Chapter 3

"I'm so hungry, dad..." Sophie mumbled.

Then Adrian glanced at the open ketchup bottle on the counter. Sophie had tried to squeeze it onto her piece of bread during the night and left the cap beside the sink.

A sharp flash of disgust crossed his face. He chose the easiest answer before she could give him the true one.

"Can't your mother do anything right? Look at you, you're covered in filth. Why hasn't she changed your clothes?" he snapped.

"It's not ketchup — "

He checked the clock, cutting her off entirely. "You should already be dressed for preschool. What exactly is she doing in there?"

"Mommy has blood on her."

Adrian looked toward the bedroom.

Sophie pointed. "A lot."

With a heavy sigh, he crossed the hall and put his hand on the knob.

I stood beside him, watching his fingers tighten.

Open it. Just open it and see!

But just as the latch clicked, frantic knocking struck the front door.

Then another.

"Adrian!" Celeste called. "Please, I need help."

His hand left the bedroom knob instantly.

"No! Adrian, look inside! Just look!" I screamed in pure agony, but my ghostly voice echoed into nothingness.

Celeste stood on the porch holding Chloe against her shoulder. A red patch covered the child's forearm. Chloe was crying loudly, but she was not shaking, bleeding, or struggling to breathe.

"She spilled tea," Celeste sobbed, playing the fragile victim perfectly. "I couldn't find our first-aid kit. I didn't know who else to call."

Adrian took Chloe from her and examined the burn with the focus he had refused to give Sophie's blood.

"It may blister. We should have the healer look at it."

"You're never a burden," he assured her softly.

Sophie came to the door, rubbing her empty stomach. "Daddy, I need food."

Adrian turned. The gentle warmth vanished from his eyes, replaced by icy irritation.

"Ask your mother."

"She won't wake up."

"Then wake her."

"I tried."

Celeste's gaze moved to the dark, dried stains on Sophie's clothes. For half a second, her expression went deadly blank. She knew more than she should have. Then, like a flip of a switch, she pulled a mask of fake concern over her features.

"Maybe you should check on Evelyn first."

The suggestion sounded generous, but she was already reaching for Adrian's arm.

Chloe whimpered.

Adrian made his choice without hesitation.

"A burn can get infected. Evelyn is sulking. Those aren't the same thing."

He carried Chloe to the car.

"I'll be back after the healer sees her," he told Sophie. "Get dressed for school."

"I can't reach my dress."

"Your mother can."

"Daddy—"

He shut the door in her face.

"You can't leave her!" I shrieked, throwing myself in front of him, but he walked right through my translucent chest. "There are rogues out there, Adrian! She's only five!"

The car left before Sophie finished saying his name.

That abandonment brought a new danger. Ronan had entered our house the day before. Adrian knew a rogue had threatened us in the past, even if he refused to believe my recent warnings. Still, he left his five-year-old alone in an unlocked home and told himself I was inside.

Sophie watched the car disappear, then carried a dining chair to the front door. She could reach the lower lock, but not the dead bolt above it. She tried until the chair legs skidded on the wood.

"Aunt Nora knows what to do," she said.

She remembered Nora's street and the blue door, but not every turn between our houses. I hovered beside her, unable to warn her that leaving alone would put her closer to the roads Ronan's scouts used.

At last she climbed down. The dead bolt that had frustrated Ronan's earlier scouts trapped her again.

She went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. A carton of milk stood on the top shelf. She stretched for it, knocked over a jar, and jumped at the crash.

"Sorry, Mommy."

She apologized to my corpse for breaking a jar while her father drove another woman's child to a healer.

Sophie returned to the bedroom.

My phone had died during the night. She pressed the side button again and again before carrying it to the outlet. The charging cable was behind the nightstand. She could not move the heavy wood.

"I want Aunt Nora," she told my body. "She brings soup."

Nora had visited the week before and found Sophie eating cereal for dinner. Adrian had taken Celeste and Chloe to a pack banquet. I had said I wasn't hungry because there wasn't enough milk for both of us.

Nora had looked at the single bowl and understood anyway.

Now she was six blocks away, and Sophie had no way to reach her.

When she climbed onto the bed, her foot caught my wrist. My arm fell over the edge and struck the frame with a sickening thud.

Sophie jumped, her face draining of color.

"Mommy? Does it hurt?"

She lifted my hand with both of hers. The fingers stayed stiffly where she placed them. She pressed her thumb against my nail until the skin remained white.

"Aunt Nora said dead people don't breathe," she whispered, her lower lip trembling. "She said their bodies get hard."

Sophie put her ear against my mouth.

Nothing moved her hair.

"Are you... dead?"

I knelt beside her, my soul shattering into a million jagged pieces. I reached out, desperately trying to stroke her cheek, but my phantom fingers grasped nothing but cold air.

She tucked the blanket under my shoulder. "You don't have to be. I'll be good. I promise I won't be bad anymore. Please don't be dead."

For the next two hours, she cared for my corpse the way I had cared for her through fevers. She brought a cup of water and held it near my lips. She told me a story about a rabbit who woke after winter. She sang half of the lullaby I used at bedtime and forgot the last line.

Then she found the comb on my dresser.

My hair had dried against my cheek where blood touched it. Sophie worked at the tangles with patient little pulls.

"You said we have to look nice for school," she murmured. "Today is my first day."

She sat beside her dead mother and combed her hair because the only person who should have protected her had walked away.

When the comb caught, she stopped and patted my head.

"It's okay. I won't hurt you."

Each act was different. Each one showed her reaching a new understanding and refusing it.

By the time Adrian returned, Sophie's voice was hoarse.

He came through the front door angry.

"Why didn't you go to school? Your teacher called the pack office."

Sophie stepped into the hall. "Mommy is dead."

Adrian stopped.

The words landed. I saw them land.

Then his jaw tightened.

"Don't you dare say things like that."

"She doesn't breathe."

"Did your mother teach you to say that? Is this her sick new game?" he snarled.

"She didn't talk."

"Because she's punishing me! Because she's a petty, jealous woman!"

He marched toward the bedroom, his eyes blazing with rage.

"All I did was spend Valentine's Day with Celeste! One dinner! And she turns it into this massive, childish crisis because she can't stand that I care about someone else!"

His hand reached the knob again. He gripped it hard, ready to shove the door open and unleash his wrath upon my cold, stiff body.

But this time, before he could turn it, the front door opened behind him.

Celeste entered without waiting to be invited.