“I think I just need to head back to the house.” My house as in theLandonhouse. How strange it will be to set foot back there again as a resident. As much as I’m not looking forward to Tad acting like, well,Tad, a part of me can’t wait to crawl back into the butterfly room for old time’s sake. “Would you mind giving me a ride home?”
His lips purse as he checks his phone. “Actually, my dad just texted. He asked me to stop by the cemetery to make sure the security system is set.” He glances at Logan. “You mind giving her a ride?” Gage glowers at Logan as if every secret the two of us are currently harboring was suddenly laid bare. Gage does have the gift of knowing, but it’s never worked in this capacity.
I think about his words for a moment. I don’t remember anything about the security system at the cemetery that night. Sure, the Oliver family owns and operates the Paragon Mortuary andCemetery, so the request isn’t all that unusual, but the timing seems strange. Something about Gage’s too casual tone sets off more than a few alarms in my head.
“No problem.” Logan nods, not bothering to hide his satisfaction. “I’ll make sure she gets where she’s going, safe and sound.”
Gage growls a little, but he leans in to kiss me goodbye before he can properly threaten Logan with his fist. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“You bet,” I say, biting down a smile as heat fills my cheeks, my chest, and parts of me that haven’t flooded with heat to date in this youthful body of mine.
We watch as Gage weaves through the crowd and disappears out the front door. And the moment he’s gone, Logan pulls me into his arms with a mischievous grin.
“Security system at the cemetery?” he muses. “That’s a new one.”
“I know, right? I don’t remember that happening the first time around, but here’s to safe corpses.”
“So, we’re altering a few things.” He shrugs. “We both know we can’t change anything major. It will all work out just the way it’s supposed to.”
A dark feeling comes over me as I glance toward the door. “You say it like it’s a good thing.”
“In the end, it will be.”
“Or maybe we’ve already changed things more than we realize,” I say with a shrug as if the possibility didn’t affect me.
A dark feeling runs through me at the thought. What else might we be changing without realizing it? Nothing major, but still. When you’re a teenager, even a sideways glance feels major.
“Anyway, let’s worry about that later,” I decide, grabbing his hand. “Right now, I believe we have a date with a three-headed hound from Hell.”
He cranes his neck past my shoulder. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” I call after him, but it’s too late. Myvoice is drowned out by the music, and he’s already lost in the crowd. Less than a minute later, he springs up with a frown on his face, slightly out of breath. “Why do you look as if someone punched you in the gut?”
“Wrong body part. Michelle went for my balls.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “Good thing I ducked and missed half the effort.”
“Why did you get in Michelle’s haunted way?”
“Because I needed to get that necklace off of her.”
“I hope you didn’t swallow it.” I’m only half-teasing.
“I threw it on the roof.”
“Oh good,” I say. “So, the whole house is cursed now. Let’s take off before the ceiling collapses.”
Logan gives a dark laugh. “This house was cursed long before that.”
The dragon’s head mounted over the fireplace begins to glow an unnatural shade of red, and we get the heck out of haunted Dodge.
Logan’s truck is exactly as I remember it—white, relatively new, and smelling faintly of pine and teenage angst. He opens the passenger door for me with an exaggerated bow.
“Your chariot awaits, Ms. Messenger.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Oliver.” I climb in, feeling a strange nostalgia for this vehicle that was featured in so many of our early adventures. A handful of them happy. Most of them terrifying.
The drive to West Paragon High is filled with comfortable bouts of silence and occasional bursts of laughter as we reminisce about our teenage years—now happening all over again courtesy of my mother. And the surreal nature of our situation isn’t lost on either of us. Paragon looks startlingly the same today as it does in the distant tomorrow—save for the fact that Whitehorse doesn’t exist yet, and neither do our children.
“Do you think we’ll ever get home?” I ask as the silhouette of West Paragon High appears on the horizon. A heavy sigh escapes me when I say it because the night seems to have lasted three yearsalready, and honestly, I wasn’t planning on vacationing in one of my old diaries.
