Genevieve clung to him, afraid he might disappear into thin air if she let go. The smell brought her back to the moment. The rancid smell of lemons burning, of their lives burning. “We have to head for the river. That’s where Mamma would go. She’d head south toward Aunt Marguerite’s place.” But Ethan never had time to answer. Someone was coming. Branches were cracking like someone was thrashing through the brush.

“Get behind me,” Ethan ordered, pushing Genevieve behind him with one arm and grabbing his rifle with the other. The brush parted and Ivy, Green-brier’s cook, stumbled into view. She was still in her nightgown, black with smoke. She screamed at the sight of the uniform, too frightened to notice it was gray, not blue.

“Ivy, are you all right?” Genevieve rushed forward to catch the old woman, who was already starting to fall.

“Miss Genevieve, what in the world are you doin’ out here?”

“I was tryin’ to get to Greenbrier. To warn y’all.”

“It’s too late for that, child, and it wouldn’t a done no good. Those Blue Birds broke down the doors and walked right into the house, like it was their own. They gave the place the once-over to see what they wanted to take, and then they just started settin’ fires.” It was almost impossible to understand her. She was hysterical, and every few seconds she was wracked with a fit of coughing, choking on both the smoke and her tears.

“In all my life I never seen the likes a devils like that. Burnin’ a house with women in it. Every one a them will have to answer to God Almighty Himself in the hereafter.” Ivy’s voice faltered.

It took a moment for Ivy’s words to register.

“What do you mean burnin’ a house with women in it?”

“I’m so sorry, child.”

Genevieve felt her legs buckle beneath her. She knelt in the mud, the rain running down her face, mixing with her tears. Her mother, her sister, Greenbrier—they were all gone.

Genevieve looked up at the sky.

“God’s the one who’s goin’ to have to answer to me.”

It pulled us out as fast as it had sucked us in. I was staring at the preacher again, and Lena was gone. I could feel her slip away.

Lena?

She didn’t answer. I sat in the church in a cold sweat, sandwiched between Aunt Mercy and Aunt Grace, who were fishing in their purses for change for the collection basket.

Burning a house with women in it, a house lined with lemon trees. A house where I’d bet Genevieve had lost her locket. A locket engraved with the day Lena was born, but over a hundred years before. No wonder Lena didn’t want to see the visions. I was starting to agree with her.

There were no coincidences.

9.14

The Real Boo Radley

Sunday night, I reread The Catcher in the Rye until I felt tired enough to fall asleep. Only I never got tired enough. And I couldn’t read, because reading didn’t feel the same. I couldn’t disappear into the character of Holden Caulfield, because I couldn’t get lost in the story, not the way you need to be, to become somebody else.

I wasn’t alone in my head. It was full of lockets, and fires, and voices. People I didn’t know, and visions I didn’t understand.

And something else. I put the book down and slid my hands behind my head.

Lena? You’re there, aren’t you?

I stared up at the blue ceiling.

It’s no use. I know you’re there. Here. Whatever.

I waited, until I heard it. Her voice, unfolding like a tiny, bright memory in the darkest, furthest corner of my mind.

No. Not exactly.

You are. You have been, all night.

Ethan, I’m sleeping. I mean, I was.

I smiled to myself.

No you weren’t. You were listening.

I was not.

Just admit it, you were.

Guys. You think everything is about you. Maybe I just like that book.

Can you just drop in whenever you want, now?

There was a long pause.

Not usually, but tonight it just sort of happened. I still don’t understand how it works.

Maybe we can ask someone.

Like who?

I don’t know. Guess we’ll have to figure it out on our own. Just like everything else.

Another pause. I tried not to wonder if the “we” spooked her, in case she could hear me. Maybe it was that, or maybe it was the other thing; she didn’t want me to find out anything, if it had to do with her.

Don’t try.

I smiled, and felt my eyes closing. I could barely keep them open.

I’m trying.

I turned out the light.

Good night, Lena.

Good night, Ethan.

I hoped she couldn’t read all my thoughts.

Basketball. I was definitely going to have to spend more time thinking about basketball. And as I thought about the playbook in my mind, I felt my eyes closing, myself sinking, losing control….

Drowning.

I was drowning.

Thrashing in the green water, waves crashing over my head. My feet kicked for the muddy bottom of a river, maybe the Santee, but there was nothing. I could see some kind of light, skimming the river, but I couldn’t get to the surface.

I was going down.

“It’s my birthday, Ethan. It’s happening.”

I reached out. She grabbed at my hand, and I twisted to catch it, but she drifted away, and I couldn’t hold on anymore. I tried to scream as I watched her pale little hand drift down toward the darkness, but my mouth filled with water and I couldn’t make a sound. I could feel myself choking. I was starting to black out.