My mom looked amused. Aunt Prue did not.

“Well, if you want a preacher’s chance in Heaven ta get yourself back there, we need ta talk.”

“Prudence,” my mom said in a strange tone. It sounded like a warning.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just kept talking. “You mean about crossing? Because I think I’m starting to get the hang—”

“Stop yappin’ and start listenin’, Ethan Wate. I’m not talkin’ ’bout practicin’ any crossin’. I’m talkin’ ’bout crossin’ back. For good, ta the old world.”

For a second, I thought she was teasing me. But her expression didn’t change. She was serious—at least as serious as my crazy great-aunt ever was. “What are you talking about, Aunt Prue?”

“Prudence.” My mom said it again. “Don’t do this.”

Don’t do what? Give me a chance to get back there?

Aunt Prue glared at my mother, easing herself down the stairs one orthopedic shoe at a time. I reached out to help her, but she waved me off, stubborn as ever. When she finally made it to the carpet of grass at the base of the stairs, Aunt Prue stepped in front of me. “There’s been a mistake, Ethan. A mighty big one. This wasn’t supposed ta happen.”

A tremor of hope washed over me. “What?”

The color drained out of my mom’s face. “Stop.” I thought she was going to pass out. I could barely breathe.

“I won’t,” said Aunt Prue, narrowing her eyes behind her spectacles.

“I thought we decided not to tell him, Prudence.”

“You decided, Lila Jane. I’m too old not ta do as I please.”

“I’m his mother.” My mom wasn’t giving up.

“What’s going on?” I tried to wedge myself between them, but neither one of them would look my way.

Aunt Prue raised her chin. “The boy’s old enough ta decide somethin’ that big on his own, don’tcha think?”

“It’s not safe.” My mom folded her arms. “I don’t mean to be firm with you, but I’m going to have to ask you to go.”

I’d never heard my mother talk to any of the Sisters like that. She might as well have declared World War III for the Wate family. It didn’t seem to stop Aunt Prue, though.

She just laughed. “Can’t put the molasses back in the jar, Lila Jane. You know it’s the truth, and you know you got no right keepin’ it from your boy.” Aunt Prue looked me right in the eye. “I need you ta come on with me. There’s someone you need ta meet.”

My mom just looked at her. “Prudence…”

Aunt Prue gave her the kind of look that could wilt and wither a whole flower bed. “Don’t you Prudence me. You can’t stop this thing. And where we’re goin’ you can’t come, Lila Jane. You know well as I do that we both got nothin’ but the boy’s best interest at heart.”

It was a classic Sisters’ face-off, the kind where before you blinked, you were already past the point where nobody came out ahead.

A second later, my mom backed off. I would never know what happened in that silent exchange between them, and it was probably better that way.

“I’ll wait for you here, Ethan.” My mom looked at me. “But you be careful.”

Aunt Prue smiled, victorious.

One of the Harlon Jameses began to growl. Then we took off down the sidewalk so fast I could barely keep up.

I followed Aunt Prue and the yipping dogs to the outer limits of Perpetual Peace—past the Snows’ perfectly restored Federal-style manor house, which was situated in exactly the same spot their massive mausoleum occupied in the cemetery of the living.

“Who died?” I asked, looking at my aunt. Seeing as there wasn’t anything on earth powerful enough to take down Savannah Snow.

“Great-great-grandpappy Snow, ’fore you were even halfway inta diapers. Been here a long time now. Oldest plot in the row.” She picked her way down the stone path that led around back, and I followed.

We headed toward an old shed behind the house, the rotted planks barely holding up the crooked roof. I could see tiny flecks of faded paint clinging to the wood where someone had scraped it clean. There was no amount of scraping that could disguise the shade that trimmed my own house in Gatlin—haint blue. The one shade of blue meant to keep the spirits away.

I guess Amma was right about the haints not caring much for the color. As I looked around, I could already see the difference. There wasn’t a graveyard neighbor in sight.

“Aunt Prue, where are we going? I’ve had enough of the Snows to last more than one lifetime.”

She glowered at me. “I told you. We’re goin’ ta call on someone who knows more than me ’bout this mess.” She reached for the splintered handle of the shed. “You just be thankful I’m a Statham, and Stathams get on with all kinds a folks, or we wouldn’t have a soul ta help us sort things out.” I couldn’t look at my aunt. I was too scared I would start laughing, considering she got along with just about no kinds of folks, at least not in the Gatlin I was from.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She stepped inside the shed, which didn’t look like anything more than an ordinary shed. But if I’d learned anything from Lena and my experiences in her world, it was that things aren’t always what they seem.

I followed Aunt Prue—and the Harlon Jameses—inside and closed the door behind us. The cracks in the wood let in just enough light for me to see her turn around in the shed. She reached for something in the dim light, and I realized it was another handle.