Nocturnes (Mary Hades Book 3)

by Sarah Dalton

  “Hey, aren’t you that girl in the video with the spider?”

  I pull my eyes from Eddie to the speaker, a skinny guy in a striped polo-neck.

  “Yeah, that was me.”

  “Did they really throw a live spider on you?” he asks.

  “Yes, they did.”

  “They’re knobs.”

  I let out a nervous laugh. “I know that now. I won’t be hanging out with them anymore.”

  “Don’t let them make you a victim,” Eddie warns. “That’s what they want to do. They want to make you weak. But if you’re not weak, they can’t get to you. Vance pulled this shit on me two years ago and I blackened both his eyes. He never did it again.”

  “I’m not sure that would work with Grace,” I admit. “But thanks for the advice.”

  “Seriously,” Eddie says. “She needs taking down.”

  I back out of the music room, a little unnerved by the intensity of Eddie Chung’s anger. I find myself hurrying back to the school building, hugging my body against the rain. I have science next, a full Grace-free hour. But first I head into the bathroom, ignoring more stares along the way.

  “I don’t blame Judith for being angry,” Lacey says. “The stuff they did was disgusting.”

  One of the stalls is occupied. I see a pair of beige shoes under the gap, so I nod at Lacey in the mirror as I put on lip gloss. The last thing I need is someone seeing me talking to myself in the bathroom.

  “But at least we know why she’s flipped.” Lacey lets out a half-laugh as she paces the bathroom. “I’m inclined to let her carry on. I mean, what they did to her…” I shoot her a hard glance. “Okay, I know, I know. She could have killed Anil. I get it. We have a lot to go on now. I reckon we’ll soon get her to appear and then send her on to the otherworld.” Lacey shivers as though she feels a chill.

  I feel it too. And then there’s a sob breaking through the silence. My instinct is to glance at the mirror, waiting for the ghost’s emaciated face to come back. There’s nothing. But then there’s another sob followed by the unmistakeable sound of someone crying from the occupied stall. My bathroom trips are never simple at this school.

  “Are you okay?” I move towards the stall and knock gently.

  There’s a sniff. Then a hard voice replies, “I’m fine.”

  My shoulders slump. I recognise that voice. It’s Colleen. I turn around. Why should I stop and help a girl who was part of one of the nastiest pranks I’ve ever known? She’s one of the meanest people I’ve ever come across.

  But, somehow, I can’t leave.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you care?” comes the voice.

  “Just open the fucking door, Colleen. Let’s talk, okay?”

  After more sniffing, and a toilet flush, the door opens, and a dishevelled Colleen steps out of the stall.

  “Seriously, Mary. Leave it alone. We’re not friends. I’m not telling you anything.” She steps over to the mirror and dabs her puffy eyes with wet tissue paper.

  “I know we’re not friends. No one is friends with their bully.” I make sure to send her a harsh glare. “But you’re obviously upset. I don’t leave people in distress. I actually have a moral compass.”

  “If you must know, my dad is bankrupt and we’re going to lose the house. My allowance got cut off this month. When my dad found out about the party and how much I spent, he got drunk and hit my mum. Then she left in the middle of the night, leaving me with him. I had to lock myself in my room while he tried to break down the door. I just got a phone call from Mum. She’s leaving him and not coming back. I’m all alone with him.”

  My jaw slackens. “Shit, that’s awful.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ve all got a story, right?”

  “You’re old enough to move out. You could flat share or rent something,” I say. “Get a part-time job.”

  She turns to me. “How many teens do you know who can study, hold down a part-time job, and pay for rent in Ashforth at the same time?”

  I don’t answer, but we both know it’s none. “Can’t you move in with your mum?”

  “She’s a pill-popping disaster.” Colleen lets out a heavy sigh, and in that moment, with her hands on the sink and her shoulders slumped over, she’s more like a vulnerable child with the world on her shoulders than she is the spoiled brat I took her for.

  I can’t help it. I hug her. “It’s going to be okay. There are people you can talk to who will help.”

  And I let her cry on my shoulder.

  Chapter Fourteen

  That night, I watch some of Judith’s videos with Lacey, eating popcorn and ignoring my own YouTube phenomenon, which reached ten thousand views before I stopped checking. Colleen has agreed to ask Grace to take it down, and she’s also decided to lay off me for a while. Could it be that I’ve actually succeeded in ending cruelty with kindness? It seems unlikely—whoever said that has never met teenage girls—but I can hold on to that hope for a little while longer.

  Most of Judith’s videos are how-tos about playing the cello. She gives instructions on how to play intricate classical music. I come to realise that Judith is talented. Further along her timeline, the videos turn to her playing her own music, which is pretty and upbeat. It’s a shame that Grace and the others trolled her in the comments, because it’s clear to see that Judith could have been a positive influence in the world.

  But the day has taken its toll on me. My eyelids droop. I crawl into bed and close my eyes as soon as skin touches pillow. In my dream, the emaciated body comes back, but now it features Grace’s face. She bares her fangs at me and becomes a snake. All the while, alive Judith plays a soundtrack of upbeat cello music as Travis and Colleen waltz around the sports hall at school. Soon comes the fire and I’m awake and gasping for breath. My alarm sounds, and in a panic, I swat my phone from the bedside table.

  “Shit.”

  When I pick it up, there’s a spider web of a crack through the screen. I replace it on the table, wipe a sheen of sweat from my forehead, and start getting ready for school.

  It’s one of those mornings where body and mind are detached from each other. My body moves too fast, while my mind is in a foggy panic. I see Grace’s fanged face from my nightmare. I see the flames. As I let the shower wash over me, I feel the Ravenswood ghosts pushing through the walls. My eyes fill with shampoo as I panic and open them, only to find that I’m alone. The ghosts are gone. I sent them away.

  Mum calls me as I’m about to leave. “Emmaline was asking after you the other day. She says you haven’t been to see her for a while. Maybe it’s a good idea that you go, so you… you know, work on your power.”

  It’s amazing how she recovered from that awful week of possession. Sometimes I think the marks were left on me, rather than her. She is slightly thinner, and there are faint scars on her arms and legs, but I can’t imagine the nightmares ever ending. I can’t imagine looking at her and never seeing the ghost in her.

  “Okay, I will.” I offer her a smile, but I can tell from Mum’s narrowed eyes that she senses something is wrong. I’m out the door before she can act on it.

  I’m early for the bus, despite getting ready as slowly as I dared. The morning is crisp and quiet. I feel like a trespasser as I step over blades of grass. Nature needs a door to knock on. Or maybe humans need to learn enough manners not to ruin every part of it. If only we could whisper through this world without trampling all over it.

  The bus rolls up. Unlike American school buses—the classic yellow with black stripes—Ashforth school is bussed by the local coach company. It travels around the tiny villages outside Ashforth, picking up kids from the catchment area. It’s sleek, black, and looks like the kind of thing old people go on day trips in. I step up, show my pass to the driver, get my head down, and walk up the aisle looking for a free seat.

  At first, I don’t quite understand what’s so different about this morning. And then I realise that the entire bus is almost silent. My eyes lock on to
a free seat at the back of the bus, so I ignore the stares and work my way towards it.

  That’s when it happens.

  I should applaud them all for such a coordinated attack. It’s quite impressive for a bunch of school kids. If they applied this kind of planning to their studies, they’d go far. All at once, I’m pelted by small, plastic objects. I lift my arms, protecting my face from the onslaught. Thrown with such vigour, the tiny plastic things actually hurt. I pluck one from my shoulder. It’s a plastic spider, the kind you get with Halloween costumes. Disgusted, I throw it to the floor, and try to ignore the laughter as I hurry to my seat. Without Lacey next to me, I’ve never felt so alone. The lads on the seat in front of me turn around and throw more handfuls of the hateful things. I pick one up and throw it back at them before slumping down with my arms folded tight across my chest. Perhaps if I close my eyes, I can pretend that I’m somewhere else. I find myself humming Judith’s cello music. Maybe Lacey’s right. Maybe I should just let Judith get her revenge.

  I shake my head. That would make me even worse than them. All I can do is ride it out. This too shall pass. Screw it, I’m applying that logic to crappy times, and crappy times only.

  When the bus pulls up, the little shits give me a round of applause before lining up and throwing more spiders at me like confetti—where did they get them all from?—but I try to ignore them and walk, with some dignity, towards the school.

  “Mary?” Willa jogs up to me. “Were they throwing spiders at you?”

  “Plastic ones.”

  She bares her teeth and hisses at one of the ringleaders of the spider incident. The boy laughs, but also winces away from her. “You’re getting a lift with me and Jack tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. I have my own car, but Dad has gone super protective of me recently.”

  We hang back from the school, both reluctant to go in. “Oh, yeah, why’s that?” she asks.

  “Just some stuff that happened with me and Mum recently. We both got pretty hurt. Mum fell down the cellar steps. If he was the slightest bit superstitious he’d say we were cursed. But, anyway, I think it freaked him out.” Halfway through talking, I realise that Lacey is hiding behind Willa. I wonder why she’s hiding, and why she was following Willa before school. We definitely need to have a talk. I glare at Lacey, and she creeps out sheepishly.

  “Looks like everyone has gone inside,” Willa says with a half-smile.

  “Yeah, I guess we should follow them,” I say.

  “Okay.” She starts to leave but then changes her mind and stops. “No, sorry. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t.”

  “What do you mean?” My heart falls to my knees. I’m absolutely certain that she’s about to tell me she’s only been pretending to be nice to me.

  Instead, she moves to the side and looks straight at Lacey. “I can see her. I can see your ghost.”

  “What?” I exclaim.

  “You can see me?” Lacey says.

  “I’ve been able to see you all along. And, I have to say, it’s a bit unnerving when you turn up at my house.”

  I turn to Lacey. “You’ve been going to her house?”

  “I got a weird vibe. Now I know why, I guess.” Lacey’s ethereal sheen whitens and she fiddles nervously with her hair.

  “This is… I can’t…” I take a step back. The bell rings for registration.

  “We should talk about this,” Willa says. “I want you to know that you’re not alone.”

  “Why am I always meeting people obsessed with ghosts?” I mumble, half to myself.

  “I’m not obsessed,” Willa replies. “It’s something I’ve always been able to do. I think we’ve found each other for a reason. Don’t you see? We’re meant to know each other. We’re meant to meet.” Her eyes shine with a genuine excitement. There is fervour in her voice, true conviction.

  “I… I should go.” I stumble up the steps and towards my form room.

  *

  It doesn’t matter that Colleen shoots me a guilty look, or that Grace narrows her cold eyes so much I can almost feel the hatred; all I can think about is Willa. After I leave registration, double maths fades into complete non-existence. Why have I met Willa? What does it all mean?

  Lacey haunts me, for lack of a better word. She stands in front of my desk so that I can’t see the rest of the class, and she mutters the same thing over and over until I begin to wonder if I’m imagining it.

  She sees me.

  She sees me.

  She sees me.

  I want to clamp my hands over my ears to make it stop. Lacey’s dead eyes bore into me. I can’t stand to see her like this, with skin so white it could be chalk, and blood dripping from her back wound. When I close my eyes I see her death over and over again. None of this is her. It can’t be. My Lacey isn’t like a typical ghost. She’s alive, at least to me.

  I screw my hands into fists and wish away the room. Lacey crackles and disappears, leaving only the class before me, continuing on as though my heart isn’t pumping hard against my chest, and my skin crawls with fear.

  Fractions dance across the whiteboard as I try to calm myself. When the bell rings, I’m the first out the door.

  I find Willa waiting anxiously at the entrance to the canteen.

  “Let’s get sarnies and sit on the rugby field,” she says. “Come on. We have loads to talk about.”

  I nod my head, feeling numb. Lacey is back, and she’s not quite as ‘dead’ as before. She avoids eye contact with Willa, following us a few paces behind.

  It’s a grey day, but the field is still busy. The younger kids are playing football. The ball goes rogue, hitting a girl on the head. She screams at him, waving a broken hair clip. Willa chooses an uphill spot, throws her cardigan on the ground, and flops down. Her Doc Martins cross together. I’ve given up wearing high heels to school now that I have no one to impress. My battered Converse are far easier to walk in across grass. I perch next to Willa, stiff as a corpse compared to how she lounges back.

  “I wasn’t sure you could see her at first,” she says. “I didn’t want to say anything in case it freaked you out.” She turns to Lace. “What’s your name?”

  Lacey sits cross-legged in front of us, crackling and sparking with energy. Her eyes burn bright blue against her pale skin. “Lacey Holloway.”

  “How long have you been dead?”

  “A few months,” she replies.

  “You’re one of the brightest I’ve seen,” Willa says. “You’re practically alive. You were hilarious in psychology the other day. It took some serious willpower not to laugh.”

  There’s a hint of a smile on Lacey’s face.

  “Did you see me talking to her?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she says. “At least, I saw you acknowledge each other from time to time.”

  “Do you know anyone else who can do it?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Only people who have an instinct for it. They sense something, but they don’t know it’s there. Then there are a lot of people who want to see something but can’t.”

  I nod, thinking of Neil, Emmaline, and Igor. “Me too. Do you think our dark energy attracts others with dark energy? Is that why we found each other?”

  “You think we’re dark? Why would you say that?” Willa asks.

  “Why do you think? We deal in death. The dead stalk us, talk to us, haunt us,” I say.

  “I don’t think that.” She tilts her head back and squints at the emerging sun. “We burn bright through the darkness. We’re a beacon of hope for suffering souls. We help them. Don’t you help them?”

  “When they’re not trying to kill me, yeah. Someone gave me an Athamé, so I use that to send them to the otherworld, or afterlife or whatever. What do you call it?”

  “Spirit realm,” she says. “I think there are different planes, and when a ghost is stuck in our plane, they’re in between. They’re lost.”

  “A lost soul,” Lacey mutters.

  Willa sits up. “You don’t seem lo
st. Not when you’re with Mary. You seem at home here.”

  Lacey almost glows with pride. “I have a purpose. I help Mary send the ghosts back to the spirit realm, as you call it.”

  “Do you know why you can see them?” I ask. “The first ghost I saw told me I was touched by death. I thought it meant I was going to die. But—”

  “It was me,” Lacey finishes. “I died instead.”

  “I was premature,” Willa says. “I nearly died. I think I was born with one foot in the spirit world.”

  “What about your father?” I say.

  Willa lifts up her knees and holds them tight. “Even more complicated. Jack and I grew up in a commune. Everyone knows we were in a cult. They gossip about it all the time.” She adjusts her weight and frowns down at the grass. “What people don’t know is that Jack and I are related. We have the same dad. Jack doesn’t acknowledge him at all, not even his blood. He tells people we aren’t related.

  “Our father is a monster. He targets vulnerable people and charms them into joining his cult. Then he takes all their money, seduces the women, and has loads and loads of children. As the cult leader, he’s able to have sex with anyone he wants.”

  “But that’s—”

  “Immoral? Disgusting? Yep, pretty much.” She pulls at a thread on her sleeve. “Jack doesn’t cope with it very well. He can’t get past it. My mother adored my father. She was one of his favourites. But Jack’s mother wanted out of the cult. My father wouldn’t let her leave.” She shakes her head. “You think the dead are dark, but I’ve seen more darkness in life than I ever have in death.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, struggling to find the words.

  “Don’t be. We were lucky. We managed to get out before my father moved the cult on. They do it to get away from the police. Every time there’s even a sniff of police interest, he moves the cult on. I met my real mother in the cult. She was posing as a cult member before she got us out and adopted us. You see, she’s an anthropologist who studies the behaviours of cults. She almost got the whole thing shut down, but my father moved the cult and they seem to have disappeared.”