Violet got to her feet, worried over the weariness she saw on his face and recalling the warning from Sara about letting him rest. “You look tired.”

He shook his head slowly. “No. Don’t go. Stay.” But his words were slower now. “Just a little longer.”

Violet hesitated, then settled down again. She looked at her hand, so close to his on the sheet. She imagined closing the distance, running her fingertips across the top of his battered knuckles, covering his hand with hers.

She could; it wouldn’t mean anything. They were just friends, she and Rafe, and she was worried for him. Friends could touch each other. Friends could hold hands.

Her heart hammered at the thought as she considered doing that very thing. And then she drew her hand away, dropping it into her lap, and balled her fingers into a determined fist.

She glanced at his face, watching as his eyelids drooped. He blinked, struggling against their weight and finally succumbing to it. She waited until she thought he was probably sleeping again, and wondered how long she should sit there. How long until it was weird that she was staring at him while he slept.

His eyes didn’t even flutter when the nurse paced soundlessly to the other side of the bed, lifting his wrist and deftly finding his pulse as her gaze dropped to her watch. Violet turned in her seat, surprised that she hadn’t even heard the ninjalike nurse come in. She ignored Violet as she counted, and Violet watched her, wondering if she felt the same thing Violet did when she touched him. If she felt that spark, that prickly connection, whenever their skin met. But watching her, Violet doubted that was the case. She was sure the nurse felt nothing except for the flickering of his pulse when she touched him.

When she set his hand down, the nurse scribbled on his chart and shoved her pen into the front pocket of her lollipop- emblazoned scrubs. She punched a couple of buttons on the IV pump, checked each of the fluid-filled sacks hanging from the metal stand, and crept silently from the room again, leaving Violet alone with Rafe in the dark.

Violet got up now, slowly, quietly.

Rafe didn’t open his eyes, but she heard his voice, whisper-soft. “Will you come visit me tomorrow?”

“I don’t know where you live,” Violet answered just as softly.

“My sis—” He stopped himself, but not in time, and it was all the confirmation Violet needed. “Sara will tell you,” he managed at last, reforming the words over his thick tongue before collapsing into sleep.

Violet squinted as she stood in front of the strip mall. It wasn’t exactly what she’d expected; more like the kind of place you’d find greeting cards than tarot cards. Even the neon sign—The Crystal Palace—made Violet think of those prisms that people dangled from their rearview mirrors, the ones that sent out dappled rays of multicolored lights whenever the sunlight hit them just so.

Inside the store, however, was an entirely different story.

The first thing Violet noticed was the burning smell of incense—clove-scented and nearly cloying—and the soft sounds of a sitar stirring lyrically in the background. She reached out to part the curtain of brightly colored plastic beads that was suspended just beyond the doorway. The beads were fashioned after multifaceted jewels in varying sizes, and they clattered together as she slipped between them.

“Violet? What are you doing here?” She glanced up to see Krystal sitting behind an old wooden cash register that looked as if it belonged in an antique store. Krystal came around to the front of the counter, vivid strips of blue hair sticking out from the spiky knot on her head, her expression switching from surprise to worry in a heartbeat. “I heard what happened to Rafe. Gemma said his bike’s totaled.”

Violet wanted to disagree with Krystal’s blunt assessment, to say that it wasn’t that bad. But she couldn’t manage it. The truth was, his bike probably was totaled. “Yeah, I guess so. He’s gonna be okay, though. He gets to go home tonight.” She held up the business card, the one she’d taken from Krystal’s car. “I hope it’s okay that I just showed up like this. I don’t want to get you in trouble or anything.”

“Yeah, we’re super busy today,” Krystal drawled sarcastically, glancing around at the empty store.

Violet looked around too, taking in shelf upon shelf filled with bottles of lotions and candles and incense, the odd assortment of books and tarot cards, and the miscellaneous jewelry displays strung with all manner of stones and crystals and feathers. In one corner, there were silk cushions scattered about on an intricately woven rug surrounding a short, round table.

“That’s where we do readings,” Krystal said, her gaze following Violet’s.

“Do you do them?” Violet asked. “The readings, I mean? I thought you just talked to ghosts.”

“I do.” She grinned, reaching for a stack of cards on the counter behind her. The deck looked old, its edges worn, but the intricate designs on the backs of the cards looked hand-painted, each bearing the depiction of a woman draped in a diaphanous white gown and wearing a butterfly crown. There were swans at her feet. “Anyone can learn to read the cards, Violet. Sometimes my readings are just a little more . . . accurate. You wanna give it a shot?”

Violet thought about that and shook her head. “Nah, I don’t think so. I’m not sure I wanna know what happens next. I think I’d rather be surprised.”

“Suit yourself.” Krystal set the cards back down. “So what did you come for?”