Walk of the Spirits

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  “Miranda, it’s me,” Etienne said softly. “You okay?”

  Ducking his head, he slipped through the low doorway. As he stopped beside her bed and gazed down at her, Miranda went limp with relief.

  “How’d you know where my room is?” she asked.

  “Your grand-père, he had me fixing things in here the week before you came. He was always hoping you’d live in this house.”

  The reminder stabbed painfully through her. Trying not to cry, she gestured past Etienne toward the sunporch. “How’d you get in?”

  “What, you think I don’t know how to pick a lock?”

  She couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not, but his eyes were dead serious, sweeping the room with one keen glance. “What’s going on, cher?”

  But now that he was with her, she couldn’t say it. All she could do was point to her nightstand and the piece of knotted twine she’d tossed there when she’d run for the phone.

  Etienne’s brow furrowed. “This?” And then, when Miranda finally nodded, he scooped it up to examine it more closely. “What the hell is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So . . . what am I missing? Where’d you get it?”

  “Nathan gave it to me,” she whispered, but not loud enough for Etienne to hear. She watched him hold it near the lamp, turn it carefully over in his palm. It was about six inches long, narrower than a pencil, and shone dull in the lamplight, the color of rust.

  “It’s solid . . . really tight. But it’s not twine . . . I don’t think it’s any kinda string. See here, how it’s braided?” Etienne shot her a sidelong glance. “More like hair, yeah? Like a piece of braided hair?”

  Miranda couldn’t look at it anymore; it made her skin crawl. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  “It’s been braided once . . . and then back over itself.” Etienne’s long fingers stroked the woven edges. “And look—there’s something on each end . . . hard to see, they’re so tarnished. Like some kinda clamps or clasps—what, to keep the hair from unraveling?”

  “Etienne, please tell me you didn’t just say—”

  “Hair. I think this is human hair.”

  Clutching a pillow to her chest, Miranda fought off a fresh wave of horror. “Then what does it mean? And why did Nathan give it to me?”

  “Nathan? Whoa, now. Just a minute. Who’s Nathan?”

  “The Gray Soldier.” She was shaking again; she could hear her words tumbling out all wrong. “That’s his name—the soldier in the park. Except he wasn’t real. I mean, he was real —but a real ghost. And then tonight when he was here . . . tonight in my room when—”

  Abruptly she broke off. The confusion in Etienne’s eyes had faded to understanding; his face blurred through her tears.

  “Start at the beginning.” Slowly he sat beside her on the bed. “And don’t leave anything out.”

  Somehow she was able to do it—to recall her experiences in detail; to answer his occasional questions; to explain as best she could. She knew Etienne believed her, yet she longed to know what he was thinking. She wished she could see inside that calm, black stare, into the carefully guarded places of his mind.

  As Miranda finished, Etienne refocused his attention on the braid. “So where does this fit in with everything?”

  “And all the stuff about roses?” Miranda added. “I smelled them at the gallery that morning . . . Nathan talked about a rose . . . and then tonight Gage tells me the name of that opera house was the Rose. Those can’t be just coincidences.”

  “You got any idea who Miss Ellena is?”

  “None.”

  “And I’m guessing this Nathan, he’s in the Rebel army, him wearing that gray uniform and all.”

  Again, she nodded. “He was so sad, Etienne. I don’t know how to describe it exactly, but...” Miranda made a futile gesture. “More than sad, even. Worse than sad. Just empty . . . completely lost.”

  The room fell silent. Only night sounds now, mingled faintly beyond the open windows. She was all too aware of Etienne’s gaze, though she’d closed her eyes. And sensing he might reach for her, she picked up another pillow to hug, and leaned her head back against the wall.

  “So I guess this is how my life’s going to be from now on,” she murmured. “Just like Mom said it was for Grandpa. All kinds of bad surprises coming out of nowhere.”

  “Not all bad,” Etienne answered quietly.

  Opening her eyes, Miranda fixed him with a bitter stare. “Being scared all the time? Having to see the very worst tragedies? And hear the very worst sufferings? How can I—how could any person—be expected to live that way?”

  “’Cause you’ve got to.” Etienne was firm, though not unkind. “’Cause like it or not—want it or not—it’s who you are. Look, your grand-père, he loved you so much. Do you think for one second he’d have wanted you hurt or unhappy?”

  “Then why didn’t he just tell me how I could escape the family curse?”

  “If he’d thought it was a curse—and if there’d been a way out—I’m sure he’d have told you. For your sake.”

  Despite her resentment, Miranda needed to believe that. She remembered the last time she’d seen her grandfather, and her smile began to fade. “So what happens now? What can I do about it?”

  “Not turn them away.”

  Just what Grandpa said.

  “Listen to them. And help them.” As Etienne’s voice softened, some deep, hidden emotion flickered briefly in his eyes. “Your grand-père, he made a whole lotta differences in their world. And when they found peace . . . then he found peace. Let them guide you.”

  “You mean, like Nathan? Is he trying to guide me?”

  “Think about it. When you see him—when he talks to you— besides feeling sad for him, what do you know? Down here in your gut, what do you really know?”

  “I know . . .” Yes, Miranda, look inside . . . you do know. “I know . . . he wants me to deliver a message. I know the message is really important. And I know it’s for someone named Miss Ellena.”

  “So that’s where you need to start, yeah? With what you know.”

  “But how will that help him if I can’t figure out the rest?”

  “You can,” Etienne assured her. “And I’m gonna help you. Whatever kind of research we need to do, we’ll take each clue as it comes. And right now”—he held up the braid, dangling it between his fingers—“this is the best clue we’ve got.”

  Miranda’s face went grim. “Well, the only clue we can actually see and touch, anyway. Even if we don’t know what it is.”

  “But something might come to you, yeah? Maybe if you just look at for a little while . . . or hold it in your hand?”

  “No. I can’t.” As more tears threatened, she fought to control the quiver in her voice. “I don’t want to see him in my room again. I’m sorry . . . I just can’t.”

  “Ssh . . . it’s okay. I’ll take it with me, how’s that? You need to rest anyhow, and I need to go.”

  Almost fearfully, Miranda looked up again. She watched Etienne get to his feet and slip the braid into the front pocket of his work shirt. She watched him bend over to peer solemnly into her eyes.

  “The next few days are gonna be hard, cher. The wake and the funeral and all. You gotta be strong, you gotta be good for your family...” His voice trailed off. His hand brushed lightly over her hair. “Jonas, he was always so proud of you,” Etienne whispered. “Now I know why.”

  The words stayed with her long into the night. Long after Etienne had left her, long after her eyelids finally closed.

  And “Who’ll watch out for them?” she heard her grandfather whispering. “For all of them? After I’m gone?”

  16

  SOMEHOW MIRANDA DRAGGED HERSELF THROUGH MONDAY.

  She didn’t remember falling asleep the night before, or if any ghostly voices had sought her out in dreams.

  Exhausted and depressed, she was already in a foul mood by the time she got to school—and the morning went
steadily downhill from there. She’d translated the wrong chapter in her Spanish workbook; she’d completely forgotten about a math assignment. She flunked a pop quiz in English lit. Parker was in her first class, Ashley and Gage in her third, and she could swear they were acting differently toward her today. Evasive, she noted, and somewhat distant. She even caught Parker staring from time to time, but when she made eye contact, he quickly looked away.

  She told herself that it was all in her mind, that she was being paranoid—yet she couldn’t shake the feeing that something was wrong. When noon rolled around, she decided to hide out in the library. She didn’t expect Ashley to show up at her locker before she could escape.

  “Have lunch with us.” Ashley smiled, as friendly as ever. Almost too friendly, Miranda couldn’t help thinking. “We’ve got this great spot outside where we always eat.”

  Miranda had seen them and their great spot on her first day of school. The close-knit group eating at their special table, in their own private corner of the schoolyard. Now Ashley’s invitation made her feel irritable and trapped. She had too much on her mind; she needed to find a quiet place, be alone, sort things out. She didn’t want to be part of their group. They’d forced her into it, and now everything was a mess. They were getting too close to her, and now her life was worse than ever.

  “I’m not hungry,” she insisted, slamming her locker door.

  Instantly sympathetic, Ashley laid a comforting hand on her arm. “Are you worried about that quiz? Don’t be. There was a death in your family—Mr. Klein’s really understanding about things like that. All the teachers are. Trust me, he won’t even count that grade.”

  “I just can’t eat right now, okay?”

  “You don’t have to eat. We need to talk about the project—get your opinion on some things before we turn in that outline.”

  Miranda cringed. She’d forgotten that their project outline was due today, but Ashley was quick to reassure her.

  “We didn’t want to bother you with it, Miranda. You had enough on your mind this weekend. Anyway, Gage and I put something together. Like we always do, when we’re working with Roo and Parker.” She paused for a long-suffering sigh. “But I think the outline’s good. Very good and very thorough.”

  “Then you don’t need my opinion,” Miranda replied stubbornly. “I’m sure whatever you did is perfect.”

  “We really need you, Miranda. Please come. The group’s not complete without you.”

  Don’t you get it? I don’t want to complete the group, I never wanted to complete the group. I want to be left alone.

  Without giving Miranda another chance to refuse, Ashley practically dragged her down the hall. There were a lot of kids eating outside, some at wooden picnic tables, others at round umbrella tables, many on benches, steps, and blankets, or just grabbing quick snacks at the vending machines. Miranda saw the four familiar faces in their usual hangout—Etienne among them—but again she sensed that something had changed. As if they were all studying her. And trying not to. And hoping she wouldn’t notice.

  “Hey, there you are.” Gage immediately slid over to make room. “We tried to catch you after class, but you disappeared.”

  Miranda settled beside him. Parker was gulping down a Coke, watching her over the rim of his cup. Ashley sat down next to Parker, her smile fixed firmly in place. Standing, Etienne leaned casually against the table. Roo was the only one who met Miranda’s eyes.

  “You met a ghost,” Roo said. “How cool is that?”

  Parker choked, spitting ice in all directions.

  There followed a moment of stricken silence. Then, turning to Roo, Gage shook his head in disbelief. “Very nice. Hell of a lead-in.”

  “Subtle as always,” Parker muttered, brushing ice chips and cola off the front of his shirt.

  Even Ashley looked distressed. As Roo’s words began to sink in, Miranda could only sit there in stunned silence, pinned by five pairs of eyes. Then she turned slowly to Etienne.

  “You . . . told them?” Her voice hardened with the pain of betrayal. “You told them what happened?”

  “Right, like we’re not already involved.” Roo gave a dismissive shrug. “Like we all didn’t see you freaking out at the gallery yesterday.”

  Parker and Gage closed ranks. “Roo, shut up.”

  “What? What’s the big deal?”

  Throughout the exchange, Miranda kept watching Etienne, searching for some sign of remorse. But his stare—and his words—weren’t the least bit apologetic.

  “Look, with all of us, there’s a whole lot better chance of figuring things out. I thought Gage might know what the braid was. Or Parker might’ve seen one sometime at the museum. You and me, we can’t think of everything, yeah?”

  “So you told them,” Miranda repeated, still shocked.

  “It was the right thing to do—the smart thing to do. And they needed to know.”

  “You had no right.” Pain had turned to anger now. Miranda’s throat squeezed tighter and tighter. “You wanted me to trust you.”

  “And I meant it.”

  “You were supposed to keep this secret. This is a secret thing.”

  “Get used to it,” Parker snorted. “No secrets in this motley crew.”

  Taking her elbow, Gage turned her gently back toward the others. “It’s okay, Miranda. We—”

  “We’d just like to help.” Ashley broke in.

  It was all Miranda could do not to break down. Numbly she stood up and started walking away, but what Etienne said next, stopped her.

  “Your grand-père, it’s what he wanted, Miranda.”

  “No,” she replied, fixing him with a bold, accusing stare. “He wanted you to help me, no one else.”

  “I am helping you.”

  “How? By sneaking around behind my back? By making fun of me?”

  “Uh-oh,” Parker mumbled. “Soap-opera time.”

  “Listen to me.” Before Miranda could take another step, Etienne blocked her path and caught her firmly by the shoulders. “I already told you, I saw what it did to Jonas. And I’m not gonna let that happen to you.”

  There was cold, hard truth in his eyes. And a determination so strong, it nearly overpowered her.

  “Miranda?” Ashley’s concern broke the tension. “Please?”

  Etienne released her. As Miranda reluctantly faced the group around the table, she could see every intent expression waiting for her response.

  “We really can help you,” Ashley said softly. “Please let us.”

  Miranda turned back to Etienne. His gaze was sure and steady.

  “You need friends, cher. And we’re your friends.”

  Seconds dragged by while she tried to think. She was hurt and confused; she was flattered and touched and even strangely relieved. The reality of her life was crowding in on her, much too close, much too quick.

  “It wouldn’t be so scary with us around.” Roo said philosophically.

  Tipping his cup, Parker shook more ice into his mouth and slanted Roo a look. “Not true. It’s always scary with you around.”

  “Give us some credit.” Gage winked at Miranda. “We might surprise you if you give us a chance.”

  “You don’t have to be in this alone,” Ashley insisted.

  Yet despite the positive support, Miranda couldn’t shake her bewilderment or her doubts. “Why are you doing this?” she asked them. You’re already friends, and people like you don’t let strangers into your exclusive little group. Besides that, how could you possibly understand what you’re getting into, when I don’t even understand it myself ? “You don’t even know me.”

  “Etienne threatened us.” Yawning loudly, Parker gave a long stretch, then wheezed as Ashley punched him in the ribs. “I’m kidding! Hey, I’m kidding, okay? Damn, Ashley!”

  “You might as well say yes, Miranda,” Ashley persisted as if Parker weren’t there. “Because we’re going to help you find out about poor Nathan one way or another.”

  “How?
” Miranda challenged. "How are you going to do that?”

  “Well . . . we . . . don’t know yet. We’re still . . . still . . .”

  “Trying to decide if I’m as crazy as my grandpa was?” To Miranda, the uneasy silence spoke volumes. It lasted only a second, but that was long enough for her heart to drop. “Look, you guys.” Her tone came out harsher than she’d intended. What was I thinking? I should have just kept on walking. “This is private, okay? And I don’t need any help, and it really doesn’t matter if you believe me, so—”

  “I believe you,” Gage said quietly.

  “You know I do,” Roo echoed.

  “And me.” Ashley’s head bobbed up and down.

  Scowling, Parker glanced at each of them. Then he folded his arms across his chest, leaned back, and scowled harder. “Well, I don’t believe her. I don’t believe any of y’all, and I think you’re all crazy. But . . . what the hell.”

  “Well, cher.” Etienne faced Miranda. “The sooner we start, the better, yeah?”

  The bell rang then. Grateful for the distraction, Miranda trailed the others back across campus. She was just starting into the building when Etienne suddenly took her arm and steered her into an alcove where they couldn’t be seen.

  Flustered, she peered up at him. He wasn’t holding her now, but the alcove was small, and their bodies were practically touching. As his eyes fixed on hers, she realized he’d moved nearer, and there was nowhere she could go.

  Her pulse began to race. He was standing so close—too close—and she wanted him closer, even as she wanted to push him away. She was afraid he might actually hear her heartbeat or her quick intake of breath.

  “Miranda,” Etienne murmured, “I promised to help you. To protect you.”

  His stare never wavered. His lips were only inches from her own.

  “I keep my promises.”

  Before Miranda could react, Etienne was out of the alcove and backing slowly away, one corner of his mouth hinting at a smile.

  17

  WHEN MIRANDA MET GAGE AFTER SCHOOL, she found the whole group waiting there with him.

  "Gage said y’all were going to the museum,” Ashley announced. “So it only makes sense for all of us to go.”