Imogen’s hand moved to the back of Darcy’s neck, fingers interlacing with hair, holding her close even after the kiss was over.
Darcy whispered, her lips brushing Imogen’s as she spoke: “Wow. You are hot for my book.”
“Totally.”
It meant everything, but Darcy wanted more. “No criticisms?”
“Well, you know. It’s a first draft. And a first novel. And don’t ask me if you’re hijacking Hindu gods, because I don’t have a clue.”
Darcy opened her eyes. “Okay. But what did that second one mean?”
“About it being a first novel? Well, it might be a little bit innocent, for a book about death.”
“Innocent?” Darcy pulled back. “Is that what you think I am?”
“Good question.” Imogen drew closer, studying her. “Until ten seconds ago, I had no idea whether you were into me or not. Are you, like, incredibly smooth or just . . .” She blinked slowly. “Have you ever kissed a girl before?”
“I never kissed anyone before,” Darcy said in a rush, so she wouldn’t have time to chicken out and never say it at all. “Not really.”
Imogen was silent for a moment—a little too long.
“Seriously?” she said at last.
Darcy nodded. There had been a sort of practice kiss with Carla once during a sleepover, and an attempt at real kissing with the boy who was cocaptain of the Reading Zealots. But neither of those had counted, and this did.
“Was I okay?” Darcy asked.
“Better than okay.”
“If you hated it, would you be lying right now?”
“That’s the second time you’ve asked me that.” A smiled curled Imogen’s lips. “Don’t you trust me?”
Darcy had never seen anyone talk the way Imogen did about things that mattered to her. No one could lie that fiercely, could they?
“I trust you.”
“Good.” Imogen’s eyes shone with the last band of pink in the sky before nightfall. She leaned closer, and they were kissing again. At first Darcy’s hands clutched at the warm tar of the rooftop for balance. Then she reached up to take Imogen’s shoulders, to feel the muscles flexing. She drew Imogen closer, tighter, and they stayed that way until Darcy’s phone buzzed in her pocket.
“Sorry . . .” She pulled away, reaching for it. “My friends from Philly might be lost.”
“Like I said, my timing sucks.”
Darcy read the message. “Crap, they’re already here! Someone let them in and they’re down there looking for me!”
Imogen got to her feet and held out a hand. “Come on. Duty calls.”
Darcy stood, guiltily wishing that Carla and Sagan had missed just one more train. But it would be cruel to leave them alone in a room full of authors they idolized.
At the roof stairway, Imogen kicked the piece of concrete aside, and the metal door slammed shut behind them. They descended quickly, and a moment later stood before the door to 4E. The sounds of a healthy party were leaking out into the hall.
Imogen took Darcy by the shoulders. “You okay? You look kind of dazed.”
Darcy was very dazed and very okay, too much of both to discuss in the hallway. Instead, she rose a little onto her toes and they kissed again.
Then she straightened herself and, still holding Imogen’s hand, opened up the door.
CHAPTER 16
I DRESSED QUICKLY IN JEANS and a sweatshirt, then crept to the kitchen to get a knife.
I didn’t know if metal blades worked on ghosts, or even if the thing in the basement was a ghost, but any weapon was better than bare hands. I chose a short, narrow knife with a fat metal handle.
Mindy was still standing on my bed, afraid to touch the floor. Her eyes widened when she saw the knife. “We should just run away, Lizzie.”
“And hide in my mom’s closet?” I slipped the knife into my back pocket. “I live here, Mindy. I don’t have anywhere to run. And didn’t you say that ghosts should be afraid of me?”
“Whatever’s down there doesn’t sound very afraid, does it?”
As if in answer, the voice beneath us started up again, close enough to the floorboards that it could whisper. “Come down and play. . . .”
I shuddered, and slipped on the pair of sneakers beside my bed.
“Please, let’s just run away,” Mindy begged.
“No. I’m going to call someone.”
She stared at me. “Who?”
“Someone I met when I started seeing ghosts. Someone I didn’t tell you about.”
“You mean a dead person?”
I shook my head. “Someone like me.”
“A pomp?” Mindy turned away and jumped onto my desk, like a kid playing don’t-touch-the-floor. She was headed for the bedroom door, and then my mother’s room and the safety of her closet.
“It’s okay, Mindy! He’s nice.”
She turned back to me, balanced on the dresser. “They always say they’re nice. But then they take you away.”
I shook my head. “He saved me.”
Mindy looked at me like I was an idiot, and for a moment I wondered why I trusted Yamaraj so much. What if he took Mindy away from me?
But I’d seen enough horror movies to know that you didn’t check out scary noises in the basement all alone. Especially if your house didn’t have a basement.
“Trust me.” I took a step closer and reached for her hand. “I need to cross over to call him.”
“No way!” Mindy pulled away.
“Fine. I can do it on my own.” I took a deep breath. “Security is responding. . . .”
The thing beneath us went quiet, as if listening, and my voice grew steadier in the silence.
“Can you get to a safe location?”
The words made me shiver, stirring the night chill in the room. My breathing began to slow. It was weird, saying both sides of the conversation, but I could feel the spell working.
“I can’t, and he’s shooting everyone.”
The cold became a physical thing, pushing at me from all sides.
“Well, honey,” I said softly. “Maybe you should pretend to be dead.”
As the last word left my mouth, I felt myself cross over. It happened all at once, the shadows flattening to soft grays, the bright digits of my alarm clock going flickery and dim.