Everything that happened next was a bit of a blur.

One of the chaperones shouted, "Everyone stand back!" Another one rushed over to Billy, found a pulse, and started to deliver rescue breaths. As we pressed against the walls, several kids pulled out their phones: some took pictures, others started filming, and—thankfully—someone called 911. I heard sirens moments later, but before I had time to process what was going on, the chaperones herded us out of the gymnasium like cattle. As we all lingered on the darkened blacktop, underneath a black night sky, someone called out: "Call your parents to pick you up. The dance is over! Go home!" And that was it.

There was stunned silence as Taylor, Alex, and I filed back into Alex's car. Alex didn't leave the parking lot immediately; he was frozen, hands stuck on the steering wheel, his face bathed in the red glow of ambulance lights.

"I can't believe he just collapsed." His voice was stilted, as if the words didn't want to come out. "Did anyone... see what happened?"

"I kind of did," I said, my throat dry as I recalled Lana's triumphant grin. "He was dancing with Lana when he—"

"Lana?" Taylor asked from the back seat. "Who's that?"

There was a sour taste in my mouth. "Never mind," I said, pressing my head into the car window and wishing I could vanish into thin air like Lana had.

Lana may have been gone, but her presence was everywhere.

Scattered grains of salt littered my bedroom floor. The receipt for her red party dress was crumpled on my bed. And while she had vanished from every Facebook photo, she still appeared in that single Polaroid picture we had taken at the dance, her dark eyes glittering as if she were watching me—laughing at me—through the plastic. I couldn't bear to look at it, and ended up crumpling it up and shoving it in my pocket.

I couldn't sleep. All I did was lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering how I had gotten everything so wrong. How was I fooled so many times? I thought, replaying every interaction over the last few days: every hug, every squeeze, every apology. I had thought I had figured her out—I was dead wrong.

When the sun finally rose on Halloween morning, I stayed in bed. My parents let me be; everyone had heard about the dance by now, so I didn't need to explain. Mallory did swing by around noon, dropping off a handful of fun-sized chocolate bars onto my bed before scurrying out; it was the most quiet she had ever been.

Around 2pm, my mom knocked on the door to let me know that she and Mallory were heading to the mall and that my dad was going to the grocery store. "Do you want me to pick up anything for you?"

You can't buy what I need at a store, I thought, and shook my head.

But once she was gone and I heard the distant sound of the front door closing, I finally crawled out of bed. A restlessness had settled into my bones, and there was a task nagging at my conscience.

I walked to the kitchen and paused in front of the fridge, my stomach churning—but not with hunger. I felt like I was about to enter battle.

I opened the door and stared at the sight before me: containers and containers of leftover Christmas cookies, made with love and care and happiness only a few days prior. Now, they only made me sick. I pulled each container out one-by-one and began to dump them—unceremoniously—into the trash.

My phone started to ring and I saw Taylor's name flash across the screen.

"Hey," I said into the phone.

"Hey," she said back. "How are you holding up?"

I dropped a cookie shaped like an angel into the trash. "Shittily."

"Me too. Last night was... insane. I've been getting updates from Sam," Taylor said. "He's still in a coma. And the doctors still don't know what's wrong with him. No weird lab values, no signs of brain damage, nothing."

I clenched my teeth together. Of course the doctors didn't know what was going on. As of 12 hours ago, Billy had been a healthy 17-year-old. How could the doctors know that the "Billy" lying in that hospital bed was just an empty husk? That his soul was now smoldering away in the Underworld, hanging out with the Queen of the Dead herself?

"And apparently his license lists him as an organ donor," Taylor continued, "so Sam is freaking out thinking they're gonna pull the plug and harvest his organs—"

"Can we not talk about this?" I interrupted, feeling like I was going to throw up.

There was a pause from the other end of the line, and then Taylor said, "Yeah. Sorry Jessa."

"It's fine," I murmured, even though it wasn't.

"I should go anyway," Taylor continued. "Clarissa and I are gonna walk around Gilman Pond."

My stomach seized up even more. "You guys are gonna hang out?"

Taylor no doubt heard the annoyance in my voice. "Yeah. Why wouldn't we?"

"I don't know," I muttered darkly. "Isn't she like a druggie?"

"Jessa," Taylor said, sounding shocked. "She thinks she got roofied at the coffee shop. She doesn't do drugs. You know this."

Of course I knew this. Of course I knew that the real reason Clarissa had treated her like shit last night was because of me. But that's not what came out of my mouth.

"I just don't like her."

"Um... where is this coming from?"

"She's so standoffish. She gives off this I'm better than you attitude. Like at Alex's party when she wouldn't play Pong with you. And you guys are so different. I feel like the only thing similar about you two is art—"

"Yeah," Taylor interrupted. "And that's enough for me. She's been so supportive of my art, in a way no one else has been."

"I've been supportive."

She paused. "It's different."

"No, it's not," I insisted.

Another pause. "God, Jessa, I don't know what's come over you. You sound like a jealous girlfriend."

"Well you're the one who said you'd rather date me when she bailed on you last night."

"But I'm not dating you. I'm dating Clarissa. And I said that last night before I knew what was going on with her. Before we found out she'd been drugged."

"You barely even know her," I muttered. "That's all I'm saying."

There was stunned silence on the other end of the line before Taylor said, in a biting voice, "You know what Jessa? You're right: I do barely know her. Which is why I'm trying to get to know her now. So I'm gonna go. Otherwise I'll be late for our date."

I opened my mouth to say something, but I was greeted with the dial tone: Taylor had hung up without saying goodbye.

"Gaahhh!" I growled, slamming my phone down on the counter.

Anger crawled across my skin. But besides anger, I felt something else: a stickiness, a meanness. Perhaps Lana's presence over the past few weeks had altered me, made me meaner.

Or maybe this is just who I've always been...

My body felt hollow and empty. I had thought Lana had been my friend, but that had been a lie. And I had just spent the last few minutes pushing away my actual best friend.

And intermingled with the feeling of emptiness was an overwhelming feeling of guilt. Guilt for sentencing the kindest guy at our school to a fate worse than death. All because I'd been gullible, naïve, and stupid.

I was suddenly hit with a wave of nausea and I ran to the bathroom. I tried to throw up, but it didn't work. So I resigned myself to just stare at the toilet and feel warm rivulets run down my face, salt dripping into my mouth as I cried.

I heard the doorbell ring and I ignored it, pressing my cheek to the toilet lid. I wanted someone else to get it, but no one else was home.

But as I sat cross-legged on the floor, the bell rang again. Then a third time. Then a fourth. And soon whoever was at the door was repeatedly pressing the button, the bell seeming louder and louder with each ring, making my head throb and my heart rate start to pick up.

"What the hell," I murmured, dragging myself to my feet and peering my head out of the bathroom. I could just barely make out a figure through the front door's window. What caught my eye was the curly blond hair, and for one, wondrous second, I thought it was Billy. But of course it couldn't be him; Billy was in the hospital.

I took a few slow steps towards the front door, dialing "9" and "1" on my phone as a precaution. I didn't like answering the door when I was home alone—my dad was the overprotective sort who watched too much Dateline and liked to tell me every possible way I could get murdered—but whoever was at the door was so persistent that I couldn't ignore him. With my finger hovering over the "1," I opened the door.

The guy in front of me looked so odd that I couldn't believe I had almost mistaken him for Billy. Besides the curly golden hair and the fact that he looked no older than seventeen, the two had nothing else in common. This guy was dressed oddly, in a pair of khaki shorts and a Hawaiian t-shirt that was not appropriate for the crisp fall weather. He also had incredibly clear eyes, a blue so light it was almost as if they were colorless. But the rest of his features were hard to place, hard to look at, as if he were made of water instead of flesh and bone.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Are you Jessa Brown?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Can I come in? I need to talk to you about Lana."

A shock of cold fell over my whole body. Since the dance, no one had recognized Lana's name. I had seen that with Taylor and Alex immediately after the dance, but had confirmed my suspicions with my parents. When I had mentioned her, they had responded with the same confused curiosity that then melted away with a change of topic. No one pressed me for more details. It was as if just saying Lana's name was some sort of memory spell, wiping the minds of all those who heard it. Except for me, of course

And now this guy.

"Who are you?" I asked.

The boy looked over his shoulder, as if worried he was going to be overhead. "I've had many names, but... I think the one you've heard before is James."

James. The name struck a chord, and the memory of Lana and me walking down Main Street floated through my mind's eye. I had a good friend back then, an angel named James, she had said.

I swallowed. "You're an angel."

He didn't deny it. He just repeated, "Can I come in?"

I didn't necessarily want an angel in my house, but I didn't really feel that I had a choice in the matter. I gestured for him to come inside, and he stepped over the threshold a little awkwardly, grasping the doorframe as he did so. His clenched a leather briefcase with his other hand.

"Sorry," he murmured. "Human bodies are awkward. It's just so much... stuff."

"Yeah, I know," I said, even though I honestly had no idea what he was talking about.

As I led him into the kitchen, his eyes swept across the room, lingering on the microwave and fridge. "Are you hungry?" I asked, suddenly feeling like I needed to be a good host. I swung open the fridge, saw the Christmas cookies I hadn't yet thrown out, and shut the door immediately, feeling ill. I opted to get him a glass of water instead.

"Here," I said, after I had filled him some from the sink. He had watched me turn on the faucet with vague fascination and took the glass with a murmur of "Thank you."

We sat in silence as he sipped his water. "So," I said, unsure of exactly what to say. "Do you come... down here often?"

He set his briefcase down and shook his head. "Not really, no. The last time I came to Earth was due to a minor skirmish, probably around—" he squinted, trying to do the math "—1500 AD, as you'd call it. Normally my job involves me just keeping an eye on things... But once it was discovered what Lana had done, I was sent down."

"So this is bad."

James looked at me as if I had just started speaking French. "I don't know which part of controlling a 17-year-old girl and then ripping the soul out of a young man you'd consider a 'good' thing. No, this is bad. Very bad. The Devil has skirted the line in the past, but she's always respected the sanctity of free will. This time she went too far. She made her deal with you, not William Stevens. He shouldn't be down there. Which is why I'm here."

For a moment, he paused, staring at the glass of water in silence. And that's when I saw the look in his eyes, a wavering gaze that made my stomach clench: fear.

Suddenly, my heart started racing. "What's going on?"

James took a deep breath. "The Almighty has not taken kindly to Lana's kidnapping attempt, and He has brought up the idea of a war. A celestial war against the Devil if the boy is not returned." He pressed his hands on the counter. "If this war were to come to pass, Hell would be destroyed."

"Isn't that a good thing?" I asked. "If Lana is truly evil, wouldn't destroying the Underworld be good?"

"It's not that simple," James said. "Earth, Heaven, and Hell don't exist in linear space. There are different dimensions and boundaries between them. Each realm lives in a careful balance, intricately tied to the other, like a tangle of ropes. After the great battle years ago, this balance was altered with the creation of Lana's Underworld. But things are tenuous. If a new war breaks out, the damage will be too great. Hell will not only be destroyed; Earth will be as well. Everyone here will die." He rubbed his arm. "And it won't be quick. There will be fire, brimstone, fury, floods... and I don't know which souls will be spared, if any. So I have been tasked to come to Earth and do everything in my power to stop this from happening. Which means getting the boy back."

He paused, his words settling into my skin like a horrific poison. This wasn't just bad; this was catastrophic. The end of the world could be upon us. And, to some extent, it was my fault.

My stomach squirmed. "So what are you going to do?"

"Not me," he said. "You."

My eyes widened in shock. "Me?"

"Jessa," James said, "you are the last human to have made a deal with the Devil. You spoke with her at length over the past few weeks. You must understand her motives."

I held up my hands in self-defense. "I just thought she was lonely and wanted to go to a stupid high school dance. I don't know why she took him down there, unless..." My eyes widened. "You don't think she wanted this to happen? To begin a celestial war?"

James stared at me, his pale eyes suddenly dark as coal. "I don't know what she wants. It's been a long time since we've spoken. She could want anything now."

Since we've spoken. I was reminded of Lana's story suddenly, of her tale of the great battle, her friendship with James, and the day she realized she was barred from Heaven. "You... you were like her once," I said carefully. "You also defied God—"

"That was a long time ago," James said shortly. "And I repented. She did not. We are not alike."

"Sorry," I muttered quickly, realizing I had offended him. "I guess I thought maybe that's why you were chosen to come down to Earth. Because you used to know her."

James looked thoughtful for a moment at the suggestion, but then shook his head. "Perhaps," he said. "But it doesn't matter the reason, only that I was chosen. This is now my responsibility. Which means this is yours as well."

"I'm not quite sure what I can do to help," I said honestly.

"It's simple. You must confront the Devil," James said. "And demand that she release the boy."

"How am I supposed to do that?" I asked. "She's gone."

"She's not gone—she's back home. In the Underworld. So you'll have to meet her there."

Suddenly I couldn't form words. "But—but..." My throat felt like it was closing up. "Entering the Underworld? How... Wait, why can't you go?"

"I'm an angel," James said simply. "I am barred from her realm, just as she has been barred from Heaven. But you're human."

You're right that I'm human, I thought, terror building in my stomach. Which means I'm breakable.

"But," I started again, feeling a surge of panic in my chest. "There must be another way."

"There is no other way," James said, looking me straight in the eye. "You must enter the Underworld and confront the Devil, or else the world will end."