Chapter Thirty-four

RUE

I stand in front of the mirror, wearing one of the few dresses I own, debating if I should switch back to jeans. I've never been to a party that didn't require full evening gown attire. Father would either dress me slutty or demure, depending on what role he wanted me to play for the occasion.

Thankfully, he never fully pimped me out, but if I stayed, I have no doubt it was only a matter of time. Once I turned eighteen, I would be fair game.

The dress wraps around my waist, clinging to my body, before reaching up to cup my breasts like it was made specifically for me. I'm not worried about the girls falling out or shaking free, the material molding to me in a way that I'm lucky I can still breathe. The bodice covers nearly every inch of exposed flesh, revealing only a hint of cleavage.

No straps are needed, leaving my shoulders bare. My curls lightly brush my shoulders like they are playing hide-and-seek with my pale skin. The skirt flares out at my waist, stopping a couple of inches below my knees, the thick material swishing and swirling around me as I walk. A practice twirl has the material flaring out elegantly without exposing anything inappropriate.

The dress is a perfect combination of sexy and innocent.

The cut near my hairline is scabbed over, so I pull out the stitches, then do my best to mimic how Jameson did my makeup. I don't quite succeed, but I don't resemble a clown either, so I call that a win. Only a hint of bruising remains, and it's only visible if you are looking for them.

With a deep breath, I pull my shoulders back and head down the stairs. I expected the boys to leave to get ready for the party, so when I walk into the living room and see them seated around the room, reading the occult books, I stop short on the bottom step and watch them in silent appreciation.

Jameson sees me first, almost like he has a sixth sense whenever I'm near. He glances up, then just sort of freezes. His eyes are wide as he stares at me, his mouth parted, and it's not until his book slips from his lap and thumps to the floor that the spell breaks.

"You're beautiful," he whispers with a breath of air, awe in his voice as he rises from his seat and steps toward me.

I relax at his comment, warmth heating my cheeks. Needing a second to get myself under control, I do a small twirl for him, then curtsy, peering up at him from under my lashes. "Do you like?"

"Fuck me," Gunner whispers under his breath, then he clears his throat when I look at him and straighten. "I change my mind. I think we should stay home."

Jaceson nods in agreement, rising to his feet as well, never once looking away as he stalks toward me. Eyes latched onto mine, he captures my hand and brings it to his lips, reverently kissing the back. "You look ravishing."

My entire body heats at his husky tone, my dress suddenly feeling too tight. I wish his hands were touching me and holding me close instead of the dress.

Staying home is sounding better and better.

I don't realize I spoke out loud until Jameson body checks Jaceson away from me with a fierce scowl, then he stands in front of me as if to keep the others away. He turns to face them, wagging a finger as he scolds them. "No way! Pookie dressed up nice and pretty for us. I want to show her off…"

I can't resist the urge to step closer and hug him from behind.

His words trail off, like he forgot what he was saying, then he wiggles out of my hold, shaking his head as he whirls on me. "Bad pookie. Stop trying to distract me." He cups my face, his thumbs brushing along my cheeks. "You've never been to a house party. I don't want you to miss out on experiences because of us."

My insides turn to mush at his compulsive need to take care of me by slowly replacing memories of my horrible childhood with happier times. I place my hands on his chest, able to feel his heart hammering against his ribs. "You and the guys are more than enough excitement for me. Don't push yourself to do something you don't want just because you think I might enjoy it."

His face scrunches up adorably as he looks down at me. "Isn't that what dating is supposed to be like? I've never really dated anyone before, but I thought we were both supposed to do things with each other to see what we enjoy."

He glances over at the guys, as if seeking confirmation, and my heart wobbles precariously in my chest. "You've dated plenty."

Right?

Jameson shakes his head in denial. "I've fucked girls, went to dinner or a movie with them, but once the evening was done, so were we. You are different. You're our girl. This isn't just for one night or one date or one fuck. We'll never be done with you."

Swoon.

Can a girl fall in love with a guy that easily?

Weren't there supposed to be rules or something for dating?

Everything about Jameson calls to my soul.

His insanity is the perfect fit to my crazy.

"Promise?" I'm unable to keep the emotions from my voice, and it trembles on the single word.

He presses his forehead against mine, grasps the back of my neck, and pulls me forward. "Yes."

There is no joking, no teasing, and no chance to misunderstand.

In place of the jokester is a man who would burn down the world for me.

He's everything that I dreamed of when I was held prisoner but never believed would be possible, and a single tear slips down my cheek at his simple vow.

He can't know what that means to me, but I have every intention of showing him.

I press up on my toes, slipping my hands up to his shoulders, and I brush my lips lightly over his mouth. "Then I'll do my best to be your person, whether that means a friend or fellow troublemaker or shield when you need to take shelter from the world. I'll be here for you."

He searches my face, his expression vulnerable for a few seconds. Whatever he finds must satisfy him, and it's like he lights up from within. His grin is nearly blinding, then he crushes me against his chest in a fierce hug. "Deal."

After a few seconds of not being able to get any air in my lungs, I tap his shoulder, then wave my arms to the others. "Need. To. Breathe."

Jaceson chuckles and works to pry Jameson away from me, but it's like he's suddenly sprouted eight arms, clinging to me like an octopus. Gunner wrestles him in a headlock, but it's not until he mutters one word that Jameson finally stops struggling.

"Share."

"Fine." Jameson peers up at me with a grin, not the least repentant. "But only with the guys. At the party, you are ours."

"Sounds good to me." The idea of hanging out with anyone else has a shudder going down my spine.

Gunner releases him reluctantly, as if he's unsure he believes him. When no shenanigans ensue, he heaves a sigh and rubs the back of his head. "You should eat something before we head over. I left you some food in the kitchen."

While I eat, the guys take turns showering. It's hard to eat while knowing they are in my house, very much naked, and only a few doors separating us.

It's a miracle that I manage not to choke.

Or join them.

I debate it for a few seconds, but I'm not brave enough yet, despite my almost overwhelming attraction to them.

T he walk over to the party is slow, the music so loud that it's practically an oppressive presence in the air. Nearly every light on the ground floor of their house is alight. Vehicles are parked haphazardly up and down the street, while people continuously stream to and from the house, drinking, dancing, laughing, and speaking with voices that are just a little too loud.

I clutch the jewelry box in my hands like it's a life raft to keep me from drowning. The deluge of noise and people is almost too much to take in at once, my senses bowing dangerously under the overload. I don't realize that my steps slow until Jaceson bumps my shoulder companionably. "We just have to enter, then we can escape to a quieter room."

I search his face for a lie, but his pained expression tells me that he might like partying even less than I do. Relieved to have someone who understands, I lean into his side. "Thank the goddess."

My skin tingles when he slips his arm around my waist and tugs me into the protection of his body. The scent of sunshine and outdoors relaxes me further, and I practically melt against him. As we enter the house, I recoil, the thumping beat of the music so loud that it's like a slap in the face.

The house is pure chaos, every square inch of space occupied. I didn't realize the guys were so popular. From the way the men are greeted, their notoriety is due to more than just their money—they are respected, admired, and maybe even feared.

The partiers are an equal mix of males and females. Most of the people are my age. They are dressed so casually that I immediately stick out as a misfit. Half the girls wear clothing so skimpy, their outfits couldn't be considered anything more than strings. Despite the near nudity, they are ignored while almost everyone stares when they catch sight of me.

Having so many eyes on me makes my skin crawl, and I hug the velvet jewelry box to my chest in a death grip. The guys instantly surround me in a protective circle, but there is no way to slip through the crowd without brushing against others, the sensation like sandpaper against my skin.

Gunner scowls when he notices my predicament, then he tucks my hand into his belt loop and yells into my face so I can hear him over the crowd. "Don't let go."

I nod to show that I heard him, then tuck the box inside my pocket so I won't lose it in the shuffle. What I didn't expect was for him to plow into the crowd, uncaring if he smashes into anyone too stupid not to scramble out of his way in time. It's so unexpected that I'm nearly jerked off my feet, and I have to jog to keep up with him.

The guys struggle to follow. They are jostled by the crowd and quickly get lost in the mob. Worry threads itself through me, and I glance over my shoulder to see Jameson jumping up here and there like a pogo stick, but after two sightings, he's soon lost as well.

Feeling cut off and adrift, I huddle closer to Gunner, terrified I'll be pulled away too. Sensing my unease, Gunner peers down at me with concern, then he switches into warrior mode. He tucks my free arm around his waist, pressing my hand firmly against his stomach until I'm plastered completely against his back. Hard muscles meet my fingertips, and as easily as that, I'm completely distracted.

The crowd fades as I do my best to memorize every inch of him, tracing his muscles like I'm a blind person and his skin is braille. With every step, his muscles flex, and I'm hypnotized by the movement.

He presses his hand tighter against mine, a slight rumble vibrating under my fingers, and my girlie bits take a special liking to his growl. I'm surprised when he opens what I thought was a closet, only to reveal steps that lead into a basement. As the door shuts behind us, the noise is nearly cut in half, and I release a relieved breath to find us alone for a few seconds. "Where are we going?"

Gunner whirls, grabbing my throat and pressing me against the wall so fast that I don't even have time to gasp before his mouth is on mine in a soul stealing kiss I feel down to my bones. When I can no longer remember my name, he releases me.

I wilt against the wall, breathless as I stare up at him, not sure my legs can hold me up after the way he so completely destroyed my mind. His chest puffs out, and satisfaction fills his expression as he gazes down at me. "That's better. If you ever become overwhelmed and need another distraction, you know where to find me."

I blink up at him in surprise. Whatever magic he worked was very effective. The fear is gone.

When the door at the top of the stairs opens, Gunner grabs my hand and guides me down the steps. Confusion swirls through me as we head farther from the party, and I peer up at him in bewilderment. "Aren't you going to miss your own party?"

"Not our party." He doesn't even break stride as we head through a large media room and a spacious family area. "We've held the same party for the last five years. It's expected of us. That doesn't mean we have to stay."

"But…" I peer up at the ceiling, as if I can see all the people trampling through their house. "Aren't you worried about people destroying your things?"

"They know better." He snorts at the absurdity, his pace not slowing once. "A cleaning crew will arrive tomorrow, and the house will be as good as new."

While I'm used to a certain status and wealth due to my father, today is the first time I've ever seen the guys use and dismiss it so casually, almost like they are so accustomed to it that it's an afterthought.

They are not spoiled, not exactly, but none of them blinked twice at the cost of things. For their age, that's unusual, right? Don't parents usually have a say in the matter?

I'm suddenly suspicious that they are more than what they seem, and I'm not sure I like that idea. I like them as they are now, and I don't want that to change.

Noticing my silence, Gunner glances back at me with a reassuring smile, then he pushes through a set of doors that lead into a large living room. The walls are a warm taupe color, an assortment of furniture is scattered throughout the room in a pattern too random not to be done by design, and an elaborate bar is set up along the opposite wall.

Three glass shelves full of bottles and whatnot line the large mirror behind the bar. The surface is so crystal clear that it looks like there is a whole other room beyond it. The reflection is so disturbingly real that I almost expect the people to move out of synch, and I shudder and look away.

Along the ceiling hangs a wooden beam that carries every sort of drinkware imaginable. The sleek black granite countertop shimmers from across the room, and seven leather bar stools are lined up in a row.

To the right, I spy another escape route—um, wait, that's not right—another entry into the basement, the stairs visible as they twist upward in a spiral of dark wood and sleek metal. If I wasn't so overwhelmed, I would investigate the gorgeous design.

As it is, I'm afraid if I step close to the exit, I might try to run.

I grimace when it looks like nearly thirty people are present. The music is muted, the conversation relaxed, the atmosphere almost lazy compared to the frantic mood upstairs.

It's more private, almost intimate.

Ellis smiles at me from behind the bar, his button-down shirt open at the collar, his sleeves rolled up. He's almost as comfortable behind the bar as he is behind the computer, and I smile back.

I'm not the least bit surprised there is a gaggle of women standing around him, begging for his attention. Feeling dissatisfied for some reason, I turn to see Hicks leaning against an unlit fireplace. He's holding court with a dozen people, and I frown when I notice most of them are women as well.

What the hell?

With narrowed eyes, I slowly spin and survey the room, then I grimace when I notice the occupants are nearly all women. Only a few men are scattered throughout the space, and each of them has one or two girls hanging off of them as well.

My steps slow with unease, and I can't dismiss the suspicion that something is wrong. I turn toward Gunner. "How do people score an invitation downstairs? Or is it open to anyone?"

Gunner avoids looking at me, his broad shoulders tense, and he rubs the back of his neck. "No, people usually have to be invited to join us down here. Jaceson sometimes asks his racing buddies to join him. Every once in a while, I'll ask a few guys I know from the quarry. Jameson…well…he…uh…"

That's when I realize this is their hunting ground.

"He would invite the girls he wanted to fuck," I supply with a wry grin, inwardly cringing at the thought of the guys picking and choosing who they would sleep with next. Knowing the guys have a past is different than being confronted with it.

"But we were all with you today," Gunner hastily explains, almost giddy with relief. "That means none of us selected anyone tonight."

I open my mouth to ask another question, but I'm distracted when Jameson's screech echoes from across the room.

"No touching! Bad whore. I'm pookie's." I spin to see Jameson wearing a scowl, slapping at the fingers of two girls pawing at him. He holds up his hand, then points to his finger. "She already put a ring on it. See?"

His declaration gives the girls enough pause that he's able to slip past them without being molested. Jaceson strolls behind his brother almost casually, but even though they are twins, he's nearly invisible to the rest of the room as everyone's gazes just slide over him.

While I'm grateful, I don't understand it.

Jaceson is just as gorgeous and fascinating as his brother.

I would never be able to choose between them.

Jameson dashes toward me, almost looking pissed, and immediately takes me in his arms. "I didn't touch them. I wouldn't."

I run my hand down his chest, my touch soothing him enough that he snuggles against my side. "I trust you."

Funnily enough, I did.

Though Jameson might be a self-proclaimed man whore, he would never cheat or lie to a woman. He might be brutal in his breakups, but he would never betray a woman. A blush heats my cheeks when Jameson steps behind me, slips a hand around my waist, and boldly uses me as a shield. He glares at any girl who even looks in his direction, shooing away a few of them who try to approach like they are mosquitoes threatening to suck the life out of him.

I should be jealous, I have no doubt he's slept with half the girls in the room, but I only feel sorry for them. While he might have slept with them, he found them lacking, not worthy of a second date. I lean into him, feeling possessive and wanting to prove to the girls that he's now mine.

Jameson pulls me flush against him, his hard cock pressing against my lower back, clearly approving of my claim.

"Why don't we liven up this party?" a vaguely familiar voice calls above the music. I turn, watching in slow motion as a girl with mousy brown hair slowly stands from her spot on the couch. It takes a second for me to recognize the woman buried beneath the thick layer of makeup caked on her face, but when I do, I wince.

Brenda—the bitch from the store.

With a vicious smirk, she lifts a fucking Ouija board. "Who's game?"

It's all I can do not to recoil, but I must not have covered my reaction well enough, because Jameson clutches me closer and mutters under his breath, "Fucking Brenda."

Fucking Brenda indeed.

People glance at each other, then wander closer. Someone mutes the radio, and the only sound is the muffled beat of the music from upstairs. The lights dim, and a dozen or so candles are lit around the sitting area, the flames barely able to keep the flickering, ominous shadows at bay.

"Rue?" Brenda smiles sweetly, batting her lashes innocently at me as she pats a spot next to her on the couch. "Don't you want to join us? I saved you a front-row seat."

"No, thanks." I don't even pretend to be anything but disgusted by her act. "I don't want to be anywhere near you or that board. It's not a game to play. I have no intention of angering the dead."

I turn away, striding toward the door, ready to leave, when a voice calls out to me. "Why don't you stay and show us how to use the board properly if you're worried? Save us from ourselves."

At the sound of his voice, my heart shrivels inside my chest until nothing but dust remains.

Hicks.

Very slowly, I spin, and pain blasts through me when the man himself pushes away from his spot near the fireplace and strides toward me. Though he wears a friendly smile, hardness glints in his green eyes. Combined with the flickering flames, it gives his expression a cruel twist.

I gaze around the room with new eyes, and my stomach churns with dread.

Somehow, some way, he orchestrated tonight down to the last detail.

I fight the instinctual urge to turn on my heel and leave, but I suspect that won't stop Hicks. If he wants something, nothing will stop him until he gets it, and I very much fear he might destroy me in the process.

"Why don't you tell me what you want to know?" I wave a hand to indicate the room. "Why go through this charade?"

"Charade? It's a simple board game." Hicks smiles, his expression sharp. "If you have nothing to hide, why don't you join us?" He steps to the side to clear the way to the sitting area, maneuvering his body in a way that has him blocking the exit.

Brenda saunters up to Hicks and wraps her arms around his waist, silently staking her claim, and I have no doubt the two of them instigated this whole thing somehow. Honestly, I don't give a shit what part she played in this evening. What matters is that Hicks isn't stopping her.

In fact, he's encouraging her.

Hicks stiffens, scowling down at Brenda, but I barely notice. Hurt is like an infection. Once it takes root, it spreads until it taints everything.

The guys must have told him about our conversation. Not only does he not believe me, he honestly thinks I will make a fool of myself, and he set me up to fail in front of as many witnesses as possible.

Humiliation and anger burn my cheeks, but that doesn't even begin to cover the wealth of emotions that threaten to drown me. Not wanting to fall apart in front of him and give him the satisfaction, I grab the box I tucked in my pocket. A bitter chuckle escapes me when I shove it hard against his chest, forcing him to accept it or drop it to the floor.

"What I find funny is that while I was worried about your safety and purchased a necklace to protect you, you were busy trying to hurt and humiliate me." I shake my head, swallowing hard to speak past the lump in my throat. "No, it's worse than that. Instead of just asking me a few simple questions in private, you schemed behind my back to…what? What were you hoping to achieve?"

Too many emotions bombard me at once.

It's too much, and everything inside me just shuts down.

"Do it, pookie." Jameson crosses the room in a few quick strides, elbowing Hicks so hard that he stumbles aside. "Prove the dickhead wrong."

Jameson stands before me as a sentinel, his belief in me warming my heart, but it barely scratches the surface of my hurt. Glancing around the room, I notice Jaceson standing back, watching impassively, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Despite knowing that's his normal attitude, it feels like a rejection.

My heart takes another hit, my body chilling more and more until I feel numb.

"Hicks, maybe now isn't the time," Ellis says, a disapproving expression on his face.

"You want proof, don't you?" Hicks snaps back, not once taking his gaze from me.

Ellis fiddles with his bracelet and just shrugs.

I'm not sure how I'm able to stand at this point, the world around me blurring slightly.

I'm not going to lie, but their lack of support stings like a fucking bitch.

At least Ellis has the decency to look ashamed.

Needing to know the truth, I glance at the last member of their group, someone I thought was my friend, but Gunner is already speaking.

"This is not the right time or place." Gunner steps in front of me, blocking my view of the rest of the room.

I should be thrilled that he's coming to my defense, but he isn't really taking my side either, and his lack of faith destroys the last bit of my heart.

I thought they were different.

I thought they were my friends.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

The need to escape is overwhelming, and I blindly turn away from the guys, doing my best not to fall apart in front of our audience. If I've learned anything from my father, it's to mask my pain.

"I have nothing to prove to you or anyone." The air in the room is thin, and it's a struggle to find enough oxygen to breathe. The sensation of being suffocated is like a weight on my chest, and I nearly sprint toward the exit, the need to escape clawing up my insides.

Just as I reach the door, it slams shut with a resounding bang. I stumble to a halt. Voices quiet, the laughter fades, and a few people closest to the exit yelp in alarm. I stumble away, panic tightening my chest, and it's only then that I notice the chill in the room.

Frost crackles in the air, my exhale a small puff of clouds, and true panic takes hold.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I'm so screwed.

I allowed myself to get distracted, allowed my emotions to cloud my judgment, and my control wavered. It was only for a second, but it was enough.

The dead have found me.

Stark fear takes root, the need to escape pushing me forward, and I bolt toward the only other exit. It's one thing to be attacked in private, it's something else to have everyone else witness what happens when spirits manifest.

Hicks is getting what he wanted, just not exactly how he expected.

I easily maneuver around people, ignoring the way they chuckle at what they think is me running away in humiliation.

They don't know the truth, but they will, and they will never forget it…if they survive the encounter.

I'm five feet from the door, hope like a bubble in my chest. Just when I think I'm going to make it, the door slams shut so hard that it seems to shake the whole room. The laughter stops abruptly, a few girls screaming, and I back away from the door.

"What the fuck?" Brenda snarls, her face twisting in a scowl. "I didn't sign up for this shit. I'm leaving."

She marches toward the door, but when she turns the knob, it doesn't budge. With a yelp, she jerks her hand away as if burned and cradles it to her chest. "What the fuck? If this is a prank, it isn't funny."

People turn to glare at me like it's my fault.

If only they knew the truth.

But they will.

And soon.

One of the bigger guys heads toward the doors. His steps slow when, even from a distance, frost begins collecting on the surface. It slowly creeps down the wall and edges across the floor, slinking ever closer as if seeking prey.

People back away from the encroaching ice, appearing uneasy, and more than a couple shoot me furious looks. One person takes a threatening step toward me, which is soon joined by two, three, five, until I'm facing a whole mob threatening violence.

"What bullshit stunt are you trying to pull, bitch?" One of the burly men pushes his way forward, a nasty vein throbbing in his forehead.

"None of us appreciate your stupid tricks." Brenda's face is twisted in a snarl, her expression furious as she shoves her way forward. I'm not sure if she's more pissed at the attention being taken from her or jealous she didn't think of it first.

"No need for violence." Hicks steps forward with his arms raised, an affable expression on his face, but there is no disguising the hard undertone of his words telling everyone to fuck off or he will make them.

When he peers at me in exasperation, I realize that while his concern might be real, he still thinks this is some sort of elaborate trick.

No, it's more than that.

He blames me, taking no culpability for his role in setting me up.

The last part of my soul darkens and turns to ash.

"Let us out of here," a young man yells from the back of the room, inching away from the encroaching frost, his complexion pasty white. The prompt sends more people pushing forward, their scowls aimed directly at me.

Gunner and the twins stand next to Hicks, keeping the people from reaching me, but there are too many, and I'm forced back, deeper into the chill. As the noise level in the room increases, the music upstairs slows, then warps, then begins to play backwards.

"Shh… Listen." Ellis holds his hand up, his head tilted as he peers up at the ceiling. The others follow suit, and true fear begins to spark in their eyes as they hear screams. One of the guys rushes past Hicks and the others, looking ready to tackle me.

I step back, hitting the bar, and I have nowhere else to go. Just as I tense to climb over the counter, the bottles behind the bar rattle, then begin to shake. One by one, they explode in rapid succession, sending a shower of glass and liquor into the room.

Hicks whirls, yanking me away from the blast zone, hunching over to shelter me from the explosion. Tiny slivers of glass pepper my arms and shoulders, but I barely feel them. Screams echo in the room, their fear leaving a sour taste in the back of my mouth.

A man peers out from the mirror. He looks like he lived in prohibition times. He's dressed in a nice shirt and fancy suspenders, his hair slicked back. With each thud of his fists on the backside of the mirror, more glass shatters.

When he notices me looking at him, his smile widens, and the manic gleam in his eyes turns malicious. He turns to face me, and I see that half of his face is blown off, leaving behind a dripping mess of blood and gore. It must have been a shotgun blast, because the bottom of his skull is mostly gone, along with part of his jaw and mouth, leaving jagged teeth and a mangled tongue.

Lifting both arms, he slams his fists against the mirror, and the surface fractures, leaving jagged cracks that distort the reflection of the room.

The ghost disappears.

Do I think the ghost is gone?

Fuck no.

He is now very much free to roam the room.

"Are you okay?" Hicks grabs my shoulders, and his face darkens when he notices the tiny cuts and slashes decorating my exposed skin.

A bitter laugh escapes me at his worry, a single tear sliding down my cheek. I wrench myself away from his hold, unable to bear his touch. "It's much too late to pretend to be concerned now."

I take a step away from him and the others, never feeling more alone in my life when no one follows. At least when I was held prisoner by my father, I knew he hated me. To have the guys pretend they were my friends, then find out otherwise…

It's soul crushing.

Part of me wishes I never met them, because then I wouldn't know what I was missing when they took it from me.

"Don't worry," I say, my smile bitter. "He's here for me, not you."

I step back again, distancing myself both emotionally and physically from the men who so completely destroyed me.

My attention is stolen when the back wall waver like haze on a summer day. The living stop being my problem when the first of the dead steps into existence, but instead of proceeding into the room, their energy is sucked into the mirror over and over again.

I lose count of the number of ghosts that swarm the basement.

Whoever or whatever is in the mirror is consuming the energy, amassing it for a reason, and dread pools in my gut.

"Pookie?" Jameson shoves his way through the crowd, worry darkening his pale blue eyes. "Are you?—"

"Please. Don't." I swallow hard, scrambling to rebuild my crumbling wards. I can't deal with him and the dead at the same time.

"It's never a good thing when the dead take an interest in the living. Whatever happens—" I take a shaky breath, deciding to make a clean break of things with the guys, both for my sake and theirs. It was foolish to think I could have more. "Just keep anyone from touching me."

When he takes a step toward me, I instinctively step back.

No, it's better this way.

Jameson was the only one who believed in me, and it would destroy the last of my sanity if anything were to happen to him. As I step into the empty living room, the fireplace flares to life, the flames licking greedily up the stone mantelpiece.

People gasp before leaping back, stumbling away as if afraid they are about to be incinerated. They glare at me like it's my fault, and I'm almost tempted to let it burn them. Unfortunately, the flames are more chilling than hot, like the fire is tainted by the afterlife.

Though one might assume it's safe, I learned from experience that it burns skin the same. If I didn't have accelerated healing, the skin from my fingertips to my elbows would be full of twisted scars. The candles placed around the sitting room burst into foot-tall flames, the force much like a blowtorch, forcing the crowd back another step.

"Listen here, you bitch." Brenda stomps forward with a snarl, only to be held back by Jameson. That doesn't stop her from struggling and yelling at me over his shoulder like a harpy. "You made your point. This isn't funny anymore."

Knowing only one thing will satisfy the dead, I drop to my knees in front of the stupid Ouija board. As soon as my knees hit the ground, the flames instantly calm. People take a relieved breath and relax, but the planchette resting in the middle of the board begins circling wildly.

I peer up at the now silent Brenda, who watches the board with wide, horrified eyes.

"Most people pass on to the afterlife when they die, but a few linger, fearing what lies ahead for them. The dead become trapped, and they can quickly turn vicious." Suddenly exhausted, I rest back on my heels.

"This is why we don't communicate with the other side. This is why we don't use Ouija boards like it's a cute parlor trick to play with your friends. You opened the door to the dead. You welcomed them into our world." I drag my hair away from my face and shake my head at the foolish girl. "Now, the only way to close that door is to exhaust the energy that keeps them alive and pray we stop them before they can hurt people."