under her robes.
“Perfect,” said Charlotte. She rummaged in her shoulder bag and pulled out a manila folder, which was labeled GHOST WHISPERER PRANK in deceptively cheerful pink marker. “Here’s the intel on our subject,” she explained, handing it to the psychic. “We did a little research. Her grandmother was a pretty well-known writer. She died last year, but Celeste was close with her. Might be a good angle.”
Madame Darkling rifled through the pages. A photograph of Celeste’s grandmother, a plump old woman with rust-colored hair and too much rouge, fluttered to the ground.
“Jeanette Echols? Sure, I know her stuff. Piece of cake,” the medium said, leaning over to retrieve the photograph. She stubbed out her cigarette in the dirt before carefully picking up the butt and whisking it into a pocket hidden somewhere in her cloak. Laurel and Emma exchanged glances, stifling their giggles.
“Where’d you find her?” Charlotte whispered to Madeline as Madame Darkling helped herself to the carrots and dip they’d been munching on while they set up.
“Craigslist, of course,” Madeline said. “The venue of all lost souls.”
“She just stuck a finger in the hummus, you guys,” Laurel said under her breath.
“Maybe it’s haunted hummus,” Emma joked.
The girls had spent the afternoon running last-minute errands and setting the stage for the prank. They all wore long black robes embroidered with metallic stars that Charlotte had rented from a costume shop. Everyone except Nisha, that is, who wore black jeans and a black T-shirt, like a stage tech. Her job was to hide in the bushes and activate all the “special effects” they had devised for the prank, including a portable surround-sound system preloaded with Halloween noises like groans and rattling chains. But the best part was a group of helium balloons painted with scary, glow-in-the-dark faces that Nisha could drag around on a ribbon. The girls had tested them in Laurel’s bedroom earlier. In the dark, they gave a perfectly terrifying impression of floating disembodied heads.
I was proud of my friends for coming up with such a great prank—but I felt a little sad, too. They were about to conduct a fake séance in the same place I’d spent the last few hours of my life. If only there was a way I could really talk to Emma. If only Madame Darkling was a bona fide medium and I could use her to communicate with my friends. I’d tell Madeline and Charlotte how much I missed them. I’d remind Laurel that I was proud of her, and sorry we’d grown apart. I’d tell Emma that I love her, and thanks for everything she’s done for me. I’d even say hi to Nisha and the Twitter Twits. You don’t know how much your friends mean to you until you’re forced to watch them from the far side of the breach.
Emma’s skin hummed as if an electrical storm were brewing overhead, though the evening sky was clear and starting to fill with stars. She hadn’t been in the canyon since her first day here, when she’d waited for hours for Sutton to meet her. Her mind kept busily reconstructing what she knew about her sister’s last night—the date with Thayer and the runaway Volvo that had hit him, the argument with Mr. Mercer, and then … Becky. How could Becky have killed Sutton? Had she strangled her, or had she used a weapon? She’d had a knife when the cops took her to the hospital; maybe that had been the murder weapon.
And where had she hidden the body? It could be anywhere, even the underbrush just out of sight of the clearing. Emma took a few steps toward the woods, then stopped. Someone would have discovered it by now, if it were so easy to see. Here in the dark was not the time to hunt for clues.
“Almost showtime, ladies,” Madeline announced. Emma turned back to the circle, where the girls were gathering. Anticipation hung thick in the air. Charlotte held up her hands like a camera lens, surveying the area one last time. The Twins were doing some kind of theater warm-up exercise, saying “The lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue” back and forth to each other. Madeline started handing out small cardboard boxes.
Emma lifted the top of hers. Inside was a papier-mâché mask in the form of a horned satyr, nestled in a bed of tissue paper.
“These are awesome,” Lili said. She and Gabby wore comedy and tragedy masks, one smiling and one frowning. Once they’d put