We laugh until we’re doubled over, panting for air, tears running down both our faces. Which, in my opinion, is the best kind of laughter. The kind I like to indulge in at least once a week. The kind I have only with Lalana.

When we’re sufficiently recovered, she rises to her feet in one boneless motion. “I have to take off,” she says regretfully. “I promised the Wat Thai I’d update their website tonight. Thanks for my prom date, though.” She winks. “I’ll keep him close by my side, where he belongs.”

She tucks Chris’s face into her purse, kisses me on both cheeks, and floats out of the house. I look at her retreating figure. After the recent hilarity, the empty room feels…quiet. Almost too quiet. Otherworldly quiet.

Shaking off the sensation, I begin arranging the ma-po tofu on a plate, humming to myself. This is going to be a challenge. Despite the fiery red sauce, tofu does not photograph as well as beef.

I’m repositioning some of the cubes when a streak of electricity flashes across my brain. A very familiar streak of electricity.

My eyes open wide, and every residual ounce of amusement drains from my body.

The Voice is back.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

My breath comes in quick, shallow pants. I brace myself, preparing for the pain that’s about to follow.

But it doesn’t come. The zap doesn’t return, the electricity doesn’t intensify, and my brains don’t feel like they’re being boiled. What’s going on?

“Move away from the sink,” the Voice says evenly. It’s the same one as before, but she’s not impatient and angry this time. Instead, she sounds quite calm.

I perform a quick calculation. It’s been seven hours since she last visited. What happened? Did she take a nap—or whatever disembodied voices do to rejuvenate—since we last talked?

I take a step back. Our dishwasher is broken, so the counter is piled high with recently cleaned plates that have yet to be put away. “Who are you?”

Which is a nicer way of saying: damn you, you made me think I had lost my ever-loving mind! But Mom raised me to be polite to strangers, even if she’s not around to enforce it. Even if said strangers take the form of unexplained beings.

The Voice ignores me. “That’s not far enough. Walk at least fifteen feet. To the very edge of the kitchen, where the tile meets the carpet.”

I scrunch up my nose. “Why?”

“No time for questions,” she says, sounding more like her original self. “Do it. Now.”