It made sense, and because I saw the truth in his eyes, I felt foolish. At least I did until he smiled at me. "I'm glad you came back to work here, Alice. It's nice to have family who cares."

"Yeah," I said, meaning it. "It is."

I leaned over the bar and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm late. Gotta run."

I was late, too. I was supposed to be at Zane's, training hard and killing demons in the ring. Zane said it was to build both my confidence and my skill, but I knew there was another reason. They wanted me primed on demon essence. He and Clarence might give lip service to the whole "compartmentalize" thing, but I knew they wanted to keep me in a killing frame of mind. And how better to get there than to take a little hit of demon?

Cynical? Perhaps.

Maybe that was the result of an overload of demon kills, too.

I didn't know.

All I knew was that I didn't need the dark essence. Not today.

Today I could get to that dark place all on my own. Because today, I was going to my own burial.

I didn't go to the service itself. Didn't want to hear them eulogize me. Didn't want to see how sparse the turnout within the church was.

And I didn't want to feel like a hypocrite because my family had brought my body into a place of worship.

I'd lost my faith a long time ago, burying it with my mother. There was no heaven, I'd thought. No hell. And there was certainly no God looking out for us.

There was nothing but emptiness.

Now I knew better. But it wasn't faith that had brought me around; it was hard, cold reality. I knew there were monsters in the dark. And, yeah, I was scared. Not for me with my badass skills, but for people like Rose who'd had their faith snuffed by monsters like Johnson and needed to find their way back into the light before the dark pulled them down.

The small cluster of mourners at the grave site was already breaking up when I arrived. I hung back, out of place despite being the one person who truly belonged there. At first, I could only see Rose's back. But then she turned, and I saw the way the skin clung to her bones like a wraith, and I knew she wasn't eating. My death and her memories were sucking the life from her. Her hair hung limp, and even at this distance, I could see that her once-beautiful eyes were flat and dull.

I told myself that it had been less than a week since I'd died, and that time would surely heal her. But I knew that was a lie. I wanted to help. Wanted to do something more tangible than saving the whole world.

I wanted to go to my sister, but at the same time I knew that I shouldn't. And right then, responsibility was warring with desire. I held back, waiting to see which aspect of me won the battle.

From across the manicured lawn, I watched as Rose looked blankly at the few people who came up to offer condolences. Jeremy from the video store was there, too, and that tiny connection almost made me smile. Or it did until my stepfather stumbled next to Rose, useless with grief and alcohol.

My stomach clenched, my blood cold. I'd promised I'd take care of her, but now, standing in a cemetery in the Flats, that promise seemed cold and hollow. How could I have been so egotistical to swear to deliver something that could never be? I couldn't take care of her. I'd tried. I'd done my damnedest.

And in the end, that was what it had made us both: damned. Me with the stain of sin, and Rose with the fears that kept her locked inside after dark, a prisoner in her own home, tormented by her memories, her fears, and her sister's unkept promises.

"Rose." The word came out a whisper, forced past my lips by the tears that filled my throat. There was no way she could have heard me, but still she turned, and I saw her eyes widen. I froze, staying right there as she leaned over and whispered something to Joe, then marched to me.

I stayed put, despite Clarence's warning echoing in my ear.

"Why have you been following me?"

The question, so unexpected, brought me up short. "I haven't. I mean, I waited for you that one time at school. But-"

"But nothing. You stood there. And you watched. I saw you. And just because I haven't seen you the rest of the times doesn't mean I don't know you're there. I can feel your eyes. I can see you in the shadows. You think I don't know. You think I'm stupid, but I'm not."

"I'm not following you," I said, fear wriggling up my spine. "I swear it." Someone was, though. Someone was stalking my sister, and the thought of that made me go weak in the knees. I needed to be here, protecting my sister, not off fighting amorphous evil with a capital E.

She was still eyeing me warily, and I sighed, the sudden burst of exasperation with my little sister so familiar it warmed me. "If I were sneaking around following you, would I be standing out in the open at your sister's funeral?"

She thought about that, pouted a little, then shook her head. "Guess not," she said, rubbing the toe of her polished black shoe into the damp grass. "So why are you here?"

"To tell you that I meant it. What I said before. Lily was my friend, and I know she'd never have left you on purpose."

She nodded, eyes brimming with tears as she looked at me. Then her gaze dipped down and she frowned, her eyes narrowing as she reached toward me. I lifted my hand, unconsciously feeling for the locket I'd tucked inside my shirt. But it wasn't inside. It was hanging out. Right where Rose could see it.

I forced myself not to jump when her fingers touched it. And when she opened it, I heard a little gasp.

"She gave it to me," I said. "The night she-well, she gave it to me for safekeeping."

Rose simply stood there, and I couldn't tell if she'd bought my line of bullshit.

I reached up for the clasp. "Do you want it?"

She shook her head. "No. She wanted you to have it." Her head tilted to the side, as if she were trying to figure me out. "You really are her friend."

"Yeah. I told you so. And I meant what I said. If you need something-anything-you can call me. Here. I've got a cell phone now." I still wore black jeans and a black T-shirt under the red leather coat. Probably not the most respectful of outfits, but I hadn't had time to change. Plus, I didn't figure a skirt would ride well on the bike.

I rummaged through all my pockets, but couldn't come up with paper or a pen. Rose hesitated a moment, then opened a small black purse that I recognized as once belonging to our mother. She passed me a pad of paper and a ballpoint, and I jotted down the name of the pub along with my number and my name, remembering to write "Alice" rather than "Lily." It was, I realized, getting easier and easier to think of myself as Alice.

"I mean it," I said, passing the paper back. "You need anything at all, you call." Clarence wouldn't be happy about that, but I didn't give a flip. If someone was following Rose, I figured she might already be in danger. No way was I staying away knowing someone was watching her.

She hesitated, then managed the briefest of smiles, the first one I'd seen touch her face in a long, long time. "All right," she said, tucking my number back into her purse. "Thanks." She looked back over her shoulder at Joe. "I gotta go."

She turned without another word and left me standing there, alone at my own funeral.

Honestly, now that I thought about it, the whole thing was more than a little creepy.

I shook the thought out of my head as I started to head in the opposite direction, my mind mulling over the question of who was following her. Clarence? To make sure I wasn't sneaking over to the Flats to visit? But that possibility didn't ring true, a fact that disappointed me. If it were him, at least I would have an answer. And an answer was better than this cold, vague fear that Rose was still in danger.

"Sad day for that girl."

I spun around and found myself looking into Deacon's black eyes.

My hand went to the inside pocket of my coat, where I'd stashed my knife. "Stay the fuck away from her."

His head tilted to the side. "She's important to you."

"Yes," I said. I couldn't bear to deny it out loud. And the truth was, he already knew it. I thought about what Rose had said, then remembered how I'd seen Deacon in the distance when I'd been walking the dogs. "You've been following me."

"Yes," he said simply. No excuses. Just confidence. And a hint of danger. Yeah, well, I could be dangerous, too.

"And the girl? You following her, too?"

"Why would I do that?"

"You tell me."

He came another step closer, and I felt that catch in my gut. A keening, visceral need that unnerved me. She's mine, he'd told the boy on the dance floor. And damned if right then I didn't think it was true.

Was that why I was so hesitant to believe the worst of him? I told myself it wasn't; I wasn't so shallow as to be controlled by lust. At least, I didn't want to think of myself that way.

No, I was hesitant because I feared that Clarence was being fed bad information and that either intentionally or foolishly someone was trying to set Deacon up to take the fall for Alice.

I couldn't be sure, though. Not about that.

But I did know that he was dangerous.

About that, I had no doubts.

"Why are you here?" I asked, walking away from the grave toward the far parking lot where I'd left my bike.

"Apparently I'm following you," he said easily. "So perhaps the real question is, why are you here?"

"I don't owe you an explanation."

"And I don't need one. It's clear enough, Lily, why you came."

He never raised his voice. Never let victory flash in his eyes. But he'd won, and I staggered back before I caught myself. Only an instant. One small misstep. But he would have noticed. I had a feeling Deacon noticed pretty much everything.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, trying to salvage something.

"Don't play games," he said, his voice taking on a harsh edge. "At least do us both that favor."

I weighed my options and ruled out killing him. I could run. I could lie. But in the end, he knew who I was. Body and soul. And there was no point holding on to my secret. Not if I could use disclosure as a bargaining chip.

We were near a marble mausoleum, now burnished in the orange light of the setting sun. I stopped, then turned to face him. "How did you learn my name?"

Something dark burned in his eyes, like faith dying. "You're mine, remember?" His words were bitter. "We both saw it. Saw the lilies in the blood. Entwined there, you and I."

I shook my head. "Tidy story, but it's not true. Nobody would pull a name from that."

"Maybe not. But add in the tattoo on your back-the artist was happy to discuss it that afternoon, especially when I slipped him a fifty, by the way. Can I see it? By his description it must be quite a treasure."

"Bite me."

"I'd be happy to."

God, he was smooth. So smooth I wasn't sure if I wanted to jump him or kick him.

What I did know was that I wasn't afraid of him. And that in and of itself scared me a little. Because he was dangerous, right? And that's how dangerous things get close to you. They put you at ease. They sneak in.

I knew all that, and Deacon was creeping closer and closer.

"A tattoo's hardly proof of anything," I whispered, desperate to keep control.

He pressed his hand to my waist, and though I flinched, I didn't push it away. Neither, however, did I look in his eyes. I didn't want a reminder of the evil inside him. Not now. Not when the danger already arcing between us was sending up enough sparks to light Boston for a week.

He drew closer, the hand easing under my coat to the small of my back. He pressed against it, but the tattoo had healed, and I felt no pain, nothing except the warmth of his hand. "A white lily," he said, "with droplets of blood. And underneath, in a delicate hand, a name written out-Lily."

We were hip to hip now, and my body sang with arousal. He was hard against me, and though I knew I shouldn't, I wanted him desperately.

"Not hard to figure out the rest. To search death records. To find a young woman dead, her body being buried today."

I felt the tears sting my eyes, foolish because I wasn't really dead. Or maybe I was.

"Lily." The whisper of his breath against my ear sent sparks ricocheting through me, and I had to force myself to keep my hand tight around my knife. I could play dangerous games, but I couldn't lose control.

"Big jump from a tattoo to a funeral," I whispered, glancing up at his face. My gaze skimmed over his eyes, and I felt the jolt of the vision. I forced myself to look away, to break that connection. I didn't want to go there. Not now. Not with him.

"Not really," he said, and if he had felt the vision coming on, he didn't show it. "I knew something had changed, after all. You're not the Alice I used to know. Alice didn't heat my blood the way you do. I didn't want to slam Alice against a wall and thrust myself deep inside her." His voice was rough with need as he slid his hand between my thighs. I trembled, as much from his words as his touch. "And I didn't want to toss her down on a bed and pleasure every inch of her until she came for me."

"Don't," I said, as his finger teased the skin above the waistband of my jeans. "Don't play me like this. It won't work."

"What won't work?" He took my hand, brought one finger to his lips, and suckled the tip.

"You're not going to distract me," I said, ignoring all the evidence to the contrary.

"Is that so? It seems to be working so far."

It was the confidence in his voice that jerked me out of the haze of lust. I pulled away, feeling the hard wall of the mausoleum behind me. "Word on the street is you killed Alice," I said, then watched his face for the shock of accusation or the acceptance of truth.

I saw neither. Instead, he looked pensive. He took a step back, increasing the distance between us. "I suppose that's fair," he said. "After all, her blood is on my hands."

A lick of fear flicked through me. "What do you mean? You killed her?"

"Did I take her life?" I saw the restrained anger at the accusation, held back by the tightest control. "Of course not. But you should know that better than anyone, shouldn't you?"

I blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You tell me, Lily," he said. "You're the one in her body."

THIRTY-FIVE.

"You think I killed her? Are you crazy?"

"Not at the moment, no."

"I didn't want this," I said, smacking him back with the palms of my hands so that I could get by. I spun around, fueled by fury. "I died, you son of a bitch, and then I wake up in some other girl's body and I learn that she was murdered. She's gone and I'm here, and there's not a minute goes by that I don't feel pretty goddamned guilty about that. But it wasn't my fault. It wasn't my idea. And when I find out who killed her, I swear to you I will rip their heart out and shove it down their throat."