Danger, danger, danger.

I ignore the warning going off in my head and leave the restroom, heading outside.

The wind washes over me, cooling my heated face but stirring smells together: stale air and vomit. I round the corner of the building, finding the dead girl waiting for me, neck broken, the same ligature marks that marred my skin marking hers. I skirt around her and head for the tree line. If I’m going to confront her, I can’t have anyone watching.

When I’m far enough away and hidden by trees, I stop, waiting until the dead girl appears in my peripheral. I twist toward her.

“Stay. Away. From. Me! Do you understand?” My voice sounds raw to my ears, and I curl my aching hands into fists. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll listen.”

I’ve said what I need and move to sidestep the spirit, but what she says next stops me in my tracks.

“They’re coming for you.” Her voice is guttural, like she’s gargling blood.

“Are you threatening me?” I turn to face her again. There is a familiar prick in my right palm as I take a step toward her. Her eyes trail to my hand, as if she senses what’s unraveling inside me.

“You’ll only lead them to you faster,” she says.

“What are you talking about? Who’s after me?”

The dead girl offers a savage smile and turns to leave, but the same hysteria I felt upon seeing her rises inside me again, and the small sliver of control I have shatters as I think—what if she leads them to me? I reach for her, fingers spread wide, and a thread sprouts from my palm, twisting and twirling through the air like spun gold, and, like a needle attached to a long thread, spears the dead girl’s head, weaving in and out of her body, perforating her as easily as paper, until she is covered from her broken head to her toes in a cocoon of gold. Beautiful and disturbing, it constricts, tightening around her form, consuming, growing smaller and smaller until she’s nothing more than a coin on the ground.

I fall to my knees and reach for the coin, scanning my surroundings, ensuring no one—not even the dead—are witness to what happened. Clutching it in my hand, I peer down at it. The familiar image of a raven is raised in relief on the surface of the coin along with today’s date, which keeps a timeline of the souls I have captured.

And there goes rule number three: Don’t capture souls in Oklahoma.

Chapter Three

Anora and the Confrontation

“Anora! Anora!” It takes me a moment to realize someone’s calling my name. I close my fingers over the coin and emerge from the line of trees, finding Shy looking for me.