This was real, then. Wasn’t it? Of course. It had to be. It had to be.
Glancing through the open door again, Isobel no longer saw the gruesome interior of the corpse-lined ballroom. Only her quiet street.
She’d been fooled by appearances before, though.
Keeping a tight hold on her little brother—on the boy who she hoped was, in fact, her little brother—Isobel scanned her surroundings, searching for any inconsistencies.
Across the way, squirrels darted in the branches of Mrs. Finley’s oak. Familiar cars sat in equally familiar driveways. Empty trash cans waited next to mailboxes. Normality pervaded the street, the neighborhood.
And there, sitting on the front stoop, next to her backpack and winter coat, Isobel spotted the pink paper butterfly she’d made for Danny less than twenty-four hours ago, its wings as crisp as they had been the moment she’d completed the final fold.
So the demon had lied. But why?
Because, Isobel thought, this was the distraction.
The veil still existed. Lilith hadn’t been able to traverse the barrier. Not yet. Isobel still had time. And that was what Lilith wanted to eliminate.
She had to go back. Right away. But first—she had to get away.
“I knew you were going to leave again,” Danny said, his words muffled against her. “I knew you would. I should have said something. I should have told Mom and Dad.”
“Danny.” Placing her hands on his shoulders, she tried to push him from her, but his arms only constricted. “Where are Mom and Dad?”
“Where do you think?” he snapped. “They’re looking for you. Everybody’s looking for you. Including the police. They found that letter you wrote.”
Letter? Oh no, Isobel thought, realizing Danny meant the Valentine confession that had all but flown out of her pen the day before in Mr. Swanson’s class.
After discovering the ash in the hall that morning, she’d forgotten about the loose paper stuffed in her notebook. And she’d dropped her binder and papers in the stairwell when Reynolds showed up. Someone must have discovered her things soon after, intensifying the search for her. Surely Varen’s parents had spoken up about her visit to their house by now, too.
Isobel brushed a hand against Danny’s overheated face.
“You’re here by yourself?” she asked. Once more, her eyes trailed out the door, her gaze falling on the backpack she knew she’d left at school in her locker. How had it gotten here?
“I was supposed to go home with Trevor after school,” Danny said, his words rushing out in one long string, “but I knew no one would be here, so I took the bus home instead. Just in case you came back. Like you did the first time. When you went to that party. But the power’s out and I don’t know why, and I can only get reception outside. I tried calling you and calling you, but then that stupid friend of yours came by with your stuff.”
“Gwen?” Isobel asked, trying to keep up with the rapid-fire stream of information.
“You left your cell in your coat,” Danny snapped, and pulling away, he shoved her. “Why would you do that?”
“Danny, calm down.” She reached toward him again.
“Where did you go?” he demanded, ripping himself from her hands as a fresh wave of tears streamed down his reddened cheeks. “Why are you covered in that white dirt again? What’s happening?”
Isobel didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Never before had she seen her brother this upset. Not even in that hospital waiting room in Baltimore on the day she’d flatlined, when he didn’t know she was there, watching in astral form.
Maybe, Isobel thought, reliving someone’s death was far worse than experiencing the initial death itself. Certainly that had proven true for Varen. For Poe.
“That Gwen girl told me you were in trouble.” Danny shook his head, his bangs falling into tear-filled eyes. “She said not to let you go anywhere if I saw you, but how am I supposed to stop you when I know you won’t listen?”
After not hearing from her again, Gwen must have gone into Isobel’s locker, snagging Isobel’s bag so she’d have an excuse to stop by the house without seeming suspicious. She must have found Danny sitting outside—and her worst fears confirmed. That Isobel had never come home as she’d instructed.
Why had Gwen been so insistent about Isobel going home, anyway, if her note to Varen hadn’t been found yet?
Isobel also wondered if Gwen had seen or heard about the damage wrought on Eastern Parkway and the strip mall. Had her parents? Probably. But only Gwen would know for sure that the incident was tied directly to her.
