And then she pretended to cough the word bullshit, as she propped her hands on her hips. “No one finds dead bodies.”

Violet shrugged, her brows raised as she did her best to emulate the same cocky gesture she’d seen Chelsea pull off a thousand times before. “I do.”

“You could’ve planted that.” Chelsea nodded toward the possum, barely able to look at its decomposing form.

Violet thought about that for a minute. “Really, Chels? Why would I do that? On the off chance that you discovered my little secret and decided to call me on it? And how would I know when that might happen? Wouldn’t I have to plant a dead possum, like, every day or something?”

“Didn’t say it had to be a possum.” But then Chelsea stopped to consider Violet’s explanation. “So, if you didn’t plant it, find another one,” she challenged.

Violet shrugged. Cynicism was way easier to deal with than straight-up disbelief. At least Chelsea wasn’t shutting her out. “Fine, but I can’t promise how long it’ll take.”

“Course you can’t,” Chelsea chided, making it clear that she doubted Violet would ever “find” another body again. At least not the way she’d just found this one. Still, she followed as Violet moved back toward the path that was overrun with branches and roots.

It didn’t take as long as Violet thought it might. There was another echo nearby, not as strong as the first one, but noticeable nonetheless. It reached into Violet’s gut and tugged her, a sensation she doubted she’d ever really be able to explain to anyone, as if her body were no longer moving of its own accord. As if she were possessed.

She answered the call, straying from the path, and she could hear Chelsea right behind her, saying nothing at all. The only sounds were the twigs that snapped beneath Chelsea’s sneakers—shoes that were far more suitable for this terrain than Violet’s.

At first, Violet thought the echo was faint, but she soon realized she was mistaken. It wasn’t faint, it was just . . . melodic.

This echo was a sound.

A sound that made Violet grin as she drew nearer, and it grew clearer, louder. It was like she’d stumbled into a carnival, the music lilting and rising.

No, Violet thought. Not like a carnival, like a carousel. The music reminded her of riding the colorfully painted wooden horses when she was a little girl.

She stopped suddenly, every nerve in her body telling her she was in the right place. She turned to Chelsea. “This is it.”

Chelsea gave her a look that told her what she thought about her proclamation: Violet was full of crap.

But Violet was already turning away from her, falling to her hands and knees as she began brushing away the thin layer of rotting leaves and needles and twigs. Her heart was beating harder than it should, almost as if some part of her worried that Chelsea might be right. That there might not be anything there at all.

But then she felt it. She let the carousel sound overtake her, relishing this song, one that was so different from what her own imprint had been, with its notes rising and falling over her like a nostalgic rainstorm, drenching her. She smoothed the remaining dirt away, creating a small circle on the ground so Chelsea could see what Violet saw.

“Holy . . .” Chelsea breathed from over her shoulder now, looking down at the animal—a squirrel, or maybe a rabbit. Something too small and too far decomposed to be recognizable any longer.

Violet turned back, a sly smile finding her lips. “Bang,” she said. “I just blew your mind.” But she said it quietly, as if she were afraid she might disturb the animal beneath them.

Then Chelsea leaned away from Violet—and her discovery—as she lifted the hem of her shirt up to cover her nose. “Oh my god!” she gasped. “Do they always smell this bad?”

“Sometimes it’s worse,” Violet admitted. And it was. Sometimes it was almost unbearable.

Chelsea took a couple of steps back, and Violet watched her as the color drained from her face. “So, are you telling me this is for real? This body-finding stuff?” Her face had gone chalk white. “This is freaking me the hell out, Violet.”

Violet reburied the animal, gently mounding the leaves and dirt back in place before standing up again. “Yeah, Chels. It’s for real,” she said. “And no one knows about it. You have to promise me you won’t tell anyone. It has to be a secret. Our secret.” Violet waited for Chelsea to meet her gaze. “Promise,” she coaxed her friend.

Chelsea nodded, but it was slow . . . the exact opposite of her usual unflappable determination. Her hesitation made Violet uneasy. But then she recovered, and she clutched Violet, gripping her upper arms and leaning so close that Violet could smell peanut butter on her breath. “I promise,” she swore without a trace of doubt. “Whatever you want.” Her eyes were shiny and filled with utter confidence now—just like the Chelsea that Violet needed her to be. “Dude, you know I love you. I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Consider it in the vault.”

Violet smiled—both on the outside and on the inside. Everything about her felt better . . . lighter. Why had she waited so long to share this? Why had she thought she needed to keep this a secret for so long?

Chelsea could handle this.

She could handle this.

Chelsea’s eyes continued to glitter as she clutched Violet. “You know what this means, don’t you? It means you’re some kind of superhero or something.”