“Why here?” Violet asked in outrage. “I don’t want those things back in my house!” She was curled into the far corner of the sofa on which she’d slept, and she leaned against the pillow from her bedroom that she’d placed against its arm.

Jennie hadn’t specified that we bring Mischa back to the Simmons mansion, exactly. But she’d said we’d need to get Mischa to an area we could control, where there were fewer chances of the spirits surprising us with locked doors, falling tree branches, and unexpected curveballs of that nature. It didn’t seem right to put Henry in a position of placing his parents in danger, and the high school was locked up for spring break. Since my house was no longer an option—and for obvious reasons, neither was Trey’s—that left us with Violet’s house.

I explained Jennie’s reasoning to everyone and created a related task for Violet, since I knew that would appeal to her desire to be more integrated into our group. If I had anything at all in common with Violet, it was an irrepressible—almost pathetic, honestly—desire to be included.

“You know these spirits better than any of us,” I reminded her. “So we’ll be depending on you to predict their behavior.”

“Predict their behavior and then… do what about it?” Violet asked sarcastically. “If they want to burn down my house—just like they did yours—even while we’re all standing inside of it, there’s nothing I’ll be able to do to stop them.”

“Just hold on a second.” Henry squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “How the hell are we going to get Mischa over here? Because she’s not Mischa anymore. She’s—she’s…” His eyes drifted over to the mason jar on the coffee table at the center of our circle. “She’s them. And they’re not going to take orders from us.”

Trey, who was stretched out and practically reclining on the same sofa as Violet—but sitting as far away from her as possible—chimed in, “How do we even know she’s going to show up to this funeral? Those things are what killed Mischa’s parents. They don’t care whether or not her parents are laid to rest.”

Violet sat up straighter and said, “She’ll be there. They’re going to do their best to act like Mischa, because they’re only going to be able to do what they want if people either like being around her or are intimidated by her—but not so much that they avoid her entirely.”

“Okay, so we see her at the cemetery, and then what? We invite her over here for frozen pizza?” Trey said.

“This is serious, man.” Henry shot him a death glare.

Trey fired back, “I know it is! We only have one chance at this, so our plan needs to be airtight!”

Henry’s eyes darted over to land on me. “Do you have any idea how we’re supposed to get Mischa here?”

The truth of the matter was, Jennie and I hadn’t worked out any of the details. The only part that we knew would have to happen—that the spirits inhabiting Mischa would need to genuinely believe that I was about to die in one way or another that didn’t involve air—I couldn’t even share. When the moment arrived, either Trey or Henry—whoever I didn’t ask to pretend to kill me—was going to need to believe the threat on my life was real too. I hadn’t yet decided which of the guys I’d ask to take on the most important role of the day because I had reservations about both of them being able to carry out the task.