Tearing my eyes off Sonja, I pulled out the compact camera. It was turning off and on, off and on, the lens protruding and retracting. My hands shook as I flipped it on. Proof. A photo. I needed to get a photo of Sonja.
Her face swam before my eyes. My head felt fuzzy, like my brain had turned to cotton. I held the viewfinder up to my eye and took a deep breath.
It’s dark, so you’ll need a wide aperture. Hold it steady, Kat, steady—if the camera shakes even a little bit, the picture will blur . . . Kat? Are you listening to me? Kat!
“Leave me alone,” I hissed. My mother’s voice faded, and dimly, I realized another voice was yelling in the distance.
My eyes slid in and out of focus, but I could just make out movement behind Sonja. Someone was running straight toward us from the other end of the tunnel—yelling, panicked. Sonja reached for me again, her hand just inches away. Gripping the camera, I fumbled with the dials, trying to get her into focus. I zoomed in too far, and the locket around her neck filled the screen. Locket? Locket. I’ve seen that locket before . . .
“Stop moving,” I whispered, dizziness causing me to sway. I had to get this photo. Actual proof.
Sonja’s fingers closed gently around my wrist, and I gasped at the static spark. Her hand was warm, solid, real. When I pressed the button, the flash filled the tunnel like lightning.
Sonja stumbled—ghosts stumble?—and yanked my arm hard, pulling me into a cell. I tripped, too, and my head slammed into the wall just as the cell door clanked shut behind me.
Spots of light danced in my vision. I fumbled for my camera—Sonja was right there on the other side of the bars, I could still get the shot. I squinted at the screen, confused.
WARNING! High Voltage
“What?” I mumbled, flipping the camera off and on. The message vanished, and I lifted the viewfinder to my eye. Through it, I saw Sonja on the other side of the bars. And next to her . . . a shape, an outline.
A boy.
Flash.
Sonja crumpled like a paper doll. Outline-boy made a motion as if to catch her, but his arms passed right through hers . . . except they didn’t.
I lowered my camera just as Sonja’s body hit the ground. But another outline—her outline—was still standing, gripping outline-boy’s arms. Like her spirit had just stepped out of her body. Pain throbbed where I’d hit my head, and I squeezed my eyes closed for a second. When I opened them, the ghosts were gone.
But Sonja’s body was still curled up on the ground.
Sam appeared and knelt next to her. “No, no, no . . . Are you okay? Can you hear me?” I realized he was the one who’d been yelling. I’d never heard Sam sound so panicked before.
“She fell,” I mumbled, but Sam was patting Sonja’s cheek and didn’t notice me. A low buzzing filled my ears, and when I blinked, everything doubled before slowly sliding back together. I stayed there, slumped against the wall of the cell, as a distant herd of footsteps grew louder and louder.
Roland arrived next. Kneeling down, he felt Sonja’s neck for a pulse, then checked her eyes. “She’s breathing.” Whipping the first-aid kit from his bag, Roland cast Sam an odd look. “Passed out. Did she get dizzy again?” he asked in a weirdly forced tone.
Sam nodded mutely. Roland’s mouth was a thin line as he rummaged through the kit.
I almost giggled at the absurdity of the whole scene. Ghosts don’t get dizzy, I told them, only I couldn’t say it out loud. My mouth was too dry.
Jess nearly dropped her camera when she saw Sonja, her face ashen beneath her freckles. “Oh God, not again!” Turning, she shoved the camera at Mi Jin before dropping down on her knees next to Sonja. Dad appeared behind Mi Jin, out of breath. “Is that . . .?”
Sonja, I told him. Look, Dad. A real ghost! She fell down.
Behind him, Jamie and Hailey came to a halt, staring as Roland held a small bottle under Sonja’s nose. But Oscar shoved past everyone and crouched down next to her, his eyes wide with fear.
She fell, I told them. Sonja fell. But no one heard. I still couldn’t seem to find my voice.
Sucking in a huge gasp, Sonja sat upright. But her face looked different; that wasn’t Sonja’s face . . .
“No . . .” I croaked, and Dad’s head jerked up.
“Kat!”
He yanked open the cell door and knelt at my side, feeling my forehead. I brushed his hand away, hotly aware of everyone staring at me. “I’m fine,” I said, although I felt anything but fine. “What about Sonja?”
Dad gazed at me, eyes filled with concern. “What, sweetie?”
“Sonja Hillebrandt.” I struggled to stand, the fog still clearing from my brain. “She fell. Is she . . . ?” I stopped, openmouthed.
Lidia stared up at me from where she sat on the floor, Roland’s hand on her shoulder. Her eyes were glassy, her hair even frizzier than usual . . . but it was her. Lidia in her jeans and sweater, the locket around her neck. Next to her, Sam watched me intently.
“I thought . . .” I paused, closing my eyes. I’d seen Sonja, I was sure of it. But considering everyone was looking at me as if they feared for my sanity, I’d apparently been the only one. Except—
“Mi Jin,” I said loudly, stepping out of the cell. “Hailey, what happened before you ended up in the cell? Did you see her?”
“See who?” Roland said, and Mi Jin frowned.
“I don’t know what happened,” she said. “I was filming Sam, and then I started feeling dizzy so I stepped away, and . . . and then I was in that cell with Hailey.”
Hailey nodded. “I heard Sam and Lidia talking, and I was trying to find them to see who screamed, but the same thing happened. I felt woozy, and . . .” She rubbed her arms. “Crackly.”
“Crackly?” Jamie repeated. But before Hailey could respond, the lightbulb overhead flickered.
For a few seconds, everyone stared
