Early Sunday morning, round about three, I'm hit with a wake-up-screaming nightmare in which I cross the Bridge and find Gabe near the side of the creek, his throat slit, blood staining the grass around him. Luca, in typical fashion, doesn't react at all to the noise I make - after I take a few deep breaths to steady my shot nerves, I look across the room, half-expecting him to bolt awake as well, but he just lies there undisturbed.

I curl up in the fetal position, shivering and crying. For some reason, I'm having trouble convincing myself that it was just a dream, that Gabe's still alive. Every time I whisper to myself, "It's not real, it's not real," my words feel hollow.

More to the point, I feel hollow.

Since Steve pointed out how the Aqua Killer and I had the same eyes, I've had the terrifying thought that maybe the killer was me, somehow. Sure, Steve insisted that I wasn't a killer. But then again, at least two of my recent sleepwalking episodes have been occurring at the same time as the deaths of the Aqua Killer's victims.

Steve might have died last Sunday night or early Monday morning. I'd found myself waking up in the lounge that morning, and then again yesterday, the morning after Penny died. The only exception, so far, is Freddie's death on Monday night/Tuesday morning, but that's easily explained - he was in Hell, and there's no crossing the Bridge after ten o'clock.

Wait - but Penny was in Hell, too. So how could I...no, I couldn't possibly have crossed the Bridge. Could I?

I take another look at Luca - he's still asleep. But not for long, I wouldn't think. Even the heaviest sleeper would be snapped back to consciousness eventually by persistent noise.

So, for the second early morning in a row, I take my jeans and hoodie with me to the lounge. This time, though, I don't put them on just yet. I lie on the same couch I keep finding myself waking up on, still in my T-shirt and boxers, letting myself cry openly to the dark, empty room.

The sun wakes me up again about four hours later. At this point, I get dressed, only to realize I'm wearing the exact same clothes I had on yesterday. I tiptoe back to my room and find Luca already awake, once again surfing the web.

"'Morning," he mutters as I go into the closet to look for a new shirt and pants.

"'Morning," I mutter back, switching jeans.

"You weren't sleepwalking again, were you?" Luca asks.

I shake my head, then pull my new shirt on. "I was actually awake-walking last night, for once."

A minute or two passes in silence before Luca asks me, "So you won't be doing Day of the Dead stuff today?"

"I assume you mean the Fiesta."

"Oh yeah," Luca says. "I forgot, you actually have an appointment with real live dead people."

I roll my eyes, then grab yesterday's clothes and pile them up in my arms. "Dude, if you don't believe me, just say so."

"Who says I don't believe you?" Luca asks incredulously. "When have you ever lied to me?"

"Never."

"Exactly," says Luca. "I haven't seen Steve Walker's ghost yet, but if you say he's around, I'll take your word for it. 'Cause that's what friends do."

I step outside to put my used clothes down the laundry chute, then return to the room and sit on my bed, twitching with nervous anticipation. "You know," I say tentatively, "I'm not so sure we should keep calling Steve and them ghosts, you know?"

"Um, isn't that, like, the dictionary definition of the word 'ghost?'" Luca asks. He taps something on his keyboard.

"You're not actually looking it up right now, are you?"

"Maybe," Luca says.

"Well, ghosts are supposed to be, like, see-through or something," I say. "Steve, Freddie, Penny, they weren't."

"Remind me, who's Penny again?"

I only gave Luca the bare-bones description of what had happened yesterday, just mentioning the names of those Fionna and I had met, and the way they claimed they were all murdered by the Aqua Killer. "The one who couldn't talk," I say.

"Right," Luca says, his lip curling as he remembers why Penny was forced to communicate in writing only.

"But they weren't see-through or vapor-y at all," I continue. "I shook Steve's hand, and it was solid flesh and bone. That's not really like a ghost, not to me."

"So what do you suggest we call 'em, then?"

"I dunno...souls? That's what Steve made it sound like, anyway. Like they're just souls waiting to cross over."

Luca snorts, closing his laptop. "'Cross over.' What a bunch of New Age bullshit."

"Hey, just 'cause it doesn't fit into your belief system-"

"What about yours?" Luca counters.

I roll my eyes. "Touché." My feet continue to tap against the floor, in time with "Apocalypse Please," of all songs. I haven't heard that one in a while (I guess I keep skipping past it too much on my iPod, for some reason), and yet suddenly it's in my head again like I just listened to it for the first time.

"What's up with the restless legs?" Luca asks. "Come on, let's get some breakfast. Maybe it'll cut down on your sugar shakes."

"Fine," I grunt. "But don't expect me to stay for a second helping."

"That's just not like you, dude," Luca says. "Please tell me you haven't picked up some kind of tapeworm from kissing that demon girl."

"How'd you know we kissed?"

"I didn't," Luca says. "But you and your brother spending time with the ones you love at a romantic movie? I can figure things out from there." He pauses, then we start walking to the cafeteria again. "Not to sound all girly-like, but was it a good kiss?"

"Nice, but nothing to write home about," I say. "Maybe the real fireworks will come later."

"I thought they already had."

"That business at the pool doesn't count," I say. "Also, if I were infected with a tapeworm, as you say, wouldn't I wanna eat more, not less?"

Luca chuckles. "I couldn't think of any loss-of-appetite parasites off the top of my head. Tapeworms were just the first thing that came to mind."

"Okay, no more parasite talk," I say.

"This from the die-hard Fannibal."

"Don't act like you've never eaten while watching disgusting violent content on TV."

Luca punches my shoulder. "Not everyone's stomach is as strong as yours."

I stand up and follow Luca out the door and down to the cafeteria. We put all talk aside while we eat - mostly because I'm shoveling down waffles and raspberries so fast I barely even have room in my mouth for speech. After breakfast, I race back to my room, even though I don't have to go down to the Bridge for a while. It's eight o'clock, and our research meeting isn't until noon.

Luca comes back a few minutes later, and when he does, I ask to borrow his laptop so I can bookmark the YouTube videos I want to play tomorrow morning for Guest DJ Monday. I decide to go for a very varied array of songs - Luca tells me to pick at least five, and so I choose one from each of the last five decades. All five of my choices have completely different sounds, so it'll be tough for anyone to figure out what's coming next. Some people like to play a guessing game, figure out what the DJ will play next. Whenever I take part, I always say Maroon 5, and sadly, I'm right about half the time.

After that's done (it takes me about two hours, because Luca's laptop likes to act up when the weather gets bad), I decide to make my way down to the Bridge. Unfortunately, by now the rain has started falling with a vengeance, so I'm going to be forced to walk.

As I pass the cafeteria, where the Fiesta de los Muertos is already underway, I'm met by two familiar faces - Dani and Juliet. The latter (who's carrying a pair of motorbike helmets) says hi to me; the former merely settles for a brief glance before turning away. I remember how Luca said he and Dani had argued with each other yesterday, and feel a bit guilty for helping to drive a deeper wedge between them.

I try to defuse the tension as best I can with some small talk. "So, girls, whatcha doing today?"

"I promised Dani I'd take her clothes shopping today," Juliet says, her voice a bit unnaturally cheerful. "She doesn't have any good winter gear, and today they've got a big sale at REI."

"And you're gonna ride a motorcycle? In this weather?"

"He says, like he's scared for me," Juliet laughs, thumbing a scar - not the one on her nose, but one on her chin. She even has one on the back of her hand - how many does she have in all? "Don't worry about me. Or Dani. Nobody's ever died on my bike yet."

I laugh along with Juliet, then look at Dani, who's wearing a leather jacket, the same pleated black skirt Juliet had worn on Friday night, and red tights. She almost looks like she could pass for Scarlet Witch, if not for her hair.

She also looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here as long as I'm around. Guess she's still mad about yesterday.

"Dani?" She gives no indication of having heard me call her name. "Dani, don't give me the cold shoulder here. Look, I'm sorry I told Luca you were lying. Maybe if I understood why-"

"Save it," Dani interrupts. She seems to like that phrase - I swear, that's the second time I've heard her use it now. "I don't have any beef with you, Alex - not now, anyway. I lied, I know. It was my own stupid fault, and I'm not gonna hold it against you for calling me out. So, if you wanna talk to me, you can. Just don't talk about Spellman, or Luca. All right?"

"I still don't understand why you would lie to begin with," I say, not sure why I'm persisting, because Dani seems like she'd be a pretty tough nut to crack at the best of times. "I mean, you said it yourself, you don't like to judge. Don't you expect others not to judge you? Who cares if you lived in Earth or Hell or whatever?"

Dani shakes her head in exasperation. "That's not the point," she says. "I'm not, uh, embarrassed about not growing up in Heaven or anything like that. But I still don't like to talk about my past. The only other person who knows anything about that is Juliet."

"And she's sworn me to secrecy," says Juliet with an apologetic look.

"Figures."

"Yeah. Sorry, Alex." Juliet brushes some stray hair out of her face. "If it's any consolation, Dani took weeks to open up to me."

"I can imagine." I crack my knuckles. "Am I correct in assuming you don't want me reporting any of this to Luca?"

"No, but you can tell him this from me," says Dani. "Tell Luca if he ever wants to have a shot at going out with me, he should apologize himself, not send his friend as a proxy."

I can't help but laugh at that statement. "You seriously think Luca sent me to talk to you? I just happened to run into you, and I thought I'd-"

"Please, just stop already," Dani grumbles. "I told you, I don't wanna talk about him anymore."

"Fair enough."

We all shut up, and awkwardly wave goodbye to each other.

I put my hood up and start walking out the door and down the delivery road. Along the way, I pass the bus shelter by the creekside plaza. As with so many other things in Coldfire Creek, this rectangle is a mirror image of its counterpart in Hell. I'm strongly reminded of my death-of-Gabe nightmare, which causes me to shiver even more as the already-cold air seems to lose another ten degrees.

A bus is about to leave when it's quickly boarded by a guy, who's dripping wet because he'd run through the rain-lashed street just to catch himself a ride. It suddenly occurs to me that this might be the same guy who nearly ran into me yesterday. Maybe he's even wearing the same hoodie - it might have been gray, but it was so heavily soaked I couldn't even tell its original color anymore. Coincidence? Ian Fleming would say so. I just don't want to have a third encounter with this guy - because that time, according to Fleming, it would be enemy action.

After I get onto the Bridge and out of the rain, I text Luca to tell him what Dani had said to me earlier.

"You're kidding me, right?" he asks. "It's her own damn fault."

"She said that herself, almost word for word."

"Do you know where she is right now?"

"Juliet said something about taking her shopping in Bearville." I pause before adding, "What, did you wanna talk to her over the phone?"

"Would if I could, but I'd rather talk to her in person anyway. Any idea when she'll be coming back here?"

"I don't know. Good luck fixing this shit up."

"Thanks buddy."

I check the clock on my phone and see that it's still quarter to eleven. To pass the remaining time, I sit in the bookstore, poring over that Zom-B book I'd skimmed through the other day. When that's done, I leave the store. I remind myself of an xkcd comic where the guy goes into a bookstore, reads an entire book, then sets off the anti-shoplifting security gate thing, at which point the manager or whoever's in charge yells, "'You have a book in there, don't you?'" The only thing the guy can say in response is a simple, succinct "'Crap.'"

Chuckling to myself, I go upstairs, looking down at the Bridge entrance along the way. The line, unusually enough, is pretty much nonexistent. Weekend or not, there's nothing like rainy weather to keep the vast majority of angels from traveling. I then sit outside the library for a few minutes, playing a little Bejeweled on my phone, before remembering that I was supposed to actually walk the souls to the Bridge.

It's now eleven-thirty, so I head down and out the door as fast as I can - it'll take me a while to go into the woods and get down to the Bridge again since I have to walk. Halfway up the delivery road, I'm joined by Steve, Freddie, and Penny, who walk out of the woods under hooded raincoats - or, in Penny's case, a large black umbrella. Makes sense - she already looks enough like Abby Sciuto with her Goth wardrobe.

Even though I'm expecting them to go invisible, it's still a bit of a shock to see it when it happens - or not see it, I guess. "You're just not used to it," Steve's disembodied voice says, unnerving me even more - especially with his deliberately calm tone of voice.

"How can anyone get used to this?" I mutter. None of my invisible traveling companions answer, and I take my cue from them and remain quiet as well. No point looking like a madman talking to himself.

Back at the Bridge entrance, I take my time stepping up to, and then through, the glass door, to give the souls a chance to slip in ahead of me. Partway up the spiral steps, I check my watch and see that our planned meeting doesn't start for another ten minutes. "You guys go ahead without me," I say. "I'm just gonna go get some coffee."

"Sure thing," Freddie says. "You sure you'll be able to find us again?"

"Only if you don't insist on staying invisible the whole time," I say.

The souls finally reappear at this point and continue climbing the stairs while I get off on the middle level and grab an espresso at Smythe and Darknell. Then I go up to the library, where Penny sits at a table, writing something on her notepad, while Steve and Freddie check the library catalog, each seated at a computer on different sides of the border. While they go into the maze of shelves, Gabe and Fionna arrive and join me and Penny at the table.

"Hey, guys," I say, standing up to hug them both in turn.

"Hey, Alex," says Gabe. He turns to Penny and adds, "So this is one of those, um..."

"Souls," I prompt him while Penny writes out her hellos to both the newcomers.

"Is that the technical term?" Gabe asks.

"I don't think there is one, exactly," I say. "That's just what I've decided to call 'em."

Fionna sits down and pulls up her satchel, removing a book with a red-haired girl on the cover. Scarlet, the title reads - it's the second Lunar Chronicles book.

I grin at her. "Thanks, Fionna. Hope this one's just as good." I take the book and place it in my backpack.

Speaking of books, Steve and Freddie take this opportunity to return to the table, each bearing an armful of heavy ones.

"I'm surprised this tiny library has this much stuff we could use," I say, taking one book from Steve's pile and reading the title: Elemental Limits.

"So am I," says Freddie, dividing his pile between himself, Penny, and Gabe. "You're Alex's brother, huh?" he asks, turning to Gabe. "What did he tell you?"

"Everything, pretty much," Gabe says. "So you guys really saw someone with eyes like mine and my brother's?"

"Yeah," Steve says, handing me another book (The Mechanics of Demonic Possession), then giving two to Fionna while taking the rest for himself. "Alex says you guys don't even know your dad, and he thinks the gray eyes must come from him."

"It's so weird," I say, opening Elemental Limits. "I mean, it doesn't necessarily mean our biological father is the Aqua Killer. But if he were, that would explain a lot, don't you think?"

"Like, how you guys have such a paper-thin connection to him," Fionna says. "Some Father of the Year he must be."

"Gabe, are we supposed to take offense to that?" I ask.

"I bloody wouldn't," Gabe says.

"Neither would I," says Freddie. "Guess I should count myself lucky, even if my dad was a serious hardass."

Gabe turns to Freddie. "You know, this is gonna sound really weird, but...how old are you? Or were you? I'm not sure how to say that anymore, since you're dead and all, and I never got to know before."

Freddie makes a lopsided grin. "Too old for you, even if you were my type." I'm not sure how he's getting that kind of subtext from Gabe's question. Maybe demons are better at picking up on that sort of thing than angels.

"And what would your type be, exactly?" Steve asks.

"Someone who rocks a bikini like she was born with double-D's," Freddie says, leaning back and gazing wistfully into space. "God, I hope the Second Universe has hot beaches and hot babes to spare."

Penny snickers a bit, only for it to turn into a wheezy croak. Clutching her throat again, she writes: "Freddie, you're such a teenager. What 'hot babe' would want a doll-faced boy like you?"

"I really am way older than I look," Freddie insists. "Every time I would get carded at the bar, the bouncer kept telling me, 'I'll figure out how you're faking it one of these days.'"

"And he never could, huh?" I say.

Freddie chuckles. "And meantime, this one big dude keeps getting in with no problem, and I can just tell somehow he's still underage."

"By any chance is this dude tall and brown-haired?" Steve asks. "Kinda like me, but with no glasses and tons more muscle?"

"Why? Do you know him?"

"It's Paul Smythe," I laugh. "Isn't it?"

Steve nods, smiling. "He'd always joke that his dad has all the stuff to fake any kind of documentation you want - ID, birth certificate, anything. It's all bull, of course - Paul just didn't wanna share his secret fake ID supplier."

Now it's Gabe's turn to stare into space, a lustful expression on his face.

"Dude, snap out of it," I grunt, waving my hand in front of his face. "Be glad your boyfriend isn't here to see that."

"Kyle wouldn't mind," Gabe says. "In fact, that's how we first got together, 'cause we were both united in our shared crush on the finest piece of angel ass this side of Hollywood. He's so...so..."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'studly dreamboat,'" Fionna says.

"Oh God, not you too," I groan.

"What, I'm not allowed to have crushes on other angel boys?" Fionna asks, a scandalized look on her face. "Ha, just kidding. But I gotta admit, if I were a boy, I'd switch teams for Paul."

"Not if you were gay," Gabe points out.

"All right, that's enough," I say, determinedly propping Elemental Limits up on the desk and staring hard at the first page.

Fionna snorts. "Just 'cause you don't have a crush on any other girl-"

"Not true," I say. "What about Emma Stone?"

"That doesn't count, buddy," Steve says. "Everyone's got celebrity crushes."

"True," I say. "Even Gabe likes Emma Stone, and I'm sure we - well, some of us, anyway," I amend, gesturing to Fionna and myself, "know how hard he is to please."

Gabe rolls his eyes. "Speaking of Spider-Man stars, what about your little man-crush on Andrew Garfield?"

Raising the book in front of my burning red face, I mutter, "Had to go there, huh?"

"Oh, come on," Gabe laughs, so loudly I shrink back even further into my seat, if that were even possible. "Everyone's got celebrity crushes, yes, but everyone's also got a same-sex celebrity crush - or opposite-sex, in my case."

"Excuse me?"

We stop arguing as we're approached by the guy I saw here yesterday, today wearing red and black flannel. He stands behind Freddie, shifting from foot to foot nervously. "I'm, uh, I-I'm sorry," he stutters, "but could you - could you guys please keep it down? Not to be the, uh, library police or anything, but I can't c-concentrate on my work."

"Oh," Steve says. "Okay. Sure. Sorry, guy."

"Thanks." The guy smiles and walks away.

"How did we get into this random conversation again?" Freddie asks in hushed tones as he picks up a book and starts reading.

"It's a pretty regular feature of our lives," I say, nudging Gabe.

"Shut up, you cheeky bastard."

While this 'random conversation,' as Freddie put it, was buckets of fun, the same can't be said for the hour and a half we spend perusing the twelve books Steve and Freddie found for us. Like most nonfiction books, Elemental Limits and The Mechanics of Demonic Possession and all the other books we pass around our little circle are written in the kind of impenetrable Textbookese that's been the bane of students and young researchers in all three dimensions since time immemorial. Even when we can understand what the writers are trying to say, it's nothing we don't already know.

It's times like these that make me wish I were Spider-Man. He's always been my favorite superhero for so many reasons. He's a highly relatable outsider with an excellent talent for snarking at baddies. As played by Andrew Garfield, especially, he's proof against the equation Nerd = Unattractive, and therefore a sign of hope for the love lives of real-life nerds - and geeks, like me. (Trust me, there's a distinction.) But also, let's face it, the guy's a goddamn genius. I can handle the science classes I take at Balthazar right now, but the sort of insane genetics and physics Peter Parker deals with on a regular basis...now that, I know I'll never be able to understand, not even if I spent two lifetimes studying it. (That, there, is the distinction between a geek and nerd in action.) That's why Spider-Man gets my eternal respect.

Finally, we're forced to call it a day, and we all take our leave, agreeing (after making sure we can all fit it into the old schedule) to come back here on Wednesday evening at five. The souls follow me back into Heaven, turning invisible along the way. When they reappear as we start following the delivery road, I turn to Steve and ask, "So where are you guys staying? In that halfway house, or whatever you called it?"

"Yeah, there's a secret entrance in the woods," Steve says, pointing towards the clearing where we met yesterday. "It's over there somewhere. Shh! You didn't hear it from me."

"Are we mere mortals not supposed to know about it?"

"Nah, it's just in this cabin," Freddie says. "This older guy - I think he's another storeowner from the Bridge - anyway, he lives there, and he keeps us all supplied with food and stuff. We may be dead, but we still need to eat from time to time."

"And you're staying in the cabin until you can go back into the halfway house?"

Steve nods, then turns to Penny. "Midnight can't come soon enough. This poor girl needs her throat fixed."

"So what are we gonna do?" I ask. "We can't just, you know, give up. What if the Aqua Killer comes back? We have no idea how he chooses his victims."

"Who ever said we were chosen?" Freddie asks. "I don't believe in any of that fate or destiny shit. I just think he's a sociopath with too much power for his own good."

"That may be," Steve says. "But either way, we're not crossing over until we see him get caught. We've all promised each other that."

"That's very nice," I say.

We say goodbye, then the souls leave the road and go into the woods - I've figured out that the landmark for where they detour off is a pine tree with some kind of pale orange moss or lichen or something like that growing up the side of the trunk. I keep watching them walk through the woods for a moment before continuing up the road.

As I walk by myself, I realize the rain has finally stopped. Good. That means I can fly the rest of the way back to Balthazar - but then, for the second time in 24 hours, I reach my window and remember too late that it's locked. Cursing the force of habit, I fly around to the front entrance, landing just as the wind starts picking up again, signaling the imminent arrival of another storm.