“It’s fine.” I wadded my wrapper and tossed it into the trash can on the other side of the room. “There was too much else going wrong to worry about one drunk aunt.”

She grimaced, then nodded. “I guess I deserved that.”

But watching her wince over every movement—as if contact with the very air hurt—made me feel guilty. “No, you don’t. I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” Aunt Val forced a smile. “I can’t begin to explain how sorry I am. None of this is your fault….” She stared down into her coffee, as if she had more to say, but the words had fallen into the mug and were now too soggy to use.

“Don’t worry about it.” I finished my orange juice and set my glass in the sink, then headed back to my room, where I texted Emma to make sure she was still coming to the memorial.

Her mom said she’d meet me there fifteen minutes early—at a quarter to one.

The rest of the morning passed in one endless stretch of mindless television and Internet surfing. I tried twice to get my uncle alone so I could pass along Tod’s information, but every time I found him, he was with a very somber, clingy Sophie, who seemed to be dreading the memorial as badly as I was.

After an early lunch I could only pick at, I changed out of my T-shirt, hoping my long-sleeved black blouse was appropriate attire for the memorial service for someone I’d failed to save. On my way out the door, I saw Sophie sitting on the bench in the hall, her hands folded on the skirt of a slim black dress, her head hanging so that her long blond hair fell nearly to her chest. She looked so pitiful, so lost, that as badly as I hated to spoil the drive alone with Nash, I offered her a ride to school.

“Mom’s taking me,” she said, briefly meeting my gaze with her own huge, sad eyes.

“Okay.” Just as well.

I pulled into Nash’s driveway five minutes later and waited nervously for him to get into the car. I was afraid talking to him would be weird after his middle-of-the-night fight with Tod, and his reluctant discussion of it with me. But he leaned over to kiss me as soon as his door was closed, and from the depth of that kiss—and the fact that neither of us seemed willing to end it—I was guessing he was over the awkwardness.

The school parking lot was packed. Overflowing. Lots of parents had come, as well as some city officials, and according to the morning paper, the school had called in extra counselors to help the students learn to deal with their grief. We had to park on the side of the road nearest the gym and walk nearly a quarter of a mile. Nash took my hand on the way, and we met Emma at the front door, where one of her sisters had dropped her off. I’d promised to give her a ride home.

Emma looked like crap. She wore her hair pulled into a tight, no-frills ponytail, along with the bare minimum of makeup. And if her reddened eyes were any indication, she’d been crying. But shedidn’t know Meredith any better than I did.

“You okay?” I slipped my free arm around her waist as we made our way through a set of double doors, pushed along with the crowd.

“Yeah. This whole thing’s just so weird. First that girl at the club, then the one at the movies. Now one from our own school. Everyone’s talking about it. And they don’t even know about you,” she said, whispering the last word.

“Well, it gets even weirder than that.” Nash and I guided her toward an empty alcove near the restrooms. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her any of the latest developments, and for once I was glad she was grounded from her phone. If she hadn’t been, I might have blurted out the whole story—bean sidhes, grim reapers, and death lists—before I’d thought any of it through. Which probably would have scared her even more.

“How could it get any weirder than this?” Emma spread her arms to take in the somber crowd milling around the lobby.

“Something’s wrong. They weren’t supposed to die,” I whispered, standing on my toes to get closer to her ear, as Nash pressed in close on my other side.

Emma’s eyes went wide. “What does that mean? Who’s ever supposed to die?”

I glanced at Nash, and he gave me a tiny shake of his head. We really should have discussed how much to tell Emma. “Um. Some people have to die, or the world would be overpopulated. Like…old people. They’ve lived full lives. Some of them are ready to go, even. But teenagers are too young. Meredith should have still had most of her life in front of her.”

Emma frowned at me like I’d lost my mind. Or at least several IQ points. No, I’m not a very good liar. Though technically, I wasn’t lying to her.

With Emma still trying to puzzle out my odd editorial on death, Nash guided us through the crowd toward the gym, where we found seats on the bleachers near the middle of the visitors’ side and smooshed in with several hundred other people. A temporary stage had been set up beneath one of the baskets, and several school officials were seated there with Meredith’s family, beneath the school’s banner and the state and national flag.

For the next hour and a half, we listened to Meredith’s friends and family come forward to tell us all how nice she was, and how pretty, and smart, and kind. Not all of their praise would really have applied to Meredith, had she been there with us, but the dead have a way of becoming saints in the eyes of their survivors, and Ms. Cole was no exception.

And to be fair, other than being beautiful and popular, she was no different from most of the rest of us. Which was precisely why everyone was so upset. If Meredith could die, so could any one of us. Emma’s eyes watered several times, and my own vision blurred with tears when Mrs. Cole came up to the podium, already crying freely.