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hadn’t come. And I was back to having mysterious visions that nobody else could see.
    I scrubbed my face, willing away the memory of the smoky snakes. Afraid of what it meant. Not wanting to believe what it said about Bennett, or that Neos was somehow controlling my visions—I couldn’t think of any other explanation. Except maybe Natalie was right, and I was just exhausted.
    It was Christmas Eve. I should’ve been focusing on that. Except I didn’t want to spend Christmas without my parents. Why couldn’t they have come? How could they not understand that sometimes I needed them?
    Feeling depressed, I went for the long, soft black sweater in my wardrobe, leggings, and black flats instead of my boots, a clear sign I was dressing up. I swishedsome toothpaste in my mouth, ran styling stick through my hair, and applied lip gloss.
    I found Natalie in the hallway and stopped short. She was wearing khaki pants, a white shirt buttoned to the neck, and a boxy royal blue crewneck sweater. Conservative and shapeless, she looked nothing like herself.
    â€œAre those
slacks
?” I asked.
    She frowned. “I just want to look normal.”
    â€œNatalie, dressing like Mr. Rogers isn’t going to make Bennett’s parents like you.”
    Her shoulders slumped. “Whatever.”
    â€œYou look cute,” I said, trying again. “Kind of, um, retro-ironic?”
    â€œLet’s go,” she muttered, like we were off to the guillotine.
    We’d eaten dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Stern—they hadn’t asked us to call them John and Alexandra—for the past three nights. Things hadn’t gotten better since my confrontation with them that morning in the kitchen. The first night, my one conversational gambit had been to ask them where they’d been living in Europe.
    â€œParis,” Mr. Stern had answered in his low voice.
    â€œHave you been?” Mrs. Stern asked.
    I had, but I was so young I didn’t remember it. Natalie and I both shook our heads, and that had ended that conversation.
    Even their sporadic chitchat made me nervous, like their words concealed hidden meanings and unvoiced accusations that I was to blame for their daughter’s deathand Bennett’s addiction. Natalie didn’t fare much better. If she acted like herself, bright and loud and a little outrageous, they looked puzzled and dismayed. I guess that’s why she’d dressed like someone else entirely tonight.
    We wandered into the formal dining room. The long mahogany table was set beautifully, with a china pattern I hadn’t yet seen. Wreaths of holly surrounded a silver candelabra filled with pale candles already lit. I noticed the thread of smoke rising from a candle and almost panicked, thinking it would take the shape of a snake. I took a few deep breaths. No ashes, no snakes. Just smoke. And the room was perfumed with the scent of beeswax combined with the boughs of pine hanging from the fireplace. So far, the best thing about spending Christmas in New England was the decorations. The real fir trees and pinecones and fresh wreaths that always looked a little out of place in San Francisco fit perfectly in Echo Point’s old houses.
    The Sterns weren’t there, but Celeste was flitting around the table making last-minute adjustments.
    You’ve outdone yourself
, I told her.
Sorry Natalie and I weren’t here to help
.
    Celeste curtsied.
Merci. But that iz not your place. And thingz are not as zey were. Iz better I do alone
.
    I was about to ask why when Mrs. Stern came strolling in and surveyed the table. “This looks lovely, Celeste.”
    And with a wave of her hand, she compelled Celeste toward the kitchen. Huh. I knew she was a ghostkeeper, but I hadn’t thought much about her powers. Turns outshe was a pretty powerful compeller—not to mention pretty rude, ordering Celeste around like a dog.
    â€œNatalie,” Mrs. Stern said. “Why don’t you