When we got back to Pagan's house, we once again went our separate ways. Sleep was out of the question, so I spent the rest of the afternoon holed up in Pagan's bedroom, pacing the floor, my thoughts full of terrifying images of banshees and the undead. I now regretted every scary movie I had ever watched.

I wasn't sure what Luke was up to, but at some point, he pounded on the bedroom door, and when I answered, he shoved a plate and a mug into my hands. The plate held a ham and cheese sandwich and a large portion of potato salad, and the mug was full of hot chocolate. I wasn't hungry but knew I needed to eat. It would be foolish of me to face whatever challenges the night would bring on an empty stomach. I choked down the food and barely noticed the taste as I finished off the hot chocolate.

As the afternoon went on, the room became chilly, cut off from the main source of heat. I went through Pagan's closet and borrowed a heavy gray sweater. And then I began to pace again.

I walked, lost in my thoughts as shadows slid across the wood floor. Soon the room became so dark I had to switch on a light. I looked over at the clock and realized in a moment of panic that it was almost eleven o'clock at night.

I would be doing another terrifying ritual soon.

I made my way to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. I stared in the mirror; I could see the edges of dark bruises peeking above the sweater's high neckline. I pulled back the collar and studied my neck. Most of the soreness was fading, but dark purple and red marks still lingered at the base of my throat. I looked closer and realized they were in the shape of fingers. Luke's fingers. Marks from where his hands had encircled my neck and squeezed.

I closed my eyes and tried to quash the panic rising from the pit of my stomach. In the first ritual, he killed me. Strangled me. And now we were about to embark on the second ritual. What horrors would this trial bring? My hand moved across the surface of my neck. I flinched in pain.

Possession. Communicating with the spirits. Darla had said each ritual was worse than the last. Each one was a terror that caused her brother nightmares for months.

How bad is it going to get?

The old traveler had warned me. She'd told me that the protection pouch would help me. Where was it? Had I brought it with me, or did I leave it back at the magic shop? I scrambled to the closet and pulled out Darla's suitcase. I rummaged through the case until my fingers brushed across velvet material. There it was, at the bottom of the suitcase. I pulled it out. I untied the leather wrapped several times around the top of the pouch and looped it around my neck, tying the ends together so the pouch hung down against my chest. It would protect me. I suddenly felt more at ease.

I physically jumped when the door suddenly burst open. Luke stood in the doorway, a grim expression on his face. He held up a white dress. "It's time. You need to put this on."

I stood, arching an eyebrow at the garment in his hand. "You want me to wear that?"

"Yes, you need to wear this for the ritual." His eyes went to my neck. He pointed at the pouch. "You can't wear that."

My hands wrapped protectively around it. "Why not? The traveler gave it to me. She said it would keep me safe."

"It's blessed in a way that protects you, yes. You can still hear the spirits and communicate with them, but it gives you a layer of defense against them."

"Defense against the spirits sounds like a good idea."

"To truly communicate with the dead, you need to be wide open. You have to be vulnerable. The whole point of this next ritual is to blow all those doors that are normally closed in your mind wide open. Doors that most people want to stay closed."

I nodded, and with trembling hands, untied the pouch and let it drop to the bed.

Luke looked at me, his expression full of regret. "I'm sorry. You know this isn't easy for either one of us. I understand if you've changed your mind."

I couldn't back out now that I was aware of the spirits but unable to control them. Spending the rest of my life at their mercy was not an option.

I held out my hand. "Let's get this over with."

He handed me the dress. "I'll be in the living room. Everything is just about ready."

"I won't take long. I'll be out soon. And Luke," I straightened my shoulders and met his gaze square on, "I'm ready, I truly am. I'm ready for whatever comes next."

He jerked his chin down in semblance of a nod and left.

I stood, staring at the closed door. I am ready.

But was I really?

I'd changed my clothes and now wore the white shift dress. The material was thin and even though a fire blazed in the hearth, I still felt cold.

Luke had rearranged the living room and pushed all the furniture to the sides of the room. A wooden chair surrounded by burning black candles stood in the center. On one side of the circle of candles was a pile of thick rope.

"I don't quite understand what's going to happen," I whispered.

"We are calling on the dead."

I couldn't keep the discomfort I felt from showing on my face. "And my outfit?"

"Part of the ritual. It's tradition. Goes back hundreds of years. Something along the lines of a virginal journey into the underworld."

Like a bride. It sounded twisted. You'd think a guild of people who wear mostly black would be the last group to sport white, the color of purity. But what I was doing was far, far from anything pure—far from anything that came from the light.

Luke stood in front of me. "I know traditions sometimes don't make sense, but the elders have done it this way for centuries. Look, if you're uncomfortable, go back and change into something else."

He'd taken my silence for disapproval, but I was willing to follow his direction. "No, I don't want to buck the system. If this is how it's done, this is how we'll do it." Honestly, the outfit was the least of my worries—what concerned me most was the rope he bent down and picked up. "You aren't planning on hanging me, right?"

He ignored my question and started to walk around the chair. "Now, after the cemetery ritual, you're wide open for the dead. Think of yourself as an empty vessel. Like water pours into a cup, a spirit will pour into you." He continued. "That's why we aren't doing this ritual at the cemetery—there are too many souls there waiting to be set free, clamoring for the use of your body. It could overpower you forever. There are maybe one or two spirits roaming close by this location."

At the words a spirit will pour into you, I felt my blood run cold. "And what happens to me?"

"You're still in there. Your spirit and the dead will share the same space. One of the things you'll learn, with training, is how to stay in control. To make sure the spirit doesn't overpower you."

I did not like the sound of this. "If that's something I'll learn, that means this time the spirit will overpower me?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"And the rope?"

"The rope is to keep you safe. I have to tie you to the chair, restrain you. As you train and learn you'll be able to decide which spirit you will allow to possess you. They're always around, forever floating on the ether sea. When you call them to you, you don't know who'll show up, it could be something with good intentions or something evil. As you get more practice, you'll be able to figure out who's around you, and you'll be able to choose whom to let in."

"Since I can't choose, something might come and possess me that's evil?" I said my eyes going to the rope again.

He studied me before answering. "It's possible." Luke tried to look reassuring. "By tying you to the chair, I'm keeping us both safe."

"How much control will this spirit have over me?" I asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"At first it will be able to overpower you and push the very essence of your being back. It will be able to control your mind and your limbs. It will speak through your lips. It will move using your body."

"Terrific," I muffled. Being tied up was starting to sound like a good idea. "How will I make the spirit go away?"

"You won't be strong enough yet to do it all on your own. That's why I'm here to guide you through the ritual. I'll be able to help you banish the spirit."

"And if you can't?" I asked.

He gave me a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I can."

I was starting to understand why so few people went into the Death Arts. You had to be more than a little bit insane to agree to be killed and then possessed.

I looked over at Luke and wondered why he'd chosen this life. "You never had the urge to turn your back on the family tradition and become a baker? Or a mechanic?"

A ghost of a smile flashed across his face. "Never."

"How did your first possession go?" I asked. I realized I was bidding for more time before I had to start the ritual. But honestly, I was interested in what happened to him when he went through the same thing.

His expression became more intense. "It was like swimming in the sea against the current. It's not painful, if that's what you're worried about."

My fingers drifted again to the bruises on my neck.

He noticed my reaction. "Those bruises should be gone in a day or two. I promise, you can count on me. I'll keep you safe."

I sat in the chair, and he tied my hands behind my back with a length of rope. The rough threads cut into my flesh. He pulled gently on the knot. "It needs to be tight enough to hold whatever may come through, but if it's too tight, let me know."

Next, he tied each of my legs to a chair leg. And last he attached a length around my waist. He tugged on all the ropes again. Satisfied, he moved back in front of me. "How are you doing?"

I shook my hair out of my eyes with a toss of my head. "Go ahead. Do it. Let's get this over with."

***