Bright light sweeps over an ordinary-looking foyer, junk mail still cluttered on a side table underneath a row of coat hooks. To our left is a formal living room, to the right, a quaint dining space, both done up in nautical blue and white. I can immediately see Ben’s mother in the kitchen, meticulous in keeping the abundance of cream and white spotless but warm, handing Ben a plate of scrambled eggs over the eat-in bar. Past that, though, is a slap back to reality. Heavy plastic sheeting covers a gaping hole in the wall. It must have been the family room.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Ben says, and I follow carefully, using the light from my phone to guide my steps. His room is toward the front of the house. The door opposite from his is ominously closed. Behind it, there’s the faintest whistle. A storm kicking up the ocean air.

Ben grabs a long needle-nosed lighter and lights half a dozen three-wick candles. As they flicker, I can find Ben in the details missing from his room at his grandfather’s house: Peeling posters on the wall. Percy Jackson crammed in next to Stieg Larsson on his bookcase.

And his bed. An inviting queen covered in a navy duvet. Ben sits. I sit. And finally, I let the last hour fully wash over me.

He grabs my hand, gives it a squeeze. “It’ll be fine. I promise. This is almost over.”

I extract my fingers, put them to better use: tease them over his jaw, thread them through his hair. “Kiss me,” I demand, because suddenly I need him to. I need something good, something that’s mine. The end to my evening, in a gorgeous dress on a date with this boy I like, that should have been, if I weren’t a girl chased by ghosts. I’m reclaiming my night.

Ben and I speak the same language, and still I gasp, almost a hiccup, as he eases the zipper of my dress down. His hand snakes over my naked back, tugs me closer, his mouth hungry on mine.

And from there, it’s organic: Clothes hastily shed. Diving under the duvet against the chill. Creating our own warmth.

I escape into the feel of our bodies, let my mind cloud and fog with bliss. Because this is something I can control. I breathe it in, let it wash over me.

For the first time in too long, I forget about death.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Cold creeps slowly into my limbs despite the heat of Ben’s body beside mine, the duvet too thin for a cavernous, abandoned home. Outside, the wind has kicked up, the beginnings of a rainstorm tapping lightly on the window frame. I’m starting to regret this plan, hiding out on the edge of the world. Maura’s house is creaky but cozy. Even if Gabriel could find me there.