by Lee Nichols
The same thing was occurring to me. That had been a serious ghost, plus two more. Why had Lukas sensed the ghost and not Natalie? She was the summoner, more sensitive to ghosts that weren’t right in front of her. Which meant it was already happening.
On the floor beside Harry, Britta moaned and started to wake.
“I’ll deal with her,” Sara said. She helped Britta sit up and began to lie. “Sweetie, did you forget to eat today?”
Britta blinked at her. “W-what?”
“You fainted.”
“I don’t remember.”
“No? We were talking, and—”
“That’s not what happened. It was her.” She pointed a finger at me, her perfectly manicured nail looking more like a claw. “Emma.”
I opened my mouth, not sure what to say, when Lukas crouched beside Britta, his eyes warm and concerned. “Why don’t I drive you home?”
The light returned to her eyes, and she said, “Would you?”
He said, “My pleasure,” as Natalie rolled her eyes.
“I’ll follow you and give you a ride back,” Sara said. “Coming, Harry?”
“No.” He finally stood. “I want to talk to Emma.”
Britta risked one last look at me. “I know you did something. I’m going to get you for this.”
“Oh, Britta,” Harry said. “You’re like the bitchy girl in a bad movie. It’s adorable.”
She made a strangled sound as Lukas escorted her into the hallway. Natalie and Sara trailed along behind, leaving me alone with Harry.
“I’d better go,” I said. I didn’t want to get him more involved in any of this.
“I’ll walk you,” he replied, his voice determined.
9
“Maybe you should go home and take a nap,” I suggested, making one last attempt to avoid a confrontation with Harry. He’d left his car in the lot and followed me out of Thatcher’s front gates.
He slipped his arm in mine. “You know better than that. If I was easy to dodge, I’d have no friends.”
“Are you kidding? Everyone loves you.”
“Well, I am irresistible,” he allowed. “Like chocolate-covered happiness.”
I snorted. “That ghost that possessed Britta wanted to crack open your cream-filled center.”
“Doomed to failure. Everyone knows I’m full of nougat.”
We waited for a break in traffic, then crossed the street. “What are we talking about, again?” I asked.
“We’re talking about killer ghosts hunting you, using your friends as bait.”
I swallowed. “I’m sorry. That’s why I haven’t told you what’s going on. I didn’t want to drag you and Sara into this. First Coby, and now—”
“You idiot,” he snapped. “I’m not worried about us. I’m worried about you. Emma, listen to me. I cannot lose another friend.”
“Neither can I, Harry,” I said, extricating my arm. “Why do you think I tried to keep you out of this?”
I strode ahead and he struggled to keep up with me. I walked quickly, trying to stay warm, while avoiding the patches of ice along the sidewalk. Harry caught my arm as I almost slipped.
“I can’t see ghosts,” he said. “I can’t shoot death rays from my fingertips and battle wraiths. But I can help, Emma. Me and Sara both.”
“No,” I said, firmly. “Stay out of it.”
“Don’t tell me that. We’re already in it. Because of Coby, because of you. You’re not the only one who wants to avenge Coby, and you need help. Tell me what’s going on.”
We turned down the museum drive, and I found Coby standing in the middle of the gravel lane, looking like something out of a supernatural thriller. His gorgeous face, the gray suit, the cold New England landscape his backdrop. The museum even looked haunted, which I suppose it was.
He’s right, you know, he said. You should let him help.
Why? So he can get killed like you?
Because we need all the help we can get. It’s time to end this, Emma. I’ll protect Harry.
“Coby’s here, isn’t he?” Harry asked.
I nodded. “He says I should let you help.”
“He’s pretty smart for being so good-looking,” Harry said.
I didn’t want to admit it, but Coby was right. With Simon and Bennett gone and Natalie and Lukas busy with each other, I felt rudderless. I needed a new team. Coby, Max, and now Harry and Sara.
“Okay, then.” We stood there in the cold in the middle of the museum’s driveway while I told him about Aunt Rachel, the Knell, and Neos’s ashes.
“Whoa,” he said, when I finished. “I can’t wait to get all that on Twitter.”
“Harry!”
“Kidding. But there’s a whole secret society and everything? I guess I thought it was just you, a couple other ghostkeepers, and a few big, bad ghosts.”
“That’s why I didn’t want you involved. It’s dangerous, Harry.”
He looked toward the snow-covered trees, and I thought he was going to back out, but he said, “I can find the ashes. I spent two semesters stashing bottles at Thatcher—I know every corner and hidey-hole.”
Coby grinned. I told you.
Maybe it was the ghost that had possessed Britta and almost killed Harry and Sara, or maybe it was just the cold, but I was suddenly overwhelmed. Tears filled my eyes at how grateful I was to have friends like Coby and Harry. They hadn’t even known me three months, and now here they were helping me fight for everything.
“Ah, Emma, don’t cry,” Harry said. “Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know,” I sniffled.
Coby reached out an arm to comfort me, then remembered he could burn me. His expression, as I flinched away from him, was devastating. I could see in his eyes the hurt and frustration that he was no longer alive. And as Harry put his arms around me, I cried all the harder into his thick wool coat.
Harry and Coby left me at the door, and it was a relief to step into the warm stillness of the museum. I shed my coat and boots in the hall closet and considered my next move.
I wanted to run upstairs and climb into bed. Ask Nicholas to make me a fire, Celeste to bring me hot chocolate, then cry into the phone to Bennett about the possession. But Nicholas was dead, I didn’t like ordering Celeste around, and Bennett was too far away to be of real comfort.
I needed to face this head-on. I thought for a second, with one hand on the banister, and a plan took shape in my mind. I went to Mr. Stern’s office and knocked on the door. He looked up, his expression vague yet concerned. “Are you all right, Emma?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said. “All of you. Mrs. Stern, Lukas, Natalie, and we need Max. Do you have a speakerphone in here? Could we call the Knell that way?”
He pierced me with those blue eyes that were so much like Bennett’s. “What’s this about? What’s happened?”
“A ghost possessed a girl at school.”
His breath caught. “A regular ghost? An ordinary girl? I mean, not a wraith and not a ghostkeeper?”
“Yeah. But I only want to tell the story once, if that’s okay.”
He nodded. “Of course, Emma. I’ll let them know at the Knell and tell Alex. You really are all right?”
I nodded. “Just shaken up.”
“I can imagine,” he said, with an absent smile. “Well, you’re not the only one, but we’ll get through this.”
I nodded, then went to the kitchen, where I politely asked Anatole to make me a mocha red-eye chai.
Rough day? he asked, sliding it along the counter toward me. The American idiom sounded funny coming from him.
And it’s only going to get worse, I said, anticipating my parents and Bennett’s reaction when I told them that Thatcher students were getting possessed. And that Neos was after my ring.
We all gathered in Mr. Stern’s office—me, Lukas and Natalie, and Mr. and Mrs. Stern. Max had been the last to show, and was bitter about cutting his Ancient Greek class. Mr. Stern dialed the Knell.
&n
bsp; Simon’s voice came from the speakerphone. “Whenever you’re ready, Emma.”
“Is Bennett there?” I asked.
“No, he’s—out at the moment. But please, go ahead.”
“We’re here, honey,” my father said, from the speaker.
I wanted to ask Simon about Bennett, but couldn’t, not with his parents sitting there. So I just told them what happened. “Then Sara called and told me that Britta seems fine,” I finished. “She stayed with her after Lukas dropped them off.”
“Why didn’t you stay, Lukas?” Simon asked. “Sara can’t detect spectral activity.”
“I wouldn’t let him,” Natalie said. “Have you seen Britta?”
Mr. Stern shot her a look. “I’m sure we can all trust each other here.”
“I trust Lukas with my life,” Natalie said. “Just not with Britta’s pants.”
“Natalie!” Mrs. Stern said sharply, and Natalie had the grace to look embarrassed.
I glanced at Lukas and saw him slouch in his seat, inspecting his phone with great fascination.
“And the girl,” Simon said, ignoring them. “Britta. She has no memory of the possession?”
“I don’t think so. Sara says Britta thinks I did something to her. We’re not exactly friends,” I admitted.
“If you could overnight an item of clothing she was wearing,” my father said, “I’ll read it and try to learn more.”
“How are we supposed to get her out of her clothes?” I asked.
“Not a problem,” Lukas murmured, so only Natalie and I could hear.
Natalie elbowed him, and I spoke before they had a chance to start bickering. “She doesn’t remember exactly what happened, but what if she knows, on some level, that I was the target?”
“Which is why your father and I have decided you’re not safe there,” my mother said. “We think you should come to New York.” She started listing all the reasons I’d be safer with them, treating me like a twelve-year-old.
To my surprise, Max came to my defense. “Mom—she’s fine. They don’t call her Emma F. Vaile for nothing.”
“She is not Emma F. Vaile; you should know your own sister’s middle name,” Mom scolded.
“The ‘F’ is for … Frickin’. She’s Emma Frickin’ Vaile, Mom. She battled Neos to a standstill twice, and now you rag on her?”
My parents seemed to realize their hypocrisy and settled down. I was glad Max was on my side.
Then Simon gave us a rundown of his thinking about the theory and practice of possession. “Ghosts possessing the living are dangerous to others—as Harry and Sara can attest—but also to the host. If Emma hadn’t dispelled that ghost, the girl at school could’ve suffered lasting damage.”
“This is so the ‘Charlie’s Angels’ episode of Supernatural,” Natalie whispered to me as Simon droned on the speakerphone. Mrs. Stern gave us the eye from her chair. I tried not to prove that I was a twelve-year-old by snickering and giggling, and instead pressed my arm against Natalie’s to let her know I thought it was funny. It reminded me how much I’d missed her since she’d hooked up with Lukas.
“I still don’t understand why he possessed a student at Thatcher,” Mr. Stern said. “Why not just go after Emma himself? And why does he need the ring?”
“We don’t know what kind of shape he’s in,” Simon said. “He could just be experimenting.”
“Experimenting?” Mrs. Stern asked. “To what end?”
“I presume he’s searching for a permanent body for himself,” Simon answered.
“Ew.” Natalie made a face. “Britta crossed with Neos? Now there’s a nightmare I hadn’t considered.”
“Not Britta,” Simon’s voice said over the speaker. “A ghostkeeper. A powerful ghostkeeper. With whom he already shares a connection.”
All eyes in the room turned toward me. I even felt my parents’ and Simon’s eyes boring into me through the phone.
“Maybe he’s just after the ring.” I couldn’t bear the thought of Neos possessing me. “He’s always wanted it. He hopes it’ll have the opposite effect on him, make him mortal. I don’t know, maybe he thinks I’m part of that equation. But right now, we need to focus on protecting the kids at Thatcher.”
“And the teachers,” Lukas somewhat reluctantly added.
“We have to focus,” Simon corrected us, “on finding those ashes, and understanding Neos’s plan. We need to learn to anticipate him. I suspect Neos is setting the stage for another confrontation. One designed to guarantee him victory.”
A silence fell. We were stuck responding to Neos all the time, trapped on his chessboard like pawns. I was ready for a different game.
“I’m going to use my ring to find the ashes,” I said into the silence. “I’ll search as a ghost. I can look between the walls, inside furniture. Nothing will be closed to me. I can even check the original Emma’s memories for hiding spots.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Simon said.
“Why not?”
Mrs. Stern answered. “Maybe Neos drew your attention to the ring because he wants you to flit around Thatcher like a ghost.”
“Precisely,” Simon said. “Wearing the ring makes you a ghost, which might make you vulnerable to him. And why haven’t you been able to sense his ashes? You’re the strongest reader we have. If he’s able to hide them from you, what else is he hiding?”
“Well, we have to do something,” Natalie said. “We can’t rule out everything because maybe that freaking wraith-hole wants us to do it.”
Simon coughed—possibly covering a laugh at “freaking wraith-hole.” “That’s also a good point. Perhaps Emma should search as a ghost … but not alone. The only other person who can stand against Neos for longer than a handful of seconds is Bennett. God knows he doesn’t sleep anyway. I’ll send him to watch her back.”
Simon, my parents, and the Sterns spoke for another ten minutes, but it was basically decided. We’d keep searching for the ashes.
After we ended the conference call, I went straight up to my room to call Simon back in private. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know, Emma. He … roams.”
“He’s not a stray dog, Simon.”
Simon didn’t say anything, but somehow he managed to not say anything really emphatically.
“What?” I demanded. “Just tell me.”
“He leaves at night and wanders the city. I honestly don’t know if he sleeps anymore. He’s mastered the art of seizing other ghostkeepers’ power. Asarum opened that door, and he jumped through.”
“Where—who is he taking power from?” I felt sick.
“I don’t know. I can’t talk to him. I have to say his name three times before he hears. He stinks of power, and the Knell ghosts are terrified of him. He’s burning himself out, Emma, he’s—”
“Stop! Stop, Simon, please. I get it.”
More gently, he said, “I’m sorry, Emma. I don’t know what kind of game you two are playing, I don’t know what secrets you have. But I do know you’re playing with fire.”
He wouldn’t tell me what secrets he meant, and he wouldn’t believe that we didn’t have any. So I told him about my other problem. “Simon, I lost my dagger.”
“I know,” he said gloomily. “Max is in touch with your parents. Emma, you can do this. And we’re doing everything we can to help you. But be careful.”
After we hung up, I called Bennett and left a message, then called him again and left another. Then, lying in bed hours later, I called him a third time. He didn’t answer, and he didn’t call back.
I wanted to spend the whole next day in bed, waiting for Bennett to call and say he’d guard me while I searched Thatcher in ghostly form. But he didn’t call, and his mom—looking as stern as ever, like last night never happened—sent me off to school.
I stumbled through the day, then Harry came home with me to study for a Latin test. He followed me into the kitchen, and I didn’t think twice before asking Anatole to brew Harry a pot of
strong coffee while I made myself a cup of English Breakfast tea.
“Uh, Emma,” Harry said. “I don’t want to alarm you, but the coffee seems to be making itself.”
I laughed. I was so used to living with ghostkeepers, I’d forgotten I had friends who couldn’t even see ghosts. “That’s Anatole. He’s the resident French chef. You’d like him.”
“Oh, yeah?” He grinned. “Got any resident French maids?”
“Actually …”
“Tell me you’re kidding! A French maid? Does she wear a little skirt and fishnet stockings?”
“She’s a real maid, Harry, not a strip-o-gram.”
Anatole set a ceramic pot full of coffee and a fresh cup in front of Harry on the counter, then, with a twitch of his mustache, began to pour.
You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? I said.
Mais oui, Anatole said with a grin. It iz not often I get to haunt.
I tried to imagine it from Harry’s perspective. “It must look so weird to you.”
Harry ran his fingers above the coffee pot as though checking for strings, and his hand passed through Anatole. “Not as weird as your monkey toes.”
I sighed and we went into the solarium. The day had been bright and blue, though it got dark at about five, so the sun was already low in the sky, but the room was still warm and full of thriving citrus trees. Anatole really did have a way with them.
We sat next to each other on the blue and white couch, and I was reminded of the last time I’d seen Bennett, how I’d fallen asleep in his lap.
We opened our Latin books and starting gossiping about Sara’s “parasophomours” as Harry liked to call them—a mashup of “paramour” and “sophomore.”
“She really should just pick one of them,” Harry said.
“If she were a guy, would you be saying the same thing?” I asked. “There’s always a double standard about that stuff.”
“Emma,” he said, laying a hand over his heart. “I am nothing if not a romantic.”
“Then why don’t you have a girl? Or a boy?” Maybe that was why he never had a girlfriend.
“Who am I supposed to go out with? Sara’s my best friend and still in love with Coby. Natalie’s with Lukas. Plus she’s Natalie; I’m too devoted to my own self to ever have enough for her.”