"Oliver, take a deep breath. You're going to make yourself faint."

After his meeting with Angela Starr at the café, Garren channeled his inner Dale Earnhardt and sped past red lights in his haste to find my mother. He was now standing in the middle of the art gallery, panting and desperately trying to speak to my baffled mother in actual words instead of gibberish. At most, she understood that I was the reason for his visit though a chicken could figure that out themselves, with him constantly pointing at me.

My mother gently led him out of the lobby, away from her concerned friends who had forgotten about their previous conversation when a winded, twitchy police officer hurried into the building (after ten attempts of pushing a door that needed to be pulled). She sat him on a bench in a room displaying Taino sculptures.

"Tessa, what happened?" she asked, fearing the worst. "Did you have an encounter with those creatures again?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Well, yeah, they possessed Amity and tried to make her fall off the roof. It's a long story. He's freaking out over nothing."

"It's not nothing!" He blushed at two elderly women walking through the doorway, affronted by his tone. "Celia, the council is going to have our heads because of their recklessness. I found this in her jacket."

Garren showed her the oddly-shaped dagger. I anticipated her to be frightened or angered, maybe throw in a lecture about being irresponsible, and to agree with him that the dagger's sudden appearance was my fault. Instead, she twisted the dagger in her hands in amazement, her fingertips trailing across the intricate marks carved into the handle. Elena described the incident on the roof: how a flash of light emerged from my birthmark in the shape of a raven and destroyed the creature before transforming into the dagger.

Lost in her thoughts, my mother nodded, half-listening to Elena's story. "It's remarkable. I've never seen it in person. I wouldn't worry, Tessa. The blade of Charon is meant to be hidden but I've read that it can be summoned if a reaper is in danger."

As I thought, Garren had overreacted to the situation but I would be lying if I was not secretly thankful.

"See, Fairy Godmother?" I teased. "The council won't care that it disappeared from its hiding spot."

"Oh no, the council will be concerned." I sat beside Garren, sharing his anxiety. "They understand that reapers don't purposely call the dagger to them, in most cases, but they have to ensure that there was actual danger. As I recall, when your grandmother once summoned it, the council interrogated her for hours. There was a small trial...nothing too serious, sweetheart, but this is perfect."

Did that word mean something different when she was my age? "How is this good?"

"You can tell the council what's been going on," she encouraged. "Once they know the truth, they'll take the dagger and put a stop to those nasty creatures. You can put the worry of Fin's death behind you and let them handle it."

"Is a trial necessary?" I asked, panicking over another interrogation. "Can't we send the dagger with a note that says something like 'I'm sorry that it popped up when I was about to get attacked by a monster'?"

My question was answered when a wren, with cinnamon colored feathers and a white stripe above one of its eyes, flew through the open window and perched on my knee. A tiny scroll was tied around its right leg by a white ribbon. Garren muttered that the wren belonged to Cedric, the leader of the council, and tucked his head between his knees, as if the wren was about to shoot lasers out of its beak.

The wren raised its leg towards me. At my mother's insistence, I untied the scroll and skimmed its contents.

Dear Miss Byrne,

It has to come to the council's attention that at twenty minutes past three this afternoon, on the rooftop of Belmont Falls High, you summoned the blade of Charon from its secure location. As you should know from your studies, this is a breach of law fifty two, section C, paragraph three, which states that such a summons must be authorized by the council through a deciding vote.

The council understands that young reapers such as yourself have little control over their abilities and accidents may happen, which is why we require your attendance, along with your guardian Oliver Garren, at a trial this Saturday, December 19th, at 8 PM. At the trial, we shall allow you to plead your case and then decide whether or not you will be punished for your actions. Witnesses are permitted for your defense. Sage will remain by your side and guide you to the proper location on the day of your trial.

Sincerely,

Cedric Cullen

Grandmaster and Protector of the Realms

Elena rested her head on my shoulder, reading over the letter. My stomach twisted into a thousand tiny knots at the threat of being punished for something out of my control. Though my mother believed that I should tell the council about the shadow creatures and my suspicions surrounding Belmont's death, a doubt nagged at me that the council would not be so lenient. Most of my doubt stemmed from Garren's near heart attack, brought on by the risk of upsetting the council.

"Do you have to read this too?" I asked Garren. He nodded, taking the scroll from me. "Why is a bird taking me to the trial? Why can't they tell me the location?"

"The council loves their secrecy and no, Fin, the bird didn't use magic to fly across the country in less than a day," he muttered, rubbing his temple.

Belmont closed his mouth, looking embarrassed, and angrily punched Elena's arm as she giggled at him. That single punch sparked a longwinded argument.

"Cedric has a way with birds," my mother said, letting the wren onto her palm. "He's able to speak to them from any location. Tessa, when you meet with the council, I urge you to be respectful and polite. Some members have little patience around children."

"Well, this Cedric guy sounds like a pr—"

My mother placed her hand over my mouth. "Palomita, don't say such things. The council has eyes and ears everywhere, especially around those who are awaiting a trial. Take it from someone who learned that the hard way. Until it's over, let's not say anything that could get you in more trouble."

"You've met the council before?" It was the first time she mentioned them outside of lessons. "Why?"

"It's a story for another time," she said, playing with her wedding ring. "Your grandmother was once put on trial as well, though hers ended on far worse terms. There's no reason to worry though. You simply state the facts and the council will see that you're innocent. It's merely a formality. I remember how stuffy some of them can be so I'll pick out the perfect outfit for you."

"Great. Mom, could I uh talk to you alone?" I asked, holding the back of Elena's dress to stop her from scratching Belmont. "I'm having trouble with figuring out what piece to use for the gallery."

Leaving Garren to deal with the quarreling teenage ghosts, who proceeded to drag him into their argument, I followed my mother to her private studio. It was covered from wall to wall with artwork, created by her, my brother, and me. With this looming trial, the exhibition seemed insignificant and she did not need to use her sixth sense to know that I had no intention of discussing art.

As I sat on her desk, I glanced at a painting of a field of flowers near the door. It was one of my first pieces, done when I was four years old.

"Are you nervous about the trial?" she asked, reading my mind. "If you like, we can practice before Saturday. I remember my trial vividly and I doubt a lot has changed over the years."

I found it hard to breathe. "I—I don't want to go in front of the council."

Warm tears stung my eyes. My mother was stunned by the sudden quiver in my voice and grabbed a sketchpad from her desk.

"They'll punish me, whether they believe me about those creatures or not," I said, confessing my fears. "What if they've been watching me before I summoned that dagger? They'll think that I'm like Damon."

She handed me a sketchpad, my usual method to relax when I was upset. "Why would you think—that's ridiculous. You've done nothing wrong."

"Yes, I did. I hurt someone. I don't know how I...it just happened and I didn't do it on purpose or maybe I did because inside, I'm a fucked up mess. Chief Parker's right. I should have my own room at Erinyes." My mother cupped my face in her hands and brushed away my tears. "O—or we could share a room. He'd love that. He was right about me from the beginning."

"Enough," she said, never one to let me speak so negatively about myself. "I don't ever want to hear you say that. Where is this coming from, Tessa?"

Fighting back tears, I opened up to her about the fight with the stranger in Mr. Mitchell's office. I could see her tense, from her fingers anxiously tapping against the edge of the desk, as I mentioned his skin turning corpse-like and his arm returning to normal when I loosened my grip.

"Y—you think I'm a monster too," I said, putting down the sketchpad.

Ever since I was a little girl, I hated the idea of disappointing my parents. I had only seen her this tense once, minutes after that incident and she genuinely thought I was dead.

"No, sweetheart, I don't. I know such a sight must have been quite alarming. I didn't think we'd get to that topic in your lessons for a couple years. It's an ability that isn't typically unlocked until you're past eighteen. You are not a monster. Say it." I nodded, muttering, "I am not a monster" under my breath. "Your abilities are growing at a faster rate than usual. I remember when it happened to me. I was a sophomore in college and your father and I were in his apartment—"

"Mom!" I exclaimed, disgusted.

"Oh, hush. You've read worse on the internet. Our abilities don't just mean that we're a passageway between life and death. We're also dangerous. When we feel heightened emotions, our untapped abilities come to the surface. What happened with that man was you protecting yourself," she said, squishing a ladybug on her desk with a tissue and dumping it in her palm where its shriveled legs began to move slightly. "Just as we can give life, like what you did in helping Connor that day, we can take it."

The ladybug went lifeless again, lying on its back. Whatever this new ability was, it must have been what affected Will's heart monitor at the hospital.

She revived the ladybug, which flew out of her hand. "It's why we have the council. They keep reapers in line...ensuring we don't abuse our gifts. As you get older, you'll find yourself with power than you never thought possible. It's up to you to make sure that you use it wisely. I think we'll need to skip ahead a few chapters for lessons this week."

"Maybe go over the council rules too," I said, somehow finding humor in such a dire situation.

"According to them, I should know rule fifty two, section C, paragraph three by heart."

Amity's possession provided the perfect opportunity to visit my grandmother. My mother turned it into a family trip after school. Ryan expressed his joy by squeezing his juice box and squirting apple juice onto Belmont's face.

Upon hearing that I was meeting with the council, my grandmother was ecstatic, earning disapproving looks from my parents. She quietly congratulated me for continuing the tradition and assured me that the members of the council were as harmless as teddy bears (though she did warn me that the 'old bats' had giant sticks up their backsides).

When I told her about Amity and the shadow creature mocking me with the song, I was puzzled by her reaction. She laughed it off as the other reaper's pathetic attempt to scare the family. My father, concerned for her safety, offered to let her stay at our house until the council dealt with the problem but she refused, insisting that she was capable of handling an 'arrogant fool with an ego the size of the sun'.

Two straight hours of arguing back and forth between my parents and grandmother was unsuccessful, only leading to my father handing my grandmother twenty dollars for losing a bet they made on his wedding day. I suspected that my parents wanted my grandmother to side with them, that her fear would deter me from pursuing my investigation but it had the opposite effect.

If anything, my grandmother's fearlessness inspired me to be the same: to not let this other reaper or their minions scare me from finding out the truth.

While my parents met with the nurses about heightened security measures for the room, lying that a dangerous ex-girlfriend of hers was recently released from prison, I spoke with my grandmother in private (though it was not so private with Elena and Belmont standing on either side of me) about Chief Parker's odd behavior and my plans to question Rhys during the hiking trip. She promised to keep an eye on me from afar, in case I found myself in danger.

In the week leading up to the hiking trip and my trial, my mother increased my lessons from once a week on Friday afternoons to twice a day. She wanted me to better understand my abilities as a reaper, so I was not afraid if a new ability emerged, and the lessons, which were infinitely more interesting than in the past, proved that I honestly knew nothing about being a reaper.

The council had thousands of laws, written in a hefty, leather-bound book that had a spine thicker than my waist. With how the laws were written, the council made it astonishingly easy to break their precious rules. A single mistake could send a reaper or guardian to The Meadows, a deceptive name.

It was a prison where the guilty were sent directly after a trial, without the chance to visit their loved ones. If the council decided that the accused was guilty, the person was forced to drink water from the Lethe river, causing them to lose their identities and wander around for an eternity.

Those who were guilty of very serious crimes were sent to a similar prison yet, along with losing their memories, they had to endure an eternity of punishment, based on their personal fears. Such harsh punishments made me wonder if the council believed in redemption, that a person was capable of changing for the better after making one mistake.

"Tessa, your ride is here!" my father shouted from downstairs.

I shut the mythology book I had borrowed from the school library, leaving a cat-shaped bookmark on one of the pages. Ever since my visit with my grandmother, I was determined to find out more about the shadow creatures and how to defeat them without a magical dagger that was summoned through my birthmark. The first step was identifying the creatures by an actual name and after some late night reading, I narrowed it down to a single possibility: hupias.

They were deceased spirits from Taino folklore, known for being nocturnal. All of my encounters with them occurred around dusk or at night. In the old tales, they were rumored to take on many forms, which was linked to possession, and had the abilities of super strength, super speed, and invisibility. Their weakness, according to some accounts, was iron, the detail that confirmed my theory. The blade of Charon had been forged in iron, which was why it destroyed the creature with such ease.

Sage flew through my bedroom door, my ragdoll cat at its tail feathers. I sprayed her twice with the bottle on my nightstand.

"Purrsephone, no," I admonished. "We do not eat our guests. Are you ever going to shut up?"

Belmont was snickering into his sleeve. Hearing my cat's name, chosen when I was eight years old, made him cackle like a hyena.

"I was eight and I thought it was cute."

"Of course you would, Byrne. You're weird." I pointed the spray bottle at him. "Not weird weird...a good weird."

"In your language, is that a compliment? Come on, Sage," I said, opening my backpack to hide the small bird.

My father was speaking to a man, dressed in a black suit with a matching black tie, in the living room. He was like a teenager, showing the man that he was nearly finished with his latest video game: Underworld Uprising, or Baxter the Bunny's Forest Adventure if my mother was around while he played with my brother. Surrounded by bowls of chips and pretzels on the couch, Ryan sliced through hordes of zombies with a chainsaw.

"Hello, Miss Byrne," greeted the man. "Are you ready to go?"

"Um yeah. Dad, you might want to switch the games." I nodded towards the staircase. "Mami's almost done exercising and she won't want to see Ryan juggling zombie heads."

He chuckled. "She's right, kiddo. Time to put away the chainsaw and help Baxter find his way to Sunshine Hollow."

As he sliced a zombie in two, Ryan whined that he was nearly finished with the level. My father was torn between letting my brother continue and risking my mother catching him killing zombies instead of helping a anthropomorphic bunny in overalls find his friends.

"Sorry, little bear," he said, reaching for the controller. "But if mommy finds out you were playing this, daddy will have to sleep on the couch for a week and he won't get to see mommy's new pajamas that she bought while he was away."

I scrunched my nose in disgust, wishing that I was as naïve as my brother. "Nice," whispered Belmont, with a smirk that suggested he was picturing my mother in a pose straight out of Playboy.

"Well, that's another thing to talk to my therapist about when I'm in my thirties. Thanks for adding to the list, Dad. I'm not sure if I'll be home before that meeting tonight but if not, I'll tell you all about it in the morning," I said, retrieving my house keys from the glass table near the front door.

"Your mother and I will be up when you get home." He wrestled the controller away from my brother, who held on as if it was a piece of valuable treasure. "Have fun at Claire's."

When the chauffeur ("Call me James," he insisted as he opened the back door of the Rolls Royce parked outside my house) turned into the Hilton's driveway, I wondered how he was able to distinguish their home from the others, considering each house in the neighborhood looked eerily similar.

The single difference, nearly invisible to the untrained eye, was the H adorned on the iron lock of the front gate. All the times I imagined Hilton's house, when she was not making my life a living hell at school, I suspected that it was like Belmont's, uninviting and ornately decorated to boast their vast wealth, but it was somewhat like my home, the paintings hanging on the walls resembling a miniature art gallery.

"Mr. Hilton had business to attend to before the trip and the other guests haven't arrived yet. Would you like a tour while you wait?" he asked, placing his hat on a rack near the door.

"I'm a little worried about getting lost in this place." Reaching into his suit jacket, he handed me a pamphlet. Inside was a detailed map of the mansion. "Seriously?"

"It was made after the third staff member disappeared this month. He was the head gardener. One minute, he was washing his hands in the bathroom and the next, he simply vanished," he said, in a spooky voice. "His body was never found, just like the others. I've heard the maids say that if you listen closely at night, you can hear the ghosts begging for help."

How could someone so goofy work for the Hiltons? "Convincing. If you want to make quick cash, when they leave for a vacation, you should offer a haunted tour. The people in this town are embarrassingly gullible so you'd make a fortune. I get a cut of the profits for giving you the idea."

Mr. Hilton had not been joking about his love of art. In between family portraits and random pictures of Claire, from the days of being a chubby toddler to her most recent school picture, there were pieces from the gallery, a majority of them painted by my mother.

James was in the middle of showing me around the enormous kitchen (including the new, fancy refrigerator from Japan that had its own TV) when Principal Hilton passed by the door, looking very impatient as she spoke on the phone.

"No, it was scheduled for today at noon," she said, frustrated. "Of course I made an appointment with—Jasmine!"

A frazzled nineteen-year old girl hurried towards her, her high heels clicking against the marble floor. Judging by the bags under her eyes, she had not slept in days.

"Didn't you make an appointment at the spa?" she hissed, covering the lower end of the phone with her hand.

"Y—yes, Mrs. Hilton. I did it right after I set up the..." She bit her lower lip. "I had it written down but when I was checking on the reservations for lunch, Claire asked me to help her with something and I must've gotten distracted and forgotten to make the call. I'm sorry."

"I don't pay you to forget things," the older woman snapped, making her quiver in her heels. "You may think you're irreplaceable but I can assure you that you're not. You can ask the line of other girls who had your job before you were out of diapers. It's fortunate that an acquaintance of mine owns this spa and can rectify your mistake. This is your last warning. One more mistake and you'll be back to serving fried garbage at that lowly diner. Is that understood?"

"Is it alright if you continue the tour by yourself?" asked James, his eyes following Principal Hilton down the hallway. "Jasmine doesn't take it well when she makes a mistake and I don't want her losing her job"

Giving me the map, he gently placed his hand on Jasmine's back. She was seconds from a panic attack as he steered her away from the kitchen, fretting that today would be her last day as Principal Hilton's personal assistant ("I know Claire did this on purpose. She's hated me since day one, James," she said, between sobs). Belmont grabbed a chocolate chip cookie from the jar on the counter.

"Sucks that I'm dead," he said, taking a bite. "If I was alive, I could help her."

Elena crossed her arms. "You help someone? Did you see that pig fly by the window?"

"Hey, I comforted Jas when she screwed up. At brunch last summer, Claire blamed her for the fruit bowl having both red and green grapes. I found her crying in the kitchen while I was looking for a beer and offered to help out." He looked at her smugly. "Magic fingers. Remember, Ellie?"

Disgusted, I snatched the cookie from him and chucked it in the trash can. The fleeting hope that he had any compassion was gone in an instant and it made me question if him saving Hilton from being Dr. Baxter's punching bag was truly selfless or a manipulative act.

"What, now you're mad at me?" he asked, two steps behind me on the staircase. "Doesn't a nice person help people?"

"It wasn't about helping her," I said, astounded by his lack of shame. "You did it because she's a hot girl and you can't control the tiny carrot in your pants. I bet you wouldn't have helped if she didn't meet your standards."

"Ti—who the hell said it was tiny?" He jabbed his thumb at Elena, offended by my accusation. "Did she say that? She didn't have anything to compare it to so what does she know?"

It took all of my inner restraint not to strike him. "The fact that you're more offended by that than how you took advantage of some poor girl proves what I've known about you since the day I saw your stupid face when I first moved here. You're a pig, Belmont."

"At least I'm not some prude princess. Maybe you're just jealous that the closest you've gotten to something like that is when someone has to give you CPR because you fainted in the middle of class." I stopped at the top of the staircase, my nails digging into the railing. "It's a real waste, if you ask me. You could've at least been ugly so you have an excuse for why you're seventeen and haven't gotten past first base. Wait, have you even done th—"

SMACK!

Belmont clutched his cheek, blood trickling through his fingers from the cut inflicted by my ring. A white hot rage was burning inside me and I wanted to tear off his lips with my bare hands. Elena was ironically quiet, looking more worried about me than with teasing her former boyfriend. I got right up in his face, tired of his constant insults.

"You know, I never had to help you. There's no law that says reapers have to help ghosts find out how they died, if it was an accident or not. I did it because for some stupid reason and against my better judgment, I felt sorry for you," I said, seething with anger. "Dressing in clothes that I would never wear, getting close to your jerk friends, and almost getting myself killed by a stranger? It's not for me. It's for you, to help find your killer. You want to know why no one's looking into it? Because you were...no, you still are a terrible person. Why should I keep helping someone who doesn't give a damn about anyone but himself and doesn't appreciate everything that I've done? Those creatures didn't show up until I started poking around your death and now, I have to go on trial and if the council doesn't believe me, I'll be punished but you don't care."

Taken aback by my rant, he looked at Elena for help. "Byrne, I—"

"I want you to go," I interjected.

"If you want me to go hang out in another room until your PMS fit is over, fine. I'll—what the hell?" His right arm began to vanish into thin air, starting with his fingers. "What is this?"

"I said I want you to go. See, I can make you cross over for good whenever I want. It's something I learned from my mom's lessons but I never thought of actually using it until now," I told him. "Once you're gone, you're gone, Belmont. There's no coming back and I don't need to keep looking for your killer."

"T—Tessa, stop it," stuttered Elena, watching his arm vanish before her eyes. With his arm gone, it spread to his neck. "Don't do this."

"Why not?" I asked, feeling a small satisfaction at his terror. "It's not like you want him here. You've hated him hanging around since you found out he was a ghost too. Why shouldn't I just get rid of him?"

"Because this isn't you!"

Elena moved in front of the slowly vanishing Belmont ("Byrne, this isn't funny. Make it stop," he pleaded with a shaky breath, his right leg gone up to the knee) and intertwined her fingers with mine.

"I know you, Tessa. You don't want to do this," she begged. "If you do, you'll prove him right. You're not helping Fin because you feel sorry for him. It's because you're a good person. You're the best person I know...it's the one thing I've been sure of since the accident. Please don't let that change."

Belmont's body returned to normal. As he checked that his body was intact, Elena threw her arms around my neck.

"Don't let him get to you. You know he's a jackass," she whispered. I was calmed by the scent of her vanilla lotion, a smell that lingered even after she became a ghost. "Once this whole mess is over, he'll cross over and be out of our lives."

With a comforting smile, she offered her personal tour of the Hilton home, knowing the house like the back of her hand. I extended my arm, blocking Belmont from joining her in the east wing.

"Let me make something clear, you pompous prick," I snarled. "We barely spoke before the night you died so don't presume you know a damn thing about me. You don't know me or what I've been through..."

Belmont swallowed hard, for once not having any witty remarks. "You're right. I'm sor—I'm s—I shouldn't have said any of that. You're wrong about one thing. I do appreciate what you've done and at the trial, I'll tell that to the lame council."

The east wing, nicknamed The Princess Wing on the map, was entirely devoted to Hilton. Elena and Belmont did not bat an eye at the fact that she had four rooms serving as her closet, each dedicated to a specific season, but I could not, for the life of me, understand how one person owned that amount of clothes. One of the doors differed from the rest, painted pale blue with an etching of a raven.

According to Belmont, it was the sole room that Hilton was not allowed to remodel when her father allowed her to have an entire wing to herself. Dubbed the Inspiration Room by her father, it was where Hilton was sent to do her homework and study for tests. Despite being friends since birth, neither of them had ever been allowed inside, with Hilton's excuse being that it was the ugliest room in the house.

When I opened the door, I realized why she kept her friends out of the room. It was filled with my artwork. I recognized the pieces, some of them made when I was as young as seven.

"Didn't you make this for back to school night in second grade?" asked Elena, picking up a clay cat sculpture on one of the tables. On the bottom of one of the front paws were my initials. "Why would it be in here?"

As I walked around the room, reminiscing about the different works, I spotted a notebook on the white desk in the corner. The first half of the notebook was filled with crudely drawn pictures of me being murdered in creative ways, such as an alligator tearing off my head and an elephant crushing the rest of my body.

The rest of the pages contained drawings of outfits (very similar to clothes Hilton had worn before) and at the end was a brochure to a fashion school in New York, with hearts drawn around the name.

"Make sure that Stella and Chanel get their baths before we leave for lunch. Remember that Stella likes—what are you doing in here?"

Hilton was standing in the doorway, dressed in a lacy red chemise and a matching silk robe that stopped far above her knees, with Jasmine, her eyeliner smudged on the edges, at her heels and struggling to keep two Maltese in her arms. The tiny dogs were dressed in matching cashmere sweaters and I wondered if it would be sad to admit that their clothes likely cost more than mine. I placed the notebook back on the desk.

She looked at me like a piece of dirt. "Isn't it bad enough that I have to see you at school, Byrne? Now I have to deal with you when I wake up in the morning?"

"You just woke—you know it's almost nine, right?" Elena pinched my arm. "I'm uh here for the trip with your dad and his club. James picked me up early so he said I could look around the house until everyone gets here."

"Of course you're on first name basis with the help. With those clothes, you fit right in," she said, her icy blue eyes passing over my hoodie and black leggings in disdain. "Do you like my father's shrine to you? When I got to decorate the wing, I wanted to demolish every inch of this room and turn it into a personal spa but no, he wouldn't allow it."

"Yeah, that sucks. I should probably go downstairs in case—" Hilton placed her arm across the doorway. "Or not."

"Did you know he makes me sit in here to do my homework, day after day? He says that being around success and talent will rub off on me. Do you think he's right?" ("A—are you asking me or is this rhetorical?") "He's not. All it does is fuel my hatred. I'm shocked he hasn't offed your parents so he can adopt you and have you as his daughter. You could probably shit in your hand and wipe it on a piece of paper and he'd think you're the next Picarasso."

"It's actually uh Picasso but that's unimportant. Look, I didn't ask him to make this room," I said, finding it a bit strange myself. "He just really likes art and you're kind of an artist too...with your fashion stuff. Those designs in your notebook are amazing. I recognized one of them from an outfit you wore last year. I didn't know you designed your own clothes."

Her right eye twitched. "Listen to me, you dirty border rat. Why don't you and your family float away on the raft you came on?"

Elena forced both my arms to stay at my sides, before I could break Hilton's nose a second time. To both Hilton and Jasmine, it looked like I was shaking in anger.

"Don't ever go through my things again. I could make your life so much worse," she said, menacingly. "I doubt Chace would think you're so great if he knew the things I did about your psycho family. Is crazy contagious?"

The only reason that Hilton was not screaming for her mother, with her hands over her bleeding nose, was Elena, who pushed me towards the door. She let go of me once we were back downstairs, a considerable distance from that harpy. The members of the Odyssey Society were in the living room, a group of men except for two women around my mother's age who were laughing at Mr. Hilton's jokes. I recognized the shorter woman as the police officer who had found the white rose on Mr. Mitchell.

"Tessa, welcome. Come, come, no need to be all by yourself," he called, waving me over to him.

He introduced me to the two women, Isabelle Leone and Danica Kim, who had moved to Belmont Falls last year and were recent additions to the club. Isabelle was a member of the police department ("But if you ask Caleb, I'm nothing more than a secretary with a gun. Honestly, he needs to get his head out of his ass," she said, already making her one of my favorite people in this town) while Danica, the more outgoing of the two, owned a chain of high-end boutiques with a part-time hobby as a nature photographer.

I learned that despite not being as adventurous as her other half, she had no problem with putting sexist morons in their place, shutting up Chief Parker when he loudly proclaimed that the trip was unsafe for 'little girls' ("Then there was no reason for you to come, Caleb. Did you bring your blankie with you in case you get scared?").

Parker and his friends were outside, tossing around a football. As he caught the ball, he winked at me and flexed his biceps.

"I see Chace has his eyes on you," said Danica with a sly grin. "You better be careful. He's as charming as his father."

"A toad has more charm than Caleb," remarked Isabelle.

"Oh, there's the queen bit—bee herself. Don't make eye contact, Izzy," she said, covering her face with her hand. "If she doesn't see us—and she did. Cecile, how wonderful to see you."

Principal Hilton and a half dozen women, reminiscent of ducklings with their mother, walked into the room, dressed like she was off to a fashion show. Isabelle muttered that the two women had a strained relationship with the so-called stepford wives of Belmont Falls.

Principal Hilton was more accepting of Danica, with her modelesque appearance and budding fashion empire, though she sometimes slipped in a condescending remark. Isabelle was not as well-liked by the older clique, who she loved to call 'the botox brigade', due to her job. The women did not hide their contempt when they blatantly told Danica that Isabelle was a poor match for a woman of her talents.

"You'd think Dani would be the target of their jokes considering her hair doesn't fit the Belmont Hills mold," she whispered, referring to Danica's ebony pixie cut with dark red highlights. "But she'd never dare insult Dani or else she wouldn't get the inside scoop on the latest fashion crazes."

Danica's voice went up three octaves as she spoke to Principal Hilton. "I see you took my advice on the hair. It looks fabulous."

"You do have a sixth sense about these things," she said, tossing back her crimson curls. "I do wish you would join us at the spa instead, darling. Claire's decided to spend the day with her father and go with him on this silly trip."

An alarm went off in my head at the news of Hilton joining the expedition. My doubts that she had ever spent time outdoors of her own volition were confirmed by Belmont and Elena's dumbfounded expressions. He suggested that I was the reason for her sudden change of heart, possibly planning to shove me off a cliff or feed me to a bear.

Mrs. Hilton's smile fell when she spotted Isabelle. "Hello Isabelle. I would invite you as well but we both know you're not a spa person. You're too busy directing traffic or whatever it is that they have you do at the station."

"Actually, I love a good spa day but Dani likes getting her hands dirty," she replied. "She even insists on competitions after we're done, to see who has the most scrapes. She's won the past three times."

"Past four," corrected Danica. "You should've seen us after the last trip. I needed to take three showers just to get out all the dirt."

"How...interesting," said Principal Hilton, looking seconds away from puking up the single carrot she ate for breakfast.

She shifted the conversation from scraped knees to Danica's trip to New York for a fashion event. The women shrieked like schoolgirls when she mentioned meeting Antonio Vitale, a famous Italian designer who Elena hyperventilated over the mere thought of seeing him in person, and convincing him to host an exclusive fashion show in Belmont Falls.

"Really, we should be thanking Izzy. She made her grandmother's famous tiramisu for a party I went to and he could not stop talking about it," she said with so much love in her voice that it made the petite brunette turn ten different shades of red. "I swear he's just coming here so he can taste more of her cooking, not to show off his newest designs."

Principal Hilton did not share her praise. "Hmm, well, it's just remarkable how well someone like you has done for themselves."

"Someone like me?" ("Here we go," mumbled Isabelle, bracing herself) "What does that mean?"

"I'm sure your parents expected your career to be more...medically-oriented." I internally winced, seeing Danica's lip press tightly together. "Don't misunderstand me, Dani. There's nothing wrong with going against expectations."

Maybe one Hilton was going to get a broken nose. "Oh, I understand you perfectly, Cecile. I have a few thoughts on the subject myself. Would you like to hear—"

Isabelle gasped. "Dani, is that—yes, I think it is him. What a small world. I'm so sorry, Cecile. I see an old friend of ours. Who could imagine that he was part of the club too? He must be a new recruit. A joy talking to you as always."

Taking Danica by the arm, she led her out of the living room to prevent her from making a scene in front of the other guests. Belmont joked that they reminded him of me and Elena, as Danica repeatedly pointed at Principal Hilton and made a few rude gestures.

Before I became my snooty principal's next target, I sneaked out the back door and was greeted by a football zooming towards me. I was about to duck until Belmont raised my arms, allowing me to catch the football before it collided with my face.

"Nice catch, Byrne! Maybe you can replace Danvers on the team. He hasn't made a decent catch all season," joked Parker. I was still hunched down on the ground, my eyes closed. "You okay?"

"I'm having a flashback to when we used to play dodgeball but yeah, I'm good," I said, standing up. "At least I didn't get a bruise. My hands just sting a little."

With a quiet chuckle, he grabbed the football and tossed it back to Danvers, who missed it by a few inches. I was taken aback as he began to lightly massage my hands.

"Does that feel better?"

Elena mocked him, thoroughly unimpressed. "W—what?" I stuttered, going brain dead for a second. ("Your hands," he said, flashing me his signature smile that made plenty girls at school swoon) "Oh, I uh guess so."

My answer earned me a pain in my foot, courtesy of Elena stomping her heel. She insisted that this was one of his many ploys to charm a girl into the backseat of his car.

"Tessa, you're not actually falling for this, are you?" she said, tugging on my ear. "Anyone can rub their fingers back and forth over someone's hands. It's not—"

Her rant was cut off by a screechy "Chace!", followed by Hilton roughly bumping into my shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his neck, like a python constricting its prey, then planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a glittery pink mark.

"Do you like my new blouse? It's a Vitale original," she boasted, spinning around to show every angle of her navy blue blouse with a low back. "My mother bought it for me right after his latest show in Paris. They practically snatched it off the model when she got off the runway."

"That's...cool?" he asked, his eyes darting to me for how to respond but I was just as clueless. "Um, you know that we're going hiking on this trip, right? It's a lot of walking and maybe you should at least change your shoes. Ankle boots and hiking don't usually mix."

"I'll be totes fine. If we get attacked by a bear, you'll be there to protect me. Besides, as if I'd ever dress like Byrne. I like to look good, not poor," she said, disparaging my clothes.

"I think I look good," I shot back, with a shrug. "Will got this for me last year for science pun birthdays."

"Science pun birthdays?" asked Parker, sounding genuinely curious. It was the first time he was ever interested in a conversation involving Will. "What's that?"

"This fun thing we do," I said, explaining one of my favorite traditions. "Every year, our birthday presents have a theme. He loves Star Wars so I got him this shirt that said 'May the force be with you' but instead of the word force, it has the equation and he got me this hoodie."

The hoodie had a picture of a cartoon cat in a box with The Cat in the Box by Dr. Schrodinger written along the side. As I explained how it referenced a famous physics experiment, Belmont and Parker looked at me like I was speaking a different language while Hilton looked as if she would rather be sticking her hand down a garbage disposal than listening to me.

"You're talking physics with three idiots who thought Dr. Pepper was a real doctor? Good luck," mumbled Elena.

I decided to spare their few remaining brain cells from overexerting themselves. "It's easier to understand if you know physics but I like cats too so that's why he got it. The picture kind of looks like my cat Purrsephone so—" My cheeks reddened when Parker sniggered. "I know it's weird. That's what you come up with when you're eight and interested in Greek mythology."

"No, I get it. I like that stuff too." I did not expect him to share that interest. "My dog Polly is actually Apollo but we call him Polly because my mom said it was cuter...and after all these years, she's convinced herself that he's a she."

Claire's upper lip curled. "What are you—oh, finally, someone here who is actually interesting. Rhys won't make me want to throw myself off the roof."

"I heard he's bringing his latest fling. Be nice to this one, Claire," he cautioned. "You had the last girl crying in the bathroom for two hours. Aren't you over Rhys by now?"

"So what's the plan? You can't just ask my brother what he was doing the night I...you know," whispered Belmont.

Several boys wolf whistled, presumably at Rhys's girlfriend. Danvers was particularly crude, joking that he would steal her away if Rhys was not careful.

"Obviously. You said he was a biology major. I can tell him that I'm considering that too and wanted advice," I said, thinking it would be easy to connect with Rhys. "The best strategy is to play it cool. Hilton will be trying to hump Parker behind a tree so there won't be any distrac—"

The hair on the back of my neck stood on the end at the sound of a familiar giggle. Elena and Belmont both clutched their stomachs, seemingly ill. I headed back into the mansion ("Tessa?" asked Parker, confused) and towards the nearest bathroom. My hands on the edges of the porcelain sink, I suddenly felt as if something was crushing my heart.

Hearing the door knob turn, the only sound besides my own heavy breathing, I reached for the closest object: a bar of soap. I lowered it when Garren walked through the door.

"What are you doing here?"

"Your mother told me that you were spending time at Claire's and since I know you two get along about as well as a cobra and a mongoose, it didn't take long for me to figure out the truth. I told Chief Parker that I was interested in joining the club. I was talking to him and Dr. Baxter when I saw you run in here faster than a speeding train. Was it something Claire said?" Ignoring his question, I walked past him and turned the lock. "Tessa, you can talk to me, even if it's not about reaper business. Is Claire—why do you two look so ill?" he asked, seeing Elena on the toilet and Belmont on the floor.

Counting back from one hundred, I handed him my phone. "Ninety seven. I—I need you to call my mom."

The door knob jiggled and seconds later, it swung open, revealing a girl with a bobby pin in her hand, leaning against the frame. She was a couple years older than myself, with sultry chocolate brown eyes that were simultaneously mesmerizing and intimidating and dark red lips. Her dark tresses fell just past her shoulders, her bangs swept to one side to hide the burn mark on the left side of her temple. The only way to truly describe her was every parent's worst nightmare.