The last item in this box doesn’t belong to Poppa. It’s a wood chest full of coins like the one I created today. I don’t make a habit of turning every soul of the dead I meet into a piece of hard metal, just the ones who scare me. It’s not something I can really control.

The first soul I captured was my poppa. It was a knee-jerk reaction. I found him just as he died, and a plume of black exploded from his body, tangled with his soul. I had never seen anything like it. The fear made the thread burst to life, and the next thing I knew, my poppa’s soul was just a coin on the ground, and the black thing zipped away.

I have yet to figure out what that black thing was, but it felt horrible, like a burden too great to bear.

His coin is the only one that doesn’t go in the box. I wear him on a chain around my neck, close to my heart.

I move to the other side of my bed and sit on the floor, slipping my hand into the mesh pocket where I placed the coin I created earlier in the day…but it’s not there.

My heart beats hard against my chest as I fall to my knees and pour the contents of my bag onto the floor. Pens and notebooks scatter, but there is no gold coin.

Where did I drop it?

The car.

I close the chest and shove it under the bed, darting down the stairs and outside. Opening the passenger side door, I look everywhere—between the seats and under, the cupholders, the glove box. I wade through the grass outside the car and check the flower beds at the front of our house with no luck.

“Everything all right?” Mom asks from the front door. I twist to face her, heart leaping into my throat. How long has she been watching me?

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

She looks between me and the car. “Lose something?”

“Just can’t find a folder I thought I brought home.”

Mom lifts her head, staring down her nose, and though my lie was smooth, I know she’s questioning me.

“Dinner’s ready.”

She turns without another word and enters the house.

I make my way back up the steps, watching my feet as I go, still searching for the coin. I’ll have to retrace my steps tomorrow—from the tree line where I captured the soul to the stadium. Maybe check lost and found. Hopefully some Good Samaritan turned it in, because a lost coin could mean a blown cover.

Inside, the house smells like tomato sauce, roiling my stomach.

Oh no.

“I made your favorite!” Mom says, smiling. The wrinkles on the sides of her eyes make her look happier than she has in a long time.