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cemetery—forgetting that I hated the place after being knocked into an open grave last May—as another two rockets went off with ear-jarring bangs. Fromthe front of the house, the cemetery was quite a hike, around the side of the mansion and across the sloping garden in back. Students streamed from the house and the outbuildings, all thoughts of recording spirit data forgotten in the magic of fireworks. Nothing more than dark silhouettes, they laughed and pointed at the dazzling colors starring the sky over the graveyard. A device whistled skyward and exploded into ribbons of white that fizzled slowly as they drifted toward the ground. The lights seemed to animate the marble angel watching over one of the graves, making her wings shimmer and her marble robe seem to undulate in the play of light and shadow.
    A couple of minutes later, Glen Spaatz appeared beside me where I stood outside the wrought-iron fence that ringed the tiny cemetery. I wasn’t sure where he’d come from.
    “I think it’s time to call it a night,” Spaatz said in my ear. His arm brushed mine. “I’ll let the kids enjoy the show and then round them up. I must say this hasn’t been the most successful field trip on record.”
    Over the pops of the fireworks, I heard a faint call and I shushed Spaatz. It seemed to come from the direction of the mansion.
    “Did you hear that?” I asked Spaatz.
    He turned to listen. The sound came again, clearer as the wind dropped suddenly. “Help! Someone! Call nine-one-one!”
    Spaatz rolled his eyes. “Don’t they ever give up? How many pranks—”
    I was running back to the mansion before he stopped speaking. I knew that voice.

Chapter Four

    MY BREATH CAME IN RAGGED GULPS AS I STRUGGLED up the slight rise to the mansion where Rachel stood on the terrazzo, waving frantically. Her hair straggled more wildly than usual around her face, and tears had smeared her mascara down her cheeks.
    She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the French doors when I reached the terrazzo. “Oh, thank God! I don’t have my cell phone. I didn’t know what to—” She burst into tears.
    “What’s wrong?” I spoke as she dragged me across the ballroom and down the hall toward the huge foyer.
    She put one hand to her mouth and pointed with the other, shaking her head back and forth in denial of what lay before us.
    I gasped at the sight of the body lying at the foot of the staircase, unmoving, a trickle of blood oozing across the floor. Onearm was flung over his head, the other trapped under his body. A gleam of white poked through a hole in his jeans and, with a sick feeling, I recognized it as his shin bone. His other leg was straight, the foot resting awkwardly on the bottom stair. A boy. Blond hair. Jeans. Braden.
    I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and punched in 911. I tossed it to Rachel. “Tell them what’s happened.” Crossing to Braden, I dropped to my knees and felt for a pulse. Thready, but there.
    I didn’t dare move him for fear of spinal injuries or other bone breaks, but I needed to treat him for shock. His pallor and jerky breathing, not to mention the still spreading blood, told me he was in trouble. Neither Rachel nor I wore a jacket I could use to warm him. My gaze flashed around the hall. A memory pinged and I dashed into the adjacent parlor. Grabbing hold of the velvet drapes, I ripped them from the rod, bringing it down with a huge clatter. Crumpling a panel of velvet in my arms, I carried it into the hall and spread it over Braden’s still form, tucking it as close as I dared.
    “What happened?” I asked Rachel.
    She had stopped talking and was staring at Braden, her eyes huge with worry. She shook her head. “I don’t know. We were in the parlor, doing our readings. I had to go to the bathroom. It took me a while to find it. While I was in there, I heard what sounded like explosions.”
    “Fireworks,” I supplied.
    She looked at me blankly, like she’d never heard the word. “I came