“We all remember, Waterlily,” Ansel said, taking a step closer. At the second familiar nickname, my heart stuttered. Zach shrugged. “We’ve been trying to tell you all along, kid.” Vincent shot him a look. “She’s not a kid anymore. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t need us. She’s our Lily.” He shot me a hesitant smile. “Or maybe Lil when the mood is right.” My head was spinning. How could their crazy story be true? How could they be the formless figures who’d romped through my childhood games? How could my imaginary friends actually be the ghosts of a bunch of murdered guys? How could those
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