Henry’s chest rose dramatically as he inhaled deeply. As if Mischa could sense that he was preparing to tackle her, she took a giant step back and shook her head. “Don’t do it,” she warned. “I can break her neck faster than you can get over here.”

I could tell from the tremble in Mischa’s voice that she wasn’t kidding around. She’d worked out somehow in her head that killing Violet that day would make things better in one way or another, even though it was clear to me that we had two separate and distinct problems to solve. Which was why I said in a tiny voice, “Transferring the curse to someone else won’t save Amanda.”

Before Mischa had a chance to react, I added, “I need to borrow someone’s phone.”

CHAPTER 7

HENRY GATHERED ALL OF THE cutlery from the butcher’s block and silverware drawer the moment we stepped into the Simmonses’ enormous kitchen, and he stashed them somewhere on the house’s second floor to keep them out of Mischa’s reach. It seemed like the announcement I’d made about having a plan in mind had calmed her down, but neither Henry nor I wanted to take a chance on having to witness a bloodbath that day.

At my request, Mischa downloaded a radio app to her phone and tuned it in to AM 1354. I popped her AirPods into my ears, hoping I’d be able to hear Jennie’s voice coming through, even though I feared that if I was successful in being able to communicate with her, my rapt audience would expect me to deliver answers. And I knew Jennie had none.

My only idea—sacrificing myself—wasn’t a good one. It was a rash, desperate attempt to buy more time until I could figure out how to lure the spirits out of Mischa.

And I wasn’t sure if Jennie would agree to it.

Or that Amanda would ever regain consciousness at this point—even if we successfully took her out of the queue to die.

Mischa leaned forward across the table. “Can you hear her?”

“I don’t understand what we’re doing, here,” Violet admitted impatiently. “Your dead twin sister is going to talk to you through the phone?”

Henry glared at her and angrily shushed her with a finger held up to his lips.

“Not yet, she’s not,” I said as I listened intently. Just as I was about to give up, I heard the crackle of static and Jennie’s voice greeting me.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” I said, and then felt like a fool. Who else would it be? Who else would be able to hear her? “I have a big favor to request.”

Turning my head to avoid making eye contact with Mischa, I asked, “So… would it be crazy for me to allow Mischa to predict my death so that maybe her sister’s life is spared?”

For a long, uncomfortable moment, Jennie didn’t reply. Then she said, “Yes, it would be crazy. And dangerous.”

“But would it work?” I asked, glad that none of my friends could overhear Jennie’s voice over the AirPods so that I could digest her reply before they could.