But when I dreamed of Anna, I was living in a haunted house. She left her wet little fingerprints all over my stuff; she laughed and played and whispered in my ear.
I get out of bed and head for the bathroom. I can feel the cool air coming from the crack beneath the nursery door, smell my birth mother’s perfume from the master bedroom down the hall. I close my eyes and picture the forgotten furniture downstairs, covered in sheets and decaying in the humid air.
When Anna was haunting me, at least it was fun from time to time. I mean, don’t get me wrong: I was terrified and confused and overwhelmed, but I was also playing Monopoly and checkers with a little girl who liked my toys and laughed when she won. There’s nothing fun about this house. It’s so humid that sometimes it looks like the walls are crying.
I miss Anna. She’s probably moved on by now, right? I know that Victoria’s letter said her spirit still had work left to do on Earth, but it’s been weeks since I destroyed the water demon who killed her. She knows better than anyone the risks of lingering too long.
Lucio mentioned once that you could seek spirits out if you knew about their lives before they passed away. I know a lot about Anna’s life: I know where she lived and how she died and that her favorite toy was a stuffed owl that matches the one in the nursery across the hall.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed. It takes all my strength to open the window wide with the vines pressing heavily from the other side. The plants crack and rip as the window ascends. I stick my head outside and close my eyes.
Concentrate. Just like Aidan always tells me to.
I picture the inside of Victoria’s house, its plush, pastel-colored furniture, a stark contrast to her dark clothes. I picture Anna’s face—not the little girl in the wet dress I saw in my dreams, but the pictures on Victoria’s mantel—the pretty girl with the nearly black eyes that matched her mother’s. If I can pull her near, now that I’m more experienced, will I be able to see her? Will I want to see the Anna who was drowned in her own bathtub? Goosebumps blossom on my arms and legs.
“Anna!” I say out loud, careful not to shout—Lucio is asleep in his room below. “Anna?” I repeat, a question this time.
Softly, like it’s coming from miles away, I hear the laugh I know so well.
Then, as quickly as it came, the sound disappears, like a connection that’s been broken, a call that’s been dropped. I concentrate once more.
“Please.” I hold my arms out in front of me, like I think if I just reach out far enough, I’ll be able to grab her and pull her close.
No such luck.
Then I have an idea.
I run into the hallway and throw my weight against the nursery door. Just like my first night here, this room is a pleasant few degrees cooler.
But I’m not here to enjoy the weather. Even in the darkness I find what I’m looking for almost immediately. I grab it, its fur soft and cool under my fingers. I close the door behind me and go back to the window. This time, when I reach my arms out in front of me, I’m holding something Anna will recognize.
I close my eyes and concentrate, thinking of the sound of her voice saying night night and of her footsteps pattering on the floor above me. I even think about our bathroom on the night the demon arrived. The sound of her voice when she begged for her life.
I open my eyes and I can see her. She is all I can see—her long, dark hair and her pale skin and her dark eyes. “You’re dry,” I say dumbly. Every time I saw her before—and then it was only in my dreams—her hair was wet, her clothes dripping. Whenever she touched anything in my room, wet fingerprints were left behind. She nods but doesn’t speak, and I understand she’s been dry ever since the water demon was destroyed.
“Are you ready to move on?” I ask, holding out the stuffed owl that matches hers.
She shakes her head.
“Don’t you want to move on, Anna?” I sense her answer immediately. I smile, relieved. Until she adds, But not until the time is right.
“What does that mean? It’s too risky to stay here.” If anyone knows what’s at stake when a dark spirit manifests, she does. “You have to move on,” I say fiercely. “Please let me help you.” My hands are trembling, so the owl is shaking in my grip. It looks like it’s about to take flight. In a second it does. I mean, it’s floating up away from me.
“How are you doing that?” I ask. The last time I saw a stuffed owl fly, it was Dr. Hoo in my bedroom, his wings flapping so hard they lifted my hair in the breeze. But that was when the water demon was there too.
“Please!” I shout at her, not even bothering to try to stay quiet. “Let me—”