Whispers at Moonrise

continued to stare over Kylie’s shoulder. Then, suddenly, her expression grew more panicked.
    “No,” Hannah muttered and her hands, more bone than flesh, grabbed Kylie by the shoulders. Worms went everywhere.
    “Not again! Not again!” The spirit’s touch sent wave after wave of icy tremors coursing through Kylie, who forgot about the worms. Pain shot from every nerve ending and her body stiffened from what felt like a brain freeze to her entire body.
    “Is everything okay?” Derek moved in.
    The throbbing through Kylie’s body locked the air in her lungs. She wanted to scream. But she felt as if someone had her by the throat. Black spots started forming in her vision. She felt her knees start to fold. Derek touched her and just like that, the pain and the dizziness vanished. Blinking, she saw Hannah was still there, standing beside Derek.
    Kylie breathed, then forced the words out. “Not again, what?”
    Hannah didn’t answer, didn’t even look at her. Derek did, and he appeared concerned.
    “Look, I need to know what it is you need me to do. Please, answer me.” But the spirit, her frightened dead gaze locked over Kylie’s shoulder, faded into thin air.
    Derek brushed his hand down Kylie’s arm. “You okay?”
    Kylie nodded, savoring the warmth of his touch, and then she turned around to see who’d walked out of the dining hall, wondering if that was what had sent Hannah running. Burnett, the new teachers, and a couple of the new students stood by the door.
    “Was that Hannah?” Derek whispered.
    “Yeah,” Kylie said, still trying to wrap her head around what Holiday’s sister had meant by not again .
    “You really okay?” he asked.
    She touched her throat. “Yeah. I just don’t know what it is that she needs me to do.”
    “I don’t know if this helps, but I think I know where Cara M. worked.”
    “Where?” Kylie asked.
    “When you told me that she could possibly be from around here, I Googled all the diners and cafés in the area. I found some photos and this old newspaper article about some place called Cookie’s Café, right outside of Fallen. Have you ever been there?”
    “No, I don’t … Wait. Yes, my mom took me to this restaurant that was really just an old house. That must have been how I recognized the uniform.”
    “That’s it. The house was built in the eighteen hundreds.” He smiled as if proud he’d found the answer to at least part of the puzzle.
    Kylie almost smiled herself, but then it hit her. What now? Even if all Kylie needed to do was find the bodies, how was knowing where one of the dead girls worked going to help her? Ordinarily, she could talk to Holiday about this but … she couldn’t do that until she knew exactly what was going on. It would be unbearably cruel to tell Holiday her sister was dead when there was a chance Kylie was misinterpreting the visions.
    Then another realization washed over her. She should probably go to the police. But she didn’t have a freaking clue how to explain any of this. Which meant it might be up to her to try to solve the murders.
    Not again. Not again. Hannah’s words rang in her head. What was Hannah trying to say?
    Oh, holy hell, Kylie didn’t have a clue how to move forward. She wasn’t an investigator. She didn’t even enjoy watching TV shows about detectives. She glanced back up at Derek. “What should I do now?”
    “I called the diner, just to ask if there had been a Cara M. working there, but it’s a tourist place and they’re only open on the weekends.”
    Kylie’s mind continued to whirl with what she needed to do. “Oh, hell, I’m so out of my league on this.”
    “Don’t worry,” Derek said. “I’ll help you. And besides, we have until Saturday to decide what to do next.”
    She looked up at him with complete appreciation. “How can I thank you?”
    He grinned with pure sex appeal, the gold flecks in his eyes brightening. “I could think of a few ways.”
    She frowned.
    He held up a hand. “Fine. Just smile a little more. That’ll be payment enough.”
    *   *   *
    Thursday morning, Kylie woke up when Socks bumped her chin with his nose. As she blinked away the fogginess of sleep, she stroked Socks’s soft feline fur. The sun spilled through the window and she watched as the day’s brightness and shadows flickered on the ceiling, fighting for space—a war of sorts between light and darkness.
    As the battle took place, she felt her mood host a similar conflict. Her life