As for Jeremy, I couldn't wait for rescue. Not this time.

"Hope. Hope!"

She mumbled something, her eyes still closed. I drew back my hand and slapped her. She started awake, eyes wide and unseeing, kicking and flailing.

"Hope! Stop-"

Her foot connected with my shin.

"Ow. It's me. It's-"

Fingernails raked across my cheek, coming dangerously close to my eye. I grabbed her by the wrists, pinned them at her sides and leaned over her.

"Hope, it's me, Jaime. I know it's dark and you can't see anything, but we're in trouble and I need you to listen."

I TOLD her what had happened. As I spoke, she just lay there, not reacting. I explained why I'd hit her with the gun. I told her about our solid concrete cell. I even pointed out the drain, its purpose and what that probably said about why we were in here. She sat through it all, unflinching.

At first, I chalked it up to steady nerves. Or maybe shock. But then I realized she hardly seemed to be listening. She could hear me-I made sure of that several times. But her gaze kept sliding around the room, as if I was chatting about something as inconsequential as dinner plans.

She seemed dopey too, unable or unwilling to sit up. When I asked how she was, she motioned for me to keep talking.

Her gaze darted about the room, like me in a room of ghosts, my attention pulled every which way. I realized then what was distracting her: visions of murder, of human sacrifice. I had to get her out of here.

Easier to say…

"So we're trapped in this room," I said. "Unless you've got some secret power I don't know about, something that will knock down walls…"

She blinked, focusing on me, then shook her head.

I turned to the ghosts. The boy had faded again. I waited for him to return.

"You two were killed in here, weren't you? By these people?"

The boy nodded. "They talked about there being others before me. Kids, I think. But they aren't here. It was just me until Murray came along."

So why weren't the children here? There was no sense asking him, so I just said, "And your name is?"

"Brendan."

"Good. Okay, Brendan, tell me everything you know about these people."

NORMALLY, A ghost doesn't remember the circumstances surrounding his death unless you intercept him before he gets to the afterlife realms. But these ghosts had never crossed over, so they hadn't been granted postdeath amnesia, and they remembered everything.

I relayed Brendan's experience to Hope, partly in hopes that she'd catch some clue I missed, but mostly just to distract her from the visions.

I plucked every potentially useful tidbit from his story. We were in a basement. There was a TV room nearby, plus a small bedroom. The house was inBrentwood, probably close enough to where I'd been staying for the group to transport the bodies.

From Brendan's account, there were at least five members. May was one of the leaders, working closely with a middle-aged man. They'd introduced themselves as a couple, but that was probably a front. None of Brendan's descriptions matched Rona Grant or Zack Flynn, but that didn't mean anything. May had said there were more members of the Ehrich Weiss Society, so we just hadn't seen any overlap except for her.

As for getting some idea of what they were capable of, the only spell Brendan had seen them cast was the weakening one. When he finished, I turned to the older man-Murray.

"So you were killed after Brendan?"

He nodded, his head down. A hell of a thing to put someone through, but I had to do it, so I pushed on.

"How were you approached?"

He hesitated. "I-I don't remember. It's all very foggy. I was at work and then… That's all I remember from that day. I woke up here, like Brendan."

He shot a furtive glance at the boy, as if worrying about what effect his death had on him, but Brendan said, "I didn't see it. I was blacked out. It happens a lot when they're doing magic in here."

I relayed that to Hope. During Brendan's account, she'd barely seemed to be listening, but now she went still, as if struggling to pay attention.

"So he was sacrificed?" she said. "Like the boy?"

"Right."

I gave her a quick recap of Brendan's story. She looked confused, but waved for me to continue questioning Murray. She listened as I relayed the story of his death, his tale almost identical to Brendan's, offering no new insight.

As he finished, Hope moaned and began writhing on the floor. I knelt beside her. Her face was ashen, eyes rolling back.

"They-they must have done something to me," she whispered. "I-I feel sick. Something…"

Her voice dropped and I had to lean closer.

"He's lying," she whispered.

"Wha-?"

"Shhh. The older one. Murray. He's lying."

Her voice was so low I struggled to make out the words.

"He wasn't burned. They stabbed him in the back. He was one of them. They turned on him." She swallowed. "I'm sorry I'm not much help. I'm… having a hard time."

I squeezed her shoulder. "You focus on blocking the visions and I'll get us out of here."

Her gaze dipped, cheeks flushing.

I couldn't imagine what it was like for her. Seeing ghosts in their death bodies was nothing compared to seeing them in their death throes. I'd never complain about seeing a death body again.

Death body…