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“I'm pretty sure I know when I don't trust someone.”
Thane observes me for a moment and then starts his car. He waits until we are turned around to switch on the lights.
“Where are we going?”
“Not far.”
I’m not a fan of Thane’s indirect answers, but I am also not interested in talking for fear of being questioned, so I sit quietly, unable to relax in the slick leather seat. The only sound in the cab is from air blowing through the vents. It hits me in one continuous stream, freezing patches of skin. Any other time I might reach up to close the vent or turn it away from me, but the chill blast gives me something to train my thoughts on rather than the scenario that might play out if we fail to find Lily’s soul before it’s Exchanged with someone else’s.
Thane isn’t lying when he says we aren’t going far. He pulls left onto Main and drives about half a mile out of town before turning down a slim, makeshift road, crowded with trees and brush. I’m not prepared for the fact that it leads to a cemetery. My body’s already reacting to the energy suck straight ahead. It’s like my soul wants to come out of my body and my heart throbs sickly in my chest. I hate cemeteries.
“What are we doing here?”
“We have an appointment.”
“In the cemetery?” My voice sounds shrill in my ears.
Thane gets out of the car and I scramble after him—if there’s one thing I hate more than graveyards, it’s being alone in them.
I hurry to catch up with him. “You never said who we were meeting here!”
“We’re meeting a witch,” he says.
“A witch?” I try not to let my voice rise, but I’m not successful. Thane looks amused. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Obviously because of the way you just reacted.”
“How is a witch supposed to help us find Lily?”
“They are just as connected with the dead as you are and even more capable of finding a soul. Besides, she’s the only witch I trust, so we’re going to use her.”
“What’s this witch’s name?”
“A name won’t help your prejudices,” he says.
“I’m not…prejudiced!” Thane gives me the side-eye. “Okay, I guess I am a little prejudiced, but you can’t blame me. The only witches I’ve ever seen are green.”
A small smile graces his lips. “Trust me, this witch wouldn’t waste time with threats and flying monkeys. She would have poisoned you within seconds of seeing you.”
“That’s not magic; that’s murder.”
“Who said there is a difference?”
“If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a miserable job.”
“We’ve established that I’m not the warm and fuzzy type. If you want this sugar-coated, you’ll have to talk to Shy.”
“It’s a shame none of that sugar you consumed earlier actually made you sweet.”
Another ghost of a smile. It touches parts of his face I’ve never noticed before: smile lines under his eyes, a dimple on his right cheek—a phantom of who Thane used to be. I want to approach that subject, ask him how things changed once his mom was gone, but my gaze has slipped from him to the graveyard.
For someone who can see the dead, graveyards are like walking through a creepy wax museum. Bodies freckle the landscape, frozen in states of death and time, and they’re all lost—suicides and the murdered, those who faced death suddenly or unexpectedly. They come in all forms: men and women, the old and the young, but the thing I can never quite come to terms with are the children—little girls with braided hair and white dresses, boys with smooth hair and small suits. It makes the push and pull of the energy they stir harder to bear.
Thane must notice because he grabs my arm, pulling me toward him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
