“Reena, this is serious. Stop messing with the Living.”
“I thought you were here to tell me to steer clear of Callie,” says Reena. “So which is it, Thatcher? Don’t think you’ll get two favors out of me.”
“I’m not asking for a favor. I’m issuing you a warning—stay away from Callie and stop what you’re doing on Earth.”
“We’re just having a little fun,” she says. “Haunting doesn’t have to be so serious and sad all the time.”
I couldn’t agree more. Maybe if Thatcher would open his mind up to the possibilities and go with us, he’d see it as well.
“Besides, Thatcher,” says Reena, “you’re so transparent.”
“What do you mean?”
“You like her.”
My heart speeds up. What?
“I—” Thatcher begins, then halts. “She’s my responsibility, but there are challenges with Callie that make it really difficult.”
Ouch. Although I have to admit that I’ve been a pain in the butt, bucking at the restrictions, trying to find my own way to do this. I’ve never been one to take the path already traveled.
“You used to be into challenging girls,” says Reena.
“Not anymore.”
“Then why do you care if she spends time with little old me?” asks Reena in a flirty tone.
“I’m her Guide. It’s my job to protect her.”
“You used to try to protect me,” says Reena, her voice softer.
“I still would,” says Thatcher. And I wonder what he means.
They fall silent. They’re standing toe-to-toe and staring each other down. I have the sense that even if I started doing cartwheels, they wouldn’t notice me right now.
Then I see Thatcher reach out and take Reena’s hand. He’s always so careful not to touch that I feel a momentary surge of jealousy. Which is crazy. He’s just my Guide, but I’ve started to want him to be more.
“I wish you could still merge,” he says.
“I don’t want to merge. You know that. I’ve been pretty clear about my feelings on the subject.”
“I’m so sorry, Reena. I’m really sorry things worked out this way.”
“Don’t be sorry, Thatcher!” she shouts, pulling her hand away from his. “God, I’m so sick of you being sad. Get mad about what happened to us! Aren’t you angry that we had to die?”
He shakes his head. “We’ve been over this. I won’t rehash it now. Just . . . leave Callie alone.”
“But I enjoy her company. She’s fun,” says Reena. “She reminds me of me when I was alive—don’t you think?”
My mouth drops open. They did know each other before.
Thatcher takes a step closer to Reena so that he’s right up in her face. “She’s nothing like you.”
“Oh really?”
“She’s thoughtful and funny and smart and kind and open to believing, not to bitterness.”
If I were still in my body, I’d be blushing, my face heating uncomfortably. I had no idea he thought all those things about me.
“Hmm . . . I can tell how much you don’t like her,” says Reena. “You hate her so much you’re ready to spend the rest of your death with her.”
Her face lights up then, and she tilts her head at him. “Oh, I just thought of that. Is that your plan, Thatcher? From what I understand, she’s not having any luck with her hauntings. I’m thinking that maybe you don’t want her to succeed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re the most experienced Guide, the best. But she’s floundering. I don’t think your heart is really in this little project.” She narrows her eyes, runs her tongue over her lips. “Or maybe it is. Just not in the way it’s supposed to be. You more than like her.”
“You have”—he shakes his head—“totally lost your mind.”
“You’re so cute when you get rattled,” Reena says. “You know I’m right. As long as those she cares about don’t move on, she can stay with you, be with you. I think that’s exactly what you want. Then you’re no longer alone.”
“I would never be that selfish, undermine her progress like that.”
“Because Solus is so wonderful. But what if it isn’t, Thatcher? What if you’re wrong? What if you’re really condemning her to hell?”
Thatcher backs up a step as though she’s punched him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“But I know what I want and I know how to get it.” Reena laughs, a light, dismissive trill. “Good-bye, Thatcher.” She walks back into her prism and slams the door. Crouching into a ball, I hope that he goes in the direction away from where I’m hiding.
I listen intently for Thatcher’s footfall, but all I hear is silence. Duh. Walking on mist leaves no sound.
So much for warning Reena about Thatcher and telling Thatcher the truth about Leo. Reena’s just trying to help me connect with those I love. Leo’s trying to take advantage. I shudder at the memory of him reaching out to me in anger, of him drawing the last of my energy, plunging me into the blackness.
I know that Thatcher has kept some things from me, but I don’t believe for a minute that he’s deliberately sabotaging my progress. It’s just that his method isn’t working for me. At least with Reena’s way, people know I’m there.
“He’s gone.”
I don’t start; I don’t spin around. I just work to put up my defenses. “Leo, you are stalking me.”
I shove myself to my feet and glare at him. His hands are in the back pockets of his jeans, and he’s rocking back and forth while wearing his familiar I’m-up-to-no-good grin. “I was worried. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Yeah, you strike me as someone who worries a lot about others.”
“I didn’t mean to drain all your energy. Seriously. Reena thinks it happened because we’d already been so active. You just didn’t have that much left.”
“Doesn’t matter how much I have left. You can’t just take it.”
“I know, I know. It won’t happen again. Friends, okay?”
“I don’t think so.”
I turn to leave. I don’t want to be anywhere near him.
“Hey, come on!” he shouts.
The door to the prism eases open, and Reena is standing behind the gate. Her eyes are glowing, but not in that oh-I-just-went-for-a-run way. More like in that oh-I-just-bit-the-head-off-a-live-mouse way.
Dark shadows are dancing strangely on the wooden walls behind her.
“Oh, I thought I heard voices out here. Come on in,” she says, beckoning me and Leo into the darkness of her prism.
Fifteen
I HESITATE, a little shiver of warning prickling through me.
Reena tilts her head, and a warm smile lights up her face. She’s so beautiful—and it’s not because of her smooth, dark skin or her high cheekbones or even her lush black hair. The other ghosts I’ve seen look calm, pleasant, polite. But not this girl—she’s got fire.
“Callie, it’s all right. Thatcher won’t find out,” she says.
I know I should leave, just walk away, but it’s almost like she’s daring me to prove I’m not a chicken. She won’t hurt me. I know that. Leo’s the problem.
As though reading my mind, she says, “Your energy is safe in here.”
With her reassurance echoing around me, I cross the threshold. Once inside, I find the space is less intimidating than it seemed from the doorway. The walls around us are a deep brown wood, which made it seem dark, and I realize that her prism is like a log cabin, with plaid curtains drawn over the windows and a big black stove in the corner where a fire throws shadows onto the wall. The crispness of late fall blossoms in here, and I wonder if we choose seasons to go along with our prisms. Mine is summer.