“You’ve already done it three times, to things you feared less. Push all of your fear and rage—”
Puck broke off as the Abraham-thing rushed him—rushed us—again. I took a step back out of instinct and emitted a shriek of horror. Abraham’s shape—taller, lankier, with long alien limbs—ran at Puck, seemingly free of its bonds. Puck dug his feet into the sand and pumped his open palm toward the thing again.
“Towards the ocean,” I shouted.
Puck didn’t need any clarification.
Abraham leaped at us. Puck and I—pushed. It didn’t bloom inside of me—I didn’t feel a wash of incredible power. Just a feeling of sudden exertion, like bursting into a run or doing a pull-up. Abraham didn’t lift this time—one second he was loping at us with those weird, long limbs—the next he was pulled sideways, dragged across the sand. A huge plume of grey shot up, but the surf doused the sound of his shrieks. We plunged his glowing body into the waves.
The ground shook, and a boom like thunder rolled across the beach.
Then there was nothing. I watched the churning tide, my eyes scanning the foaming peaks and valleys.
“H-how can we do…that?” I whispered.
Puck stood still beside me.
“Because we’re ghosts, right? That old…moving the table trick? Slamming the cupboards? Making Aunt Fanny’s tea jump out of her hand, right?”
Puck made the see-saw gesture again—ugh, I wanted to kill him. Again? God, I didn’t even know if he was dead. If I was—
It wasn’t until Morgan touched me on the shoulder that I turned away from the ocean.
“What...what—?”
Her face twisted in confusion, and her eyes rolled up white. She passed out and hit the sand with a wet whump.
Zack looked up from the mess he’d made in the sand, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and frowned. When he spoke, he sounded genuinely disappointed.
“Why didn’t I think of that?”
Zack didn’t say much while Puck and I tried to wake up Morgan. That was probably a good thing—I was kind of freaked out at the eerie look of calm on Zack’s face. One minute he’d been standing on the lawn of Benny’s house, watching us fight some crazy guy. A second later, he was on a beach, watching his crush—God, hopefully—being menaced by a nine-foot gangling light-monster. All in all, I think Morgan reacted with the most sanity by checking out.
I glanced at Zack, watching the smooth lines of his too-relaxed face as he scanned the sea of endless grey. Maybe he had checked out too.
“Lucy?” Zack said.
I nodded to Puck, who leaned over Morgan and did his best to wake her. I walked over to Zack and sat down. The sand was wet under my butt, and I was pretty sure my cute skirt was ruined, and worse, see-through. If it was, Zack didn’t seem to notice.
“Zack. I don’t know what to s—I didn’t mean this. To, to bring you guys here. Wherever here is. I—”
I stopped. My voice was breaking down, and so was I. I clamped a hand over my eyes, took a deep breath, and leaned forward across my knees, mimicking Zack’s pose. I could feel him breathing next to me, steadily. I could feel his warmth, just inches away.
“Lucy,” Zack said. “I’m sorry about the party.”
Whoa. Brake lights.
“W-what?”
I took a deep breath, trying to still the hysterical note in my voice.
“I just wish…I’m sorry about the fight. And about Wanda.”
I pulled my hands away from my eyes and looked up at him.
“Zack, I don’t think you’re okay.”
“Oh, I know I’m not okay,” Zack said, and presented the beach in front of him with a sweeping gesture. “I just hope Wanda is going to be okay.”
“Zack.”
“Lucy,” he said, and turned to me. “I’m glad I’m here with you. If it had to be anyone.”
I rubbed my face, trying to get feeling into my cold cheeks. He thought...well of course he did. God, what had I thought, the first time I’d woken up here? What did I think now? I looked at Puck, and he seemed to be listening to our conversation.
“Zack, I don’t think you’re dead.”
I looked at Puck while I said it, and he nodded. Oh thank God.
“But this—we were fighting that guy. Did he have a gun or something?”
I sighed, “Zack, you aren’t dead.”
At that moment, a huge wave crashed against the shore. It didn’t help make my point, I’ll be honest. I reached across the insurmountable gap, the one between two nervous teenagers, and grabbed his hand with mine. I almost yelped—his hand burned me, like it had just come out of an oven. Zack sucked in a breath.
“Jeez, Luce, you’re freezing.”
He threw an arm over my shoulder and pulled me in tight next to him. He rubbed my shoulder vigorously—I sighed and tucked in close to him. The heat baked me, and I shivered against the sudden influx of warmth.
“You are freakishly warm,” I said. I knew why, or at least I thought I did, but I didn’t want to think about it.
“Pretty good for a dead—”
“You aren’t dead.”
“How do you—?”
“Trust me,” I said.
“Luce. Where the hell are we?”
I laughed. Truth was, “Well—”
I flrrrppped my tongue in an epic raspberry and shrugged.
He smiled, said nothing, and leaned his head against mine.
We sat in blissful silence. Every part where we touched—shoulder, arm, hip, leg, calf, cheek—I tried to memorize. To note every detail, every curve, every twitch of muscle. To absorb his nearness, to keep it forever. I could have painted Zack’s body blindfolded.
A little something flashed in my mind—my phone had gone off, right before Abraham had showed up at Benny’s. I dug my phone out of my purse and brought up the message menu. Sure enough, a text message, from my mystery-texter.
Bad Bad Vibes, Luce.
I Think He Might Be Near.
I growled and turned my phone off. That was extremely helpful. No shit he was near. Still though—who could possibly be sending the messages? It wasn’t Puck, and it wasn’t Abraham. It couldn’t be Zack or Morgan. Who else could know what was going on? And why the sudden interest in my safety?
Morgan mumbled something, and I woke up and looked over my shoulder. She was sitting up, her blonde hair covered with wet grey sand. She stared up at the sky, then at the ocean. Then at me. I took a deep breath.
“What?” she asked. “Luce?”
I disentangled myself, reluctantly, from Zack’s embrace and skidded across the sand to her side. I wish I’d been surprised by the heat of her hand when I squeezed it with mine. She hissed reflexively the instant I touched her skin—just like ice, I’ll bet. The cold of the grave? Ugh. I needed clichés like a hole in the head. Or another hole in the stomach.
“Morgan—you aren’t dead. Okay? Nobody is d…”
I stopped and looked up at Puck, and bless him—he didn’t make that see-saw gesture.
“…dead. We’re just, a little lost, okay?”
Puck stood up, suddenly, jerking to his full height with a stiff sense of danger. He reminded me of a prairie dog, and I felt a bubble of panicked laughter rolling up from my stomach.
Puck’s eyes widened and he turned toward Morgan with an apologetic look on his face. I wondered why, but for only a split second.
“We have to go. Now,” Morgan said in that robotic voice, the Puck-voice. “More phantoms are coming. Hungry ones.”
I frowned, but began to stand. Even in their is-this-a-dream stupors, Morgan and Zack both hopped to their feet with twin looks of concern. Puck checked Morgan once more, slapped her shoulder, and re-wrapped his red scarf around his neck. He pointed toward the road.