Walk of the Spirits
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
He speaks to Miranda in her dreams... but lingers even when she’s wide awake.
"Help me,” Nathan said to her. The soldier in gray, the young man with the helpless, haunted face. “You’re the only one.”
And his pale, outstretched hand . . . a short length of twine, woven, knotted . . . only this time her fingers brushed over it, this time her fingers closed around it.
Miranda touched his hand. His skin was ice cold; her fingers passed right through.
“Take it . . .”
Jerking upright, she saw the figure beside her bed.
The figure veiled in shadows, just beyond reach of the moonlight through her windows.
She tried to cry out, but couldn’t; her heart leapt into her throat and stuck there as she gasped for breath.
“No!” Miranda choked.
She closed her eyes, willing him away. When she opened them again, he was gone.
Yet Miranda wasn’t comforted. Tears ran down her cheeks; her covers were damp with sweat. She reached for the lamp on her nightstand, then suddenly froze.
She was holding something. Something clutched tightly in her hand.
Puzzled, she spread her fingers and looked closer. In the room’s pale glow, she could see the small, familiar object nestled there against her palm.
“Oh my God . . .” she whispered.
It was a piece of braided twine.
SPEAK
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Published by Speak, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2008
Copyright © Richie Tankersley Cusick, 2008
All rights reserved
eISBN : 978-0-142-41050-9
[1. Ghosts—Fiction. 2. Space and time—Fiction. 3. Louisiana—Fiction.
4. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.C9646Wal 2008
[Fic]—dc22
2007036073
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
http://us.penguingroup.com
For Aunt Deanie and Uncle Jim—because your love, support, and laughter through the years have inspired me more than you could ever know. I love you.
1
SHE WAS TIRED TODAY BECAUSE OF THE SCREAMING.
That horrible screaming that had woken her up last night, just like it had the night before. Screams out of the darkness that cut into her heart like razor blades; distant, muffled screams that trapped her and dangled her precariously between consciousness and full-blown nightmares.
“Miranda?”
At first she’d thought it was the hurricane all over again. Shrieking wind, screeches and groans of the roof and walls splitting and exploding around her. Or maybe her mother’s cries of terror. Or her own hysterical weeping . . .
But then, of course, she’d realized where she was. In a different bed, in a different house—far from Florida, far from the home where she’d slept and felt safe. And those screams were so real. Much more real than any dream could ever be.
She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since they’d moved here to St. Yvette.
Naturally, Mom didn’t believe her about the screams; Mom just kept telling her she was imagining it. And the harder Miranda tried to sleep, and the harder Mom tried to rationalize, the worse everything got. Miranda’s energy was sapped. Her thoughts strayed down a hundred dark paths. It was impossible for her to concentrate on anything anymore.
“Miranda Barnes?”
“Huh?” Snapping back to attention, Miranda saw Miss Dupree paused beside the chalkboard, fixing her with a benevolent gaze. The whole class turned in Miranda’s direction.
For a split second, Miranda wondered what they saw. A slight, not-very-tall girl with short brown hair pushed nervously behind her ears? A nice-enough girl with hazel eyes and a heart-shaped face and a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose?
Or the silent girl, the sullen girl, who, in her three days at St. Yvette High School, had yet to meet their eyes when they passed her in the hall? Who never spoke, never smiled, never bothered to be friendly?
They couldn’t see the fear—that much she was sure of. The shock, the anguish, the grief, the emotions that choked her every time she let her guard down.
So she wouldn’t let her guard down. Not with these kids, not in this school, not in this town. Not now. Not ever.
“Oh. Yes. I’m here,” she mumbled. As her cheeks flushed, Miranda’s hands clenched tightly in her lap.
“I know you’re here, dear,” Miss Dupree went on sweetly. “I was just explaining this little assignment we’re all going to be working on.”
“Little assignment?” a voice complained from the front row. “Come on, Miss Dupree, it counts for half our grade!”
“I’m well aware of that, Parker. And just think how much it would count for if it were a big assignment!”
The room erupted in laughter while the young man lounged back in his desk and grinned. Parker Wilmington, Miranda was already familiar with that name. She was sure she’d heard it uttered longingly from the lips of every girl in St. Yvette High, from giggly freshmen all the way up through her senior class. Tall and blond, sea-green eyes, those gorgeous, unruly strands of hair framing his handsome face, no matter how many times he shook them back. Star quarterback, not a single game lost last season. Self-confident swagger, cocky smile, and . . . taken. Very and most definitely taken. By the beautiful girl who was sitting next to Miranda at this very minute.
Miranda glanced quickly across the aisle. Ashley. Ashley . . . something, she couldn’t remember. Ashley Something-or-Othe
r with the long golden hair and the petite figure and the sexy little cheerleader uniform she was wearing today. One of those picture-perfect girls who would always be drooled over and sought after and passionately admired. So of course she’s with Parker Wilmington. Who else?
Miranda didn’t realize she was staring. Not until Ashley turned and beamed her a perfect white smile.
“Miss Dupree’s broken us up into study groups,” Ashley leaned toward her and whispered. “I asked her if you could be in ours.”
It caught Miranda completely off guard. Study group? Oh, God, the last thing she wanted to do was be trapped in a group of strangers, especially curious ones. She’d felt the stares in the hallways, in the classrooms, across campus. She was all too aware of her novelty status here at St. Yvette High School as the Girl Who Lost Everything in the Hurricane. And soon, she knew, the questions would come—questions she couldn’t handle, traumatic memories she didn’t want to relive. So she’d tried her best to keep a low profile. Kept to herself and stayed invisible. Better that way, she’d decided, much better that way. She wasn’t ready for socializing yet—not of any kind. She wanted to be alone—needed to be alone—to process all that had happened in the last few weeks, to sort everything out. What she didn’t want or need right now were people feeling sorry for her or asking those painful questions or trying to butt into her life—
“I’m Ashley.”
Again Miranda jolted back to the present. She was getting used to everyone’s southern accents, but Ashley’s still managed to fascinate her. Extra thick, extra rich, like warm, melted honey. She saw now that Ashley’s hand was taking her own and giving it a firm, friendly shake. Conjuring a tight smile, Miranda kept the handshake brief.
“All right, class!” Miss Dupree motioned for silence. “You’ve had several weeks now to come up with your topics. Just a reminder: I want these projects to be socially oriented. Something that will get you involved in this town. Something to help you learn more about your community and the neighbors you share it with. I want to see some original ideas, people. Something creative and—”
“Gage wants to know more about his neighbor, Miss Dupree.” On Miranda’s left, a girl in black clothes and heavy black eye makeup stretched languidly in her seat. “The one who keeps getting undressed at night with the curtains open and the lights on.”
In mock horror, Parker swung around in his chair. “Hey! You and Ashley are Gage’s neighbors!”
“I meant the house behind him,” the girl said calmly.
Clutching his chest, Parker gasped. “Gage! You pervert! That’s Mrs. Falconi—she’s ninety-six years old!”
This time the laughter reached hysteria. Miranda saw the girl give a slow, catlike smile, while a boy near the window—Gage, she supposed—blushed furiously and shook his head.
“Roo, stop it!” Ashley hissed, but she couldn’t quite hold back a delighted grin. “Why do you always have to embarrass him?”
The other girl shrugged, obviously pleased with herself. “Because it’s so easy. And he’s so cute when he’s embarrassed.”
“All right, people, all right!” Clearing her throat, Miss Dupree struggled to keep her own amusement in check. “Thank you, Roo, for that fascinating bit of information. And should any of us notice a pervert lurking outside our windows tonight, we can all rest easily now, knowing it’s only Gage.”
The class went wild. Poor Gage went redder.
“Time to break into your study groups.” Miss Dupree moved to her desk, then gestured toward the back of the room. “Oh . . . Miranda?”
“I told her she’s with us, Miss Dupree!”Ashley spoke up quickly, while Roo regarded Miranda with undisguised boredom.
Miss Dupree smiled. “Then she’s in good hands.”
As the rest of the kids reassembled themselves, Parker sauntered back and eased himself down beside Ashley, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. Roo pulled her desk in closer. And Gage, flashing Roo an I-can’t-believe-you-did-that look, made his way across the room and promptly smacked her on the head with his notebook.
Roo was right, Miranda decided: Gage was cute, embarrassed or not. The same height as Parker, but more slender, his shoulders not as broad. Soft brown hair, a little shaggy, big brown eyes, long dark lashes, and sensitive features, despite the huge frown he was currently leveling at Roo.
Gracing each of them with her smile, Ashley picked up a blue sequined pen. “Well, we’re all here, I guess. Except for Etienne. Is he working today—do any of y’all know?”
“An alligator probably ate him.” Roo yawned.
Trying not to be obvious, Miranda cast her a sideways glance. She could see now that Roo was short—not much over five feet—with a solid body, more curvy than plump. The girl seemed entirely unself-conscious in her long black Victorian dress and black combat boots. A silver crescent moon hung from a narrow black ribbon around her neck; silvery moons and stars dangled from her multipierced ears. Her bangs were long and thick and partially obscured her brows. And she had purple streaks—the same shade of purple as the heavy gloss on her lips—in several strands of her overdyed black hair.
As Roo’s dark eyes shifted toward her, Miranda looked away. There’d been a few kids like Roo in her own high school at home, but she’d never gotten to know them. Never even spoken to them, really. In fact, she and her friends had jokingly called them the Zombie Rejects and avoided them at all costs.
“We definitely need his input.” Once more, Ashley’s voice drew Miranda back. “Etienne always has good ideas.” She sat up straighter, pen poised over paper. “Oh, and Miss Dupree said Miranda can be in our group, okay?”
There were nods all around and mumbles of agreement. Parker winked. Gage shot Miranda a quick glance, while Roo still seemed bored. As Ashley made introductions, Miranda did her best to sound polite, but offered no more than that.
“So!” Ashley began cheerfully. “Out of all those ideas we had last time, which one are we going to do for the project?”
Parker shrugged. “They all sucked, and you know it.”
“No, they didn’t.” Gage’s voice was soft, gentle, like his eyes, just as Miranda had expected it to be. “I think the Symbolism of Cemetery Art is pretty good—”
“Good why? ’Cause you thought of it?” Roo asked.
“Good because it’s . . . you know . . . interesting.”
“Yeah, if you’re a maggot.”
“Well, it’s better than Southern Belle Rock Bands.”
Roo looked mildly annoyed. “The Development and Liberation of Women Musicians During the Antebellum Era, excuse me very much.”
Ashley waved her paper at them. “Come on, we don’t have much time. Maybe Miranda has some ideas.”
“What?” Instantly Miranda felt four pairs of eyes on her. “Um, no. Sorry.”
The truth was, she hadn’t been paying much attention these last few seconds. It was something she was beginning to get used to—this zoning in and out of memories when she least expected it, when she was least prepared—but that didn’t make it any easier. It still managed to catch her by surprise. Sad surprise, lonely surprise. Like just now, when Gage had mentioned something about art and cemeteries, a picture had snapped into Miranda’s mind. She and Marge and Joanie in New Orleans over summer vacation, traveling there for a week with Joanie’s parents. Shopping; flirting with those cute bellmen at the hotel; sightseeing around town—old buildings, museums, mansions, graveyards. Was that only two months ago? It seemed like years. The last really fun thing they’d done together before everything changed—
“What’s this?” Leaning over Miranda’s shoulder, Gage pointed to some scribbles on the front of her notebook. “Ghost Walk?”
Miranda looked down at the words. Yes, definitely her own handwriting, though she didn’t remember putting them down just now.
"What the hell’s a Ghost Walk?” Parker asked. His grin widened as he nudged Ashley in the ribs, and Miranda quickly turned her notebook over.
; “It’s . . . nothing.”
“No, really,” Ashley urged her. “Really—what is it?”
Don’t make me talk about this—I had so much fun then—now it hurts too much to remember . . .
“Miranda?”
“It’s . . . like a tour.” Miranda kept her eyes on her desk, wishing they’d all just go away and leave her alone. “A haunted tour. My friends and I went on one in New Orleans. A guide takes you around to all these different places and tells you about their history. Except each place has some scary story connected to it—like some horrible tragedy or unsolved mystery.”
“I’ve heard of those,” Roo mumbled, far from impressed.
“Of course you have, O Queen of Darkness,” Parker shot back at her.
Gage, however, was intrigued. “Do all the places actually have ghosts?”
“Well . . .” Oh great. How did I get myself into this? Meeting their gazes now, Miranda stumbled on. “Well, I don’t know if all of them do—”
“Then why do they call it a Ghost Walk?” Parker challenged, even as Ashley clapped a hand over his mouth.
Miranda couldn’t help sounding defensive. “People have seen ghosts there. But there’s also local legends and superstitions—all kinds of weird supernatural things that have happened in the city.”
“So it really is historical, right?” Ashley was squirming excitedly in her seat. “Not just made up?”
“That’s what the guide told us—that all the stories are documented. So yes, it’s all historical—just more of a dark history.”
“Miranda, that’s perfect!” As Ashley squealed, the whole class turned to see what was happening. Ashley immediately told them to mind their own business, then lowered her voice while Parker wrestled her hand from his face. “Oh my God, that’s so perfect! That’s the most perfect idea for the most perfect project! You’re a genius!”
“What project?” Looking confused, Parker bent toward them. “Our project?”
“Not one single person’s had an idea as good as this. And it’ll be fun, too! Miss Dupree is going to love it!”
One corner of Parker’s mouth twitched. He shifted in his desk, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “A ghost tour. Here. In St. Yvette.”