we lived separately—me haunting my parents, and Joshua living his life, as he should.
The rift had already begun to form, I was sure of it. But when would it become too wide to cross? Maybe sooner than I thought …
Suddenly, a blast of frozen December air hit me. I felt the cold along my bare shoulders, and the chilly silk of my skirt raised goose bumps wherever it touched my legs. Before I could react, I heard a soft snap somewhere inside the forest.
I immediately dropped into a protective stance, shoulders hunched and fists clenched. The sudden chill, the mysterious noises … past experience had taught me what—or who—they preceded.
“Eli?” I whispered, staring into the darkness of the forest.
Then I blinked back in surprise at myself.
Because, upon saying his name, my voice had sounded hopeful. Was I so desperate to rekindle my powers, so intent on reentering the netherworld, that I would welcome the reappearance of my enemy? My murderer?
I had to be crazy to want to see him again.
Fortunately or not, nothing answered my whisper. I waited, motionless, but I saw no movement in the woods except the occasional stir of a branch in the wind.
In all likelihood I was probably freaked out over something as benign as a squirrel running across a twig. That explanation made far more sense than the return of my ghostly nemesis who, for all I knew, was trapped somewhere darker than I could imagine. Besides, the cold sensation had disappeared almost as soon as it had arrived, even before I spoke Eli’s name.
But still, I shivered—whether from the memory of the chill, or from the dark thoughts buzzing around my pessimistic brain, I didn’t know. All I knew for sure was that I wanted to leave, now. So I closed my eyes, thought of Joshua, and prayed that this materialization took me where I really wanted to go.
Of all the things I didn’t trust, a tall bonfire in the middle of an enclosed structure ranked pretty high on the list. And yet I found myself huddled near one that night, desperately trying to maintain a wide smile.
To the right, an unfamiliar couple had practically melted into each other on top the hay bale next to ours. To the left, near the entrance of the barn, a group of guys threw mock punches at one another. They looked playful right now, but probably wouldn’t after everyone had knocked back a few more drinks.
With his eyes still locked on the flames in front of us, Joshua took another swig from his bottle of beer. He gulped and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “If one more person pukes in a horse stall, we’re leaving.”
I forced a laugh. “At least they’re aiming for the stalls and not the bonfire.”
Joshua arched one eyebrow and looked at me from the corner of his eye. I sighed and raised both my hands in defeat.
“I know, I know. But you said you were going to try to have fun tonight. And all you’ve done for the past two hours is drink and talk to me.”
“Talking to you is fun.” He flashed me that charming grin, the one that made my chest ache. Tonight, however, I wasn’t buying it.
“No dice, buddy,” I warned. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you lose friends because of me.”
Joshua’s grin shifted from sly to sweet. He stretched one hand across the hay and laid it on top of mine. “You’re worth it,” he said. Even over the roar of the fire and the noise of the party, his voice sounded quiet, sincere.
I could feel the ache in my chest tighten when, as if on cue, Joshua’s best friend, David O’Reilly, stumbled over to us. With an enormous belch, O’Reilly collapsed onto the hay next to Joshua, forcing Joshua to scoot so close to me I nearly dropped to the ground.
“Make yourself comfortable, O’Reilly,” I grumbled, but then I bit my lip. I reminded myself that I couldn’t really blame either boy: O’Reilly had no idea there were two people on the hay, and Joshua could hardly tell O’Reilly to make room for me since O’Reilly didn’t even know I existed.
Sighing, I pushed myself up off of the hay and turned to face them. What I saw didn’t surprise me, unfortunately.
Joshua and O’Reilly sat beside each other, not moving or speaking. Both stared intently into the bonfire as if it might do their talking for them.
Joshua’s eyes caught mine. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.
“What are you waiting for?” I asked him, putting on what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “He’s your best friend, and this is his party, in his barn. Say something.”
Joshua nodded slightly. Then he spoke, keeping his eyes fixed on the fire.
“Hey, O’Reilly.”
“Hey, Mayhew.”
Their greetings hung in the air like balloons waiting for something to tether them. But as the seconds ticked by without any follow-up, I realized that a conversation between these boys obviously wouldn’t happen without help.
I sighed, this time in genuine irritation. I couldn’t believe Joshua had let it go this far. O’Reilly was Joshua’s oldest friend in the world. And they hadn’t spoken to each other in weeks.
Their awkward exchange tonight was just one example of why I’d practically forced Joshua to stay at this party far longer than he wanted to. Because, for as much as my daily activities worried Joshua, his worried me, too. Or, more accurately, his lack of activities.
Over the course of just three short months, Joshua went from the friendliest person at Wilburton High to the most reclusive. Like his grandmother Ruth, Joshua had lost his social life; but unlike her loss, his was self-inflicted.
At first I thought he just needed some time away from his friends. After all, he’d watched those same friends try to kill his sister while under Eli’s dark spell. Who wouldn’t need to recoup after something like that?
Joshua, however, recovered from the shock faster than anyone, including Jillian. Only a few days later, he seemed as sunny and doggedly optimistic as ever.
Yet he kept avoiding his friends, long after I laid waste to High Bridge. No more eating lunch with them, no more answering their calls. When one of them tried to talk to him at school, he would take one look at me and politely excuse himself, putting as much distance between them and us as possible.
Every time I brought up this strange behavior with him, he simply shrugged and flashed me that charming grin. “Nothing’s wrong,” he would reassure me.
But I wasn’t fooled, nor was I the only one who noticed the change. In October his buddies had teased him about his new reputation as a loner. In November they’d call a few times a day, leaving concerned messages on his cell phone. By early December they’d stopped bothering to do even that.
If Joshua kept this up, he’d have no friends left by graduation.
I watched him continue to squirm uncomfortably on the hay for a few
