* * *

Lunch sucked without Tod, but on the bright side, Nash was acting almost normal again, and Sabine seemed to have forgiven him. Luca sat at Sophie’s table, and I couldn’t get him away from her long enough to ask him about Mareth, and I didn’t really want to get into it with my cousin, even if she did know the truth about the things that went bump in the night.

Jayson seemed hyperaware that he didn’t really fit in, so he overcompensated by talking almost nonstop. I tried to participate in the conversation—I really did—but I had very little interest in the baseball team’s season standings, especially since Nash had quit the team, and I couldn’t care less about senior skip day, because I wasn’t a senior, and I wasn’t sure I ever would be.

I’d stopped making assumptions about my future more than a month earlier, when I realized that while there are few guarantees in life, there are even fewer in the afterlife.

I was stirring green peas into my mashed potatoes, poking the lumpy concoction aimlessly, when Emma kicked me beneath the table. Or rather, she tried, but her foot when right through my leg and hit the bottom of the bench instead. And that’s when I realized I was fading out again.

I blinked in surprise and pulled myself back into focus to find everyone at our table staring at me. Including Jayson. “You okay?” he said, frowning at me from across the table. “You look kinda pale.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” One more second, and I would have looked transparent. “What were we talking about?”

“Prom,” Emma said.

“And how thoroughly absent some of us will be,” Sabine added.

“You have to go,” Em insisted. “It’s your senior prom. Why don’t you want to go?”

“I don’t do dresses.”

“Nash.” Em leaned forward to see him around Sabine. “Tell her she has to go. Senior prom only happens once.”

“Actually, I’m failing three classes right now, so there’s a good chance it’ll happen twice for me. And it’ll probably take me that whole year to talk her into wearing a dress.” He grinned, like that was a joke, but only Jayson laughed.

“You’re failing three classes?” I couldn’t believe it. Nash was an honor student. He’d been ranked twelfth in the senior class at midterms.

He glanced at the table, then met my gaze, his own swirling with some complicated blend of regret and melancholy. “It’s been a rough semester.”

“He’s just behind on a few assignments, but his teachers are all working with him,” Sabine said, and I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around the fact that she was passing both junior and senior English in one year to graduate on time, but Nash was suddenly failing.

“I can still turn in myhistory term paper for ninety percent credit, and if I ace that and my final, I’ll pull a B for the year,” Nash said. He’d lose his ranking, but he’d graduate. Assuming his other teachers were that generous.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, staring at the table.

“Kay, it’s not your fault,” Nash insisted.

“It’s kind of her fault,” Sabine said, and she was right. When he and I started going out, Nash had been an athlete and an honor student. He’d had several options for college, and scholarships had been a strong possibility. But I’d ruined all that for him. I’d turned him into an addict, then abandoned him, cheated on him, dumped him, and framed him for murder. No wonder he was failing. It was a miracle he hadn’t quit school entirely, instead of just the baseball team.

“No, I made my own mess and I can still clean it up,” Nash said, and for the first time in a long time, I believed him.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, please tell me,” I said. And I meant it.

“Thanks,” Nash said, and he meant that, too.

* * *

I made it through English without disappearing in my chair, and Em and I were just starting a pairs translation exercise in French when Madeline materialized next to my chair and nearly scared me to death. Er, deeper into death. Or whatever.

“Time to go to work,” she said, and to keep from looking crazy, I had to direct my response to Em instead of the empty air everyone else would see where Madeline was standing.

“No, it’s time to translate conversational French.”

“What?” Em frowned. But she didn’t look entirely surprised by my random declaration. She was getting used to me talking to people who weren’t obviously present.

“Creepy undead employer at three o’clock,” I said, so that only Madeline and Em could hear me.

Em stiffened and glanced to the side out of habit, but her gaze passed right over Madeline, who was only visible to me.

“Now,” Madeline said, and I exhaled in frustration.

“Sorry to bail on you, Em, but I have to go confiscate a stolen soul from some horrible Netherworld monster. If I’m not back when the bell rings, could you grab my books?”

Emma’s eyes widened, but she nodded, so I grabbed the bathroom pass and mouthed the word emergency to Mrs. Brown on my way out of the classroom. Then I faded from the physical plane in the empty hall and followed Madeline to the quad, where Luca waited for us both at our lunch table.

“She got to you, too, huh?” I said, sliding onto the bench seat across from him.

“Actually, I called her.” Luca grinned. “I’m vomiting from a possible case of food poisoning. You?”