Page 50

“God, Heather,” Patrice says, “how do you make a double murder sound boring? Can youtryadding a little imagination?”

That wasn’t just mean. It was downright cruel, and when Heather falters, I want to snap back with the worst thing I can think of. Maybe address the rumor that Patrice gave Cody a blow job behind the school last year.

I wouldn’t do that, though. I swallow my anger and say to Heather, “So the next day, a search party found them…”

“Letmetell the story,” Patrice says with a dramatic wave of her arms. “From the top.”

“No need,” I snap. “I got the gist—”

“It’s fall,” Patrice says. “The week before Halloween. There’s a chill in the air, and the night is pitch black, no moon. Just like tonight.”

I bite my tongue. I don’t actually want this story. I just want to get where we’re going and finish this bullshit séance.

Patrice continues, “There’s a bonfire with kids from our school. My aunt Lori is one of them.” She glances at me. “She’s told me thewholestory, including the parts the news refused to cover.” She pauses for effect. “Like how some of those kids weren’t just drinking and partying. They were summoning dark spirits.”

“Uh-huh.”

“They were doing that, when all of a sudden, this guy, Roddy, gets up and walks into the forest. He doesn’t say a word. He just stands up and walks into the darkness. Roddy was dating my aunt’sfriend, Samantha, who went after him. My aunt tried to, but Sam told her to stay, that they’d be right back. My aunt always said Sam saved her life there.”

Patrice pauses, and I’m hoping that’s the end of the story. I can deduce the rest. Sam follows Roddy, they get into a fight, Sam dies, Roddy kills himself. But Patrice is only pausing to check our location, and after she points down a side path, she resumes the story.

“When they didn’t come back, my aunt figured Roddy stormed off to his truck and they left together. That meant she’d lost her ride home. So she had to stay until the end of the bonfire, waiting for other friends to give her a lift. When she reached the parking lot, though, Roddy’s truck was still there. My aunt was worried—she wanted to go look for them. The other kids said Roddy and Sam took off to screw around in the forest and probably fell asleep afterward. If Aunt Lori wanted to go look for them, she was doing it alone. She decided they were right—and didn’t want to be left by herself—so she took the ride. When she got home, she thought of calling Sam’s place, but it was two in the morning.”

Patrice pauses again, lifting her weak flashlight. “Just over here. See that big tree with the black marks? That’s the spot.”

I lift my own light and spot a massive maple with what looks like lightning damage. Once we reach it, though, the black marks seem to be…

“Fungus?” I say, peering at the trunk. “No, it’s missing pieces of bark, and the wood’s all black below. Some kind of disease?”

Patrice smiles smugly. “That’s where they found her.”

“Sam?”

Patrice takes out a blanket. Heather, who has been silent since the insult, catches the other end to help spread it.

I’m ready to prod again when I stop. I don’t want this story, right? Except now, seeing that tree, I kinda do. Damn it.

I take candles from my backpack. Bringing them was my responsibility. Plain black candles, which seemed easy enough, until I realizedthey weren’t the sort of thing you could grab in Kmart or Zellers, not in May. Apparently, black candles are for Halloween, and if you want them any other time… Are you one of those goth kids? Doing some dark ritual?

No… and yes. But not being goth, I didn’t know where to buy black candles out of season. So I had to make my own stubby, lumpy ones.

The others brought the rest of the supplies—bowls and chalices and, of course, the mushrooms. I light the candles—they work!—while Patrice pours red wine she swiped from home.

When Heather sprinkles the mushrooms in two glasses of wine, I watch carefully to be sure none gets in mine. But Heather isn’t Patrice. While Patrice might think it was funny to “accidentally” drop some in my wine, Heather wants me clearheaded in case anything goes wrong.

Heather puts some stuff into the bowl. I don’t know what it is, only that it comes from multiple little baggies, and she tops the mixture off with a sprinkle of the mushrooms.

We all take our places, wineglasses in hand. They sip theirs, and I do the same. I have no idea if it’s good wine or “plonk” as Mom would say, but it tastes foul.

“They found her in the tree,” Patrice says, startling me.

I frown. “They found Sam in the tree?”

Her eyes glitter, and I realized I might reallynotwant the rest of this story.

“The search team came out the next day. Roddy’s dad was a cop, so they didn’t wait twenty-four hours.”

Which they wouldn’t if two teens disappeared in a forest, but I don’t correct her.