Darby and I lay on her bed while I rocked her to sleep with my arms locked around her. My mind tried to process everything, but it was just a spiraling mess of puzzle pieces that didn't fit together. How could any of this be happening? Darby was only nine. She should be devouring Before Merlin's Beard books and even pining over stupid floppy-haired boy "singers". Not raising dead things in the attic and sporting her first death tattoo.

I pressed my mouth into the warmth of ...