"Anything you'd like to see me do?"
Wake me up, thought Tristan. "Uh, no."
"You know, I don't know what's on your mind, Trist, but you're acting deader than dead."
Then she slipped through the wall. Tristan followed.
The chapel was dark except for one square of luminescent green where the window was broken in the back. Dry leaves and crumbling plaster were scattered over its floor, along with broken bottles and cigarettes. Wooden benches were carved over with initials and blackened with symbols that Tristan couldn't decipher.
The girls, whom he judged to be about eleven or twelve, were seated in a circle in the altar area and giggling with nervousness.
"Okay, who are we going to call back?" one of them asked. They glanced at one another, then over their shoulders.
"Jackie Onassis," said a girl with a brown ponytail.
"Kurt Cobain," another suggested.
"My grandmother."
"My great-uncle Lennie."
"I know!" said a tiny, freckle-faced blonde. "How about Tristan Carruthers?"
Tristan blinked.
"Too bloody," said the leader.
"Yeah," said the brunette, pulling her pony-tail up into two long pieces. "He'd probably have antlers coming out of the back of his head."
"Ew, gross!"
Lacey snickered.
"My sister had the biggest crush on him," the freckled blonde said.
Lacey batted her eyelashes at Tristan.
"One time, like, when we were fooling around at the pool, he, like, blew the whistle at us. It was cool."
"He was a hunk!"
Lacey stuck her finger down her throat and rolled her eyes.
"Still, he might be bloody," said a redhead. "Who else can we call for?"
"Lacey Lovitt."
The girls looked around at each other. Which one of them had said it?
"I remember her. She was in Dark Moon Running."
"Dark Moon Rising."
It was Lacey's voice, Tristan realized, sounding the same but different, the way a televised voice was the same but different than a live one. Somehow she was producing it in a way that they all could hear.
The girls looked around, a little spooked.
"Let's join hands," the leader said. "We're calling back Lacey Lovitt. If you're here, Lacey, give us a sign."
"I never liked Lacey Lovitt."
Tristan saw Lacey's eyes spark.
"Shhh. The spirits are around us now."
"I see them!" said the little blonde. "I see their light! Two of them."
"So do I!"
"I don't," said the girl with the brown pony-tail.
"Let's get somebody other than Lacey Lovitt."
"Yeah, she was obnoxious."
It was Tristan's turn to snicker.
"I like that new girl in Dart Moon. The one who took her place."
"Me too," the redhead agreed.
"She's a much better actress. And she has better hair."
Tristan's laughter softened. He glanced warily at Lacey.
"Well, she's not dead," said the leader. "We're calling Lacey Lovitt. If you're here, Lacey, give us a sign."
It began with a slow whirling of dust. Tristan saw that Lacey herself became faint as the dust whirled upward. Then the dust drifted off and she was there again, running around the outside of the circle, pulling hair.
The girls shrieked and held their heads. She pinched two of them, then picked up their sweaters and hurled them this way and that.
By this time the girls were on their feet, still screaming, and running for the open window.
Empty bottles flew over their heads and smashed against the chapel wall.
In a moment the girls were gone, their screams trailing behind them like thin, birdlike calls.