When we pulled up in front of my house, she asked, “So, is there a plan yet? For breaking the curse? Because I’ve gotta admit, I’m afraid of Mischa. She knows how to get into my house, and my parents aren’t the best when it comes to remembering to set our security system. And if we lose you? This will never end.”

The front door of my house opened, and Glenn stepped outside with Maude and his two dogs on leashes and waved at me. He wore a heavy winter coat over his robe and pajamas, which was so disarmingly dorky that I kind of understood what Mom saw in him. I unfastened my belt, climbed out of the car, and replied, “Working on it.”

Just as I was about to slam the passenger-side door, Violet blurted, “Can I help?”

It would have been my strong preference to tell her that she couldn’t help, not in any way. But since Trey wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near Gundarsson’s Funeral Home without everyone in town losing their minds, I figured it might be good to keep Violet around in case I needed an extra pair of hands. “Just be at the memorial for Mischa’s parents tomorrow,” I told her, knowing that showing up to support Mischa was probably the last way in which she wanted to make herself useful.

I said hi to Glenn and mumbled something about having gone to yoga with a friend when I passed him on the front steps on my way into the house. Running into Violet had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. What she’d said about the curse never ending if I died was probably true; it was only my ability to communicate with Jennie that had led to us saving Mischa back in January. Without someone who could get reliable direction from a spirit on the other side, Violet, Mischa, and Henry really didn’t have much of a chance of ever breaking the curse completely.

And for that reason, I knew I needed to find the strength to be selfish. I had to draw inspiration from Violet and take advantage of someone innocent in order to save myself, as well as everyone else. Exposure to her attitude was the reminder I needed about doing whatever was required of me, even if I hated the idea of it.

In my room, I called Mrs. Robinson at Oscawana Pavilion, hoping that she hadn’t chosen that day to suddenly start socializing with her fellow residents and hang out on the patio or in the TV lounge. But fortunately, she picked up on the third ring after the front desk transferred my call to her room.

“Mrs. Robinson. It’s McKenna Brady,” I said. “The aide at the assisted living facility?”

“I know who you are!” she replied. “I may be old, but I’m not feeble. Not yet, anyway!”

“Sorry, sorry,” I apologized. I went on to explain that we’d decided on a person to lure the spirits out of Mischa’s soul. “But I need you to tell me what that process looks like because whatever happened yesterday, I think my connection to my sister has been broken. I don’t know what happened to her; she’s just gone.” My entire body deflated when I heard myself say the word “gone.” I wasn’t prepared for the possibility that Mrs. Robinson would confirm my worst fear: that I’d finally reconnected with Jennie again only to lose her.