“I didn’t do anything. But I’m pretty sure that means I’m scheduled to die next,” I said, hoping that my nonchalant attitude didn’t reveal my panic.

“Look,” Henry said with his head hung. “I wasn’t the nicest guy in high school. In fact, I was a total dick to a lot of people, including your boyfriend, and probably a lot of other people I don’t even remember. A lot of people avoided me, or were nice to me because they were afraid I’d make fun of them and get other people to join in. Honestly”—he looked up at the ceiling—“I probably even got better grades than I deserved from some teachers because they didn’t want me to confront them, and didn’t want to have to deal with my dad if I failed a class.”

I didn’t say anything because as much as I’d grown to genuinely like Henry after getting to know him that year, much of what he was saying was true.

“If we’re serious about using someone as bait to get the spirits out of Mischa, I’m our best bet. We might not get a second chance to do this. I mean, there’s no way Mischa’s going to cooperate more than once.” Henry had made up his mind, and he was absolutely correct on all counts.

But still… I was never going to agree to risk his safety. Not even with my own life in the balance.

“Candace suggested someone else,” I informed him. “And I don’t like that option much more than using you, but…” It took effort for me to lie with a straight face. “I think she may be a better choice.”

Henry demanded that I tell him who the alternate suggestion was, and I refused; I had to first decide whether or not I could go through with risking the fate of someone so undeserving and unsuspecting. I promised that I’d call him first thing in the morning with my decision, and it felt as if my intestines were tied in knots as I waved good-bye to him from the front door when he pulled out of our driveway.

Not surprisingly, I didn’t sleep at all that night. Around two in the morning, I admitted defeat, got up, opened my laptop, and wrote a detailed history of how I’d come to understand the curse on Violet and how it not only had claimed the lives of my friends, but had also resulted in the death of Stephani deMilo and nearly killed several other eleventh graders over the winter. Knowing better than to leave something so alarming on my laptop, I drafted the file in Google Docs, carefully wrote an e-mail containing a link to the file and a password to open it, and scheduled it to automatically send to Henry on April twenty-third, twenty-four hours after the next new moon. It was the most efficient way I could think of to make sure that he’d have all the information he’d need to continue trying to break the curse in the event that I died in the next few days.