolongerglowed,werenolongerredeyed,andatrioofnormalpinkmouthsreplacedthe

bottomlessblackholesthathadrecentlystoodintheirplace.

Lookingprettymuchlikeanyothergangoften-year-oldboysastheystoodtherebeforeme.Well,except

for the truly dreadful, completely unbelievable, wish-you-could’ve-seen-it-for-yourself, awful matching
whiteshortsuitswiththematchingwhitekneesocksandshiny,blackshoes.

AndIcouldn’thelpbuthopethosehadbeentheclothesthey’dbeenburiedin,becauseifthey’dchosen

thatensembleontheirown,well,Iwasn’tsureIcouldevergetthroughtothem.

“Whyaren’tyouafraidofus?”theoneIwasbeginningtothinkofasstrawberryheadasked.
Ishrugged,takingamomenttolookhimoverbeforeIsaid,“Well,ifitmakesyoufeelanybetter,atfirst

Iclearlywas.Imean,yousawthewayIalmosttookoff.Andthenwiththatwholekillerclownthingwith
thedrillsandthepicks—”Ishudderedatthememoryofit.“Well,younearlydidmein!Butwhenyou
startedwithallthescarymonsterstuff,well,let’sjustsayitwasprettymuchadeadgiveaway.”Ismiled,

adding, “Pun intended,” really cracking myself up. But when they didn’t join in, I was quick to add,
“Anyway, that’s pretty much what did it. I mean, most of those movies were way before my time, and
that’sprettymuchthemomentIknew.”

“Knewwhat?”Hepressedhislipstogether,lookingmeoverinthatcreepywaythatonlyaten-year-old

can.

“KnewthatyouwerecountingonthefactthatI’dbetooscaredtorealizeI’mincontrol—thatI’m the

one who allows the fear to win. And that my refusal to feed it, to let it take over, would diminish its
power over me—your power over me.” I nodded, and, even though I tried not to, I couldn’t help it, a
triumphantsmilecreptacrossmyface.Whichonlyseemedtoannoyhimevenmore.“Nottomentionthe
factthatI’malreadyjustasdeadasyou,sothere’sreallynotmuchelseyoucoulddotohurtme,nowis
there?”Iadded.

“Oh,wecoulddoplenty!Wecould—”Theblondoneontheleftpipedup,rushingforwardandshaking

hissmallfistintheair,untilstrawberryheadturnedandflashedhispalm,sendinghimslinkingrightback
tohisplaceagain.

“We’renotleavingifthat’swhatyou’reherefor.Plentyofothershavetried,youknow.Andtrustme,I

meanplenty.Butwe’restillhere.Havebeenforhundredsofyears.So,maybeyou’retheonewhoshould
moveon,becausewe’venoplanstostop.Andifyoucontinuetoinsist,well,it’lljustendupbeingabig
fatwasteofyourtime.”

“Maybe.”Ishrugged,myfingerspickingataloosethreadononeofthebluecushions,actingasthoughI

wasonlymildly invested in this, as though I had nothing important riding on it. “But then again, maybe
not.”Iraisedmygazeuntilitmethis.“Imean,diditeveroccurtoyouthatmaybeyouguysaretheones
wasting your time? Seriously, think about it. Hundreds of years spent running around in outdated little
short sets just so you could get your jollies by scaring the beejeemums out of ghost-seeking tourists.” I
shookmyhead.“Hundredsofyearsofthesamelameroutine.”Isighed,makingapointtolookateachof
them. Just the thought of it seemed exhausting and pointless. “And for what may I ask? What could
possiblybethepointofallthat?Andjustwhatexactlydoyougetoutofit,anyway?Imean,really?Don’t
youeverfeelliketakingalittlevay-kay,orevenaweek-longbreak?”

“Wedotakebreaks!WeworkinshiftsI’llhaveyouknow!”shoutedtheotherblondie.
Butshiftsornoshifts,theyweren’tgettingit,weren’tgettingitatall.I’dspenttwelvefullyearsbugging

my older sister to the point of, well, complete and total ridiculousness. But still, that was nothing
comparedtothecolossalwasteofthelastfewcenturiesthey’dcommittedto.Talkaboutatimesuck.

“Mypointis—”Iclutchedthecushiontomychestforamomentbeforetossingitaside.MakingsureI

had their full attention before I went on to add, “What’s the payoff? Seriously. Why bother with the
flaming red eyes, gaping black holes, and—and all of this?” I motioned toward them, drawing an
invisiblelinefromthetopoftheircurlyheadsallthewaydowntotheirimmaculatelyshinedshoes.

Andthat’swhentheotheronefinallyspoke,standingjusttotherightofstrawberryheadwhenhesaid,

“What’sthepayoff?”Hisbrightblueeyesmetmine,lookingathisfriendsastheysnickeredandlaughed
amongst themselves. “Fame. That’s what. Worldwide fame is the payoff.” They shook their heads and
rolledtheireyes,smirkingatmeasthoughIwasagrade-Amoron.

Isquinted,unsureI’dheardright.Imean,therewasnowaytheycouldbeseriousaboutthat.
“We’refamous,” he repeated, his voice as determined as the expression on his face. “We have name

recognition. People come from all over the world just to try to get a glimpse of us—a chance to
photographus—tocatchavoicerecordingofus—tohaveanencounterwithus—totelltheirfriendsback
hometheylastedthroughthenightwithus—”Heglancedathisbuddiesastheyallburstoutlaughing,his
eyesbackonminewhenhesaid,“Which,bytheway,isabigfatliesincenoone’severmadeitthrough

theentirenightinthisroom.Noone.Noexceptions.”Hisfacegrewstern.“And,let’snotforgetaboutall
the books, and articles, and TV shows about us. We’re famous. International superstars! And we have
beenforyears.We’relike—we’reliketheBackstreetBoysinaway—onlydead.”

Ohboy. Suddenly, I couldn’t help but feel bad for them for not only being completely delusional, but

tragically outdated as well. I mean, the Backstreet Boys—could they have picked a more ancient
reference?Ishookmyheadandlookedthemover.TheyremindedmesomuchofsomeofthekidsIused
togotoschoolwith,whosesoleambitionwastobefamous.Forwhat?Theyhadn’taclue.Alltheyknew
istheyweredestinedforthespotlight.

AndtheirfirststopwasYouTube.
Myeyesgrazedoverthem.Theyweresoindignant,sosurethatwhattheyweresayingwastrue,andI

knewIhadtofindawaytobreakittothem.

Iclearedmythroat,takingadeepbreathpurelyoutofhabitbeforeIwentontosay,“Um,Ihatetobreak

ittoyou,butyou’renothingliketheBackstreetBoys.Nottomention,howdoyouevenknowaboutthe
BackstreetBoysanyway?Youliveinacastleinthemiddleofnowhere.”

Theystaredatme,aunitedfrontofwhitesuits,whitekneesocks,andoutragedredcheeks.
“You’re not the first to look through people’s belongings, you know. We have access to computers,

we’vecheckedoutaniPodortwo,”saidthesmallestblondkid,ashisbuddiesallsnickeredandlaughed,
takingamomenttoshaketheirheadsatme.

“Justbecauseweliveinacastleinthemiddleofnowheredoesn’tmeanwedon’tknowthesamestuff

youdo,”strawberryheadadded.

Inodded.Ididn’tseethatcoming,I’llgivethemthat.Tothinkthatanyghostwouldbeintouchenough

toknowaboutboybandsofthelastdecadeandyetstillchoosetodresslikethatwasbeyondme.Butthen
again, look at Bodhi—an almost-pro skater dude who for whatever reason chose to dress like a dork.
Peoplewerecomplicated—boththelivingandthedead,ofthatIwassure.

“Okay, fine. My bad. I’m sorry I misjudged your knowledge of pop music. Still, I’m sorry to say, but

you’re nothing like the Backstreet Boys. Because the truth is, millions of people all around the world
lovedthem,but—well—howmanypeopleloveyou?”

Iwatchedastheyexchangedbewilderedgazes,theirthoughtsofconfusionanddespairlikeavibrating

rumblethatflowedthroughtheroom.

Thenstrawberryheadshookhisheadfirmly,determinedtotakechargeandregaincontrolonceagain,

saying,“Donotlistentoher.Noneofit’strue!She’smessingwithus.It’spartofhermissionorwhatever
agendashehas.”Heshotmeascathinglookthatwasalmostasbadaswhentheflamesshotfromhiseyes.
“Thepointis,maybetheydon’texactlyloveus—buttheylovetofearus.Peoplecomefromalloverthe
worldjustbecauseofus!Withoutus,WarmingtonCastlewouldberuined!Nobodywouldbothertovisit.
Itcouldn’tcontinueandwouldshutdownforsure.”Theblondsbothnodded,twosetsofbobbingheads
flankinghimoneitherside.

“Maybe—maybe not.” I frowned, knowing that could very well be true though it was pretty much

irrelevant here. “But what’s it to you either way? I mean, are you getting a cut of the share? Is anyone
actuallythankingyouforvolunteeringtoworkhere?Allthattimeyouspend,allthelonghoursyouputin
—what’sthepayoff?Seriously,diditeveroccurtoyouthatyou’retotallybeingused?Takenadvantageof
intheveryworstway?Youguysgiveawholenewmeaningtothetermgraveyardshift.Andreally,other
thanyourquestionableclaimtofame,what’sinitforyou?”

Theylookedateachother,thoughtsmurmuringbackandforthinaswirlofstaticandsound.
“Look,” I said, smoothing my skirt as I stood from my seat and approached them. “Here’s the deal. I

knowyou’reafraidofbeingnobodies,ofbeinginvisible—ofnooneevenrememberingthatyoueverdid

exist.Andtrustme,IknowexactlyhowyoufeelbecausebackwhenIwasstillalive,Iwasafraidofthe
sameexactthing.AndIwastedsomuchtime—mywholeentirelifereally—justfollowingmyoldersister
around,tryingtobejustlikeher.Tome,shewasimportant,hugelyimportant.Shewasprettyandpopular
and,well,shewassomebodyspecial.AndIwassurethatifIcouldbejustlikeher,mimicherinjustthe
rightway,thenIcouldbesomebodyspecialtoo.Butthetruthis,tryingtobelikeEverdidn’tmakeme
importantorspecial—itjustmademeanannoyingtagalong.Andmaybeevenalittlebitofabrat.”

Ilookedateachofthem,hopingmywordswerebeginningtopenetrateinsomeway.“WhatI’mtrying

totellyouisthatyouhaveachoice.Youcaneitherstayhereandcontinuetoscarethebeejeemumsoutof
people,oryoucanmoveontosomeplacethat’s—well—”Ihesitated,notwantingtolieandsayitwas
better, since I pretty much knew that wasn’t entirely true. But still, needing to say something, I said,
“Someplacethat’snew.And—different.Andfarmoreexcitingthananythingyouhavegoingonhere.”I
motionedaroundaroomsoupendeditlookedlikearugbymatchhadjusttakenplace,rememberingthe
manifesting, the beaches, the everchanging, glorious Here & Now scenery, and knowing that much was
true.“Ireallythinkyou’lllikeitthere.Youjustneedtogiveitachance,that’sall.”Stoppingjustafterthe
wordswerespoken,andwonderingifmaybethatlastbitofadviceappliedtometoo.

“Butwhatifwedon’tlikeitthere?Whatifwegetthereanddecidethatwehateitandwe’dratherbe

here?”

I looked at them, tempted to lie to get this thing over with. To tell them they wouldn’t miss the earth

plane,noteventheslightest,tiniest,mostminutebit.

ButIcouldn’t.
Couldn’tdupethemlikethat.
Soinstead,Ilookedthemeachintheeyeandsaid,“Thethingis,youwillmissit.I’mafraidthere’sjust

nogettingaroundit,it’spracticallyguaranteed.But,ifyouplayitright,youcouldcomebackforavisit.I
mean,lookatme—I’mhere,right?Nottomentionalltheothersbeforemewhocameheretogetyou.So,
whatdoyousay?Areyoureadyforanadventure,totrysomethingnewforachange?”

Theyturnedtoeachotherandconsultedamongthemselves.Takingtheirtimetogooveritthoroughly,

pointbypoint,beforeturningbacktome.Strawberryheadtakingtheleadonceagainwhenhesaid,“Is
nowthetimewhenyoumakethelightappear?”

ButIjustlaughed,shakingmyheadasIsaid,“No,silly.Now’sthetimewhenItakeyoutothebridge.”

IfI’dhadoneofthosespecialcamerasliketheghost-busterlady’s,Iwould’veusedittotakeapictureof
Bodhi’sfacewhenIexitedtheblueroomwithawholestringof(not-so)RadiantBoysbehindme.

“So,whatnow?”Iasked,astheymilledallabout.NarrowingmyeyesandshakingmyheadatButtercup

who’druntowardmeandwasbusilylickingmyfingersashegazedupatmewiththosebigbrowneyes,
desperateformetoforgivehimforbailingonme,andattemptingtogetonmygoodsideagain.“Howdo
wegetthemtothebridge?”

ButBodhididn’tanswer.
Hewasfartoospeechlessforthat.
Hisgazedartingamongthem,countingandrecountinginhishead,obviouslynewlyamazedeachtimeit

addeduptothree.

“Howdidyou—”Heshookhisheadandremovedhisglasses,rubbinghiseyesandblinkingabunchof

times,beforeputtingthembackonandblinkingsomemore.

“NevermindhowIdidit,justtellmehowtogettheseguystothebridgebeforetheychickenoutand

changetheirminds,”Isaid,refusingtogiveawaymytricksofthetrade,notwhileIwasstilllearningmy
way.

“Whoyoucallingachicken?”strawberryheadsaid,makinghiseyesandmouthgoallcreepyagain,ina

waythatmadeButtercupwhimperandBodhialmostfalloffthebanister.

ButIjustlookedrightathimandsaid,“You.I’mcallingyou a chicken. Ten bucks says you and your

friendscrylikebabiesandrefusetoevencrossit.”

“Youforgetthatmoneyhasnovaluetous.Or,maybeyoudidn’tforget.”Strawberryheadliftedabrow

andsmiledknowingly.“Youdon’tneedtotrickusintocrossingover,youknow.Yourlittlespeechwas
convincingenough.”

“Really?”Itriedtoholdbackmysmile,butitwasnouse.Icouldn’thelpbutfeelproudofmyself,and

proud of them for making the choice that they had. “Well, the truth is, you helped me too.” As much as
threeten-year-oldscanhelpanolder,wiser,morematuregirloftwelve.“So,well,thanks.”

“You’rewelcome,”strawberryheadsaid,suddenlysoundingfarmorematurethanhisyears.“And,for

therecord,justsoyouknow,we’realmosteleven.Oh,andmyname’snotstrawberryhead.”Hiseyesmet
mine but thankfully they bore no ill will. “It’s Hans. And this is Dieter and Wolfgang.” He motioned
towardhisblondbrothers.We’retriplets,andI’mtheoldest—byseventyseconds.”

Inodded,feelingbadthathe’dcluedintomythoughts.IwasreallygoingtohavetowatchmyselfifI

wantedtomakeanyfriendsintheafterlife.

“So?Justwhereisthisbridgeanyway?”Wolfgangsaid,ashisbrothersnoddedbesidehim,obviously

eagertomoveontothenextadventure.

Bodhislidhisstrawtotheothersideofhismouth,fullyrecoveredfromtheshockofseeingthemand

completelybackonhisgamewhenhesaid,“Okay,noweverybodyjoinhands.AndRiley,youholdonto
Buttercup,asweallimagineashimmeringveilofsoftgoldenlight...”

The trip to Summerland was brief. So brief it included no time for looking around, reconnecting with
friends,orgettingreacquaintedwithmyfavoriteoldhaunts.

It’slike,oneminutewe’dwalkedthroughthegoldenmist,landedsmack-dabatthefootofthebridge,

andwerebiddingtheRadiantBoysfarewell,andthenext,wewererightbackwhereweleftoff.Standing
inthelonghallwayinWarmingtonCastle,asIlookedatBodhiandsaid,“Doyouthinkthey’llbereunited

withsomeone—likemaybetheirmother?Orhasitbeentoolongforallthat?”

But Bodhi just shrugged, dismissing me and my question in a way so noncommittal, so completely

uninterested,itimmediatelygotonmynerves.

Imean,alittlecreditwould’vebeennice.
Alittle:Waytogo!Goodjob!Evenahigh-fivewould’vesufficed.
Butnooo.
NotonlyhadhebarelyevenacknowledgedthemonumentaltaskI’djustpulledoff,buthealsomanaged

to land us right back where we started, which wasn’t anywhere close to London, or a runway for that
matter.

“Whatgives?”Iscowled,wonderingwhyhemadeuscomeallthewaybackhere.
I’ddonewhatI’dsetouttodo,completedmytaskandsuccessfullyridtheplaceofitsghosts—allthree

ofthematthat.AndasfarasIwasconcerned,nowthatI’dwonthebet,itwastimenotonlyformyflying
lesson,butalsomytriptoLondon.

Itwasclearlystatedinthetermsofourearlieragreement.
Itwasassimpleasthat.
AndnowaywasIlettingBodhifindsomekindofloopholetoshirkhiswayoutofourdeal.
NowaywasIlettinghimgetawaywithsomethingasunfairasthat.
ButBodhijustlookedatme,hisshouldershunched,gazesheepish,greenstrawbobbingupanddown

between his teeth when he said, “Um, I might not have mentioned it earlier, but there’s more. Just one
morethingtotakecareof,andthenwe’reoutofhere.Ipromise.”

“Whatdoyoumeanonemorething?”Myhandsclutchedatmyhips,asImadesurebothmyfaceand

voicedisplayedjusthowcompletelyfuriousIwas.“Youcan’tjustgoexpandingmyjobdescriptionlike
that! It’s not fair! I did exactly what I was supposed to and I got it done pretty quickly if I do say so
myself.So,whythedelay?Let’sgoalready!Seriously.Let’smoveit!IwanttobesoaringovertheRiver
Thamesbysunrise—orelse!”Iscowled,havingnoideawhattheorelsepartactuallystoodfor,butstill,
thereitwas.Besides,fair’sfair,andIwasdeterminedtoseethatthealreadyclearlyestablishedsetof
ruleswerenotonlyabidedby,butmet.

FeelingmorethanalittleconfusedwhenBodhilookedatmeandsaid,“Thisone’snotforyou,Riley.

Thisone’sforme.”

Apparently, as it turned out, Bodhi, my guide/teacher/coach/counselor/boss had his own
guide/teacher/coach/counselor/boss, who, as it also turns out, was less than enthusiastic with the job
Bodhihaddonesofar.

Eventhoughhe’dprettymuchstartedhisdaybeingsummonedtothestageinwhatIlearnedhadbeena

sortofgraduationceremony,hestillhadplentymoretoaccomplish.

Plentymoretoliveupto—sotospeak.
OratleastthatwasthegistIwasabletotakeawayfromhisramblinglitanyofhazy,vague,purposely

ambiguousmumblings.Carefullyguardinganyandallofthedetails,andrefusingtosharethemwithme.

Andtrustme,Iwasluckytoevengetthatmuch.BecausewhenIstartedtohoundhimformore,wanting

toknowjustwhoexactlyhisguidewas,ifitwaspossiblyoneoftheCouncilmembers,ormaybeeven
somebodyelse—andjustwhatexactlyhisownjobdescriptionmightbe—whatwastrulyexpectedofa
guide—andwhatweretheconsequencesforthosewhofailedattheirtasks—whatwouldhappentohimif
hefailedtohelpmelearnandgrowandbettermyself—heclammedup.

AndwhenIcontinuedtopressontowhatIreallyandtrulywantedtoknow—whichwaswhyhewas

looking and acting so freaked at just the mere thought of the task that awaited him—he turned away
completely.

Justshutdown,refusedtospeak,andshowedmehisback.
Givingmethestoop-shoulderedsilenttreatment.
Refusingtodivulgeanythingmorethanhealreadyhad.
AndwhenIgaveuponthequestionsanddecidedtooffermyassistanceinstead(anythingtomakeitto

London by daybreak I figured), he just shook his head and said, “This one’s all mine. It’s absolutely
imperativeIdoitonmyown.”

Great. My face dropped into a frown as I snuck a quick peek at the grandfather clock in the hall,

knowingthatifthistask,whateveritmaybe,tookanywherenearaslongasminedid,Iwouldn’tgetto
London’tilnightfall,ifthen.

“Listen.”Ismiled,knowingmymotivationsweren’texactlypure,werefartooself-servingtoeverbe

mistakenforaltruistic,butstillcontinuingonwhenIsaid,“I’matrainee,right?Andit’syourjobto—
well—trainme,correct?”

Henoddedinhisusual,noncommittalway,headbobbingforwardeversoslightlybutjustenoughfor

metotranslateitasayes,ifonlytomakethingseasierandgetitmovingalong.

Slinkingaroundtohissideandwatchingashecontinuedtochewonthatsamedented-upstrawwhenI

said,“So,withthatinmind,whatbetterwaytotrainme,thantoallowmetowatchthemaster—meaning
you—atwork?Whatbetterwayformetolearnsomethingnewthantowatch,firsthand,howit’sdone?
And maybe—just maybe—get a little hands-on experience as well? But only if permission to do so is
grantedbyyou,ofcourse,”Iaddedquickly,seeingthewayhismouthsortofslammeddownatthesides
whenIgottothatlastpart.“So?Tellme,whatdoyousay?Surelyyourguidecan’tfaultyouforthat—for
lettingmewatchyoudoyourthingandcompleteyourtask?”

Bodhilookedatme,clearlyweighingtheprosandconsinhismind.Then,squintingdownthelonghall,

hesighedandsaid,“Fine.Butjustremember,youaskedforit.”

Heledusdownthehall,farawayfromtheblueroomwhereI’dcompletedmytask,anddownthestairs,
acrossalargefoyer,andupanothersetofstairs,whichledtoyetanotherlonghall,asmallersetofstairs,
andaverynarrowcorridorwithatinydoorattheveryendthatwouldrequiremostpeopletostoopdown
low to get through, but not us, and onto still more stairs, until, at last, we were entering one of those
turrets.Oneofthosepointytower-likethingsknowntoallthebestcastlesthatI’dalwayswantedtosee
theinsideof.

ButjustasIstartedtorushthedoor,eagertomanifestsomeseriouslylong,blondhairsoIcouldhave

mylong-awaited,muchanticipated,Rapunzelesquemoment,Bodhistretchedhisarmacross,barringme
fromgoinganyfartherwhenhesaid,“Yousureaboutthis?”

Please. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes in his face. Here I’d just faced down three glowing

radiant brothers with red orbs for eyes and deep, dark, cavernous mouths, and he wanted to know if I
couldhandleit?Imean,seriously,itwasalmostinsulting.Justhowbadcouldthispossiblybe?

“Becausethere’snoshameinbeingscared,”hesaid,studyingmecarefully,stillchewingonthatdumb

straw,reallyworkingitintosubmission.“Noshameatall.It’sperfectlynaturalandIwon’tjudgeyouif
youdecidetoturnbackwhileyoustillcan.You’vealreadyprovenyourself.Youwentinandsucceeded
wheremanybeforeyouhavefailed.Youknow,you’reprettyamazing,RileyBloom.You’rethebestSoul
CatcherI’veeverseenandit’sonlyyourfirstdayout!Butthisismytask,notyours.Andtrustme,there’s
areasonforthat.”

Icouldn’thelpit.ForsomeonewithatendencytoseekoutallthecomplimentsIcouldeverpossibly

get,thetruthwas,Iwasn’talwayssogreatatreceivingthem.Andjustafterhesaidallofthatmyeyes
startedtoburnasalumptookovermythroat,anditwasallIcoulddotonodandlookaway.Iwasso
humbledandembarrassedbyhispraise.

“Okay,”Isaid,myvoicehoarse,nearlyawhisper.“Butatleastletmetry,please.I’meagertolearnas

muchasIcan.”

Helookedatme,hiseyessearchingmyfacebeforehenoddedinconsent.Andthesecondheopenedthe

doorIheardit.

Infact,allofusheardit.
IncludingButtercup.
Thislow,awful,moaning/wailingtypesound.
Thesoundofdespair.
Thesoundofsomeonesolostintheirgrieving,theycouldnolongerfunction,nolongerdoanythingbut

emitanoisethatrangofnothingbutdeath.

Itwascontinuous.Unceasing.Goingonandonandoninawaythatfeltlikeforever.
Inawaythatdefinitelygavemethecreeps.
BodhilookedatmeandIathim,ourgazeholdingforamomentbeforeheslippedrightinfrontofme

andclimbedthesetofsteepnarrowsteps,asButtercupandItrudgedupbehindhim.

Andwhenwegottothetop,Isawher.ThoughIhavetoadmititactuallytookmeamomenttoreally

focus and zoom in to just exactly where the noise was coming from. Because even though it probably
soundsweird,itwaslikeshewassoold,sogray,sofaded,andsowashedout,shepracticallyblended
rightintothoseold,gray,faded,andwashed-outwalls.

Likeshe’dbeeninthatroomforsolong,she’dstartedtoresembleit.
Tobecomeapartofit.
Likeasolidpieceofheavyoldfurniturethat’sneverbeenmovedfromitsplace.

Islunkback,clingingtothefarthestwallasBodhiapproachedher.KnowingthatifI’dstillbeenalive

I’dbeholdingmybreathinabsolutehorror,terrifiedtothinkofwhatmightcomenext.

But, as it was, I was frozen in place. The bundle of energy that normally comprised the new, dead,

ghostlyversionofmehadcometoascreechinghaltasIhoveredinplace,withButtercupcroucheddown
besideme.

But no matter how close Bodhi crept, the woman remained totally and completely oblivious of his

presence,unawarethatwe’devenenteredtheroom.

Shestoodthere,pressedupagainstthewallinawaysoclose,soseamless,itwaslikeshewaspartof

it. Appearing small and trim, her back curved as her narrow shoulders hunched forward, rising
occasionallywhenaspasmoffreshtearsovertookher,thendroppingbackagain,fallingwellbelowthe
usual place. Her long cotton dress clinging to her in a series of unflattering, soaking wet clumps,
everythingabouthersobland,solackluster,sonondescript,theonlythingthatstoodout,theonlythingof
anycolorwasherhair.Itwaslong,wavy,anddark,sweptupintoacarelessbunthatwasbarelyheld
togetherbytwopearl-tippedpins.

Thethreeofuswatchedasshecontinuedtostandthere,peeringoutofasmall,squarewindow,grieving

oversomethingnoneofuscouldfathom,muchlesssee.

Listeningasthewailingcontinued,refusingtoletupforevenasecond.Itjustwentonandonandon,

the sound of it so heartbreaking, so disconcerting, so disturbing, so discombobulating, even Buttercup
sankallthewaydowntohisbelly,restedhischinflatagainsttheoldstonefloor,andplacedapawover
eachearinadesperateattempttoavoidit.

And honestly, the second I saw that, I came this close to doing the same. Stopped only by Bodhi

glancing over his shoulder, checking to see how we were doing, and not wanting him to know how
completelyfreakedoutanddisturbedIwas,Ijustwavedmyhandintheair,flutteringmyfingersinaway
thatmeantforhimtonotmindus,tojustcontinuehisbusiness.Knowingthatthesoonerhegotdowntoit,
thesoonerwecouldclearoutofthissmall,stone,practicallyairlessprisonofsorts.

Only a handful of seconds in her presence and my Rapunzel fantasy was over, not to mention my

previousfascinationwithcastlesandturretsandanythingelseofthesort.Itwasawful,small,dark,dingy,
anddampandcompletelyclaustrophobicevenforthoseofusthatnolongerbreathed,andIcouldn’teven
begintoseewhyanyonewouldchoosetospendevenaportionoftheirafterlifeinsuchahorribleplace,
muchlesscampouthereforhundredsofyears.

Thereasoningofsomeghostswasbeyondme.
Someofthemjustdidn’tmaketheslightestbitofsense.
Bodhi spoke to her, calling to her softly, quietly, and though I couldn’t exactly make out the words, it

wasclearhewastryingtostealherattention,gainhertrust,andconvincehertoturnaroundandfacehim.
Heevenwentsofarastoremovethoseridiculousglasseshewears,andplacetheminhisinsidepocket.
Though I wasn’t sure if it was so he could better see her, or so she could better see him—if she ever
decidedtoturnaround,thatis.

Still,eventhoughhelookedagazilliontimesbetterwithoutthem,theactaloneprettymuchamountingto

onegiantstepawayfromtotalgeekdomandonebabysteptoward,well,theoppositeofgeekdom—inthe
end,it’snotlikeitmadetheslightestbitofdifference,oratleastnottoheranyway.

She remained right there in place, rooted to her post. Still crying, still staring out the small, square

window.

Oblivious.
Uninterested.
Solostinhergrief,shehadnoideashehadcompany.

Andwatchinghercarryingonlikethat,well,Icouldn’thelpbutwonderifsheevergottiredofit.
Ifsheeverjuststoppedforafewminutes,andtookalittlebreaktoatleastwipehereyesorblowher

nosebeforeshestartedupagain.

Onlytofindoutthatshedid.
Andthatthewailingwouldsoonbereplacedwithsomethingmuchworse.

Sheturned.

Turnedandlookedstraightatus.
Oratleastitseemedthatwayatfirst.
But right before I started to turn away, right before I shrank back in horror, tempted to grab hold of

Buttercupandvámanosourselvesrightoutofthere,nevertoreturn,Inoticedthatshewasn’treallyseeing
us.

It was more like she was facing in our general direction, but her focus was inward, unable to see

anythingaroundherbuttheimagessheplayedoverandoveragaininherhead.

Andwhenmygazeunwittingly,accidentallymethers—thatwasallIcouldseetoo.
I slumped down to the ground, whimpering, sniveling, feeling as though my plug had been pulled, as

though my wick had been snuffed, and my bulb just burnt out. Sapped of all my energy as my arms
instinctivelycircledaroundme,tryingtoprotectmyselfagainstherpain,herfear,herloss,hercomplete
andtotalagony—butitwasnouse.AllIwantedtodowasscreamout,tojoinherinherchorusofgrief,
towail,andmoan,andpine,andcryinmyownhorrible,endless,unceasingway.Butmythroatwastoo
lumpy,toohot,anditwouldn’tallowanythingtoworkitswayin,muchlessfinditswayout.

And even though Bodhi was trying to shield me, raising his arms to block her from sight—it was too

late.

Toolatetolookaway.
ToolatetodoanythingbutcontinuetostareuntilIwascompletelyimmersedinherworld.
OnlyButtercupwassmartenoughtoplacehispawsoverhiseyesandblockherfromview.
My gaze moved over her, noticing how even for a ghost, she was so unbelievably pale that the dark

wispsofhairthat’dbrokenfreeofherbunsprangagainstherfacelikeasilhouetteoftreebranchescaught
inanunexpectedblizzardofblindingwhitesnow.Whileherdress,plainandhigh-necked,wasmadefrom
afabricthathadclearlystartedoutasblack,butaftercenturiesofbeingwashedinanendlessdelugeof
large,saltytearshadweakenedandfadeduntilitwasbleachedthesamecolorastheroom.Thoughthe
constantflowofgriefhadwreakedfarmorehavoconherfacethanthefabric—corrodingitintoaseries
ofdeep,craggycreviceswherehercheekbonesoncerose,whileforgingbottomlessvalleysandgorges
wherehernose,lips,andchinshould’vebeen.Remindingmeinastrange,sickwayofatripmyfamily
oncetooktotheGrandCanyon,wheremyfatherexplainedtoEverandmehowtheriseandfallofthe
water,itsincessantswayandlull,hadthepowertohoneandcarveandcompletelyobliteratepartsofthe
rocklikeafinelyhonedchisel.

Theonlypartofherfacethatwasevenremotelyrecognizablewasthespacewherehereyesshould’ve

been.

Years of unceasing tears had washed them away until there was nothing left but two matching, deep,

dark, and bottomless pools filled with murky black waters that sucked me right in, until I was swirling
andspinning,pulleddeeperanddeeper—likewaterrushingdownadrain,rainfallspillingintoagutter,I
wasfalling,flailing,andtherewasnowaytostopit.

Nowaytoclawmywayback.
Nowaytosparemyselffromherlimitlessgrief.
Iwasdrowning.
Fighting to keep my head above the dark, murky pool of tumultuous, oily, swirling black waters that

violentlychurnedallaroundme.Coughingandblinkingandtryingmybesttotiltmyheadbackandjust
float, reminding myself to relax, to stay calm, that panicking would just make it worse. Calling upon

everythingI’deverlearnedineveryswimminglessonandjuniorlifeguardclassI’devertaken.Desperate
tokeepthewaterfromfloodingmylungs,eventhoughdeepdowninside,Iknewtheydidn’texactlyexist
anymore.

Butitwastoolate.
Despite my attempts, despite my legs continuing to kick, despite my hands grasping and clawing, I

couldn’tovercomeher.Iwasbeingpulledunder.Andforsomeonewhojustafewmomentsearlierdidn’t
evenbreathe,Isomehowknewthatmyveryexistence,nottomentionmysanity,requiredmetoholdon,to
hang in there, to embrace the breath that now bubbled my cheeks, and to not let it go, no matter what
becameofme.

AndjustwhenIwassureIcouldn’tholdonanylonger,ahandcameoutofnowhere,plungingstraight

towardmefromsomewhereabove,asavoicecalledouttome.

AvoiceIimmediatelyrecognizedasBodhi’s.
My fingers stretched toward his, as my legs furiously kicked, desperate to propel myself upward,

vaguely aware of his fingers circling my wrist, and giving it a nice, firm tug that yanked me above the
water,uptowheretherewasoxygen,andair,androomstilltobreathe.

Igaspedandsputtered,blinkingthatthick,oilywaterfrommyeyes,onlytoseeBodhifloatingbefore

me, his lips moving frantically as he said, “You have to stop looking. Now! Turn toward the wall and
she’llhavenochoicebuttoreleaseyou—it’stheonlyway!Doit,Riley,doitnow!Please.”

ButIdidn’t.
Ididn’tturntowardthewall.
Andifyouaskedmewhy,well,atthetime,Iwouldn’thavehadananswer.
Iguesssomethingsarejustautomatic.
Instinctive.
Somethingsyoujustdo,despitethefactthatyourentirebeingisshoutingagainstit.
Somethingsjustdon’tmakeanysense,untillater.
Muchlater.
Andthis,asIwouldsoonlearn,wasoneofthosethings.

Bodhi was furious. Truly furious. Eyes narrowed and glaring at me as he shouted: “Dang it, Riley, I’m
yourguide,whichmeansyouhavetodowhatIsay!”

Whichwassoonfollowedby:“ThisisexactlywhyIdidn’twanttobringyouhere.Thisismytask,not

yours. I’m the only one who can take care of this. So, for the last time, please, I’m begging you, turn
away!”

Butevenafterallthat,Istilldidn’tstoplooking.Ijuststayedrightthereinplace,floating,strugglingto

keep my head above water as the seas finally calmed down all around me, glad my dog had the good
sensetositthisoneouttoo.

“What’sthisabout?”Iasked,myvoicesoundingsmall,scared,andneedyinawaythatembarrassedme

andaggravatedhim.“Andwhereexactlyarewerightnow?Idon’tgetit.”

Bodhilookedatme,hishairdampandclingingtohischeeks,havinglosthisjacketinthecurrent,andI

couldn’thelpbuthopethatthenerdglasseshadgonealongwithit.

“We’reinherworldnow,”hesaid,voiceresignedlikeasigh,clearlysickofarguingwithme.“Andit

happenstobeadangerousone.Onethatisnoplaceforchildren,andcertainlynoplaceforthefaintof
heart.Soplease,ifyourefusetodowhatIask,ifyourefusetoturnawayandsaveyourself,thenatthe
very least stay quiet. The water should stay calm now. Calm enough for me to leave you here on your
own. But I’m warning you, Riley, no matter what happens next, no matter what you see or hear, do not
headtowardtherock.Nomatterhowdireitmayseem,youaremuchsaferhere.Soplease,justdowhatI
sayandstayput.Donotgetinvolvednomatterhowbadthingsget.Okay?Canyoudothatforme?”

Inodded.UnsureifIcouldreallyfollowthroughandkeepapromiselikethat,especiallyifthingsreally

didgetasbadasheseemedtothinktheywould.Nottomentionifthewaterswentallcrazyandchurning
andscaryagain,thentherockwouldbethefirstplaceI’dhead.Butknowingheneededmetoagreein
ordertogetonwithhistask,Inoddedmyassurance,eventhoughIwasn’tsureifIcouldactuallyliveup
tomypromise.

Iwatchedashefloatedaway,cuttingthroughthecurrentaseasilyasafish,beforeclimbingontowhat

appearedtobeasmall,lonelyislandsomewhereoutinthedistance,andwhatfurthersquintingrevealed
tobealarge,jaggedrockjuttingoutfromthesea.

Andthat’swhenIsawit.
AndI’mprettysurethat’sthesamemomenthesawittoo.
Thesecondheclimbedupandsecuredhimselfthere,webothwatched,fromourownseparatevantage

points,theexactcauseoftheghostlady’sanguishforthelastseveralhundredyears.

Shewasamurderer.
Achildkiller.
Oratleastthat’swhateveryonesaid.
Falselyaccusedofwhatwasprettymuchtheworstcrimeapersoncouldevercommit—thatofkilling

herveryownchildren.

Her three beloved sons, whom I immediately recognized as the golden-haired Radiant Boys I’d just

crossedoverafewmomentsearlier.

Onlythingwas—shewasinnocent.She’ddonenothingofthesort.
Shewasmerelyapoorwidowedmotherlefttotakecareofhersonsonherown,forcedtofindwork

righthereatthecastle,andjustnaïveandinnocentenoughtotrustthewrongpersontolookafterherboys
whileshewasgone.

Astablehandwhopromisedtotakethemonaso-calledfishingtripwhereinsteadofbaitingaline,he

drowned all three of them. Cleaning up nicely and planting just enough evidence to make it appear as
thoughshe’ddoneit—onlytovanishnearlyassoonashe’dcome,nevertobeseenorheardfromagain.

Andafterbeingtriedandpunishedwithdeath,shetookonelookatthegoldenveilofshimmeringlight

that led to the bridge, saw the way it glowed and swayed and beckoned for her, offering nothing but
comfortandloveandcompassionandforgiveness—allofwhichshe’dlongbeendenied.Butinsteadof
joiningit,insteadofseekingthesolaceonlyitcouldprovide—sheturnedherback,andchoseinsteadto
wanderaway.Sodrivenbyheroverwhelminggrief,herinsurmountableblame,convincedshe’dplayeda
bigpartinitbybeingsonaïve,bynotlookingafterthemproperly,bynotdoingnearlyenoughtokeep
themallsafe,shereturnedtotheveryscenewhereshefirstheardthenews.

Totheplacewhereshestoodlookingforthem,waitingforthemtoreturn...
Andsuddenly,justlikethat,Iknewexactlywherewebothwere.
Weweren’tsomuchinherheadlikeI’doriginallythought.Norwerewesettledintoafront-rowcenter

seatwatchingthememoriesshestoredinherbrokenanddamagedheart.

Nope.
Wherewebothwere,BodhiandI,wasthedarkestpartofhersoul.
The place she’d shut off from the world long ago. The place she’d condemned herself to. A self-

imposedimprisonmentforthelastfewcenturies.

Andnow,likeitornot,we’djoinedher.
Werelockedinwithher.
AndIhadnochoicebuttowatchasBodhibracedhimselfagainsttherock,hisarmsspreadwide,his

headtiltedback,hismouthopen,ashestartedtotakeitallin.

Determinedtoswallowit—everylastbitofthehorriblegriefthat’dkeptherchainedtotheearthplane

forhundredsofyears.

Determinedtoclaimitforhimself.
Tostealitfromherandmakeithisown.

Bodhi’s body bucked and convulsed, as his eyes rolled back in his head. But when I started to swim
towardhim,heimmediatelystoppedmeinmytracks.Flashinghispalminwarning,andtellingmetostay
back.TelepathicallyremindingmeofthepromiseI’dmade,thatnomatterhowbadthingsgot,I’dstayin
myplace.

Thisparticularjobwashis,andI’dbetternotcomeanycloserorinterfereinanyway.
SoIshrankback,watchingashisentirebeingcontinuedtospasm,realizinghewasn’texactlyfighting

againstitlikeI’dfirstthought.Hewasn’tbattlingagainstthetsunamiofoverwhelminggriefhetookin.

Hewasfightingagainsther.
Herrefusaltoridherselfofit.
Togiveittohim.
Tounburdenherselfandmoveon.
Itwaslikeshe’dstayedsolongatthatwindow,spentsomanyyearscrying,andmoaning,andwailing

hernonexistentheartout,she’dgottentothepointwhereshecouldn’trememberanythingelse.

Hergriefhadcometodefineher.
Withoutit,shefearedshemightceasetoexist—completelydisappear.
Unawareofhowthatverydisappearancewouldactuallybethebestthingforher.
Sure,thesad,oldversionofherwouldfadeawaywithoutatrace,butonlysoanew,improved,happier

versioncouldfindanewlifeontheothersideofthebridge.

I watched the struggle continue, knowing I had no right to interfere, that it was forbidden, that Bodhi

wouldn’tallowit.Butstill,thatdidn’tmeanIcouldn’tsurroundhimwithhope.Imaginingthecolorinmy
mindasthemostbeautiful,radiant,rose-petalpink,Iturneditintoagiant,glisteningbubble,andwrapped
itaroundhimasIheldthewishnear.

Eager for this to be over—for Bodhi to find enough strength to take it from her, release her from her

grief,sothatshecouldbefree.

Allthewhiletryingnottothinkaboutwhatmightbecomeofhimoncehehadswallowedhersorrow.
Wherewoulditgo?
Wouldhebeforcedtotakeherplaceatthewindowandwailforthenexthundredyears?
Orcouldhefindawaytoprocessit?
Treatitliketheydowithsewageandwasteandgrossstufflikethat.Reconditioningitinawaywhere

it’snolongertoxic,nolongersocompletelydestructivetolivewith.

Andifhecouldn’tprocessit—ifhecouldn’ttreatitinsomeway—thenwhatwouldbecomeofme?
WouldIeverfindmywayoutofthatbottomlesssea?
OrwouldIbeforcedtotreadinthatblack,oilywaterfortherestofeternity?
Butstill,eventhoughallthosethoughtswereactivelyfloodingmymind,Ikeptmypromise,andIkept

myplace.Holdingtighttothatvibrant,pinkbubbleofhope,asmylegsmovedbeneathme,andmyarms
spuninhalfcirclesbymysides.WatchingasBodhicontinuedtoputuponeheckofafight,engagedina
battleofherdark,heavysoulversushislight.

Shakingandtrembling,hestruggledtoconsumeallherpain,whileIwhisperedtomyself,overandover

again,thatitwouldallbeallright.Thatthelightalwayswinsintheend.Inallmyfavoritebooks,movies,
andshowsonTV—that’sjustthewayitalwaysgoes.

Onlythiswasalltooreal.
Andlikeitornot,BodhiandIwerelockedinthistogether,oureternitiesdependingonhowthisthing

ended.

Iclosedmyeyes,overcomewithexhaustion,andnotwantingtoseeanymore.ThoughIstillclungto

hope—hopingitmightaidhiminsomesmall,acceptableway.

Hopingshewouldletgo,giveupthegrief,andmoveon.
HopingBodhiwouldstaysureandstrongandcontinuetofight.
AndthenextthingIknew,itwasover.
Oratleastmypartwasover.
Isuddenlyfoundmyselfoutsideofitall.Backinthatsmall,dankroom,watchingfromthesidelinesas

theghostlady’sdresswhitened,herhairbrightened,andthecolorreturnedtohercheeksinthewayshe
must’velookedbeforeallthedarknessmovedin.

Butthemostremarkablechangeofallwashereyes.
The way they transformed from bottomless black oily pools—an endless sea of sorrow—to a calm

brilliantblue.

Andwhenshelookedatme,lookedrightatme,hersmilewassoglorious,soluminous,sofilledwith

hope,itjustliftedherrightuplikeaheliumballoonasshesailedoutthatsmallwindowanduptoward
thesky.

I nudged Buttercup who was lying beside me, watching as he removed his paws from his eyes and

immediately ran toward Bodhi who was curled up in the corner, arms circled tightly around his waist,
filledtothebrimwithgriefandpainandnoideawheretoputit.

Andallittookwasonequicklookathimtoknowthateventhoughheappearedtobewithus,hestill

reallywasn’t.Insidehishead,insidehissoul,hewasbackonthatlonelyrockisland,fightingagainstthe
emotions he’d willingly taken on—trying to find a way to bear it, to process it, so that he too could
releaseitandmoveon.

AndwhileIwasn’tsureifIwassupposedto,andwhileIwasn’tsureifitwaspermitted,andknowing

therewasaverygoodchancehemightscoldmelater,Icrepttowardhim.KneelingdownbesidehimasI
placedmyhandonhisarmandstreamedintohisenergyfield.Havinglearnedlongago,backwhenIwas
livinginSummerland,thateverythingismadeupofenergy,ourbodies,ourthoughts,everything.

Whichmeansthatallofusareconnected.
Whichmeansthatifwewanttoreallyknowsomeone,orcomfortsomeoneinsomeway,thenallwehad

todowaspayattentionandtunein.

That’strulyallittakes.
Hestruggled,struggledforsolongIworriedthathewouldn’tholdout.ButIkeptmypromise,andother

thanwatchingasthebattlecontinuedtowage,Ididn’tintrude.Ijustkepttomyselfasheexperiencedher
entire emotional journey—her fear when her boys didn’t return—her overwhelming grief when she
learnedtheyneverwould—herindignationwhenshefoundherselfaccused—hergrimacceptancewhen
shewassounfairlytried—includingthemomentshegaveuponherself—whichhappenedtobethesame
moment everyone else seemed to give up on her too. Even though she knew she was innocent of their
deaths,shestillfoundaplacefortheblame.Shestillchosetokeepupherpunishmentlongaftershe’d
alreadybeenhanged.Andeventhoughhersonscontinuedtheirexistenceintheverysamehouse,enjoying
century after century of naughty, mischievous pranks, it’s like they were all so immersed in their own
separateworlds,theywerecompletelyunawareofeachother.

“She’s back,” I whispered, knowing it to be true. “They’re all back together again. It’s over, at last.

Thankstoyou.”

IsqueezedBodhi’sarm,myshouldersliftingwhenhebegantoblinkandstir.Bringinghishandstohis

faceandrubbinghiseyesbeforehesquintedatmeandsaid,“Youokay?”

Inodded,fartoochokeduptotrustmyownvoice.Insteadthinking:You?Knowinghecouldhearitjust

aswellasanywordsImightspeak.

Hestretchedhislegsoutbeforehim,cranedhisneckfromsidetoside,archedhisbackforamoment,

thenstood.Offeringhishandashepulledmeuptoo,hisentireexpressionchangingwhenhesaid,“Itold
younottointerfere.”

Ibalked,hardlybelievingwhatI’djustheard.
“Itoldyoutostayoutofit.Butnooo, you wouldn’t listen. You never listen. You have serious issues

withlistening.”Heshookhishead,adding,“Andthetruthis,I’mnotsurewhattodowithyou,Riley.I’m
notsureifI’meventherightguideforyou.Imean,it’sprettyobvioushowharditisforyoutoeventryto
respectme.”

“Wha—”Ishookmyhead,somanyargumentsrushingforthatonce,Ididn’tknowwheretobegin.“Are

youkiddingme?”Ilookedathim,onequicklookandIknewhewasmostcertainlynotjoking,notinthe
least.“Becauseforyourinformation,Ididwhatyouasked,andletmejusttellyouitwasn’tatalleasy.In
caseyoudon’trealizeit.I’mtheonewhowatchedyougoallweirdandspasmyandfreaky.Allthewhile
havingnoideawhatsoeverwhetherornotyou’dmakeit,nottomentionwhatmightpossiblybecomeof
meifyoudidn’t.Andyet,Istilljustignoredmydoubts,gulpeddownmyfears,andkepttreadingwater,
notassistingyouinanyway,shape,orform.Andthen,evenafterIwasspitoutofthere,evenafteryou
swallowedhergriefandshetwirledherwayintothesky,allIdidwastouchyourarmandmakesureyou
wereokay.That’sit.Iswear.Soyouhavenorighttosaywhatyoudid.Norightatall,infact—”

Helookedrightatme,cuttinginwhenhesaid,“See?That’sexactlythekindofthingI’mtalkingabout.

Lookatthewayyouspeaktome!Tellme,Riley,wereyoulikethatwhenyouwerealivetoo?Didyou
talkthatwaytoyourparents,andyourteachersinschool?”

Iscrewedmylipstotheside,placedmyhandsonmyhips,andthoughtaboutit.Thoughtaboutitlong

andhardbeforesaying,“Sometimes,yeah.Whatofit?”

Heturnedaway,straighteninghisclothesandtuckingthetailofhisshirtbackintohispantsashegazed

outthatsmall,squarewindowandsaid,“Thefactis,youdidinterfere.Andnow,becauseofit,I’veno
ideaifI’llgetthecreditIsodesperatelyneedformovingheracrossthebridge.”Heshookhisheadand
pinched the bridge of his nose, pausing for a few moments, collecting his thoughts, before he plunged
ahead.“Youhavenoideawhatyou’vedone.Youdon’thavethefirstclueastohowthisallworks.You
justjumprightin,assumingyouknowwaymorethanyoudo,refusingtopayanyattentiontowhatI’ve
askedofyou.”Heturnedtowardme,pushingalockofwethairoffhisfaceandbackbehindhisearwhen
he said, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, because you’ll just disrespect me that much more, but the
WailingWoman?Shewasmylastchance.Mylastshotatredeemingmyselfandmovingon.Butnowthat
you’vebuttedin,despitemywarningyoutostayput,I’llprobablygetdemoted,andthat’sifI’mlucky—”

“Butthat’sthething,Ididn’tinterfere,”Isaid,armsflailingthroughtheair,desperateforhimtobelieve

it.“That’swhatI’vebeentryingtotellyouthiswholeentiretime.That’swhatyou don’t seem to get. I
wasthere,yeah,webothknowthat.Isawthewhole,entirething.Butthat’sit.AllIdidwashopeandtry
tosurroundyouwithhope.Ihopedthatyou’drealizeyourowninnerstrength.Ihopedthatyou’dstayon
course,onyourmissiontohelphermoveontoabetterplace.That’sit!Iswear.Sotellme,ohmighty
guide,sincewhenishopeconsideredabadthing?Sincewhendoeshopegetapersondemoted?Imean,
seriously,sheesh!”Ishookmyheadandcircledmyarmshighonmychest,dismayedonceagainathow
easilytheyfitthere.“Ifthat’sthewaythingsworkintheHere&Now,ifthey’vetrulygotsomekindof
anti-hopecampaigngoingon,thennothanks.Iwillnotbereturninganytimesoon,nomatterhowmany
cleverSoulCatcherstheysendafterme.AndIwon’tletButtercupgobackeither.I’dratherwejuststay
righthereandtakeoverasthenewghostsofWarmingtonCastle.AllI’dhavetodoiscomeupwithsome
kindofcool,new,ghostlytypegimmickthathasn’tbeendonebeforeand—”Isighed,runningoutofsteam

andshakingmyheadasmyeyesmetBodhi’s.

“Youswearyoudidn’tinterfere?”hesaid,obviouslywantingtobelieve.
“Yes!”Ipracticallyshouted,desperateforhimtohearme.“Iabsolutely,positively,swearuponmyvery

owngrave!”

“Yes,butdoyouswearonyourfavoriteKellyClarksonsong?”Hetiltedhisheadandeyeballedme.
Igaped,wonderinghowhecould’vepossiblyknownaboutmypenchantforfillingmyiPodwithallof

hersongs.Thenjustlikethat,Igotit.He’dseenmyfootage.Itwaspartofhisprepwork,beforetakingon
the responsibility of me. He’d been forced to watch the whole lame saga of my life, the one that was
unfortunately titled: The (Short, Pathetic, Completely Wasted) Life of Riley—Everything You Ever
WantedtoKnow,fromAtoZ.

“Don’tworry,itwasn’ttheAtoZversion,”hesaid.“Justthehighlights,themovietrailerversion,that’s

all.Butmoreimportantly,areyousayingIseriouslydidthat—swallowedhergriefandmovedhertoward
thebridgeallonmyown?”

“Yeah.”Inodded,seeinghisfacelightupinasmileforthefirsttimesinceI’dmethim,andamazedby

thewayitcompletelytransformedhim.“LikeIsaid,theonlythingIofferedwashope,nothingmore.And
theycan’tfaultapersonforhope,canthey?”

Helookedatme,stillsmilingwhenhesaid,“Nope,theymostcertainlycan’t.”LeadingButtercupand

meoutofthatroomandglancingoverhisshoulderasheadded,“So,whatdoyouthink?Youstillupfor
thatflyinglesson?”

Here’sthething—evenafterI’dmasteredtheartofbeingsuccessfullyairborne,neitherofushadanyidea
whattodoaboutalittleproblemnamedButtercup.

Sincewecouldn’tspeakcanine,anddidn’tknowthefirstthingabouthowtogoaboutreadinghismind,

well,let’sjustsayweweretotallyandcompletelyflummoxedastohowtogethimofftheground.

Likeeverythingelseinmyworld,learningtoflyallcamedowntoonething:
Desire.
Everythingranondesire.
Nothingwasexempt.
Whichmeantnowingswerenecessary.
(Thoughsomepeoplehappenedtolikethewaytheylookedsomuchtheyworethemanyway.Whichis

how,accordingtoBodhi,thatwholeangel-with-wingsthinggotstarted.)

Butstill,intheend,itallcamedowntojusthowbadlyyouwantedsomething.
Justhowwellyoucouldimagineyourselfhavingitand/ordoingit.
Andjusthowmuchyoubelievedyoutrulycouldhaveitand/ordoit.
Itwassimple.
Easypeasy.
Allyouhadtodowasknowhowtomanifestit.
Butthequestionwas:Couldadogactuallymanifestsomething?
Somethingasforeigntothemasflyingwouldbe?
Andalmostmoreimportantly,whywouldButtercupevenwant to pretend he was a bird gliding from

treebranchtotreebranch,whenhesoclearlylovedbeingadog?

But then, when I thought about it, really thought long and hard about it, I remembered the growing

number of times I’d found him in his own little self-made nirvana—surrounded by piles of his favorite
brand of doggie biscuits as he napped in a solitary warm patch of sun that hadn’t been there a few
momentsearlier.

AndatthatmomentIknewjustwhatitwouldtaketogethimtotakeflight.
AllwehadtodowasfindawaytomakeButtercupwanttofly.
Otherwise,oneofuswasgoingtohavetocarryhimallthewaytoLondon.

WewereinoneofthemanygardensofWarmingtonCastle,havingdecidedtousetheonewiththemaze
andthetangleofrosesasasortofrunway.EventhoughI’dwarnedBodhithatifIfailedtolaunch,and
endedupallsnarledupinthosesharp,thornyrosebushesinstead,he’dneverheartheendofit.

Buthejustlaughed,thatgood-natured,wonderfultinklingsoundofalaughhe’ddefinitelyheldfirmlyin

checkjustalittlewhilebefore,butafterreleasingtheWailingWoman,heseemedtousefreely.

Iguesshisfearoffailure,ofpossiblybeingdemotedandall,iswhatmadehimsogrumpyandserious.

And,afterheexplainedittome,well,itseemedhehadgoodreason.

Thatwasn’thisfirstgo-roundwiththeWailingWoman.
He’dbeentherebefore.
Wentwithhisownguide,who,bytheway,hestillfirmlyrefusestoeithernameordescribebutwhohe

swears I’ll get to meet someday—maybe (he put major emphasis on the maybe)—if and when (again,
emphasis)hefeelsthatI’veearnedit.ThoughhetotallyfailedtoelaborateonjusthowImightgoabout
doingthat.

Butanyway,thewayhetoldit,thefirsttimeheapproachedher,hetookonelookintothosehorrible,

bottomlesseyesofhersandhotfootedrightdownthestairs,throughthecorridor,downtheotherstairs,
andbippidyblahblah,untilhefoundhiswayoutsideinthegarden,whiteasasheet,andgaspingfordear
life(yep,eventhoughhewasalreadydead).

Thesecondtime,heknewhecouldnotpossiblybehavelikethatagain,notifheeverwantedtogethis

“glowon”(atermhealsoputgreatemphasison,yeteventhoughIpressedhim,hecompletelyrefusedto
explain it to me), and so, when she turned and met his gaze, he didn’t hold back even though he really,
reallywantedto.

Healsodidn’tscreamandgorunningoutofthatroom.
Instead,hejustdoverightin,determinedtoswallowhergriefandprovehecoulddoit.
But,assoonashestarted,hewassooverwhelmedbyherunendingdespair,hejustspititrightbackout

ather,watchingitdripandclinguntilshewasabletoabsorbitbackin.

Andjustafterthat,hewasmarched(sotospeak)rightbacktotheHere&Nowwherehewasurgedto

enrollinsomeadvancedclassesontoleranceandcompassion,wherehefinallygrewandlearnedenough
tograduatefromhislevel,andmoveontoahigherlevel,wherehewasthenurgedtotakeonthenot-so-
easytaskofguidingaspunky,snappy,snarky,slightly rebellious (his words, not mine) twelve-year-old
girlwho’drecentlyhadherliferippedrightoutfromunderher.

Thenwhen(nottomentionif!)hegetsagoodhandleonme,well,theytoldhimthatmaybe,theyjust

mightconsiderlettinghimgoforroundthreeinthematchofBodhiversustheWailingWoman.

Allofwhichmeansweweren’tevensupposedtobeatWarmingtonCastleinthefirstplace.
Apparently there was an entirely different ghost all picked out and ready for me to, er, coax and

convinceitswaytothebridge.

But,asBodhipointedout,assoonashelaideyesonme,assoonasItookonelookathimanddeemed

himdorkyguy,wellthat’swhenheknewIcouldhandletheRadiantBoy—orBoys,asitturnedout.

And if, in the end, I couldn’t, he figured I’d have the perfect opportunity to help myself to a nice big

sliceofthehumblepieheclaimedIsosorelydeserved.

Soyeah,maybewewerebothfeelingalittlehappywithourselves.
Alittle“chuffed”astheysayinjollyoldEngland.
Butwhywouldn’twe?
We’d just accomplished what those in charge, namely the members of the Council, were pretty much

surethatwecouldn’t.

We’dbothgreatlysucceeded,whereawholehostofothershadfailed.
And all we were left with was the deceptively simple task of getting my sweet yellow Lab off the

groundsowecouldgocelebrateourmutualsuccessinLondon.

ButthethingaboutButtercupis,nomatterhowcuteandsweetandwellbehavedhemightbe,he’salso

kindofawuss(asevidencedbythewayheranfromtheRadiantBoy,leavingmealonetodefendmyself).

Nottomentionhowhe’skindoflazytoo.
BecausewhenBodhihadthe(whatIthoughtatthetimetobebrilliant)ideaoftossinghisfavoritebrand

of dog biscuits into the air in an attempt to convince him to soar after them, Buttercup just licked his
chops,closedhiseyes,andmanifestedhisownpileofdogbiscuitswithoutsomuchasmovinganinch.

Soafterseveraltestrunsofmesoaringaroundthegarden,buzzingmywaythroughthemazewithmy

hairstreamingbehindmeandthewindhowlingatmycheeks,asButtercupchasedunderneathme,barking
andtailwagginglikecrazy—IrealizedsomethingelseaboutButtercup.

He’sdomesticated.
Abonafidecompanionanimal.

Andwhathehatesmorethananythingintheworldistobeleftonhisownfortoolong.
SowhenIcalledforBodhitojoinme,urginghimtosoaralongsidemeasweheadedstraighttoward

Londonwithoutoncelookingback,tocommitsofullytothemissionthatButtercupwouldthinkwewere
neverplanningtoreturn—heagreed.

Ourreasoningbeingthattherewasonlyonewayforhimtojoinusonourtrip,andthatwasforhimto

flyrightalongsideus.

Therewouldbenocarryingallowed.
So,wetookoff.
Bothofusgettingagoodrunningstart(notbecauseitwasnecessary,butbecauseitwasfun).
BothofusflyingsidebysideanddoingourbestnottolookdownasButtercupchasedalongunderneath

us,sureitwassomekindofgame.

Bothofusfullyresolvedtokeepgoing,tonottakeasinglelookback,longafterwe’dflownoverthe

largeperimeterwallthatforsomestrangereasonstoppedpoorButtercuprightthereinhistracks,until,
justlikemefacingtheRadiantBoysattheirscariest,herealizedhisfearwasallinhisheadandheran
throughthattoo.

Both of us committed to just keep on keeping on—to not cave in to Buttercup’s awful, unceasing,

continuousseriesofforlornwhining,howling,andyelpsashechasedunderneathus.Sosurehe’dbeen
dealtacruelhandoffate,thathe’dbeenpermanentlyandcompletelyabandonedtotheground.

Both of us waiting, hoping for Buttercup’s desire to finally kick in just enough to where he’d be

magicallyboostedandpropelledrightalongsideus.

AndjustwhenIwassureIcouldn’ttakeitanymore,justasIwasabouttobreakmyownpromiseand

swoopdowntowardmypoorfranticdogandscoophimintomyarms—

Isawhim.
Earspinnedclosetohisheadashistailwaggedlikecrazy.Causinghimtoswoopandswerveandeven

dive-bombafewtimesinawaythattrulysentmyinsidesspinning,untilhefigureditout,gotaholdof
himself, and learned to use it as a rudder, steering him along, and keeping him on course, until he was
fullycaughtupandsoaringrighttherealongsideus,asthoughhe’dbeendoingitfordays.

AndeventhoughIcouldn’tlisteninonhisthoughtsorreadwhatmight’vebeengoingoninhismind,his

expressionwasallIneededtoknowthathelovedeverylastsecondofit.

Loveditmorethanawarmpatchofsun,abowlfullofbiscuits,andanextralongcarridewithallthe

windowsrolleddown.

Loveditmorethanallofthosethingscombined.
Buttercuphadfoundanewfavoritepastime.
Andhetooktoitasnaturallyandgracefullyasabird.

Wesoaredthroughwhite,fluffy,mist-ladenclouds.

Wesoaredoversnowymountaintopsandbuildingsandriversandlakes.
WesoaredpastlargeflocksofbirdsthatButtercupbarkedatandchasedafter,determinedtogetahold

ofoneandbringitbackproudlyassomekindoftrophyinthewaythatheoftendidwhenhewasalive.
EachtimeglancingbackatBodhiandmeincompleteandutterconfusion,wheninsteadofcapturingone
ofthem,heflewdirectlythroughthem.

AndthemomentwegottoLondon,Iknew.
Bodhididn’thavetotellme,didn’thavetosayasingleword.
I just took one look at that wide winding river dotted with bridges and ships and lined with tall

buildings,andIrecognizeditforexactlywhatitwas.

TheRiverThames,theWestminsterBridge,BigBen—weflewoveritall.Weevenswoopedinreally,

reallyclosetothetopmostcapsuleontheLondonEye,which,incaseyoudon’tknow,isprettymuchthe
earthplane’scoolestFerriswheel,thenweswoopeddowntowardthebottomandbackupagain,trailing
itcarefullyasitwentaroundandaroundinthesky.

Andafterthat,wetooktothestreets,glidingaboveoneofthosebright-reddouble-deckerbusesLondon

isfamousfor,andpastbrightlycurtainedwindowsofapartmentbuildings,orflatsasthelocalsreferto
them.

Then we swooped down even lower, just barely grazing the tops of tall trees, then lower still, just

barelygrazingthetopsoftallpeople.

AndwhenIextendedmyfinger,justbarelytappingthebrimofsomeguy’shatandknockingitrightoff

hisbewilderedhead,Bodhiturnedtowardme,adisapprovinglookinhiseyesashislipssankdownina
frown.ButIjustlaughedandIstuckmytongueoutathimbeforedoingitagainforgoodmeasure.

Wekeptgoing,headingtowardabusycircleIthoughtIrecognizedfrompicturesI’dseenofPiccadilly,

andthat’swhenIspottedit.

Orrather,them.
Thelargecrowdsofpeople.
All of them hurrying off to the office, or school, or wherever it is that people rush off to after eating

theirbreakfastandgettingdressedfortheday.

All of them sharing one thing in common—they were all headed somewhere, and they were all

determinedtogettherequickly.

Allofthosehundredsofpeoplewithsomewheretogo—everylastoneofthemtotallyandcompletely

obliviousofme.

HavingnocluethatIsoaredrightabovethem.
NoideathatitwasIwhocausedthestironthebacksoftheirnecksandthebreezeattheircheeks.
CompletelyunabletoseemeinthewayIcouldseethem.
Clearly.
Succinctly.
Downtoeverylastdetail.
They were alive and breathing and so utterly clear to me, and yet—not one of them had even the

slightestsenseweexisted.

Agirl,herguide,andherdog—allhoveringrightthereabovethem.
Gazinguponthecluelessmassesbeneath.
My throat grew all lumpy, and my eyes started to sting, so I forced myself to switch my attention to

something else, watching as Buttercup continued to chase birds, looping and spinning and swirling and
jumping, putting out increasing amounts of effort to no avail whatsoever, and coming no closer to
understandingwhyhewassounsuccessful.

I even sneaked a peek at Bodhi, who’d ditched the nerd wear the moment we took flight, quick to

explainhowhethoughtthesuitedlookwouldcommandmorerespect,makepeople(meaningmeandhis
guide) take him more seriously than we would had he being wearing his usual gear. Though I think we
couldbothagreethatasfarasexperimentswent,thatparticularonewasamassivefail.

Buthavingswappedoutthenerdwearforthefarmoreappropriatejeansandsweaterandsneakerskids

hisageusuallywear,hewasaboutasfarfromadorkyguyasonecouldpossiblyget.AndIguessthat’s
whyheseemedsooffbefore.Itwaslike,fromthecatcallsthatfollowedhimtothestageatgraduation,to
thatcasual,slouchywaythathestands,nottomentionthewayhereallytearsituponaskateboard—well,
it just didn’t fit with the look he was trying to pull. It’s like he was in disguise before, like he was
wearingsomekindofcostume,determinedtohidethefactthathewasjustlikeanyothernormalfourteen-
year-oldboy.

OnlyBodhiwasn’tnormal.
Notevenclose.
Because not only was he dead. Not only was he my guide. But with his hair no longer greased back,

withhisclothesnolongercomingfromNerdCentral,withhisfacenolongerobscured by those awful,
unbreakableframesthathewore,hewasactually,well,cute.

No.Scratchthat.Becausethetruthis,hewaswaypastcute.
HewasprettymuchtheZacEfronoftheafterlife.
Butthesecondhecaughtmyeye,caughtmelookingathim,Ilookedaway.
ThelastthingIneededwasforhimtoreadthoseparticularthoughts.
And just to protect myself further, just to keep everything orderly and straight and tucked away in its

place,I’dalsodecidedthat,nomatterhowcuteandnicehemightcontinuetorevealhimselftobe—he
wouldalways,secretlyatleast,remaindorkyguytome.

Itwaseasierthatway.
Ipushedmylegstogetherandpointedmytoeslikearrows,havinglearnedearlierthatdoingsowould

rid me of any and all wind resistance, and allow me to soar even faster and higher. And even though I
heardButtercupbarkingbehindme,tornbetweenchasingaftermeandawholenewflockofbirdshe’d
stumbledupon,eventhoughBodhicalledouttome,saying,“Hey—Riley—justsaythewordwhenyou’re
readytocomeinforalanding!”Ipretendednottohear.

Becausethetruthis,afterseeingallthatIhad,Icouldnolongerfinditwithinmetoland.
I’dsuddenlybecomeawareofsomethingI’dfailedtoseebefore.
Theearthkeptspinning.
Peoplekeptloving,andlaughing,andbreathing.
Everyoneremainedbusywiththebusy-makingbusinessofliving.
Andnotoneofthemevensensedmyexistence.
NotoneofthemevenknewIstillwalkedamongthem.
Nottomentionhowitwastimetofacethefactthateventhepeoplewhohadknownme—myfriends

andteachersandstuff—well,they’dalreadymovedon.Alreadymovedawayfromme,andonwiththeir
ownlives—havingreducedmetoasmall,packed-awaymemoryofapoor,unfortunate,twelve-year-old
girlwhoselifewasabruptlycutshort.Notwantingtodwellonmylossanylongerthannecessary,lestit
makethempondertheirownever-shrinkingexistences.

AndwhileIknewEvermissedme,asdidmyauntSabine,asfaraseveryoneelsewasconcerned,well,

thenumberofpeoplewhoevenstillthoughtofmeontherarestoccasionwasdwindlingdowntoonlya
few.

Iclosedmyeyestightly,feelingthatawfulburnthreateningtospilloutthesides,asItookamomentto

quicklylistalloftheverygoodandvalidreasonswhyIhadabsolutelynoplausiblemotivetocry.

1. Ifeltmorealivethanever,despitemycurrentstateofinvisibility.

2. Ihadjustcompletedmytask,Bodhicompletedhis,andthetwoofustogetherhadtrulyhelpedour

fellowsoulsanddonesomethinggood.

3. Iwasflying!SoaringoverapartoftheworldI’dalwayswantedtosee,andtomakeitevenbetter,

mydogwassailingandswoopingthroughthecloudsrightalongwithme.

4. MyguideturnedouttobenotnearlyasbigofadorkasI’dfirstpeggedhimtobe,whichalsomeant

he might not be quite so horrible to work with in the future. Not to mention how I just might’ve
learnedaveryimportantlessonaboutjudgingpeoplebasedsolelyontheirappearance.

Ormaybenot.
Thatlastbitwouldremaintobeseen.
And just as I was thinking these things, my eyes still shut tightly, blocking everything out of my sight,

Bodhiswoopedupfrombehindmeandyelled,“Hey,Riley—watchout!”

Myeyessnappedopen,onlytofindmyselfsoaringhead-onintoatallbuildingmadeofthekindofglass

thatreflectseverythingaroundit.

AndIwasstruck.
Notbyfear,sinceIknewIwasinnodanger,I’djustsimplysailrightthroughitifIfailedtostopor

slowdown.

No,thetruthis,Iwasstruckbyme.
Struckbythesightofme.
Bythewaymywholebodyglowedinawaythatithadneverdonebefore.
Glowedinthewaycheerleadergirl’shad.
GlowedinasimilarwaytoBodhi’sandeveryoneelse’sIsawonthatstage.
Andeventhoughmyglowwasn’tanywherenearasbrightastheirs—
Istillshone.
Therewasnodenyingit.
Iswervedtotheright,narrowlyavoidingcrashingsmackthroughmyownimageattheverylastsecond,

beforeswooping,makingabig,loopyU-turn,andconfrontingmyselfonceagain.

Seeingitalllaidoutbeforemeplainasday.
Mysmallish,slimbody,mypracticallysunken,flatchest,mylankblondhairwiththebangsthatfellinto

brightblueeyesthatflankedthebeginningsofwhatswoopeddowntobeanundeniablysemi-stubbynose.
But my cheeks were widened and flushed as a big toothy grin spread across my face, as I continued to
stareatthebrilliant,palegreenishglowthatshimmeredanddancedallaroundme.

“Youseeit?”Bodhisaid,cominguprightbesideme,hissmilealmostasbigasmine.
I nodded, so struck by my appearance, at first I couldn’t speak. Having to clear my throat a bunch of

timesbeforeIcouldutter,“Yeah,Iseeit.Butwhatdoesitmean?”Glancingathimbrieflybeforefocusing

backonthissparklingnewversionofme.

“It means you got your glow on.” He smiled, hovering right there alongside me. “It means you’re on

yourway.”

EventhoughIinitiallywantedtostop,andmaybeevenpickupsomesouvenirsformyfamily(stilldon’t
knowhowIwould’vehandledtheactuallogisticsofthat,butitseemedlikeagoodideaatthetime),after
seeingmyglowingreflection,afterlisteningtoBodhiexplainthattherearemanydifferentlevelstothe
Here&Now,andhoweachonejustgetsbetterandbetterthantheonejustbeforeit,andhowmynew
pale-greenglowclearlymarkedmeasabonafidememberofthelevel1.5team,andthatifIkeptupthe
good work, I’d be transcending that color and level in no time at all, going on to glow in a variety of
colors,eachofthemrepresentingahigherandhighersphere—afterheexplainedallofthat,Inolonger
felttheneedtoland.

Londonwasabusycity.
Toobusyforme.
Andtobehonest,I’dgrownprettywearyofthespyinglifeanyway.
Ofexistingvicariouslythroughtheliving.
EspeciallynowthatIwasfinallycluedintotheironyofitall—ofhowmylifewouldonlygetricher

andrichereventhoughtoallthosebelowIwasburiedanddead.

Butmoreimportantly,forthefirsttimeinalongtime,Ihadsomewhereimportanttobe.
Forthefirsttimeinalongtime,Ihadnoneedtolivethroughsomeoneelse’sexperiences.Notwhenit

wassoclearlytimetostartclaimingmyown.

“Let’sheadback,”Isaid,atfirstalittleshakenbymydecision,thoughitwassoonoverruledbyeager

anticipation.KnowingI’dbebacktovisittheearthplaneagain,soonerratherthanlaterconsideringhow
manymoreghostsitwasmyjobtocrossover,butfornow,Ijustwantedtocelebratemyvictoryinthe
one place in which I truly belonged. “Let’s just go home.” I smiled, soaring ahead and instinctively
knowingjusthowtogetthere.

OccasionallygazingdownattheearthplaneasIsoaredthroughtheclouds,knowingthatjustlikeallof

thepeoplerushingaroundrightbelowme,Itoohadsomewhereimportanttobe.

CominginSpring2011

Riley’s,Buttercup’s,andBodhi’s

adventurescontinuein

Shimmer

“Goon,Buttercup—gogetit,boy!”

Icuppedmyhandsaroundmymouthandsquintedintoablanketofgooey,whitehazestillhoursaway

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

ButdespitetheinfinitemanifestingpossibilitiesoftheHere&Now,somethingaboutitjustwasn’tthe

same.Sureyoucouldreplicatethesamesensations,thewaythetiny,pebblygrainswedgedbetweenyour
toes,thewaythecooloceansprayfeltuponyourface,butstill,itdidn’tquitecutit.

Couldn’tquiteliveuptotherealthing.
AndclearlyButtercupagreed.
He sprinted after the stick, running headfirst into a dad enjoying an early morning stroll with his son,

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,and,ofcourse,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
pastwithstillnosignofhim,Icalledouthisname,thenchaseditwithaspot-onimitationofmydad’s
specialwhistlethatneverfailedtobringButtercuphome.Myfeetcarvingintothesand,leavingnotrace
offootprints,asIpushedthroughafogsothick,soviscous,itremindedmeofthetimeI’dflownthrougha
cloudstormforfun,onlytorealizeitwasanythingbut.AndIwasjustabouttoventureintothefreezing
cold water, knowing of his fondness for swimming, when I heard a deep, unmistakable growl that
immediatelysetmeonedge.

Buttercuprarelygrowled.

Hewasfartoogood-naturedforthat.
Sowhenhedid,itwassafetoassumehe’dstumbleduponsomethingserious.
Somethingvery,verybad.
Ifollowedthesoundofit.Thatlow,gravellyrumblegrowinginintensitythecloserIcrept.Onlytobe

replacedwithsomethingmuchworse—ahorriblesnarl,ahigh-pitchedyelp,andasickeningsilencethat
mademygutdance.

“Buttercup?” I called, my voice so shaky, so unsteady I was forced to clear my throat and try again.

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

Thesecondthethreatwasout,Iheardhim.Pawsbeatingagainstthehard,wetsand,hisquick,panting

breathgettinglouderandlouderthecloserheran.

Isighedinreliefandsankdowntotheground.Readyingmyselfforthebig,slobbery,apologyhugthat

soonwouldbemine,onlytowatchinabsolutehorrorasthefogsplitwide-openandalargedogjumped
out.

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

getoutofitsway.

Butitwastoolate.
NomatterhowfastImoved—itwasn’tfastenough.
Therewasnoescapingthechainsofitssharplybarbedcollarthatclangedominously.
Noescapingthemenacingglowofthosedeepyelloweyeswiththelaser-hotgazethatburnedrightinto

mine,rightintomysoul...

acknowledgments

Big,huge,glitterythankstoallthefabulouspeopleatSt.Martin’sPressandMacmillanChildren’swho
help bring my stories to life, including, but not limited to, Matthew Shear, Rose Hilliard, Anne Marie
Tallberg,KatyHershberger,BrittneyKleinfelter,AngelaGoddard,JeanFeiwel,andJenniferDoerr.

ToBillContardi—agentextraordinaire!

ToSandy—whoreadseverythingfirst!

And, of course, a very special thanks to my readers, for all of your warmth and humor and generous
support.Youmakemefeelliketheluckiestauthorintheworld!

QuestionsfortheAuthor

Inwhatwaysareyousimilar(ordifferent)toRileyBloom?

Actually,RileyandIsharealotincommon.Iknowwhatit’sliketobethebabyofthefamily,andthoughI
hatetoadmitit,I’vealsobeenknowntohogthemicrophonewhileplayingRockBandontheWii!

Howdoyoucomeupwithyourcharacters?

Honestly,I’mnotreallysure!Thestoryideausuallycomesfirst,andthenasI’mbusyworkingonallthe
insandoutsofthenewworldI’mcreating,thecastjustsortofappears.

Whatwasyourinspirationforthe“Here&Now,”themagicalrealmwhereRileylives?

BackwhenIfirststartedworkingonTheImmortalsseries,Ididquiteabitofresearchonmetaphysics,
quantum physics, ghosts, spirits, and the afterlife, etc, all of which sort of fed into the concept of the
“Here&Now.”Iguess,inaway,it’showIhopetheafterlifewillbe.

Doyoubelieveinghosts?

Inaword—yes.I’vedefinitelyexperiencedenoughunexplainablephenomenatoeverruleitout.

Ifaghosttriedtoscareyouwithyourownworstfears(thewaytheRadiantBoystrytoscareRiley),
whatfearsmighttheyuseagainstyou?

Idefinitelydrewuponallofmyownworstfearswhilewritingthatscene—acrazysnake-hairedclown
wielding dental instruments is about as bad as it gets for me! The only thing missing was a really high
ledgewithnorailing(Ihaveamajorfearofheights),butIwasn’tsurehowtofitthatintothecontext,soI
sparedRileythat.

DidyougrowupwithanoldersisterthewayRileydid?Howmanybrothersandsistersdoyouhave?

Ihavetwooldersisters,bothofwhomIcompletelyidolized.There’sabitofanagegapbetweenus,one
istenyearsolder,andtheotherfiveyears older, and trust me when I say that I did my best to emulate
them. I listened to their music, watched their TV shows, and read their books—all of which was way
moreappealingthanmyown,moreage-appropriatestuff.AndlikeRiley,Iusedtotryontheirclothesand
makeupwhentheywereoutwiththeirfriends,thoughIsuspectthatrevelationwillcomeasnosurpriseto
them!

Wheredoyouwriteyourbooks?

IhaveahomeofficewhereIputinvery,verylonghourssevendaysaweek—butIhavethebestjobin
theworld,soI’mnotcomplaining!

Haveyoualwayswantedtobeawriter?

Well, first, I wanted to be a mermaid, and then a princess, but ever since sixth grade when I finished
reading my first Judy Blume book, 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 some of the first that I could

directlyrelateto,andIknewthenthatsomedayIwantedtotrytowritelikethattoo.

Whatwouldyoudoifyoueverstoppedwriting?

Oh, I shudder to even think about it. I truly can’t imagine a life without writing. Though I suppose I’d
probably start traveling more. I’ve traveled a good bit already, both when I was working as a flight
attendant and just on my own, but there are still so many places left to explore—oh, and I’d probably
enrollinsomeartclassestoo—painting,jewelrymaking—craftystufflikethat.

Whatwouldyourreadersbemostsurprisedtolearnaboutyou?

Notlongago,everytimeIfinishedwritingabookIwouldcelebratebycleaningmyhouse,which,Ihave
tosay,wassorelyinneedofitbythen.Butrecently,I’vecometorealizejusthowverysadandpathetic
thatis,sonowIgetapedicureinstead(andsavethehousecleaningforanotherday)!

Document Outline

Radiance
- Contents
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- Coming in Spring 2011
- acknowledgments

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