My molecules pulsate as I break apart. I float higher and higher, weightless and unshackled, with limbs that feel like cotton candy.

This is a foreign feeling. I think it's called freedom.

Like snapshots, the past whirls by me. I see images of Mercy and me in the bathtub together as toddlers. The time I broke Mom's red fingernail polish bottle, but blamed it on Mercy. My first kiss with Eli Vargas, and how Mercy scrunched up her face when I told her how wet it was. Or maybe her face looked like that because she liked him first. Our fights, the teary make-ups. All of the memories are like a steaming, hot meal; I gobble them up.

Drifting over the brick chimney and broken shingles on Aunt Shannon's rooftop, I realize I can fly anywhere and everywhere. From up here, the moon's face looks close enough to touch. On the ground, Mr. Thatcher's tent struggles against the fierce wind. The bones on the ground fumble towards each other, connecting with loud clicks.

Dirt and grass spin in a cyclone around Aunt Shannon's cartilage. Her skull latches to the neck bone. When the rest of the skeleton snaps together like legos, I'm not surprised. It's like I knew this would happen. Should happen.

"It's crazy, huh?" A voice that sounds just like mine comes from over my shoulder.

I know that voice.

Bright embers shoot from my hair as I spin around in the night sky like a tornado. My eyes come to rest on my sister in her white-lace dress. The one she was buried in. Her skin radiates with shimmering golds. With Baby's Breath braided into her hair, she wears a serene expression, kicking her legs absentmindedly from Aunt Shannon's roof. Like she's lounging at a backyard pool.

"Hey Mercy," I say, warmly.

In a flash, I'm seated beside her on the rooftop. It feels like a dream, but when our fingers touch and interlace, I know it's real.

"We've always had relationships with spirits, Moriah. Remember when we saw the ghost of our old landlord, Mrs. Newberry?" Mercy asks, nonchalantly. "She'd creep around our bed and call us names?"

"How could I forget?" I chuckle, sparks of light cascading from my mouth. "You literally peed yourself in the bed. That we shared."

Mercy smiles a lopsided smile, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "I just didn't know the power I had. But now I do."

It's funny. Us sitting on a rooftop, watching lightning zig zag around us, casually talking like we're discussing the weather or the Kardashians. This is how it's supposed to be.

It's like I understand everything. The cosmos, death, life. It all clicks together like Aunt Shannon's bones below.

"Am I dead?" I ask Mercy.

"Partially."

"I feel dead. How did this happen?"

"Whenever a conjurer raises the dead, they die a bit themselves."

"Will I go back?"

"Yes. In a moment."

We sit silently for a moment, watching Aunt Shannon's thick veins pulse under sinew and flesh below. Tawny brown skin forms on the corpse, spreading across her chest and wide hips, filling out the thread-bare, blue dress. She sits up in the grass, legs splayed in front of her, with a back as straight as an arrow. Her white hair stands at end, like her finger's plugged into an electrical socket.

"There's something we must do before you go back," Mercy says in a flat tone.

Fearlessness must come with being dead because I find myself nodding. "Ok. Let's do it."

Mercy's mass of curls sway around her head like she's underwater. Her eyes are coal black. "We must redress this situation."

Something explodes in my chest. It feels like a starburst. "We're doing this together?"

Mercy turns to me with a blank stare. Releases my hand, then pats it. She says, "Yes. With Mom's help, too."

🐺

We start on the eastern side of Pachuck, where farmland stretches out like a patchwork quilt of greens and browns. City Hall and the Town Square whiz by in a blur underneath us. Fields of wheat quiver as we pass. Pachuck's silo sways and rocks over black streets that are rain-slick and empty.

The tornado sirens have nothing on the howl Mercy releases as she soars above the swaying power lines. It's an ear-splitting shriek, ethereal and haunting.

We cruise the wind, rumbling towards an industrial section of town, landing on a darkened, gray cement building. It stands in the middle of a cluster of similar buildings. A mechanical whirring stirs inside. The sign on the side says: Colby Pork Production. The parking lot is filled with pickup trucks, sheriff cruisers, and a silver Range Rover.

The vehicles' owners congregate in the lot, taking shelter under umbrellas. White-collared clergy mingle with City Council-people. Pachuck High's cheerleaders chat with sulking boys in cowboy hats. Though Mercy and I are perched on the building, and they speak in hushed tones, we're able to hear every single word.

"Why didn't Colby lock old Thatcher up when he had the chance?" Mr. Kessler, my world history teacher, grumbles to my principal, Mrs. Lonan, as he fiddles with the cross around his neck.

"Guess he figured the Shields of Broken Hearts nonsense died when that black witch did." Mrs. Lonan shudders and gazes into the sky. With a maroon University of Oklahoma ball cap pulled low over her face, she peers up at the sky like she can see me hovering there. "But now we're all gonna pay the consequences of Sheriff Colby not taking care of it when he was supposed to."

"Guess who won't be voting for him in the upcoming election?" Mrs. Taylor, my guidance counselor, pipes up, waving her hand. "Me! We can't have him shirkin' his responsibilities like this. When The Dust is angry, we all pay!"

"Y'all need to stop badmouthing my daddy like that." Colt sidles up to where they huddle. He no longer looks like a bashful good, old boy. He just looks hateful, his lips twisted in a sneer. "He's workin' on it. He's on his way to collect Moriah."

The funny thing about being almost dead is I feel nothing when I hear Colt talk about me. No regret. No hate. Just curiosity.

How does a person get like this? Are they born inherently evil? Or do we all have two wolves inside of us like Aunt Shannon said? One pure and one tainted? Do they fight over scraps of our attention, begging to be fed?

"Why didn't y'all just give the niece over the moment she got in town?" Mr. Kessler looks annoyed at having to stand in the rain and discuss all this. Like he'd rather be at home watching The Tonight Show instead of dealing with the inconvenience of kidnapping girls and such.

Colt sighs heavily. "We'd already primed Margaret. She was perfect. No one would miss her, we thought. The Dust was drawn to her anxiety about being in a new country." He chuckles. "And of course Bella scared the hell out of her."

"But y'all dumbasses went and made it an international matter," Mrs. Lonan says, tugging at the brim of her ball cap.

"Which is why we're gettin' Moriah to bring Margaret back to life, like that witch, Shannon, did for Bella," Colt says.

"What the fuck!" Mr. Kessler sucks his teeth. "We can't keep bringing these fuckers back, having The Dust kill us all with those damn tornadoes."

"That's why after she brings Margaret back, we're giving her and the other one to The Dust. We're also throwing in nosy Maryanne Franderson. Kinda like a three-for-one." Colt shrugs, as if he's discussing a deal from Wendy's. He throws his arm around Kessler's shoulders. "Don't worry. We got it all planned out."

"Good riddance to that Maryanne," Mrs. Lonan says with disgust. "Every since she's moved here, she's been nothing but a pest. Questioning everything."

As if in cue, the headlights of a Sheriff's cruiser bounce on the slick, wet gravel as it pulls into the parking lot.

Sheriff Blueberry parks sideways, cuts his lights, and steps out of the car. His mouth grim, he says, "We got the one with the braces and Maryanne. They're in the trunk.
Sheriff Colby'll meet us here with the Hanlon girl."

A murmur passes through the small crowd. A slap of thunder.

I feel an uptick of energy next to me.

Looking to my side, I see that Mercy isn't as calm as I am. She floats in the air, like she's riding a wave. Jagged cracks spread through her body, and slivers of light peek through each slice in her skin. She vibrates with a loud hum.

Mercy says, "It's time. We must get them to confront Shannon."

And because we're connected, and always will be, we swoop over their heads in sync.

"Go to Shannon's house," we whisper. "Offer your sacrifice to The Dust there."

I stand behind Colt, my lips close to his ear. "You dad wants you to go to him."

Mercy whispers to Sheriff Blueberry, "Kill the mother while you're there. Make sure you capture her."

We murmur to each person standing there, enticing and haunting them. Pachuck's never met a force like the dead Hanlon twins.

Wordlessly, the crowd dissipates, filing to their cars. Their eyes are like wide ovals. Doors slam shut and engines rev. The lambs are on their way to the slaughter.