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I call on her, and I wait. I pace around a little before I try again. And again.
Something isn’t working. I touch the charm that’s in my pocket and wonder if it’s not quite working how it’s supposed to. Moving to the back door, I step inside and place the charm on the counter.
I go back out and pace around, swearing a little more under my breath.
Calling for Sara, I wait. This time I close my eyes.
When I open them, there’s no change.
“Fuck.” Something’s wrong.
She isn’t being pulled to me like she’s supposed to be. I close my eyes, concentrate, and call on the only other spirit whose name I can remember right now. Bianca Springer, the bitchy girl who was helping Rachel’s friend Cheryl. I hear her before I open my eyes.
“Who the hell …” she starts, her eyes blazing with anger. “Oh, it’s you. Necro-wolf. What do you want? If Everett’s pack are going to beg me for help again, I’m done with those losers.”
She stares at me expectantly. “Well?”
“Sorry, wrong Bianca,” I tell her, sending her away.
Her expression turns irate before she disappears.
This is really fucking bad. I can still call ghosts. I’m not doing something wrong, and the yard is still apparently open for spirits to visit. So, why the hell isn’t Sara coming here when I call on her?
I try one last time, clasping my hands together in front of my face as I call her spirit to me.
Please. Apollo, God of Wolves, help find her and bring her here.
I need to see her one more time. Just one last time. Please?
I open my eyes, my breath held.
I missed my chance.
She isn’t there.
She’s gone.
Chapter Forty
Rachel
Myredshoesareso cute with the sparkly green get up Carter bought for me. He insists I look like a mermaid, and to be fair he did the silver highlighter in the shape of scales on my cheeks, but you need to look closely to see that detail. In the tiny dress, I’m a blue-haired Tinkerbell.
“Okay, fine,” Carter grumbles. “You’re Tinkerbell.”
“I love it,” I assure him, even though he already knows.
“You know who’s really going to love it?” he asks.
“Who?” I ask, expecting some kind ofPeter Panjoke in response.
“Adrian,” he says, surprising me. “Apparently, he had a crush on her when he was a kid.”
“Which version?” I so need to know, because I can’t imagine it.
“The animated version, for sure.”
He takes the towel off his head. The color looks darker because it’s wet, so I really can’t tell how it’s going to look. I’m used to Carter having dark blue hair, most of the time. His natural platinum color is somehow edgier and softer all at once. I love both, and I’m excited to see how this new color turns out.
