“Because,” Leyta said, staring directly into my eyes, “all that stuff before, those were first dates. This entity, whatever it is, felt connected enough to get you. And now … you’re got.”

“Awesome,” I said gloomily. “How do I get un-got?”

“There are no shortcuts in the flow,” Leyta said, “no clicking your heels three times and poof! This is your journey. You gotta go with it.”

I nodded.

She sat back and clapped her hands lightly on her knees. “That’s it, kids. Show’s over. Can’t be late; my manager’s in a terrible mood today.”

I stood up and reached for my purse. “How much do I owe you?”

“Your money’s no good here,” she said. “Just take care of yourself.”

“Out of curiosity,” Wyatt said, “what does my aura look like?”

“Ha,” Leyta said. “You, I charge for that information.”

She walked us to the door. As soon as Wyatt opened it and stepped outside, Leyta put her hand on my shoulder, leaned forward, and quickly pulled the door closed.

We were alone in her apartment, the two of us.

“May sixteenth,” she said in a rush. “Two years ago. I woke up and Paul was here.”

Paul Cresky? My father?

May sixteenth. I went numb.

“He said to tell you to be good. And that he loves you.” She hesitated. “Was he religious? Because he said to tell you to look for a shepherd.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I shook my head.

“Listen, you’re not going to find your dad, sweetie, and you never were. He’s moved through. He’s good. He doesn’t need to forgive you. You need to forgive you, that’s all.”

I nodded, which was basically the only thing I was capable of doing.

“Anyway, you’d better go,” she added softly. “Your friend probably thinks I’m performing voodoo ceremonies on you. He’s a bit much, but he cares about you. And don’t tell him I told you, but his aura’s green. He’s a healer.”

She opened the door and I stumbled out, crashing into Wyatt a millisecond before I would have fallen down the steps.

“What did she say?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, a pathetic lie.

But he was kind enough not to call me on it.

As we walked toward the car, I couldn’t stop thinking about my dad … and then it hit me.

Look for a shepherd …

Could he have meant Wyatt Sheppard?

My mother was in her bedroom, folding laundry, when I knocked on the door.

She looked up at me, a bright smile on her face. “How was studying?”

Oh, right, my cover story — studying at Marnie’s house. “Good,” I said. “Do you have an extra shoe box somewhere?”

“An empty one?”

I sat down on the bed. “If I didn’t want an empty shoe box, I would have asked if you had shoes.”

“Ha-ha, smartypants,” she said. “I’ll go check my closet. Here, make yourself useful.”

She dumped a bunch of socks next to me, and I set to work matching them. It was weird touching anything Jonathan wore, even if it was on his feet.

A few seconds later, Mom came out, holding a pink box out to me. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” I got up to leave.

“Hang on, Wil,” she said. “Do you think you could stay at Marnie’s the last weekend in April?”

“Sure,” I said. “Why? What’s going on?” I’d been sitting with Marnie and the other Hollywood kids every day at lunch, and she was the closest thing I had to a friend, but we still didn’t feel remotely close. Still, I figured she would be cool with me sleeping over at her house.

A sunny smile bloomed on Mom’s lips. “Jonathan and I are going on a little trip to Palm Springs. If you’re not comfortable with my leaving, I don’t have to go, but since we didn’t get a honeymoon …”

“Of course you should go,” I said. “I’m a big girl.”

“Thanks, sweetie. Jonathan had to move a bunch of meetings around to make it work, but he says it’s no big deal.”

“Mom,” I said, rolling the matched socks across the bed to her, “he married you. Stop acting like you’re auditioning for something.”

“Oh, Willa,” she said. “It’s not like that.”

“It kind of seems like it is,” I said, studying the intricate hand-embroidered design on their white bedspread.

“I’m sorry if that’s the impression I’ve given you,” she said quietly. “But I’m very happy. So is Jonathan. And our greatest wish is that you’ll be happy here, too.”

“I’m fine,” I said. Unless you count the fact that I’ve opened a portal to the spirit world, I’m being stalked by a ghost, and my aura is the color of dirty rainwater. Other than that, things are awesome.

“ ‘Fine’ isn’t the same as happy,” Mom said.

Maybe not. But sometimes it’s the best you can hope for.

Back in my room, I put the ring — submerged in a plastic baggie full of salt — into the shoe box. Then I dug through the rest of my boxes until I found the Walter Sawamura book, still feeling conflicted. Why should I get rid of the book if that wouldn’t solve my ghost problem? What if I needed it? For that matter, why should I believe Leyta in the first place? Sure, she knew my dad’s name and the date of his death, but big deal — she could have spent the whole day Googling me.

But she knew things you can’t find online, I thought, feeling a nervous flutter in my stomach. Like the flashes and the headaches and the voices.

I studied the cover of the Walter Sawamura book. It looked way too innocent to have caused so much trouble. But a lot of things that look normal on the outside contain more than their share of drama — I should know.

I dropped the book in the shoe box.

Then I tucked the box behind the laundry hamper in my closet.

Some things I wasn’t ready to let go of yet.

For the rest of the week, Wyatt and I maintained a wary but respectful silence on all topics having to do with ghosts, murders, and psychics. During our weekly lab project, we even managed to be almost friendly to one another.

Things were calm at home, too. Once, sitting at the dinner table, I heard a dripping sound, but it turned out that the cleaning lady had accidentally left one of the powder room faucets on.

I found myself hoping that my visit to Leyta Fitzgeorge had shaken something free. Maybe the ghost had finished conveying whatever message it was trying to convey, and now it was gone.

Friday after school, I was sitting on my bed, conjugating French verbs, when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I called.

The door opened a fraction of an inch. “Willa?”

“Reed?” I hopped up and went to the door, smoothing my hair as subtly as I could.

“I’ve been working in Jonathan’s office, and my eyes are tired from staring at the screen all day.” He smiled that crooked smile that made my cheeks heat up. “I thought I might go for a short walk — would you like to come?”

In what dark, ridiculous corner of the universe would someone say no to that question?

We made our way around the neighborhood, weaving from one side of the street to the other to stay visible to cars that might be zooming around the corners. I remembered the first walk I took in LA — when everything seemed totally foreign and weird. Now it felt almost natural to drift back and forth across the road.

“Are you all right?” Reed asked. “You seem quiet.”