Soul Fire

1
    Happiness is simple. All you need are the people you love.
    After Meggie died, I thought I’d never be happy again. Yet here I am on the Beach, where life is absolute heaven. I can hear my sister humming softly as she draws patterns in the sand. I
feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, and the touch of Danny’s body against mine, and the sway of the hammock as the sea breeze rocks us.
    How many people get a second chance like this?
    ‘Are you daydreaming again, Alice?’
    I hesitate before I open my eyes, because there’s always the fear that one day this could all disappear.
    But Danny’s still there, his face so close to mine that I can’t decide whether to touch him or just admire him: eyes as green as a tropical lagoon, blond hair that’s curly
after swimming (he hates that, I love it), lips that fit mine so well it’d be a crime not to kiss them again . . .
    ‘Why would I need to daydream?’ I whisper. ‘Everything I want is within reach.’ And to prove it, I reach out to take his hand.
    ‘Right answer.’ He leans in to kiss me.
    ‘Come on! Guys! Can you not leave each other alone for a minute? I will have to throw a bucket of water over you, like they do with dogs!’
    Javier is the grit in the pearl of paradise: sarcastic, occasionally cruel. But I can’t imagine Soul Beach without him. Every group needs a comedian. Some of his jokes are on the dark
side, but he is dead. That could give anyone a strange sense of humour.
    Danny and I smile at each other. Maybe we should make an effort to be more sociable.
    We whisper, ‘Three, two, one . . .’ then tumble out of the hammock onto the soft bed of pillows below. However hard we try to do it gracefully, it never works. Maybe it’s
because we can’t resist hanging onto each other till the last possible moment.
    ‘Such elegance!’ Javier scoffs, and my sister giggles. Beach life seems to suit her more and more. Her hair is blonder, her million-dollar smile now worth at least a billion. When
she was alive, the TV production people kept telling her to lose weight – ‘the camera adds five kilos and the audience only votes for thin girls’ – but now she’s happy
in herself and has the perfect figure again.
    Danny and I checkout Meggie’s drawing. It’s a bird-of-paradise flower, with spiky petals sprouting like wings. ‘You’ve got hidden talents, big sis.’
    She laughs. ‘I’m inspired by how beautiful the Beach is now, thanks to a certain Very Important Person.’
    I blush. When I first arrived here, it was beautiful but barren. There were no exotic flowers springing up from the sand, no jewelled birds swooping across the blue sky, or diving towards the
ocean where metallic fish ripple through the warm water.
    Then I helped a desperate girl called Triti to escape, and the Beach became more bewitching for those left behind – almost like I’d unlocked a new level of experiences by doing the
right thing.
    And since then . . . I can’t get used to the hushed tones the Guests on Soul Beach use when they talk about me. Especially not the way Meggie talks about me. When she was alive, she
was the star: the prettier, smarter, more talented sister.
    But now I’m the one who stands out. Everyone wants a Visitor, but I’m the only one anyone can remember. In my real life, I’m just sixteen. I can’t even drive.
    Here, I can change lives – and afterlives, too. Sure, the Beach seems like paradise, but there’s no way out. Unless I can solve the mystery of a Guest’s death, as I did with
Triti. Then they can find peace. Or at least, disappear. No one knows where they go.
    It’s my sister’s death that brought me here, of course. Her killer’s still out there, and finding who murdered Meggie is my top priority. Even though if I do that, I’m
terrified I might lose her for good, and the Beach too.
    ‘You’re the best, Alice Florence Forster. You know that?’ Meggie says. ‘Don’t you dare leave me, right? Not ever?’
    I smile at her, but I don’t say anything, because I can’t promise her that, and she knows I can’t. Anything could happen.
    Out in the bay, some Guests are wading out to neck height, catching fish. There’s talk of barbecuing the catch later, when the sun’s gone down. I’ll probably leave, then,
because the one thing I can’t do here is taste. Sometimes I forget, and reach out for a slice of mango, or an ice-cold beer, and as I raise it to my lips, it tastes of ashes . . .
    Or worse, of