"Bloody hell—don't tell me you've got a thing for Stone Carter, too!"

Iris flings herself across the bed like the tragic heroine of a Shakespearean play. Her hair is gathered in a ponytail on top of her head, the ringlets spilling over the band like coils of shiny black silk. She's in her flannel pajamas and elephant slippers, and has a clay mask smeared across her face. It reminds me of day-old avocado.

"What do you mean by too?"

"Every girl on campus has crushed on him at one point or another—with the exception of yours truly." Iris grins and dramatically bats her lashes.

I roll my eyes. "Well, I've never even seen him, so to answer your question—no. But Xander said he and Ava went out a couple of years ago."

The mask puckers between her brows. "Interesting. I didn't peg your sister as someone who'd fall for gormless knobs."

"Gormless what?"

"Knobs," she replies with a laugh. "Believe me, it's not good."

I snuggle into my pillow and tuck the blanket under my chin. "Anyway. When I questioned their relationship, Xander said she eventually realized he wasn't worth the trouble. What do you suppose that means?"

Iris flips onto her stomach and crosses her ankles, the trunks of her elephant slippers flopping around like dislocated limbs. "Stone is a huge flirt. Scratch that—he's the Eros of Maliseet Bay."

"Eros?"

She nods. "You know, the Greek god of lust and sex."

"I know who Eros is. I'm just surprised. Back home, Ava couldn't stand guys like that. I remember when she went to a party in seventh grade, she refused to kiss Brandon Jeffries during a game of Spin the Bottle because he was on his fourth round. She said she didn't know where all his lips had been."

Iris arches her brows. "I guess her hormones finally caught up with her. It happens to the best of us."

"I suppose."

She eyes me carefully. "Stone isn't on the suspect list, is he? If they dated—what, their sophomore year?—that was ages ago."

"Everyone's on the list until I can prove they're innocent."

"You know, in most legal systems it's believed that someone is innocent until proven guilty."

I prop myself up on my elbow, and the blanket falls away. "Yeah, well most legal systems are flawed."

Iris shrugs and, for once, doesn't argue. "So. What was up with Drew?"

"What do you mean?"

Her eyes brighten like they're holding onto a juicy secret. "Don't tell me you didn't notice! Or maybe you didn't. You were too busy staring at Xander."

"I was not staring," I say, a defensive edge cutting into my tone. "We were talking. Of course I was looking at him."

"Well, then. You missed quite the show."

"There was a show?"

"From where I was sitting, yes." Iris curls a fallen lock of hair from her ponytail around her finger. "You only had eyes for Xander, and Drew only had eyes for you. And he was sitting with Kate Baxter, no less—his girlfriend since forever. And he did not look happy."

"Oh." That's right. I did catch Drew watching me. And Iris is right; he didn't look amused. "I don't think he likes Xander. Any idea why?"

Her lips pull down at the corners. "Nope. But come to think of it, I never see them talking. And they're in Latin club together, so it's not like they don't know each other."

"I wonder what that's all about. Or why he would even care that I was sitting with him."

"I'll tell you why. He's jealous."

It's my turn to laugh. "Why in the world would Drew McKenzie, of all people, be jealous? He has Princess Kate and their entire nauseating future to look forward to."

Iris purses her lips. "Now you sound a little jealous."

"You're annoying, you know that?" I smile so she knows I'm kidding. Or, partly kidding, anyway. "I swear. More theatrics go on around this place than a cliché teen drama."

"Right? Who needs Riverdale when we have Maliseet Bay." And then her face turns serious. Or as serious as it can look under a layer of puke-green bentonite clay. "I think you should slow down with the catalogue of suspects. I get where you're coming from, and I don't mean to trivialize the seriousness of the situation. But we have to be logical. I never once saw anything between Ava and Stone. That's not saying there wasn't something at one point—I just don't think he's relevant to this circumstance." 

I swallow and look away as Iris gets up to use the restroom. When she closes the door, I sink back into my pillow.

I'm sure she's right. The last thing I should do is jump to conclusions. But I need answers. And if I don't consider everyone, I don't know how else to find them.

A few months ago when I found Ava's note, I showed it to Mom and she brushed me off. She didn't take it seriously at all. It was then that I knew I was on my own—not that I expected anything different.

But I don't care what Mom thinks. I know I'm right. Someone left those notes, and maybe that same someone is responsible for Ava's death. I'm not letting this go.

When Iris steps out of the bathroom, her face is clean and shiny, and her hair falls over her shoulders in velvety curls.

She glances at the clock on our wall. "It's late. We were supposed to turn the lights out an hour ago." Her finger hovers above the light switch. "Are you ready?"

"Ready," I say, curling onto my side.

She flips the switch and the room goes dark, with the exception of moonlight slanting in through the blinds. Shadows stretch across the room and along the walls.

Iris kicks off her slippers and hops into bed. But when she reaches for the rod to close the blinds, she stops, her profile illuminated in the glimmer of silver light.

"Mia..." When she turns to face me, her expression recedes into the night. "I'm not sure if I should tell you this."

There's an uneasy edge to her voice.

Goosebumps rise along my arms. "What is it?"

"The ghost light," she whispers. "It's back."

My heart begins to race.

I bounce out of bed and hurl myself across Iris' mattress. Pushing aside the blinds, I press my palms to the window. It's cold against my skin. I stare through spots of condensation and into the inky blackness.

The ocean is calm, the waves sedated and glossy as the moon's pale rays twinkle along the surface. I look past the water and squint toward the cliffs, a menacing shadow against the starry sky.

But I don't see anything.

I look at Iris sideways. "Where?"

Her eyes remain fixed on something in the distance. "Just keep watching."

Slowly, I turn back. And there it is: a hazy illumination that appears no bigger than my fist, hovering near the edge of the bluff.

After staring in silence for several minutes, I shake my head. "What the hell is that?"

Iris doesn't answer. Instead, her breaths come out in quick and shallow bursts.

This can't be real. Ghosts don't exist. They're simply figments of our imagination, or the haunting of a memory that takes you back in time. A smell that reminds you of summer, or a lip balm that throws you back to your childhood. It's a song you can't listen to without thinking of your first love.

The orb glides along the rocky edge and in between the trees, several feet above the ground, before vanishing altogether.

Neither one of us says a word as we wait for it to reappear. But it doesn't.

"We need to go up there," I finally say, my voice no louder than a sigh.

Iris turns to me with wide eyes. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I need to find out what that is."

Her mouth falls open. "No you don't!"

"Iris. If it's my sister, I have to know."

"No, you don't," she repeats more firmly. "Not to sound morbid, but your sister is tucked inside a casket, and buried safely in the ground. Whatever that thing is, shouldn't be messed with."

"But I thought you said the light was Ava."

Iris lets out a long breath. "I didn't mean Ava exactly. I think it's a manifestation of the emotions she felt before she died. Desperation. Anger and fear. Hopelessness. All rolled up into one unearthly ball of light. And now you're telling me you want to hunt it down? That's just asking for trouble—not to mention, creepy as fuck. Don't you ever watch scary movies? The demon-hunting teens never get a sequel. And that's because they die."

"A ball of light can't kill us."

"Do you seriously want to challenge that?"

I swallow the string of curse words that want to leap off the tip of my tongue.

Iris doesn't understand. I bet if someone close to her mysteriously fell from the cliffs, she'd stop at nothing to get to the truth. Even if it meant doing something crazy.

My eyes cloud with tears. Defeated, I peel my palms from the window and sink back into her bed.

Iris wraps her arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. "Hey. We're going to figure out what happened to her. But not like that, okay? We'll find a different way."

When I don't answer, her hold grows tighter.

"Mia—" Her voice is a warning. "Promise me you won't go chasing ghosts."

I pin her down with a look. "You're overreacting."

"Am I?" she asks. "I don't want to find out the hard way that I'm not."

I shake my head.

"Promise me, Mia."

Silence.

"Mia," she says again.

An exaggerated huff explodes past my lips. "Fine! I won't chase ghosts."

She stares at me, uncertain. And then, "That wasn't a promise."

"Oh my God, you're acting ridiculous!" I don't bother hiding a scowl. "I promise. There. Are you happy now, Miss Bossy Pants?"

Her face breaks into a smile. "Very much so. Thank you."

Good. Let her gloat. Because what Iris doesn't know is that my fingers are crossed behind my back.