Jake didn't seem all too eager to let me out of his sight, not after my prolonged disappearance. After handing me my replacement ice cream cone, he ignored my wishes to let me go home on my own, insisting on walking me there. It was like he expected me to have some sort of meltdown on the way home. The gesture was sweet, but made me feel infinitely more guilty.

Everything was weighing down on me. Everything - being back and the tattoo and all the lying. I'd barely been with him an hour and it was already too much. How was I supposed to keep this up for a week? Hiding one thing from him had been difficult enough, but now it was too much.

I needed to lighten the load. Come right out and tell him what had been eating at me for ages. So I turned to look him in the eye once I was on the porch, trying to force the truth from my lips.

But he grinned at me, pecked me on the cheek, and turned away before I could muster up the courage. He walked out of sight, turning back only to wave, and I did my best to smile as my heart sank. I went inside the house, locking the door behind me before I sat down on the nearest couch, curling up with the throw and tuning the TV to the local news channel.

The story of a missing eighteen-year-old a town over had been circulating for the last couple hours. He'd been found last night - literally pulled out of a grave by strangers who'd been out on a hike. People were all over it - questioning everything, praising his survival, swearing up and down that it was a miracle. And, naturally, there were those who raised the glaringly obvious question: who buried him in the first place?

Unlike my rise, this boy's had been witnessed. His story would be dissected over and over. His face would be plastered all over the news. His life would be torn to pieces by the press.

Waking up alone had been terrifying, but it was certainly preferable to this.

The plan was to drive over later today, once Gran had picked up her Jeep from the mechanic. I'd head there, talk to him, see if maybe he had the same tattoo. I was sure that it was meaningless - sort of Anubis' way of marking his territory (presumably because having my grave peed on wasn't enough). But really I just wanted to know if this boy - Adrian Gonzalez - had any memories of his murder.

There were only two of us that I knew of, but it felt like a pattern was beginning to emerge.

Undead murder victims.

An hour passed before Gran got back. She honked the car's horn until I came outside and got in.

I loved Gran dearly - what I did not love was her taste in music - '70s power ballads and old jazz. Without my old phone, I had to sit through Whitesnake and her shrieking along, slapping my arm when I didn't join in. In her defense, we were usually listening to my music, and she despised it as much as I despised hers. She thought it was pretentious.

"Sing, Neith, sing! You're like a cranky old woman, you know that?"

The ride to Redwater had never felt so long and it was only a little over thirty minutes away. By the time we got there, I was in dire need to purge my senses with my music.

The address we found online was a little house in the town's lower-income neighborhood. It was strangely devoid of press - I honestly expected journalists to be camped out on the front lawn.

"Are you coming with me?"

"No. You're going by yourself. I'm going to listen to my tapes until you're done."

I got out the car, shutting the door behind me before she could start belting the lyrics to next song. It wasn't until I got to the door that the uneasiness set in. Wiping my sweaty palms off on my jeans, I rang the bell.

This was fine.

This would be easy.

This wasn't fine.

I was about to get turned away for sounding like an absolute nutjob. Somebody who'd escaped from an asylum. What if he was in shock? Didn't want to believe me?

The door opened.

"Are you another goddamn tragedy whore? I'm so sick of people I don't even know coming by to cry for me at my house. I-"

"No, I'm from Bent Valley."

He blinked before offering a sheepish, apologetic smile. "What do you want then, Miss Valley?"

This was going to sound like madness, but there was no use in holding back. Either he went through the same thing as me or he didn't - being direct was the easiest way to find out. "You died, right? You were dead and you were sent back by a god called Anubis. He told you that you needed to kill whoever killed you by the end of the week or you'd die again."

The boy stared at me, his smile fading.

I waited for him to declare me insane.

"Want to come inside?"

⁂

I stirred my coffee, mixing the abundance of creamer the boy had dumped in before I took a sip. It was like magic - the warmth flooding my body, numbing my jittery nerves for the time being.

We were seated on the floor of what I assumed was supposed to be a living room. The house was relatively empty, devoid of furniture. No photographs, not art, no plants, no books. It seemed like his family was just moving in and hadn't yet had the chance to adorn the place.

The boy watched me, brown eyes curious as he appraised me. Setting down his own mug, he ran his hand back over his dark hair, taking a slow breath. "What's your name?"

"Neith Johnson."

"Adrian Gonzalez."

"So. Who killed you?"

"My stepfather. Who killed you?"

"I'll tell you when I figure it out."

He arched a brow. "You don't remember?"

"No, not yet. Are you going to kill your step-father?"

"Eventually. I've wanted to do it for ages anyway. He's an ass. And now he's a murderer. Unfortunately, he disappeared the same night I did. Nobody's seen him or my mother since." Adrian lifted his mug back up and took a couple sips. Coffee dripped off the edge of the rim, splattering against the tanned skin of his knuckles. "I'll find him."

"You're okay with doing that?"

"You haven't met him. The world will be no poorer. Are you going to kill whoever offed you?"

"I'm looking for a loophole."

"Sweetheart, we were raised from our graves by an Egyptian god. You really think there's a way out of this?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you're obviously insane. But I probably am too. Want to tell me why you're here?"

"I was hoping you might want in. Help me find a way out of this."

"I have no qualms about killing the dick who did me in. I thought I made that fairly obvious."

"I wasn't expecting that. But, consider what'll happen to you if you don't find him. And if you do kill him, who's to say you won't die anyway? Helping me with this will be in your best interest."

"You think he lied?"

"I think there's no point in having victims kill their killers and then having them live. What does that get him?"

Adrian shut his eyes for the briefest of moments. He considered my proposal. He considered my warning. It went on for what felt like an eternity. "Fine. Whatever. Tell me what you need me to do."

"For starters, there's somebody I'd like you to meet."