But there was always the rest of New York City. I’d always had a soft spot for the Chrysler Building, since I was little and read a book about how the Empire State had cheated to become the tallest in the world. I’d made my father take me during my visit. But did that count as a bond?
I wanted to learn how to do this. If I could travel anywhere, being a psychopomp might be worth having ghosts in my life.
With the thought of Mindy, I suddenly knew where I wanted to go.
“What about a family connection, like the house my mother grew up in? She’s never taken me there, but I’ve seen pictures.”
Yamaraj frowned. “Out of the whole world, that’s where you want to go?”
I hesitated a moment. I didn’t want to lie to Yamaraj, but finding Mindy’s bad man didn’t sound like the sort of expedition he would be happy about. “It’s part of my family history. Something happened to my mother there when she was little. Can we go there?”
“If the place is important to you, then yes.”
“So teach me how.”
“Of course. But one more warning.”
I sighed. “What now?”
“If you feel something behind you, don’t turn around.”
“Um, okay.” I remembered the cold, wet thing that had brushed against me just before Yamaraj had arrived. “What’s going to be behind me?”
One crooked eyebrow lifted. “I thought you didn’t want to learn any more depressing things.”
“I guess not. So what do I do?”
Yamaraj reached out to take my hands, but I pulled away, afraid his touch would jolt me back into the real world.
“It’s okay,” he said gently. “This is the river.”
“Which means what?”
“You’re in too deep for panic to matter.”
I stared into his eyes. “I don’t panic. I think we established that in Dallas.”
“What would you call it then?” Yamaraj was almost smiling.
I didn’t tell him that his touch was electric. That it was sparks and heat and fire. That his one kiss in the airport had lingered on my lips for the last ten days.
What I said was, “Jitters.”
“Sorry.” He pressed his hands together, bowing a little in apology. Then he held them out for me to take.
I reached out for him, and as our fingers brushed, a trickle of current spilled across my skin. It made my heart flutter and jump, but there was no sudden burst of color in the sky, no pulse of the overworld breaking through.
This wasn’t my bedroom. This was the River Vaitarna, the boundary between life and death. And Yamaraj’s hands were warm and real.
“I’m ready to go,” I said.
The reluctant smile finally spread across his face. “Hold on tight.”
CHAPTER 17
THE PARTY HAD GROWN. THE big room was more crowded and also more alive, or perhaps the buzzing of Darcy’s lips just made it seem that way.
In the weeks they’d known each other, Darcy had never thought about kissing Imogen. Attraction wasn’t something that burned inside her, not like the forest-fire crushes that Carla went through every few months. Darcy could still list the guys she’d thought were hot in high school, but none had ever made her heart beat sideways. And at the beginning of senior year when Sagan had asked her quite seriously if she preferred girls, Darcy hadn’t been able to answer him.
But now she was certain—about Imogen at least, if not about girls and boys in general—and it was a relief and a revelation. She felt as though she’d leaped across a thousand pointless crushes and landed someplace real.
She also felt, now that Imogen had taught her the term, like she was more full of juice than ever. Darcy wanted to sweep the bowls of chips and guacamole from her desk and start on Untitled Patel right now, with Imogen at her side.
But a few steps into the room, Kiralee descended on them and swept Imogen away. There was the tiniest rip in Darcy’s heart as her hand parted from Imogen’s, but she didn’t follow them off to the corner where Oscar was holding court. She had to find her friends.
Darcy scanned the crowd, recognizing more arrivals from YA Drinks, a pair of publicists she remembered from a meeting at Paradox, and then—
“Sister deb!” It was Annie Barber, with three more sister debs in tow.
“Oh. Hi, guys.”
“Twenty-fourteen!” Annie said, and they all put up a hand.
“Right!” Darcy high-fived them all. “Listen, I’m looking for—”
“This is such a rock-star apartment!” Annie cried. “And in Manhattan.”
“You are, like, our official idol now,” said Ashley, whose book was a dystopian on Mars, Darcy remembered.
She found it hard to answer. Her lips were buzzing, her body still thrumming from the kiss with Imogen. She felt like a rock star, a little, but mostly she was dizzy.
“So we have a confession,” Annie said. “We all have bets on how old you are.”
“It’s not really a—”
“No spoilers!” Annie interrupted. “We want to wait for the reveal, like everyone else. I’ve got seventeen.”
“I’ve got nineteen,” Ashley said. “I know, that’s probably way too old.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Darcy said. She’d finally spotted Carla and Sagan alone by the guacamole, looking wide-eyed and terrified. “And I kind of have to deal with something. Besides, a single word might reveal too much.”
“Of course,” Annie said, and the sister debs parted for her.
“Guys!” Darcy called to Sagan and Carla as she threaded her way across the room.
“There you are!” Carla gathered her into a hug, and they spun once in a circle.
“Sorry. I was up on the roof. There was . . . a situation.” Darcy touched her own lips, and for a moment her first real kiss seemed imaginary.
“I’m just glad we made it.” Carla’s eyes swept across the room. “Look at your glamorous apartment, city girl!”
Sagan nodded at this, a corn chip in his hand. “Illustrious party is illustrious.”
“Seriously illustrious.” Carla’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I mean, is that Kiralee Taylor over there?”
“Yep.”
“She didn’t even have to look,” Sagan said to Carla. “You’d think someone would check on a claim like that, Kiralee Taylor being in their living room. But no, she just assumed it to be true.”