LITMIR.BIZ

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thing: we couldn’t move fast enough to escape the house that had gone from creepily gaudy to just plain creepy.

      Jillian and I hadn’t been on the road for more than ten minutes before she swerved the car onto a shoulder and stomped on the brakes. She stopped so abruptly that I had to slap my hands against the dash to keep myself from slamming into it.

      Jillian shifted into park and turned sharply toward me.

      “What happened back there?”

      I shook my head, frowning as I settled back into my seat. “I’m not entirely sure. An ultimatum, I think.”

      Her brow knitted in confusion—an expression that reminded me so much of her brother.

      “Explain, Amelia,” she said. “Please.”

      And so I did; picking absently at my sleeve, I described my strange meeting in the mirror. When I finished the story, Jillian turned away from me. For longer than I’d expected her to, she just stared out the darkened windshield.

      Finally, in a hushed voice, she asked, “Do you think they mean it?”

      I raised one eyebrow. “Which part?”

      “The death part.”

      I studied her face for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, I think they do. I think they really will kill people if I don’t come to them.”

      Jillian flinched but still didn’t look at me. “When are they going to start?”

      I sighed and began to rub my right temple. “I don’t know. They weren’t terribly specific.”

      “How?” she asked bluntly, and then amended, “I mean, how can they kill people? I thought you said that they needed someone else to do their dirty work on earth.”

      “If Eli and the redheaded girl from my dreams told the truth, then you’re right: the demons won’t do it themselves. They’ll need some kind of ghostly middleman. But as my little visit proved, they already have one, don’t they?”

      “Kade,” she whispered, facing me at last.

      I nodded again. “Kade.”

      Jillian shuddered. Even in the dark, I could see her pale visibly. “That’s not exactly someone I want to see again, you know?” she murmured.

      I didn’t blame her. The last time Jillian and Kade interacted, he’d drugged and pistol-whipped her, and she’d subsequently killed him with a mouthful of ground oleander seeds. Not a memory that would make for a very happy reunion.

      I turned away from her to stare vacantly out the passenger window. “You won’t have to see him, Jill,” I said softly. “This is my problem. I’ll deal with it, in whatever way I have to.”

      Jillian stayed silent for at least a few minutes. When she eventually cleared her throat, I thought she was ready to reply. To agree with me. But instead, she threw her car into drive and swerved back onto the empty road. We skidded, fishtailing wildly between the gravel on the shoulder and the asphalt.

      Jillian grimaced as the tires squealed, but she made no move to stop again. Once the car righted itself, she began to speed like hell had already started chasing us.

      “Jillian!” I shrieked. “What are you doing?”

      “Making it my problem, too,” she murmured.

      Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, she used the other to pull her cell phone from its little nook in the dash and dial it with one thumb.

      “The road, Jill—watch the road!”

      Jillian ignored me and put the phone to her ear. I heard the echo of a few rings, and then someone answer with a rough greeting.

      “Meet us,” Jillian said flatly, in lieu of hello. “You know where. And who to bring.”

      She didn’t wait for a response, didn’t even say good-bye. She simply ended the call and began typing wildly, still using one thumb. I could only say a prayer of thanks that she did so without looking away from the road.

      Then, after finishing the text, she popped the phone into its cubby and turned back to the task of driving like a crazy person. Even then, with both hands on the wheel and both eyes on the road, she didn’t speak to me. Each time I demanded to know our destination, Jillian just shook her head and drove faster.

      Despite my familiarity with the roads and forests in this area, I had no idea where we were going. I didn’t recognize the side streets we passed, nor did I find any help in the endless rows of indistinguishable pine trees that flew by outside the windows. It wasn’t until Jillian slowed to an almost legal speed that I noticed something familiar in the woods to our right. Something black and glittering that ran parallel to our path.

      A river.

      “Jill,” I repeated. “Where are we going?”

      This time, my question was softer, more urgent. But this time, Jillian didn’t need to answer me. I saw our destination soon enough, when she turned onto another road.

      Ahead of us, I saw the hulking outline of High Bridge. We were still a little far away—the route Jillian had taken from Kaylen’s house to the bridge was a strange, twisted one—but I could see the yellow tape and sawhorses that decorated the entrance.

      Obviously, the county was in no hurry to take down the condemned structure. It made me wonder what the county officials would do if they really knew what lay beneath that crumbling monster.

      Whoever Jillian had contacted had beaten us to the bridge: a green sedan waited on a gravelly shoulder, just above the steep hill that led to the riverbank. Jillian parked behind the sedan and flashed her brights twice before killing the engine.

      She put her hand on her door, about to get out, when she thought better of it and faced me in the dark. She didn’t say anything—just watched me until she turned abruptly and exited the car, too fast for me to react. I sat there, blinking and confused. Then, for lack of any better ideas, I followed her.

      Here, the night felt colder than it had at the Pattons’ house. I didn’t know whether that had something to do with the breeze now coming off the river, or whether this place just made everything seem chilly and unwelcoming.

      Jillian stood a few feet ahead of me, facing the other car and rubbing her bare arms furiously against the cold. I closed the distance between us warily, still unsure of how Jillian intended to make my problems hers. The fact that High Bridge obviously played some part in her plans didn’t help my mood.

      Nor did the fact that Joshua stepped out of the sedan’s passenger seat. He saw Jillian first and gave her the barest of acknowledgments. Then his eyes caught mine. Through the darkness, I could see the apology in them.

      I tilted my head to one side and frowned. I had no idea what warranted the Mayhews’ strange behavior. At least, not until the driver stepped out of the sedan.

      Scott Conner—Joshua’s good buddy and Jillian’s newest crush—had no business here. Yet there he stood, his shaggy hair sticking up in peaks and curls, as if someone had recently woken him up from a deep sleep. Which, I realized, had actually happened.

      Although we’d never technically met, Scott gave me a shy, close-lipped smile. It was a kind look, gentle, but it was far too familiar. Too knowing.

      I took an involuntary step backward, away from Scott. I was afraid of him, then—afraid of the boy who shouldn’t be smiling at me in a way that suggested he knew my secrets, and felt sorry that I had them.

      Joshua confirmed my suspicions, speaking quietly although no one else was around to hear us.

      “Scott knows, Amelia. About you, and what you are.”

      Joshua gave me a few seconds to process this news. Then he turned and pointed to the ugly heap of metal and concrete behind him.

      “Scott knows, and he’s here to help

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