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“True. I honestly don’t know why they haven’t taken you out.” He picked up his cappuccino. “But I can only assume you’re more useful to them alive than dead.”

“For now, you mean.”

Simon’s cup stopped halfway to his lips. “Yeah. For now.”

I
couldn’t sleep that night, waiting for Zachary’s parents to call me. Their plane would land in Glasgow in early morning, which meant two or three a.m. here. Would they call me right away, or wait until they thought I was awake? Wouldn’t they know I’d stay awake until they called?

The first thing I’d ask Ian was whether I should trust Simon, and whether the young agent’s warning could be true. I still had trouble believing that the Department of Metaphysical Purity—or at least some part of it—wanted to kill me. But maybe MI-X knew worse things about the DMP than I did.

Giving up on sleep, I slipped out of bed and put on an old pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. It was warm out, but where I was going, there’d probably be mosquitoes.

Carrying my shoes, I tiptoed down the hall past Gina’s room. As
I reached the stairs, she gave an extra-loud, snorty snore, the kind that made me wonder if she had sleep apnea and would have a heart attack one night and never wake up. Not that I’m morbid much.

I stood on the top step, toes hanging over and twitching in the air as I decided what to do. Finally, I went to her door and pushed it open.

She came instantly alert, mom-style. “Yeah! What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Aw, hon. Did you want to sleep in here with me?”

“No, thanks. I’m not tired.”
I’m also not four years old.
“I need to take the car.”

She squinted at the red digits of her nightstand clock. “It’s midnight. Where are you going?” When I told her, she shook her head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s safe up there.”

“Maybe. But driving between here and the highway is definitely not safe for a girl on her own.”

“I could’ve snuck out.”

“You think I don’t keep track of the odometer? That’s the first thing they teach in Surviving a Teenager 101.”

I sighed at her patronizing joke. “Gina, I need to go. Can’t you understand why?”

“Of course I can.” She threw back the sheet. “Which is why I’m coming with you.”

On our way to Farmer Frank’s wheat field, where Zachary and I had spent one night a month mapping stars for Eowyn, I found the nerve to ask Aunt Gina about my dad.

Indirectly.

“Why did my mom want to go to Ireland so bad? And why Newgrange at the solstice? Did she hear about it and think, ‘Wow, that sounds cool’?”

“Sort of.” The blue dashboard light cast shadows on Gina’s smile lines. “You remember that guy Anthony I told you about? The one who—”

“Took care of Mom the first time she had cancer.”
And who you had an affair with.

“Right. He used to teach European history at Saint Joe’s. He’d been to Newgrange—not for the solstice like your mom, but on a summer tour of Ireland the school did with some students. By the way, put that on your list of colleges. With your grades, it’ll be a solid safety school.”

“Uh-huh.” I hadn’t yet told Gina that if by some miracle I could afford a college I couldn’t commute to, it would be a lot farther away than Saint Joseph’s University in Philadelphia. More like University of Hawaii or Arizona. Somewhere the stars were even brighter than where we were going tonight.

After marveling at the clear, dark sky above the field, then breaking into a sneezing fit from the pollen, Gina retreated back inside our car to read a book.

I spread a blanket on the grass next to the field, in the exact spot Zachary had laid it Saturday night, then sat on it off-center, as though he would join me.

Which he did, but only in my memory.

We lie on our backs, staring up at the stars. Zachary grips my left hand firmly inside his right, as if I’ll float away into the sky.

“See that there?” With his free hand, he points to the far right stars of the Big Dipper, then traces through Draco up to Cepheus. “I declare a new constellation—Principal Hirsch’s head.”

“Wow, yeah, it’s got his hairline and comb-over and everything. Okay, starting with Deneb, going over to Andromeda’s butt, and then all of Pegasus? That is now officially Guy Getting Parking Ticket.”

“Brilliant,” he said. “I see it, I do. But sadly, that overlaps with my signature constellation, Cinnamon-Raisin Bagel.”

“You have your mythology, I’ll have mine.”

“It’s best we agree, so when I’m far away, we can see the same things in the sky. It’ll be like now, only without the snogging.”

Like now, only without the happiness.

“The snogging’s important.” I roll on my side and tug on the tail of his dark green polo shirt, wanting to slip my hand under but stopped by a lingering, inexplicable shyness. “It’s the part we didn’t have for so long.”

“It was torture.” He turns his head to face me but stays on his back. “And if it’s all we think about for six months, we’ll die of frustration.”

The huskiness of his voice makes me want to risk frustration-death just to kiss him right now. I’m already regretting our decision to wait until December to make love. Out here, under the stars, it’d be perfect.

Perfect, except for the rampant mosquitoes and the fact that if a car drove by on the nearby lane, we’d have about ten seconds’ warning to get dressed.

He looks at the sky again, long lashes silhouetted against the wheat’s pale background. “That’s why we need the distraction of Cinnamon-Raisin Bagel.”

“You mean Guy Getting Parking Ticket.”

Zachary laughs. “A’right, then. Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” I snuggle against his shoulder. “Anything?”

He curls his arm around me. “Anything. When we’ve finished our sky.”

But he’s not watching the sky anymore. He rolls on his side and presses his forehead to mine. Our bodies meld together, head to toe.

“We can’t see the sky now,” I whisper.

“Yes, we can.” He kisses the spot between my brows. “Close your eyes.”

I do, and imagine the darkness above us. Lying here with Zachary, I’ve never felt so connected to the sky and the earth.

“Now, then. The beauty of my bagel constellation is that the Milky Way runs through it, making the streaks of cinnamon.”

I see it in my mind, the lacy arm of our galaxy stretching in a north-south arc over the sky. “I can’t see the Milky Way from the city. Too much light pollution.”

“Then you’ll have to come out here to look at it.” He slides the backs of his fingers down my arm, creating a tingling path. “I’ll go out to the country side when I can. If it’s late, I’ll phone you so we can see it together.”

The idea warms me almost as much as his touch. “Do you know where you’ll be living?”

“I hope we can stay in Glasgow for Dad’s treatments. It’s been years since we lived there. I miss it.” He sighs, fluttering the hair at my temple. “But not as much as I’ll miss America.”

His words make the air seem heavy. It’ll be hard for him to get a visa to come back, after the trouble he made for the DMP last night, diverting them so that Logan’s concert could continue.

Despair settles into my stomach. If I want to see Zachary, I’ll have to
go overseas, maybe even stay there. I’m dying to travel, but this is my home.

I trace Zachary’s thumb with my own, trying to memorize the lines of his knuckles and correspond them to the lines of the constellations. “You win. I’ll give you Cinnamon-Raisin Bagel, as a going-away gift.”

He chuckles, his chest vibrating against mine. “Thanks.”

“As a bonus, I’ll give a special companion constellation.” I shift half onto my back, let go of his hand, and point to a random group of stars. “A toaster.”

“Ah, brilliant.” His fingertips glide slowly up my raised arm. “Can I tell you a wee secret?”

“Ooh.” His secrets were rarely shared and always juicy. “What is it?”

“I prefer my bagels untoasted.”

I bring my arm down, jabbing an elbow into his ribs. Zachary cries out, half laugh, half
oof.

We start to wrestle, and he lets me win. Then we start to kiss, and we let each other win.

For tonight, we are finished with the sky, and the earth, and everything but each other.

I stretched my arms above me, feeling strength return. Hearing Zachary’s voice in my memory was like food for my mind and soul. In the same way I couldn’t take an exam on an empty stomach, I hadn’t been able to think straight all day. But now my head was starting to clear, and for the first time since the crash, my thoughts weren’t drowned in panic.

I spoke to the stars. “What do I do, Zach? How do I save you?”

No one answered, of course. No one could, but me.

If Zachary were in my shoes, he’d work the problem logically,
eliminating the implausible choices until the right one remained. (If he couldn’t fight his way to get to me.)

Simon had told me not to do anything foolish. He’d also said to learn new information. But what could I discover that highly trained special agents couldn’t?

Then it hit me.
I can talk to ghosts.
From my work at the law firm translating for the dead—not to mention having had a ghost boyfriend for months—I could calm almost any spirit long enough to find out what I needed.

I didn’t yet know exactly how to end Zachary’s misery. But I had an idea where to start.

Z
achary’s parents called me on my “private” red phone the following morning while I was working at my aunt’s office. Ian confirmed that Simon had been assigned to protect and assist me, but I couldn’t get far enough away from my coworkers to ask about the DMP’s death wish for me.

Knowing that the Moores were safe, and that Ian was linked into MI-X enough to know about Simon, made me feel less alone, and more confident for what I was trying next.

That night I arrived at the McConnell Funeral Home to find the front door locked, with a paper sign taped to it.

TONIGHT’S VIEWINGS ARE PRIVATE. PLEASE RESPECT THE WISHES OF THE VICTIMS’ FAMILIES.

Under the plea were details for the Flight 346 public memorial
service, to be held at the World Trade Center Plaza at the Inner Harbor the following night.

Despite the announcement, dozens had gathered in the funeral home parking lot holding candles and laying flowers. As I peered through the glass door, I heard the first strains of “Amazing Grace” begin behind me.

Mrs. McConnell was hurrying through the lobby, looking harried but still dressed to perfection in a tailored gray suit. I tapped the glass, and she trotted over to unlock the door.

“Aura, thanks for coming to help.” She ushered me in, giving a polite wave to the mourners. “Megan’s in the office assembling programs. Our folding machine broke, and we can’t have them done at the copy shop, in case details of the funerals are leaked to the public.”

“Makes sense. I’m glad I could help.” I felt a little guilty, since that wasn’t the main reason I was here.

She sped off, and I headed for the office, passing through the lush foyer, where even the walls were upholstered in silk. Down the hallway lined by viewing rooms, pastoral paintings with gilded frames loomed over tables accented with lifelike decorative plants.

There’d been a time when I would often drop by the funeral home to visit Megan at work. Death hadn’t bothered me much back then, and since the building was almost totally BlackBoxed, it had felt like a ghost-free sanctuary.

Then Logan died. He’d appeared as a ghost right after his death, but then disappeared. Everyone thought he’d passed on. So the night of his viewing here, looking at his dead body, I thought I’d never see him again.

Now Logan really was gone. Videos and photos were all I had left. And the memories, which stabbed at me as I veered away from the room where he’d lain on display.

I knocked on the office door. It opened a crack to reveal the darkness inside.

“Is she here?” I whispered.

Megan placed a finger to her lips, then stepped back and swung the door wide.

“Oh my God,” said the fourteen-year-old girl on the sofa. “You weren’t kidding. It’s Aura freaking Salvatore.”

Through her violet glow, a clear quartz summoner disc shone on the sofa’s center cushion. The funeral home used it so that their ghost clients could relate their final wishes.

I stepped closer to see her better. The design on her shirt came into focus: the skull-and-shamrock logo of Logan’s punk band, the Keeley Brothers. “Tammi Teller.”

“Yeah,” she sneered at me. “How’d you know?”

My boyfriend is in DMP custody, thanks to your big mouth.
“You’ve been on TV a lot.”

“I’m famous now. All I had to do was get on a plane that landed, like, seven hours too soon.” She crossed her ethereal arms. “I can’t believe I’m in the same room with Logan Keeley’s slutty ex-girlfriend.”