With the Scooby gang at the Society all summer, there’s no rest for the wicked. Or the dead.

My typical nap schedule is severely disrupted and I haven’t had time to watch Geoffrey work out in over three days.

Sam has decided to try bibliomancy to locate my information in the black book.

The case and the black book sit where they left them. Despite me sweeping up the circle of salt before lunch, a few forgotten crystals are visible in the joints in the wood floor.

After they resume their same seats at the table, Sam dons a pair of white archival gloves.

“That’s it. You can make anything hot.” Tate rubs his hands over his face. They’re at peak level of unresolved sexual tension. I can literally see sparks flying between them.

“Do you have a fetish for cartoon characters or church grannies I should know about? Not judging. Just want to know what I’m getting involved with.” Sam’s laughter diffuses the energy. For the moment.

He fakes a frown. “Who told you?”

“Lucky guess until you confirmed it.” Ah, the banter. I live for banter and flirting.

“Carry on, witch,” he says with a chuckle.

“What should we ask for?” Sam gently cradles the black book in her gloved hands.

“This is your gig. What’s calling to you? Trust your intuition.”

“Would it be weird to ask about Alice if Madison isn’t here to see her reaction? The way she disappeared earlier in the ghost version of a huff has me curious.”

First of all, it wasn’t a huff. Second, yes, ask me all of the questions.

“Then that’s the direction you should head. I’m here to support you.”

“Should we wait for the others?”

“We don’t need them, do we? You have all of the power you need.” Tate reassures her.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

Tate shifts in his chair. Closing her eyes, Sam inhales. I hear her voice even though she’s not speaking out loud.

Where are you, Alice? Who are you? What do you have to teach us?

Where are you? Are you lost, Alice? Help us find you. We can help.

I’m here and you’re about to find out. Careful not to touch Sam or knock the book out of her hands, I flip open the cover and scan the pages until I can find mine. Ah, there it is. ASW-N on the bottom of a lefthand page toward the back.

“I think this is her.” Sam tilts the book and points at my initials.

“That ink doesn’t look old.” Tate gestures to the writing on the page. “Style isn’t the same as the earliest entries.”

“We concluded the names weren’t in chronological order, but maybe we were wrong?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out.” He leans his upper body over the table to get a closer look.

Sam takes a big inhale of his clean scent.

He’s completely unaware she’s in a Tate-induced haze of lust. “What do the numbers and other letters mean? Have you deciphered that part of the code?”

“Which numbers?” Sam looks at where he’s pointing. “Holy parsnips. Those weren’t there before. I swear. How did we miss these?”

Faint pencil notations follow each set of initials. Next to ASW-N is 82-2003 and the letters MA, CAM, MA.

“Could those be birth and death dates?” Tate reaches out to touch the page, but Sam shifts the book out of his range. “Sorry.”

“I can get you a pair of gloves if you want to touch it.”

“Nah, I’m good. MA is definitely Massachusetts, don’t you think? Cam could be Cambridge. Look, there’s a BOS for Boston. Okay, so something MA, Cambridge, Massachusetts. What has the initials MA in Cambridge?”

Sam’s brow wrinkles. “I don’t know. I’m not as familiar with this area. Remember, I’m a small town girl from nowhere.”

“My favorite,” he whispers softly. “Let’s grab Andrew and Madison. Four heads are better than one when it comes to figuring this stuff out.”

I want to draw a big red circle around the clues, but they’re so close to figuring out the mystery on their own I don’t want to ruin their fun.

Studying the large map of Cambridge they found in the library, Andrew guesses, “Mount Auburn?”

“The hospital?” Tate asks.

“No, the cemetery.” Madison points at the large, green space on the western edge of Cambridge.

“Why would her final resting place be noted in the book?” Sam asks, and then answers her own question, “Bone magic. You don’t think someone has stolen Alice’s bones?”

“Is that why she’s a ghost?” Madison asks.

Tate nods. “Could be.”

“This should help us narrow our search for her.” Madison gives me thumbs-up. I roll my hand in the charades gesture for keep going.

Tate finds the cemetery’s website on his phone. “Or not. Almost a hundred thousand people are buried there.”

“That’s ten times the size of my hometown.” Sam’s mouth opens in shock. “Are there even a hundred thousand names in the book? This is crazy pants.”

“Where’s your optimism?” Tate asks her. “Call it intuition or a gut feeling, but I think one of our missing pieces is in the Mount Auburn cemetery. Or should be. We need to take a field trip.”

No, no, no.

Ask yourselves who wrote the newer information in the margins? Whose penmanship is that? Come on, Scooby gang. The clues are right there in the book and the culprit is inside of the house.

Instead of lounging around in our pajamas and analyzing the book, the group takes a late night field trip to Mount Auburn cemetery. According to the new information, I’m buried there.

Someone is either lying or misinformed. Which brings me to my next question, why?

No one listens to me and that’s how we end up hanging around several Winthrop family graves on a rainy night.

“Which one belongs to Alice?” Madison’s voice hitches. “Sorry. I didn’t expect to be emotional tonight. Except now we’re here and I’m sad she’s dead like she died recently. I don’t even know Alice. Not really.”

That’s sweet of her. I think about hugging her but stop myself. Most humans don’t like ghost hugs even when they can’t see me, only sense me.

“Are we in the right place?” Adorable Andrew studies the obnoxiously oversized memorial erected by some arrogant family member whose own erection was probably tiny.

“Uh …” Madison trails off.

“What’s wrong?” Tate and Sam ask

“Alice is here.” Madison tilts her toward me. I give her a friendly wave of my fingers.

“You mean her body?” Sam asks.

“No,” Madison whispers. “Uh, both.”

“Can you use more words?” Andrew stands and then steps closer to her.

“Alice the ghost is here. She’s sitting against the memorial where you were reading the inscription. Didn’t you feel her? She was less than a foot away.”

Stretching out my arm, I poke Andrew’s leg. Of course, he can’t feel it. This fact annoys me and I cross my arms in a childish pout.

“Makes sense if she’s buried here, there’d be a strong connection.” Tate adds, “What is she doing now?”

“She’s sitting with her legs outstretched and arms crossed. I can’t tell if she’s angry or upset, but she doesn’t seem happy.”

“Can you ask her if she’s mad about what we’re doing? I don’t want to piss her off.” Sam’s brow creases with worry, like I’m going to turn into an angry spirit full of wrath and revenge.

“Tell us to stop, Alice. We’ll respect your wishes.” Madison makes eye contact with me.

I love how earnest they are in their respect of my wishes. With a shrug, I point at the grave on the end of the row. Settling in for the long wait while they dig up the six feet of dirt, I rest my head on my folded arms on top of my knees.

Madison relays my movement to the rest of the group

“That’s it?” Andrew asks.

“I guess so. She’s not looking at me anymore.” Madison comes and sits next to me.

I appreciate the gesture, confident she and I would’ve been friends if we met in college. Maybe we’re friends now.

Andrew walks to the last headstone and stands in front it. “Alice Sarah Winthrop, forever our beloved daughter. Seems like we have the right place.”

My boring parents couldn’t come up with anything more original or unique? To them, nothing about me was worth mentioning except my place in the world as their daughter. No quote or clever catchphrase to capture a life in the limited space of the rose-colored granite headstone. I despise pink and am positive my mother chose this particular stone to get her way one final time. I’d had preferred a polished black marble like dear, great uncle Alfred is sporting.

“We should’ve brought flowers or a candle or some gift for her. To say we’re sorry for digging her up.” Sam’s voice wavers like she’s fighting tears. Sweet, but unnecessary.

“That’s sweet,” Madison says. “Alice is holding her hand over her heart in thanks.”

Andrew counts out his steps away from my lame headstone. “This might get messy. Probably best if you stand farther away.”

My ears perk up and I note that he’s not holding a shovel. None of them have anything to dig with. Of course. He’s an earth witch. This should be interesting.

The ground beneath me vibrates right before a rectangular section of dirt removes itself from my grave.

Cool trick. I applaud him.

“What’s down there?” Sam asks, again sounding nervous.

“A casket.” Andrew peers into the new hole.

At least the casket is black even if the silk inside is pink. Always with the pink.

“What’s inside it?” Madison tilts forward, but doesn’t stand.

“Sadly, I don’t have X-ray vision. Tate, can you help me?” Andrew motions for Tate to join him.

“Are we sure this is a good idea? What’s Alice’s reaction?” Sam asks Madison.

With Madison giving a play-by-play of my actions, I decide to have a little fun. Conjuring a black, satin clutch to match my vintage outfit, I open it and pull out a nail file. The answers they seek aren’t in the ground. If they’re going to waste time and energy, I might as well amuse myself.

Laughing, Sam asks, “She’s filing her nails? Are we boring her?”

“She just yawned.” Madison gapes at me.

Shrugging, I gaze up at the thick clouds. I have eternity to hang out.

“I’m going to take her actions as a sign this coffin isn’t rigged and nothing terrible is about to happen. Everyone okay with moving forward?” Andrew waits a beat for our agreement, then drops down into the open grave. His head pops above the edge a second later. “Did you hear that? Sounds like I landed on a drum.”

He disappears again and then there’s a creak from the hinges. The children’s song about worms crawling in and out pops into my head, but I resist singing. Too morbid for this bunch.

Wanting to see Andrew’s expression, I tuck my file inside of my purse and stand.

“Alice put away her nail file and is walking over to the grave now,” Madison whispers. “Andrew? She’s heading straight for you!”

What’s with the panic in her tone? Glancing over my shoulder, I check in with her. What exactly is she thinking I’m going to do to him? Movement in my periphery catches my attention. Tate’s sliding into the hole to join Andrew.

“Stop!” Leaping forward, Sam screams.

I sigh. Her current dramatics are a little over the top even for me. What does she expect to happen?

“What the fuck?” Sam vocalizes exactly what I’m thinking.

Both boys turn to face her. While they discuss Sam’s use of the F word, I decide to have a lie down inside of the coffin. It’s surprisingly less comfortable than it looks. The pink silk is really cheap satin and there’s zero plush padding. More fancy illusions to please my family and spend their money.

Sam stares at me in my ridiculous coffin. “Where’s Alice? Do we even have the right grave?”

Smiling, Madison points at me. “She’s in there. She’s trying to appear angelic.”

Trying? My face is the epitome of innocence right now. Renaissance cherubs look more mischievous than I do in the moment.

“Apparently our ghost has a morbid sense of humor.” Andrew laughs.

Keeping my eyes closed, I grin. Our ghost. I like the way that sounds. Like they’re claiming me. Like I belong to them.

“Is there anything else in the coffin? A note? A clue? A handwritten confession explaining every mystery?” Tate stands on the closed end of the casket and dusts off his backside. Focused on Sam, he holds up his hand for her to take.

Patting down the sides and slipping my hands underneath the liner, I touch nothing but satin.

“There’s nothing.” Andrew scrambles up to the surface.

“Mind giving me some help getting out of here?” Tate lifts his hand toward Sam.

She grips his arm and he pulls himself out of the hole.

“Ahh, good to be back among the living.” He leans down and kisses her.

I miss kissing. Not the sloppy attempts or smashed mouths of the inept, but toe-curling, incredible kisses with a promise of more.

It’s clear that Tate and Sam have some serious chemistry. The kind that obscures rational thoughts and erases all of the reasons why a couple shouldn’t be together.

Like Sam and Tate. Yes, they’re destined for each other, but not until he comes clean about why he’s kept her at arm’s length for years. Only the truth will release them from the curse he’s inherited from the Winthrop lineage.

Watching them kiss, a sudden surge of anger shoots through me and I grab Sam’s shoulder before I’m conscious of my movements.

“Hey. Not funny.” Sam loses her balance and tumbles backward toward the grave. Again, she screams and I want to cover my ears. Thankfully, Tate stops her fall and she quiets.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Tate repeats over and over again as he comforts her

“What happened?” Andrew asks from somewhere close.

“Someone jerked my shoulder,” Sam mutters into Tate’s chest.

I feel terrible for scaring her after she was already spooked by being here. I’m a terrible ghost friend.

Tate rubs soothing circles over her back. “And no one touched you. You jerked back like you’d been shocked.”

“I felt it. A hand gripped me. I’m sure of it.” She shifts in his embrace to seek out Madison. “Maddy? Did you do it?”

Feeling bad for scaring Sam, I mouth “I’m sorry” to Madison.

Madison shakes her head. “I promise it wasn’t me.”

“Who else could it be?” Andrew asks.

“Alice.” Madison furrows her brow. “It was Alice.”

The breeze kicks up, carrying with it the smell of rain.

“Why would Alice push me? And also, how is that even possible?” Sam rubs her shoulder.

Madison continues to stare at me, confused. “She could move books in the library and used them to attack Stanford when he kidnapped me. I—I didn’t think she could touch humans, though.”

This is new. And the possibility of what it could mean thrills me.

Sam’s still shook. “She pushed me away from Tate.”

I narrow my eyes at him. Feel the glare, cousin dearest.

As if sensing my perturbed energy, Tate mumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like “I’m doomed.” Andrew hears him shakes his head.

“You haven’t told her?” Andrew’s voice lifts at whatever Tate says. “No wonder Alice got involved. She’s protecting Sam.”

Damn straight.

It isn’t fair to drag someone into the curses of the old families. At least until we get everything sorted out. And after all of the crap we’ve suffered through, he should know better that the Winthrops are the worst of the worst.

I should know. I’ve found out the hardest way possible that love doesn’t always conquer all.