I wave good-bye as the pair turn toward the West Wing. They step away, their footsteps clacking down the marble hallway in perfect sync. As they stroll along, Cissy stays snuggled into Zeke’s side, his arm wrapped firmly about her shoulders. Something in the movement makes my throat tighten. Will I ever feel that way about someone? At this rate, probably not, unfortunately.

A shiver rattles my shoulders. Maybe my ghoul heritage means I can’t love any guy who still has a pulse. Yuck, that’s a depressing thought.

Shake it off, Myla. You’ve work to do.

Turning about on my heel, I face the long hallway to the East Wing. It’s all gleaming marble floors, tall gilded mirrors, and anxiety-inducing mysteries. Mom said it held a ballroom, offices, and library. My mouth twists as I consider the options. Nodding to myself, I decide to start my search in the fourth-floor library. From what Cissy’s said, that’s always open and usually deserted.

Taking a deep breath, I straighten my spine and march up to the fourth floor. The library’s a labyrinth of tall wooden bookshelves. The scent of dust and old parchment fills the air. I scan for other visitors, but the place is empty. Good.

I find a section marked ‘history’ and haul out a particularly large, leather-bound volume. Bay windows with cushioned seats line the library’s far wall. I slide into the nearest window seat, open the book in my lap, and gaze through the glass to the mansion’s grounds outside. Far below me, figures mill about the hedgerow maze. My tail flips to the title page:

Quasi Diplomacy: A History

A rustling sound echoes from the other side of the library.

“Cissy, is that you?”

Silence.

Shrugging, I return my attention to the book:

Introduction by Sanctus Lewis

I stare at the words again. Sanctus Lewis. I have Mom’s last name, and Sanctus Lewis was her mother. Could be a coincidence. I read on:

As every quasi citizen knows, the Lewis family has been instrumental in the development of afterlife diplomacy, which is why I’m pleased to write this preface to the tenth edition of…

“We’re here!” A strange female voice rings in my ears, but I’m too engrossed to call out to its owner. I pull the pages closer to my nose. The book has a ton of blah-blah-blah about giving people a second chance at a good afterlife, then the author writes:

I’m proud that my dear daughter Camilla has been elected to the traditional Lewis family seat as Senator of Diplomacy, an honor that…

My first real clue! Mom’s name is Camilla, so Grandma definitely wrote this before she died in the Wars. I grip the edges of the book tighter. And Mom was a Senator? My insanely over-protective and weepy mother? I shake my head and turn the page.