Surrender

by Lee Nichols

  “Give him a chance, Bennett. He’s smart and he cares.”

  “I know,” he said, with no conviction.

  “You’ll tell him about what I saw, right?”

  “I’ll tell him, but … there are a zillion more pressing things right now.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll deal with it myself. I always do.”

  “Emma—be careful. I wish I were there, instead of here. The only person I want to be protecting is you.” His voice changed. “Preferably under the covers with my lips pressed against yours.”

  I shivered at that last part. “That sounds good,” I said softly into the phone. I lay down on the bed, imagining him beside me.

  He started to say more when voices sounded in the background, calling his name, asking him something. “Em, I’ve got to go. If I were there, I’d kiss you good-bye. I guess I’ll just have to say I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  After we hung up, I stared at the little clock on my iPhone: 10:58 p.m. Bennett had only been gone seven hours, but it felt like days—being separated from him was worse than ever.

  3

  After seeing Rachel’s ghost—or whatever it was—and talking to Bennett, I barely slept. The next morning I stumbled downstairs into the kitchen, forgetting that the Sterns were in residence. Mr. Stern sat in the breakfast nook, looking fully rested, dressed, and composed, and eyed me with disfavor.

  I’d tossed my gray silk robe over my red flannel pj’s, only expecting to greet Anatole, waiting with a cup of tea. I’d grown used to his mustache twitching at the disheveled sight of me. Mr. Stern was another story.

  I froze at the kitchen counter like a deer in headlights, hoping Natalie would suddenly appear to act as a buffer, but she was nowhere. Anatole and Celeste were on their best servant behavior and were lingering in the background.

  “Good morning,” Mr. Stern said, though his tone said “bad morning.”

  “Uh, I’m sorry.” I adjusted my robe. “I didn’t expect to see anyone.” I tried for levity. “Well, except the ghosts.”

  “Which he can’t see,” Mrs. Stern said, entering the room from behind me. She smelled of expensive perfume and was dressed in a classic cream cashmere turtleneck over charcoal gray pants. Her expression was just as dour as his.

  Crap. Of course; they were both ghostkeepers. He must’ve lost his powers to Mrs. Stern, and I’d just rubbed his face in it. Way to make another good impression. “I’m sorry. I should’ve—”

  “You’re sorry for a lot, aren’t you?” Mr. Stern said. His clear blue eyes, so much like Bennett’s, bored into me.

  “Yeah, I—” I what? I didn’t know what to tell them. How to say I was sorry about Olivia’s death. That I didn’t want Bennett to be taking Asarum any more than they did.

  They were supposed to be my guardians, but they didn’t exactly make it easy for me to ask for help. And I needed it. I didn’t know what to do about the ghost I’d seen last night or how to find Neos. I longed for Simon, who was always such a great sounding board, but now was too busy with the Knell. I was back to feeling alone and unsure of myself, like when I’d first come to Echo Point.

  “I’d better go,” I said, and fled the room. They didn’t try to stop me.

  No matter how much I worried about it, or willed her to reappear, I didn’t see Rachel’s ghost again. Maybe I should’ve been relieved, but I couldn’t shake a sense of dread. She’d disappeared in the direction of Thatcher, and by the time Christmas Eve day rolled around, I realized if I was going to deal with this, I needed to check out the school. It was my only hope.

  Natalie and I had gone into the village and bought a last-minute amaryllis plant for Mrs. Stern and “hermits” for Mr. Stern, which were a kind of raisin cookie. Natalie swore she’d heard him mention he had a “fondness” for them. We sort of hoped gifts would make them like us better, but it was doubtful. Then while Natalie knotted Christmas bows around the flower pot and cookie box, I flopped onto her bed and called Harry.

  “Vaile,” he answered. “Calling to wish me felix dies Nativitatis?”

  “Oh. Sure. Merry Christmas.”

  He laughed. “Your enthusiasm overwhelms.”

  “How big’s your tree?” I asked, wondering if they grew Christmas trees large enough to fill the great room in Harry’s mansion.

  “My tree is redwood big. You should come over and feel the spirit.”

  “We are talking about your Christmas tree, right?” Leave it to Harry to take it in some deviant direction.

  “Oh. That tree. Also redwood big.”

  “Anyway,” I said, “I called because I want to know if there’s a way to sneak into Thatcher. The gates are locked.” I’d walked up yesterday, just to take a look, and hadn’t been able to get in.

  “What makes you think I’d know?”

  “Coby told me about the pig in the fireplace.”

  “You should’ve been there for that.” He chuckled. “It was folkloric.”

  “Folkloric?”

  “Like ‘epic,’ but on a smaller scale,” he explained. “All right. Walk around campus, by the lower field. The back door of the field house is easy to pop open. You cut through the boys’ lockers—avert your eyes, young Emma—and out the front door. Then to get into the main hall—”

  “No,” I stopped him. “That’s enough. Thanks, Harry.”

  “What’re you planning? Secret ghostly things?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, if you decide to deck the halls with gay apparel, promise you’ll invite me along.”

  I smiled. “You’ll be the first I call.”

  “Namaste,” he said, which he’d been saying since he got out of rehab. It wasn’t growing on me.

  Natalie glanced up from her bow. “Did he say ‘namaste’? Tell him to namaste my ass.”

  “Natalie says—”

  “I heard,” he said. “Tell her anytime.”

  I snorted and hung up. “He said—”

  She held up her hand. “I don’t want to know. What I do want to know is, what are we doing at Thatcher?”

  I liked that “we,” but I said, “You don’t have to go with me.”

  “Does it involve wraiths?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Ghasts?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Natalie stared at me. “Then what is it, Em? I can tell you’re worked up about something.”

  I lay back on her bed. “Probably nothing,” I said to the ceiling.

  “But …”

  “I think I saw Rachel’s ghost three nights ago.”

  “Rachel, your aunt? I thought she was …”

  “Yeah.” I explained the whole story. I hadn’t told her before because I thought she needed a break: time to get over Simon and Bennett being gone without worrying about a new threat. I wasn’t sure what Rachel’s ghost meant, but I couldn’t help feeling Neos had sent her. I needed Natalie’s help. There was no one else. “Bennett says I should find out more before bothering Simon about it.”

  “And you think she’s at Thatcher?” Natalie asked.

  “That’s the direction she was heading.”

  Natalie glanced out the window. “Let’s go before it gets dark.”

  “Good idea,” I said, popping up.

  “And bring your dagger,” Natalie said.

  “Deal.”

  We popped the door at the field house, just like Harry said, and I wished we really were there to play a prank. I was getting sick of chasing ghosts and fighting wraiths—battling Neos will do that to you. And Natalie was acting nervous, which worried me. She was the gutsy one, rushing headlong into danger, knowing I’d clean up the mess. But today, she held back.

  Without anyone around, Thatcher felt weird, sort of sad. A heavy silence was broken only by the hollow rush of the wind. The day was bitter cold, and I couldn’t tell if I was imagining an edge of malevolence in the air.

  “I don’t like this,” Natalie said. “This is the kind o
f thing that turns out nasty for us.”

  “I know. Anytime we go looking for ghosts, wraiths or ghasts jump out at us. Maybe I imagined Rachel. It was late, and I was upset about Bennett leaving. Let’s just do a little summoning and get out of here.”

  She gave a short unhappy nod, and we wandered through the grounds together, but not too close. I think we both would’ve preferred to hold hands, but we’d tried that before and discovered our powers were completely different. We worked better apart.

  But not today. Today neither of us could summon Rachel. Neither of us could summon anything other than the usual Thatcher ghosts. The campus used to belong to my ancestor Emma, who’d lived here over two hundred years ago, and I felt a connection to it, yet I couldn’t detect any trace of Rachel. It was almost as though my ability was being blocked. I felt as though something was threatening us—I just couldn’t figure out what it could be. If it were a ghost, I should be able to summon it.

  I tried to shake off the sense of foreboding as we circled the grounds in the chilly late afternoon, not talking much, instead opening ourselves to the spectral traces of the Beyond as we probed with our summoning powers. We split up when we hit the running track that encircled the football field.

  I went along the bleachers, across the end zone, and stopped at the equipment shack, where I caught a whiff of something, but when I focused my power, it was gone. The field was covered in a white blanket of dull snow in the failing sunlight, and wisps of moisture rose here and there, which struck me as strange. How was there moisture in the air, when the temperature was below freezing?

  As the wisps uncoiled, they started thickening, turning from thin threads of moisture to heavy ropes. They swayed and rose, like snakes from a basket, and the stench suddenly struck me: ashes. Hot ashes and burning smoke, which stung my eyes even though the wind was cold.

  My throat clenched in fear, and I searched the shadows for Natalie. She was across the field, looking completely oblivious to the smoky serpents uncoiling from the snow.

  “Nat—” I started to call.

  I trailed off when the smoke twisted into what looked like a gaunt man, composed of a dozen writhing snakes, near the 50-yard line. He didn’t look like Neos, but I understood that’s who he represented, and I summoned my dispelling power to ward him off. Yet I felt no ghosts in the area. It was almost like having a flashback, yet there hadn’t been that familiar whirling sensation. This was a vision I couldn’t control.

  I watched, helplessly, as this terrifying, smoky version of Neos raised one serpentine arm, gesturing to another cluster of snakes writhing in a mound next to him—a feeding frenzy of snapping fangs and lashing tails. There was something underneath the mound: a person. And with a sudden rush of knowledge that left me breathless, I realized that person was me.

  Being eaten alive by snakes.

  Goose bumps rose on my arms, and I called my power closer and stronger—but still couldn’t find any ghostly presence. Then the wisps of smoke formed a third figure across the field, and my heart almost unclenched. Bennett. Come to rescue me.

  Except he didn’t help the girl trapped in the writhing pile. Instead, he strode across the field, sucking the life from the snakes, growing stronger and stronger. And when he finally approached the girl, he prepared to suck the life out of her, too. I felt frozen, unable to stop what was happening.

  “No!” I screamed—and the scene disappeared.

  No serpents, no smoky Neos. No Bennett, no me. Not a tinge of ghostly power in the air. Just the snowy field, and the almost-overpowering scent of ashes.

  Natalie came running, her summoning energy crackling around her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I—I saw something.” I breathed to slow my heartbeat. “It’s gone now.”

  “What was it?”

  “S-smoke,” I stuttered. “Snakes made of smoke. Can you smell that?”

  She sniffed. “I don’t smell anything.”

  The stench of ashes still thickened the air and clung to my hair and coat. “I think I had a vision. Do you feel any ghosts nearby?”

  She shook her head. “Not even a little.”

  “Me, neither.” I swallowed and looked at the now-normal field. “Nothing.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked, eyeing me with concern.

  “Yeah, it was just … scary.” I looked at the darkening sky. “Let’s go.”

  “Best idea of the day.” Natalie hooked her arm through mine and steered me quickly back through the field house as I told her about the vision—everything except Bennett. Everyone already suspected he was losing his mind on Asarum; I couldn’t make them think even worse of him.

  “It’s not the first time,” I said, as we crunched down the gravel drive of the museum. “I dreamed of them before. Back in San Francisco. A vision or something, of them coming from my dad’s funeral urns. It totally freaked me out, and I almost told you about it, but I thought you were someone else back then.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said, “but is it possible you’re imagining all of it? I didn’t sense anything back there. And neither did you. If it was ghosts, we should’ve been able to feel it. You’re tired, Em. And now Simon and Lukas and Bennett are all gone, and we’re left with his crummy parents. It wouldn’t be too surprising if you were just kind of … losing it.”

  “Yeah,” I said, again feeling confused and unsure of myself. “Maybe I’m just tired.” I suddenly wanted my mom. Or Martha. Someone to feed me soup and tell me everything would be all right.

  Then we opened the front door and found Mrs. Stern staring at us. She was dressed in a cream silk blouse, black velvet pants, and pearls, and I couldn’t tell if she’d overheard us talking.

  “I wondered when you’d get back,” she said. “Dinner’s in half an hour. You might …” She glanced at our jeans and boots. “You might want to change, but it’s up to you.”

  And suddenly I remembered it was Christmas Eve. And my parents hadn’t come. And I was back to having mysterious visions that nobody else could see.

  I scrubbed my face, willing away the memory of the smoky snakes. Afraid of what it meant. Not wanting to believe what it said about Bennett, or that Neos was somehow controlling my visions—I couldn’t think of any other explanation. Except maybe Natalie was right, and I was just exhausted.

  It was Christmas Eve. I should’ve been focusing on that. Except I didn’t want to spend Christmas without my parents. Why couldn’t they have come? How could they not understand that sometimes I needed them?

  Feeling depressed, I went for the long, soft black sweater in my wardrobe, leggings, and black flats instead of my boots, a clear sign I was dressing up. I swished some toothpaste in my mouth, ran styling stick through my hair, and applied lip gloss.

  I found Natalie in the hallway and stopped short. She was wearing khaki pants, a white shirt buttoned to the neck, and a boxy royal blue crewneck sweater. Conservative and shapeless, she looked nothing like herself.

  “Are those slacks?” I asked.

  She frowned. “I just want to look normal.”

  “Natalie, dressing like Mr. Rogers isn’t going to make Bennett’s parents like you.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Whatever.”

  “You look cute,” I said, trying again. “Kind of, um, retro-ironic?”

  “Let’s go,” she muttered, like we were off to the guillotine.

  We’d eaten dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Stern—they hadn’t asked us to call them John and Alexandra—for the past three nights. Things hadn’t gotten better since my confrontation with them that morning in the kitchen. The first night, my one conversational gambit had been to ask them where they’d been living in Europe.

  “Paris,” Mr. Stern had answered in his low voice.

  “Have you been?” Mrs. Stern asked.

  I had, but I was so young I didn’t remember it. Natalie and I both shook our heads, and that had ended that conversation.

  Even their sporadic chitchat made me ner
vous, like their words concealed hidden meanings and unvoiced accusations that I was to blame for their daughter’s death and Bennett’s addiction. Natalie didn’t fare much better. If she acted like herself, bright and loud and a little outrageous, they looked puzzled and dismayed. I guess that’s why she’d dressed like someone else entirely tonight.

  We wandered into the formal dining room. The long mahogany table was set beautifully, with a china pattern I hadn’t yet seen. Wreaths of holly surrounded a silver candelabra filled with pale candles already lit. I noticed the thread of smoke rising from a candle and almost panicked, thinking it would take the shape of a snake. I took a few deep breaths. No ashes, no snakes. Just smoke. And the room was perfumed with the scent of beeswax combined with the boughs of pine hanging from the fireplace. So far, the best thing about spending Christmas in New England was the decorations. The real fir trees and pinecones and fresh wreaths that always looked a little out of place in San Francisco fit perfectly in Echo Point’s old houses.

  The Sterns weren’t there, but Celeste was flitting around the table making last-minute adjustments.

  You’ve outdone yourself, I told her. Sorry Natalie and I weren’t here to help.

  Celeste curtsied. Merci. But that iz not your place. And thingz are not as zey were. Iz better I do alone.

  I was about to ask why when Mrs. Stern came strolling in and surveyed the table. “This looks lovely, Celeste.”

  And with a wave of her hand, she compelled Celeste toward the kitchen. Huh. I knew she was a ghostkeeper, but I hadn’t thought much about her powers. Turns out she was a pretty powerful compeller—not to mention pretty rude, ordering Celeste around like a dog.

  “Natalie,” Mrs. Stern said. “Why don’t you sit here, and Emma on the other side. John had some business, but will be here soon.”

  “You’re going to let her get away with that?” Natalie whispered.

  I shrugged as I took my seat. I didn’t really want to give Bennett’s mom one more reason to dislike me. On the other hand … it really bugged me.