It's Wednesday, and I'm sitting at lunch with Jase when I see them hoist it up. The indigo banner printed in gold with the words HARBINGER HARVEST FESTIVAL arced before a crescent moon.

I nearly throw up my lunch.

Jase looks up from his phone, pale eyebrows arched in sudden surprise. "You good?"

My scalding gaze must be enough for him to get the message, because he just glances over to where they're hanging the banner and returns back to his phone with a simple, "Oh."

"Oh," I mock, scoffing. "It's all baloney."

"You said that at Cliff's," Jase observes. "Why do you hate the theory so much?"

I sigh, resting my chin in one hand as I look at Jase. "I've already told you this."

"Well, tell me again."

"The Harbingers are just a myth. There's never been any proof of them existing."

Jase quirks an eyebrow. "There's never been any proof of ghosts existing either, but the Harbingers are supposed to be proof."

I press my mouth into a thin line, because I know he's right.

In our little town of Willow's Crest, there are more myths and legends and histories than you can count, but the tale that transcends the rest is that of the Harbingers. Said to originate from pre-revolutionary settlers, the Harbinger was a member of the town that had the ability to see into the afterlife, and see into the past itself to placate the angry spirits that fed off the historic blood of the town.

Every fall equinox since the olden days, the Harbinger's abilities are said to manifest. However, with the rise of the Harbinger comes something much more sinister. The Harbinger opens the ajar gates between the living and the dead, blowing them wide open. For the next three weeks, spirits of the dead and other forms of the undead return to Willow's crest, wreaking all sorts of havoc, and the Harbinger is the only one able to see them and stop them.

Supposedly.

Either way, it drives me nuts. It's just another form of romanticizing something that should not be tampered with. From the fall equinox to the Harbinger's Harvest Festival, idiot teenagers from around the town take it upon themselves to go ghost hunting or attempt to communicate with spirits and demons.

But those open gates do not only make it easier for ghosts to return to life.

It makes it easier for the living to die as well.

The image of my father fighting to get into the house the night of his death flashes through my mind like a lightning strike.

"Stella?"

I glance over at Jase, watching him as he watches me.

"Yes?" I muse, with just enough venom.

"How busy are you the next few periods?" Jase asks, picking up the last remaining french fry from his little tray of them.

"You mean period?" Jase and I have sixth period lunch, which is the last available lunch period. My seventh period class is an elective, which I can easily blow off--if I didn't have a test. "I have a test."

Jase deflates a bit, but is quick to compose himself. "I'll meet you at your locker after school. I have a point to prove." Victoriously, he chomps into his french fry and takes off to AP Music Theory as the bell rings.

-<>-

    Jase's point to prove, quote en quote, just so happens to be proving that the Harbingers exist. If he hadn't bribed me with food afterwards, I would have declined his offer. However, Jase won out, and after a six minute drive, we find ourselves walking through the frosted glass doors of Madame L'Mort's Bookshop and into the musky air of yesterday.

    The bell above the door cues a melodious voice like a big jazz band. "Welcome to Madame L'Mort's Book--" A woman emerges from the large, over-filled shelves, waving her arms majestically, until she catches sight of Jase and I and stops. "Oh, it's just you two."

    "Hey, Marie!" Jase beams. "How's your day?"

    Madame L'Mort--or Marie to those who know her, like Jase and I do--smiles, laughing heartily as she pulls Jase in for a hug. "I'm great, jitterbug, how are you?"

    "Just grand." Jase laughs. He glances at me. "You remember Stella."

    Marie gives me a knowing look, an infectious smile on her face. "Of course I do. Willow's Crest's personal ghostbuster."

    I narrow my eyes at her. "Did you happen to get that from Uncle Cliff?"

    Marie winks at me, before turning on her heel and sashaying down the aisle cleaving her bookshop in two. Her voluminous skirt drags behind her, hissing in her wake. "What can I help you both with today?"

    Jase and I follow Marie to her counter, where in one fluid motion, she slides behind it and props an arm on top of it. She looks at us with warm brown eyes, a shade darker than her skin.

    "Actually, we were wondering if you could tell us about the Harbinger," Jase says casually, hopping onto one of the stools before the counter.

    Marie's eyes widen. She glances between Jase and I. "You both aren't messing with the Harbingers now, are you?"

    "Stella doesn't believe in them," Jase deadpanned.

    I resist a wince at Marie's gobsmacked look. "How can you not? It's Willow's Crest's claim to fame!"

    I can't bring myself to make a scathing comment to someone as lovable as Marie, so I just shrug. "Sorry. I have to believe that some things are just more fiction than fact."

    Marie straightens up, a sense of mysterious duty on her face. "Well, sit right down then, jitterbug, and I'll be right back." And with that, she disappears into her back room.

    Once she's gone, I give Jase a funny look. "Really?"

    "What?" Jase asks. "She knows everything about it!"

    I sigh. Again, Jase has me beat.

    Marie was originally from New Orleans, a city twice the size of Willow's Crest, bustling with just as much history and legends. For generations, her family had dabbled in white magic, wicca, voodoo, and the like. They had a connection to all the ghost stories that attracted people to New Orleans. When Marie grew up, she moved to Willow's Crest, and started up her bookshop under the same sort of persona as her family had.

    Marie had been a history major, and knew everything there was to know about New Orlean's paranormal history, as well as Willow's Crest's. And her specialty? The Harbingers.

    Just as I'm about to counter Jase's comment, Marie comes back out, carrying a tea tray with two mugs of hot chocolate and a big, dusty book. Jase and I both take a mug while she takes the book, opening it and sending a poof of dust into the air.

    "No matter how many times I open this book, it gets dustier each time," Marie mutters. She looks up at us and beams. "Now, what would you like to know?"

    "Start at the beginning," Jase requests from behind his mug of hot chocolate.

    "A very good place to start," Marie quips with an impish look in her eyes before she clears her throat. "Now, then. The story of the Harbinger dates back to 1693, one year after Willow's Crest was founded. Upon the fall equinox of the first harvest season, Jeremiah Wilkes claimed to have seen the dead rise from the ground like steam. The colonists believed him, because he was one of the city officials, as well as a very religious man. Refuting his claims would have been severe. However, soon after, the townspeople began to notice that he hadn't been wrong.

    "People fell ill, people went missing, all sorts of chaos seemed to break out for days. Panicked, the townspeople went to Jeremiah for answers, and he simply told them that the dead were bored. They meant no harm. And this was because he could see them vividly, and understand what they wanted. Communication led to understanding and understanding led to peace. The townspeople nicknamed Jeremiah the Harbinger, and he was the first of its name."

    "So the Harbingers were a good thing," I clarify. "People just found weird things that were happening and blamed them on ghosts."

    "Initially, the Harbinger's season was seen as a very good thing. However, it wasn't until 1859 when the name bore ill will." Marie flips a page in the book and pushes it towards me. A face of a girl about my age stares back, her eyes watching the camera like it had been a ghost.

    "Rowena Marley." Marie announces. "She had been born beneath a new moon, on the night of a crippling murder. Her life was tainted with blood that wasn't hers, and it would be that way ever since. She was selected by the spirits to be the Harbinger, to the town's eventual horror. On the fall equinox, Rowena accidentally killed a neighbor. His blood gave way to darker spirits, demons, and more that would rise with the others who approached the Harbinger."

    "Here's where things get good," Jase whispers. I resist the urge to elbow him.

    "Rowena was plagued by angry townspeople, because it should have been her job to quell the spirits. She was a frightened young girl, and while she did not understand the powers that had been given to her, she did know what they could be used for. She tampered with black magic, bending the spirits and demons to her command, to wreak vengeance on those who were accusing her of murder and other nasty things."

    Marie stares down at the book, shaking her head slightly at the pages, as if chiding Rowena. I blink. "So what happened next?"

    Marie looks up and shrugs. "That's up to interpretation. Some people say a spell of Rowena's killed her, others say the demons did, others say the townspeople hanged her. Either way, she died, and allowed for darker spirits to come back to Earth with those of the good."

    Jase pulls Marie in for speculation on what she thinks really happened, which leaves me to my own thoughts. I glance over at Marie's dusty book, at the portrait of Rowena staring up at me. Stories from that time got twisted and tugged until they became something else. How could anyone believe them?

    But still. There was something the camera had captured in Rowena's eyes. Despite being in yellowing black and white, her eyes were strangely light, like smoke behind glass. She was haunted, by either spirits or a town that did not care for her, I can't tell.

    The sound of the door bells chiming snaps me out of my reverie and Marie out of hers. She snatches the book and tosses it behind the counter, plastering a mysterious smile on her face as Jase and I look at one another. Footsteps fill the room, and it isn't long until a girl about our age appears before us. She has a deep tan, like she spends her days on a beach, and wavy brown hair a shade lighter than mine. Her wide green eyes flick between Jase and I and Marie, eventually landing on Marie.

    "Hi," She says, her voice melodious if not a little shy. "I'm Ailana. I'm here about the job opening?"

    "Ah, yes," Marie speaks, in a voice that let me and Jase know that now was our cue to leave. "Come, come."

    Jase and I get up from our seats, watching as this girl takes one of the chairs before the counter. She gives us a meek, grateful smile. "Hi."

    "Hi," Jase greets. "Are you new around here?"

    Ailana shrugs, the same smile lacing her lips. "Relatively."

    "Mr. Vale, you can either buy something or get out." Marie's eyes glint impishly as she pins Jase with a look.

    Jase throws his hands up in mock surrender. "All right, all right, we're going. Come on, Stel."

    Jase links his arm around mine, dragging me towards the front entrance. The next thing I know, we're out into downtown Willow's Crest, among the pedestrians and falling leaves.

    "So," Jase croons. "What do you think now?"

    "About the Harbingers?" I ask. Jase nods. I shrug. "Somewhat more believable, but not entirely."

    "You know, I'll take it. My work here is done." Jase grins, raking a hand through his ginger hair.

    We start down the immaculate sidewalks, and I get lost in thought as we do. There was something in the conviction of Marie's words that's rattled something within me, as if revealing some secret that even I didn't know I had. I didn't want to admit it, but the Harbingers only confirmed my ideas of the supernatural and paranormal in this area. The legends served as hooks, catching the spirits as they passed.

    Even as we walk, I can point out places of horrific murders or paranormal activity as easily as some people could point out their friends in the crowds. There, beside Cliff's, was a stationary shop that had once been an empty lot where a man was found dead. A block away from the high school was the Loretta Mansion, said to be one of the most haunted places in the Northeast. And beyond the mansion's grounds, there was Hope Cemetery, home to all the known dead of the area.

    Jase and I slow to a stop as we approach the wrought iron gates of the Cemetery. Everything seems slower, quieter here, even the sounds of the birds in the trees and the cars rumbling past. The dead live in their own bubble of eternity, in silence so loud it was deafening.

    "You know, if I was boring you to death, you could have just said so." Jase arches his eyebrows at me pointedly.

    I smile at him, averting my gaze back to the rolling hills beyond the gate. "You could never, Jase."

    I catch Jase looking at me out of the corner of my eye, and I turn to call him on it. "What?"

    Jase isn't fazed; he just shrugs. "You look like you have a hunch."

    I shake my head. "No hunch, just...a feeling."

    "Stella, that's what a hunch is."

    I move to whack him, and he yelps and ducks out of the way. My laughter is so loud it pierces the spell of silence over the cemetery, and a bird arcs into the sky above us. The sight is so jarring in that moment that both Jase and I look up, entranced.

    "You're right, though," I say, eyes locked on the bird. "I do have a hunch."

    "A Harbinger hunch?" Jase hedges.

    "Call it what you will," I say breezily. "Meet me here tonight."

    "Will you tell Nick or will I?" Jase calls as I turn on my heel, heading down the sidewalk.

    "I've got it," I say, digging out my phone as I keep walking. "Ten sharp."

    "You got it, Boss."