In fact, I felt like I’d hardly slept, and when I’d come down for church this morning, Mom had looked at my face with a concerned frown that told me all the concealer I’d applied hadn’t totally erased the effect of the night before.

I hadn’t seen David in any of my dreams, but I’d definitely felt like he was close by in them. It had been the weirdest feeling, and even now, remembering, I shivered a little.

Bee looked down at me, holding her plate with both hands. “This is going to sound nuts, but I felt like . . . like maybe I was dreaming the same things he was?”

It didn’t sound nuts at all. In fact, that’s exactly what I’d been wondering every time I’d woken up from another dream full of smoke and blood and a feeling of panic lodged sharp as a thorn in my chest. But if they were David’s dreams, did that mean they were really visions? And if they were visions, what of?

Of course, seeing how scary those visions were, I wasn’t sure that was a question I wanted answered.

“I get that,” I said, looking up at Bee. “So maybe the spell worked a little? It didn’t help us find him, but it”—I opened and closed my free hand, trying to think of the word I wanted to use—“connected us to him or something.”

“I thought you already were connected to him,” Bee said, and I gave an uneasy shrug.

“I am, but maybe this strengthened the bond. Or maybe we just had David on the brain, and it’s manifesting itself in our dreams.”

Now it was Bee’s turn to shrug, and she turned away from the buffet. “Maybe,” she said. “But in any case, they’re not dreams I want to have.”

“Me, neither,” I said, trailing behind her as we made our way to our tables. Our friends Abi and Amanda were sitting near the window with their parents, both of them in mint-green sundresses, Amanda’s hair in a low ponytail, Abi’s loose around her face, which was the only way I could tell them apart from this far away. I would’ve thought they’d have outgrown dressing the same around, oh, second grade or so, but I think their parents liked the matchy-matchy thing. I wiggled my fingers from under my plate at them, and they waved back.

I also saw Bee’s mom and dad, and saw the way they glanced from me to Ryan, sitting at Bee’s mom’s left. I gave Ryan a smile I hoped conveyed the right amount of “Totally fine with this, Bee’s parents!” I knew my own parents thought the switch from Ryan dating me to Ryan dating Bee was kind of awkward, and no matter how much I tried to tell them we were all totally fine with it, I didn’t think they bought it. Mom’s smile was definitely a little tight when I put my plate down, and as I took my seat, she leaned closer to murmur, “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” I told her, laying my napkin in my lap. “Ryan and Bee are actually way more suited for each other than Ryan and I were. Look how she hasn’t even complained about his elbows being on the table!”

Mom shot me a wry look, one hand going to the delicate strand of pearls around her neck. “So you keep saying, and I have to admit, you really do seem . . . okay with everything.”

“Of course she is,” Aunt May said from the other side of the table, not even bothering to lower her voice. “Our Harper isn’t one for crying over spilled milk.”

My aunts ate with us after church every Sunday, and today, they were all in different shades of green. Aunt May and Aunt Martha were twins, but their sister, my aunt Jewel, was almost identical to them, all three sporting silvery perms and glasses they liked to wear around their necks fastened to sparkly chains. They were pretty much my favorite people, and Aunt Jewel was especially high on my list after Friday night. It’s not many people who will help talk you out of getting arrested. As I met her eye over the linen-covered table, she gave me a little wink and I smiled back. It was funny how much better you could feel just sharing a secret with a person who loved you.

Across the table, Dad smiled at me, giving a little lift of his chin that I think was supposed to signal, “Buck up, little soldier,” or something similarly Dad-ish. I wasn’t sure if he thought I was upset about Ryan and Bee, or if I was just making a particularly tragic face, but in either case, I appreciated it, and smiled back.

“How is work at the pool hall, Harper Jane?” my aunt May asked, and Aunt Martha jabbed her with an elbow.

“She’s not working at a pool hall, May, honestly. She works at the pool.”

Aunt May gave a little shrug as if there weren’t much difference between the two, and I caught Aunt Jewel’s eye.

“It’s fine,” I said to Aunt May. “Not as exciting as I thought it would be, but at least I’m getting fresh air and plenty of time to read.”

Aunt Martha pointed at me with her fork. “Just be sure you keep your hair up. Don’t want to end up like Dot Jenkins.”

I had no idea who Dot Jenkins was, but Aunt Martha was clearly going to tell me something awful that had befallen the unfortunate Dot. The Aunts collected horrible stories the way some old ladies collected ceramic angels.

“It was 1956,” Aunt Martha continued, confirming my suspicion. “Swimming at the pool we used to have here at the club. Caught her hair in a drain, and that was that.”

“It was 1955,” Aunt May said, and Aunt Jewel rolled her eyes, pushing a chunk of sweet potato around her plate.

“It was 19–Both of You Are Ridiculous,” she said. “Dot Jenkins did not drown in the country club pool. She hit her head on a dock at Lake Prater and drowned there.”

As The Aunts squabbled over just what tragic drowning had befallen Dot Jenkins, I turned my attention back to my plate, still thinking about the past couple of days, and how close I had come to being one of those stories. Heck, that was just the last in a long line of Terrible Deaths I Almost Experienced. Stabbed to death in the school bathroom, stabbed in a college office, stabbed at Cotillion . . .

Frowning, I wondered why all the bad guys I faced were so stabby. I’d definitely need to make sure my training was more focused on anti-stabby things if I—

I was suddenly aware of someone standing over my shoulder, and I nearly turned in my seat to see who it was. The Aunts were still arguing, but my dad was glancing up with polite inquiry on his face.

And then I felt it. Whoever it was behind me, they were radiating power.

It all happened in the space of a few heartbeats. A hand touched my shoulder, and magic flared under my skin. What kind of magic, I had no idea, but I didn’t give myself time to think. Instead, I covered the hand with mine, and as I did, shot to my feet, my other hand coming across my body to grab an arm, foot hooking under ankles to bring the person down hard. I had enough time to see dark eyes go wide as the person fell, hitting the table on the way down, rattling dishes and glasses. Next to me, I heard Mom gasp and cry, “Harper!” I lifted my head to meet a sea of shocked faces. My mom’s closest friend in the Junior League, Mrs. Andrews, had gone pale, and one of the partners at Dad’s law firm, Mr. Montgomery, was mouthing what seemed to be a couple of variations of the F-word. But I couldn’t have stopped myself for anything. All I could think of was that feeling of helplessness lying on the floor of the changing room Friday night.

This time, my powers didn’t falter even for a second. They pulsed through my veins, strong as ever, and I might have been smiling in kind of a creepy way.