I probably should’ve saved the Scooby gang the late night visit to my empty casket. Pointless and a waste of time, yet entertaining for me—more than it should be. In fact, I won’t be shamed out of the joy it brought me.

Knowing my bones weren’t there, the best outcome of the evening was supposed to be the discovery of my life dates, so lovingly engraved on my headstone. No one even commented. I guess an empty casket was too distracting.

The grave digging, while entertaining, didn’t reveal any new information.

The questions remain. Where’s Alice? Or more specifically, where are Alice’s remains?

More importantly, how did I die?

And why doesn’t Geoffrey know I’m haunting him? Do I need to up my ghost game? Invest in some chains to rattle and a white shroud to wear around the properties? Not sure either of those things are my style. I might have to improvise with some metal bangles and a bed sheet with two eyes cut out so I can see.

Inside of the library, Madison is explaining her latest theory to Sam while Geoffrey types away on his phone. “The Bramhin Club had an entire collection of lockets like Alice’s. Decorated with initials on the front, most enclosed a lock of hair.”

I want to tap his head with my shoe to make sure he’s paying attention.

The Bramhin Club, aka one of Boston’s oldest and most prestigious club, aka a bunch of greedy, pompous bone thieves masquerading as Boston society.

Founded by my family, the BC as we fondly called it, is where I first met Geoffrey. Through that connection, he was offered the director’s role here at the Wicked Society. A consolation prize for losing the love of his life. The Winthrops are generous, but cold.

I’d like to believe he’s made it his life’s mission to solve the mystery of my murder and avenge my death, but all of my observations point toward him moping around this enormous brownstone, alone.

Well, that’s going to change and soon. Sooner if this bunch of witches will focus.

“Typically, the lock of hair corresponds to the initials,” Madison continues.

“Why would someone carry around their own hair? That makes zero sense.” Sam taps the glass covering the dark hair coiled beneath just as it was when I added it all those years ago. “Wouldn’t pulling a few strands off of their own head be easier?”

“It’s typically not their own hair,” Geoffrey responds, still focused on his screen. “Momenti mori is the common explanation.”

“Keepsake of the dead?” Sam stares more intently at the locket. “So this isn’t Alice’s DNA?”

He gives a subtle shake of his head.

“Then who does it belong to if not her?” Sam asks, flipping over the locket and studying the engraved surface for more clues.

“A love interest? Victorian mourning jewelry was made for the living to hold onto a physical piece of their departed beloved.” Madison types rapidly on her desktop’s keyboard.

“What are you looking for?” Geoffrey asks, finally dragging his attention from his device to Madison’s screen. “What’s all that?”

“Andrew, Mr. Biochemist, pulled all of the known DNA data for the Salem Witches and the Brahmin Society. Want to guess who the other hair belongs to, Geoffrey?”

“It’s mine.” He finally glances up from his screen.

“Were you brother and sister? Was Alice your mother?” Sam asks.

Geoffrey cringes and pales. “No. Neither.”

The women wait for him to elaborate. He’s a man of few words. This may be all they get out of him.

“Who was she to you?” Madison presses.

“Alice Winthrop was my love.” He sets his phone down and scrubs his hands down his face before interlocking his fingers behind his head. “My girlfriend and the woman I’d hoped to marry one day.”

I sigh and it comes out like a swoon.

Both Sam and Madison gawk at him.

“Hold on. She’s your girlfriend?” Sam asks. “If she’s a Winthrop, why doesn’t Tate remember her?”

“Was. She died fifteen years ago. He would’ve been six at the time. No one in the family speaks of her death because of the scandal.”

“How did she die?” Madison asks.

“Which version do you want to hear?” His eyes are sad, his voice weary. He’s breaking my heart all over again.

“The truth?” Sam’s response ends up sounding more like a question.

“The official version in the obituary was she had an unfortunate accident involving an improperly installed window screen. The family gossip said she jumped. I believe she was pushed.”

“Where?” Madison asks.

“The Marblehead summer house.”

My favorite second story bedroom, the one in the corner with the view.

I didn’t jump that much I know for certain.

“Alice says she didn’t jump.” Madison translates my head shaking.

“I never believed she did.” Geoffrey gives her a sad smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nor do I think it was an accident.”

“Which leaves murder,” Sam says. “An unsolved murder like the ones from my favorite podcasts.”

“Do you think that’s why she’s a ghost?” Madison stares at me. “A violent, premature death. Perhaps she doesn’t realize she’s dead.”

When I frown at her and then roll my eyes, she backtracks.

“Okay, okay, she knows she’s dead,” she explains my reaction. “Why am I the only one who can see her? Shouldn’t the two of you have a deeper bond?”

Geoffrey straightens in his seat.

Come on, admit the dreams. Please remember them. Give me something.

“Is she here now?” he asks instead.

Madison points right at me. “She’s there.”

Way to out me, Maddy.

No matter how much he squints or tilts his head, I can tell that Geoffrey is unable to see me. “Are you sure?”

Yeah, we’re sure.

Madison frowns. “To me she’s as real as you or Sam.”

The line between his eyebrows deepens. “There are times I wake up clinging to the remnants of a dream about her. They feel so real, I’ve taken to napping in my office in the afternoons, hoping to encounter her again.”

Huzzah! He does remember.

His brows pull together so tightly they almost form a uni-brow. “The library and the book fight with Stanford. I was there. I helped.”

Madison’s eyes bug out. “I saw you. A younger version. In the tuxedo.”

“And Alice in her black, silk gown. Of course. Why didn’t I put it together that it was her you saw.”

“Because we all assumed she was older? Aren’t all ghosts Victorian?” Sam muses. “No one expects modern ghosts.”

“What’s she doing now?” Geoffrey walks toward me.

“She’s sitting on the window seat, a few feet in front of you.”

He slowly makes his way closer.

“A little to the left,” Madison guides him.

Surprising me, he sits down, and I have to shift a little not to be smushed by him.

“You’re sitting side by side, although she’s twisted to face you.”

“Thanks for the play-by-play,” Geoffrey tells her but he’s turned toward me.

“What if I can transfer my power to you?” Madison asks Geoffrey.

“How?” He doesn’t say it’s impossible, which I know is what he’s thinking. Not because I can read minds, but because I know him so well. His tone is sharp, hiding his hope.

“I don’t know.” Her brows pinch together. “Can we share powers?”

Geoffrey places his hand on his thigh, palm side up. It’s an invitation.

I rest my own hand over his and interlace our fingers. Closing my eyes, I focus all of my energy on the point where our skin makes contact.

“She—” Madison begins her narration but I press my index finger against my lips to tell her to hush.

“She’s holding my hand, isn’t she?” Geoffrey whispers. “I can feel something, a tingling current of electricity.”

Squeezing his fingers as hard as I can, I nod. Tears fill his eyes and I find my own vision going blurry.

His eyes search for mine and it’s beyond frustrating he can’t see me. I lift his other hand and press it to my cheek. In the background, Sam and Madison’s footsteps fade as they leave the room.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers. “Every single day.”

Hot tears slide down my cheeks. “I never left you. I could never leave you.”

We sit together for a long time.

“I’ve been helping them to find answers. Did you know someone put a curse of silence on me? I can’t figure out how to break it or work around it.” He sounds lost. “After you died, your locked disappeared. I thought it was lost forever until Madison found it. Turns out her grandmother had kept it hidden at her farmhouse after seeing it in the jeweler’s window.

“Once we located the black book and brought it to the archives, I knew I could do something useful by adding my notes and updates. History is a living entity and should never be locked away or forgotten. How will we learn from our mistakes and the sins of our fathers?”

“I know it was you,” I tell him though he can’t hear me. “I believed you’d never give up.”

“Madison is so close to figuring out the links. Once she can identify your murderer, everything will click into place. And then, I’ll be free to join you,” he whispers this last sentence.

He can’t mean what I think he does.

“I’ve only been half alive ever since you died. Knowing my work is done means I can move on. The Society will be in capable hands with Andrew and Tate. Once Madison and Sam graduate next year, they’ll join them. Four powerful witches will do more good than one brooding witch ever could.”

His words stun me. He’s been doing all this not only to avenge me, but to reunite with me? Geoffrey’s going to die?

I don’t know how I feel about his plans. I would never ask him to cut short his life. What if the answers he seeks allows me to pass through this stage and he ends up a ghost alone? I didn’t chose to be a ghost. I’m not sure if I can stay a ghost forever.

Unable to even deal with the thought of any of this, I disappear and go hide out in my teenage bedroom.