"It doesn't need to be precisely on the stroke of twelve," Cortez said. "That, I fear, is a romantic, yet illogical embellishment. Illogical because-"

"Because the 'stroke of twelve,' according to someone's watch, probably won't be dead-on." I glanced at the graves near my feet. "Sorry, folks. No pun intended."

"So what does it mean, then?" Savannah asked.

"Simply that you must gather the dirt in the dead of night-" He looked around. "That is to say, roughly at midnight, give or take an hour or so."

"Well, I'm not hanging around," I said. "If I can grab it now, I'm doing that and getting out of here."

"Go ahead," Cortez said. "I see some juniper over there. I'll gather that, then stand watch partway up the hill."

"Don't you think it's spooky out here?" Savannah asked as we tramped up the hill, having left Cortez behind.

"Peaceful, actually. Very peaceful."

"Do you think that's what it's like when you die? Peaceful?"

"Maybe."

"Kinda boring, don't you think?"

I smiled over at her. "Yes, I suppose so. Maybe just a little peace, then. A break."

"Before what?'

I shrugged.

"Come on, Paige. What do you think happens? After all this."

"I'll tell you what I'd like to happen. I'd like to come back."

"Reincarnation?"

"Sure. Come back and do it all over again. All the good and all the bad. That's what I'd want for my eternity."

"Do you believe what they say? That you keep coming back with the same people? All the people you cared about?"

"It would be nice, don't you think?"

She nodded. "Yeah, that would be nice."

We climbed in silence to the top of the hill. When we got there, Savannah paused.

"Do you hear that?"

I stopped. "What?"

"Voices. Like whispers."

"I hear the wind."

I started forward again, but she grabbed my arm.

"No, really, Paige. Listen. I hear whispering."

The wind rustled through the trees. I shivered.

"Okay," I said. "Now you're scaring me. So much for a peaceful walk."

She grinned. "Sorry. I guess it is just the wind. Hey, what if Leah's necromancer buddy followed us here? This place would be even worse than the funeral parlor, wouldn't it?"

"Thanks for bringing that up."

"Oh, I'm kidding. There's no one here. Look." She turned and gestured at the vista beyond the hill. "You can see all the way to the entrance. Nobody's there. Anyway, Lucas is guarding the path. He's an okay sorcerer. Not great, but at least he could shout and warnus."

"Sure, but Leah would probably knock him unconscious before he finished whatever he was trying to shout."

Cortez's voice floated up on the still night air. "I can hear you perfectly well. This is a cemetery. There isn't much in the way of noise interference."

"Sorry," I called down.

"Did you hear me, too?" Savannah asked.

"The part about me being an 'okay sorcerer'? 'Not great'? No, I believe I missed that."

"Sorry."

A sound floated up, something suspiciously like a chuckle. "Quiet down and get moving before we learn whether it really is possible to make enough noise to wake the dead."

"What are we putting the dirt in?" Savannah asked as we approached the trees surrounding Mott's grave.

I took a sandwich bag from my pocket.

"A Baggie?" she said.

"A Ziploc Baggie."

"You're putting grave dirt in a Ziploc? Shouldn't we have a fancy bottle or something?"

"I thought of bringing a jam jar, but it could break."

"A jam jar? What kind of witch are you?"

"A very practical one."

"What if the Baggie breaks?"

I reached into my pocket and pulled out another one. "Backup Baggie."

Savannah shook her head.

I pushed through the cedars. Three graves lay in the cup formed by the U. I didn't need to check the headstones to find Mott's. The fresh dirt had not yet been covered with sod. Perfect.

I took a small trowel from my coat pocket, bent over, and was blinded by a sudden glare of light. As I stumbled backward into Savannah, I dowsed my light ball. Yet the light was still there. Someone was shining a flashlight into our faces.

Savannah started an incantation, but I clapped my hand over her mouth before she could finish.

"See?" a woman's voice said. "It is her. I told you so."

The flashlight dropped and I found myself standing before four people, ranging in age from college-bound to mid-retirement.

"Wow," whispered the youngest, a woman with rings through her lower lip. "It's the witch from the newspapers."

"I'm not-" I cut off the denial. "What are you doing here?"

"Seems we should ask you the same thing," a twenty-something man in a ball cap said.

An older woman, the one who'd spoken first, shushed him. "She's here for the same reason we are."

"To find the treasure?" the man said.

She glared at him. "To communicate with the spirit world."

"Is it true you saw her rise from the dead?" the younger woman asked, pointing at Mott's grave "That is so cool. What was it like? Did she say anything?"