My So-Called Phantom Love Life

by Tamsyn Murray

  ‘So, have you seen You-Know-Who yet?’ she asked slyly.

  I frowned. ‘Lord Voldemort? Funnily enough, I haven’t.’

  ‘Ha ha. You know who I mean.’

  I guessed she was talking about Nico. ‘No, I haven’t seen him but since we don’t share any of the same lessons, that’s hardly a surprise.’

  ‘So it’s definitely over between you?’

  Gritting my teeth, I counted to ten. ‘Once again, that would be a yes. You saw how messed up I was when we split,’ I said, grimacing at the memory. ‘There’s no chance I’m going through that again. Anyway, he’s not interested in me that way.’

  Which was sort of true; he might have made me go weak at the knees when he smiled but he’d only been interested in one thing and it wasn’t the usual thing boys wanted. After the night in the cemetery, I’d found it hard to believe he’d ever loved me and no amount of wistful sighing by Megan would change my mind.

  ‘Then why is he standing outside our history classroom?’ Megan asked, a hint of triumph in her voice.

  My gaze shot forwards. Sure enough, Nico was leaning against the wall ahead of us, his tall frame towering over the other kids. I squashed the wave of panicky interest I felt. ‘I’m sure it’s not because of me.’

  Nico’s dark eyes felt like dead weights pressing down on me as I forced myself to walk past and joined the end of the line. He didn’t speak. Heart pounding, I turned my back and tried to forget he was there, which wasn’t easy with Megan switching her attention between us as though she was watching a Wimbledon final. My memory wasn’t cutting me any slack, either; I could picture his dark hair curling onto the white collar of his shirt and his mouth curving into a smile. In fact, somewhere deep inside me a sly voice was reminding me exactly how good it had felt to be kissed by him and I realised that, despite my best efforts, I’d never actually forgotten.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ I hissed, pushing the thought to one side as Miss Pointer opened up the classroom and Nico filed in ahead of us. ‘If this is a joke, it’s not funny.’

  Scowling as much at my treacherous interest as his presence, I watched Nico slide into the seat directly in front of where I sat. Miss Pointer waited until we’d settled into our usual seats before speaking. ‘Good morning, class.’

  Wide-eyed, Megan shrugged her shoulders as we mumbled our responses.

  ‘You might have noticed we have a new face with us today,’ the teacher went on. ‘This is Nico Albescu, who some of you will know from the other half of the year. Due to a timetable switch, he’ll be joining this lesson from now on.’

  A sick feeling rose up inside me. Was it a simple timetable change, or something else? Maybe I’d been naive to expect he would leave me alone for long. As I stared at the back of his head, he turned to look at me.

  ‘Hello, Skye,’ he said, smiling in a way that sent involuntary shivers dancing along my spine. ‘Have you missed me?’

  Chapter 7

  I froze in my seat. In my head, memories flashed past: the first time we’d met, when he’d stopped me from getting a beating; our first date at the Roundhouse; the night I’d trusted him with my secret and that bone-searing moment when he’d turned on me and I’d seen his darker nature. Fists clenched in my lap, I forced myself to meet his gaze.

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said, in the most casual tone I could manage. ‘Like a cat misses fleas.’

  For a nanosecond, I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment on his face but it was hidden before I could be sure. Then Miss Pointer was talking again and Nico turned away to face the front. I let out a shallow sigh of relief.

  ‘Since we have our field trip to the Tower of London on Friday, I thought it might be good to shake up the usual groups and encourage you to work with new people.’ Miss Pointer beamed and waved a brown cloth bag at us. ‘So I’ve put all your names in here and I’ll draw them out at random.’

  There was a collective groan from the rest of the class but I was feverishly calculating odds. In a class of over thirty kids, what were the chances I’d end up working with Nico?

  Unaware of the anxiety she was causing me, Miss Pointer thrust her hand into the bag. ‘Group One: Stephan Mitchell, Josie Pickering, Megan Conway and . . .’ She paused and rummaged further. ‘James Porter.’

  Megan threw me a stricken look and I closed my eyes. By the time we’d reached the seventh set of names, I knew with sick certainty that Nico and I would be in the same group. Sure enough, Miss Pointer didn’t disappoint.

  ‘Group eight: Ellie MacCauley, Skye Thackery, Amad Patel and Nico Albescu.’

  I sank down in my seat, scowling. On a table to my right, Ellie was whispering to her sidekick, looking like she’d just scooped the Euromillions jackpot. I didn’t flatter myself it was me she was getting excited about.

  Nico twisted in his seat to study me. ‘It looks like we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other. I’m glad I switched classes now.’

  I didn’t reply. Megan kicked me under the table.

  ‘Ow!’ I said, reaching down to rub my ankle. ‘I’ve got no intention of seeing any more of you than I have to, Nico. Besides, you’re going to have your hands full with Ellie.’

  On cue, Ellie fired a bright smile Nico’s way. He ignored her and leaned towards me. ‘It’s not over between us, Skye,’ he said, his black gaze pinning me in my seat. ‘We’ll be doing more than just working together. You’ll see.’

  Megan’s foot banged against my shin again but I barely felt it. Nico had wanted to ‘work’ with me before, when he’d asked me to help him contact the dead. My refusal had been what sent our relationship into meltdown. Now it seemed he was trying again and using the field trip as cover. The worst of it was that the part of me which still fancied him was happy about it. ‘Forget it. I’d rather fail the exam than do anything with you.’

  Nico smiled and I felt my stomach flip over treacherously, the way it used to. ‘Liar,’ he said.

  He stared at me for a few more seconds and then faced the front, leaving me to contemplate the back of his head and curse the betrayal of my body. How could I still fancy him after he’d practically kidnapped me? Didn’t his involvement with the Solomonarii mean anything? Had I learned absolutely nothing?

  My head was shouting all these things and more but it was fighting a losing battle. I was attracted to Nico in spite of the danger he posed; maybe even partly because of it. After all, didn’t every girl love a bad boy? Fixing my gaze on the desk in front of me, I forced the thoughts away. The best I could do was stay out of his way and try not to be alone with him. Because one thing was obvious; the unofficial amnesty we’d had was at an end.

  Megan made it clear she was dying to talk about Nico at lunchtime but that was the last thing I wanted. Instead, I asked her about Charlie and listened with half an ear as she rattled on about the perfect cinema outfit. It wasn’t until I noticed her looking at me expectantly that I realised she’d asked me a question.

  ‘Hello, Earth to Skye?’ She waggled her hand in front of my face and then grinned. ‘Hey, that sounds funny – Earth to Skye.’

  ‘Hilarious,’ I said, deadpan. ‘You should be on TV.’

  She nudged me. ‘I thought you’d be happy. Nico definitely wants you back.’

  I frowned. ‘That’s not a good thing. There were reasons why we split up.’

  Sniffing, Megan said, ‘Probably, but since you’ve never told me what they were, I can’t judge if they were good ones.’ She heaved a melodramatic sigh. ‘You were so perfect together.’

  What could I say? On the outside we did seem perfect for each other: we both loved the same bands, laughed at the same jokes and shared the same values, or so I’d thought. Then he’d ruined everything by asking me to use my gift to help him control the dead and I’d realised how different we really were.

  ‘Trust me, you’d have done the same.’

  She didn’t look convinced. ‘So there’s no chance of a double-date any time soon?’

  I
rolled my eyes; would she never give up? ‘Not even if my life depended on it,’ I told her, folding my arms in a gesture of finality. ‘It’s over. Finished. Dead and buried.’

  She took the hint and changed the subject. I relaxed a bit, relieved that she’d let it drop, and tried to convince myself that my feelings for Nico really had died that night in Highgate Cemetery. Except I knew better than anyone that the dead had a way of making their presence felt.

  Chapter 8

  I was willing to try just about anything to take my mind off Nico’s reappearance in my life. So when Owen told me he wanted to go to Leicester Square for the première of a new movie he’d heard some kids talking about, I gave it some serious thought. It might be crowded and I doubted we’d get close to the hot blond actress Owen was keen on, but at least I’d be too busy being jostled to think about Nico. Then reality kicked in. Conversation with Owen would be impossible – there was only so much protection my mobile phone earpiece could give me. Besides, as any psychic in London soon discovered, Leicester Square was home to a whole host of unusual ghosts. From wannabe film stars to long dead buskers, they were all drawn to the bright lights and vibrant atmosphere. And then there was Lenny, the resident ghostly flasher. He’d yanked his grubby raincoat open in my face once before and it wasn’t an experience I wanted to repeat, not even in the interests of forgetting Nico.

  ‘Why don’t you come to my house for a while?’ I said, when Owen refused to listen to my reasons for avoiding Leicester Square. ‘I bet they’ll be covering the première on the local news and they will probably show some clips of the film.’

  Grumbling, he agreed. It wasn’t until we’d cleared the crowds on Archway Road that something occurred to me.

  ‘We’ll need to be careful,’ I warned. ‘Mary will be out at her coven meeting but, if you’re there when she gets back, all hell will break loose. Seven shades of it, in fact.’

  Owen looked at me blankly. ‘Who is Mary? And what’s a coven meeting?’

  I hesitated. On paper, Mary sounded pretty terrifying; I mean, who wouldn’t be scared by a raggedy five-hundred-year-old ghost who made the Wicked Witch of the West seem like a saint? Once you got past her prickly exterior, though, Mary was actually OK. Unless you were another ghost and she thought you were muscling in on her territory. Then she’d invoke the mysterious covenant she’d signed with my great-grandparents to ensure she was the only spook to haunt their house. At first, I’d assumed Celestine was only humouring her to keep the peace but I’d learned that there could be some pretty horrific results if Mary chose to use the covenant. Rivers of blood seeping down our walls would only be the start.

  ‘She’s the ghost who haunts our house,’ I explained, ‘and on Monday nights, she’s a practising witch. Let’s just say she’s not really a people person.’

  The house was quiet when I slid my key out of the lock and pushed the front door open. There was no sign of Isobel lurking opposite and I guessed she’d be at the theatre, trying to catch Jeremy’s eye as he worked.

  ‘Hello? Anyone home?’ I held my breath as my voice bounced back to me. After listening for a few seconds, I let out a sigh of relief. ‘Come on, I’ll give you the tour.’

  I turned to Owen but he wasn’t there. Instead, he was in the living room, staring at the flat screen TV with a hungry expression. Shaking my head, I followed him. I might have known it would catch his eye; how long had it been since he’d watched telly?

  ‘Or we could just watch the television,’ I offered, reaching for the remote. We’d timed it perfectly; the presenter had covered all the serious stuff and was onto the entertainment news. Owen and I settled on the sofa and, within minutes, the première crowds were on-screen and a reporter was thrusting her microphone into the faces of the stars.

  ‘Just think,’ Owen said, gazing with admiration at the face of the lead actress. ‘I could have got close enough to touch her. How awesome would that have been?’

  ‘Pretty awesome,’ I agreed, trying to keep an inexplicable edge from creeping into my voice. ‘Except that unless she’s a psychic, she wouldn’t have actually known you were there.’

  He gave an absent nod and watched until the reporter cut back to the studio. Then he turned to me. ‘Right. What else is on?’

  I ought to have asked him to go; he wasn’t practised enough to spend hours away from the lake yet. But he looked so comfortable that I didn’t have the heart. And if I was being honest with myself, I didn’t really want him to leave; I was enjoying sitting beside him on the sofa. Grabbing the TV listings magazine, I flipped to the right page. ‘Let’s see, we’ve got Coronation Street on ITV, EastEnders later on the BBC or Hollyoaks over on Channel Four.’

  He gave me a level stare. ‘All my favourite shows, how did you know?’

  I grinned. ‘Lucky guess. Actually, you’ve missed Hollyoaks. It was on earlier, sorry. Did you have anything in particular in mind?’

  I thought he’d ask me to flip to the sports channels but I was wrong.

  ‘Is Top Gear on?’ he said, peering at the magazine in my hands. ‘There’s always a repeat on one of the channels and I wouldn’t mind drooling over a decent set of wheels.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Or better still, have you got an Xbox?’

  Thankfully, we didn’t or he’d have been taking up permanent residence. Sticking around for half an hour was one thing; getting stuck into Call of Duty was another. Besides, although ghosts could learn to move objects in the physical world, it took practice and I didn’t want to know how long it would take to work the controller of a games console. Weeks, probably, by which time we’d be knee-deep in cockroaches, thanks to Mary’s covenant.

  ‘No,’ I said, casting an uneasy glance over my shoulder as though Mary was behind me. ‘On second thoughts, maybe we should watch the TV in my room. It’s not as big as this one but it’s safer in case Mary comes home early.’

  Drooping like a toddler who’d had his toy truck taken away, Owen followed me into the hallway and up the stairs. Too late, I remembered the mess I’d left my room in that morning. ‘Excuse the stuff on the floor,’ I said, as I pushed the door back and kicked a pile of discarded clothes out of the way. ‘Mary is a bit of a poltergeist on the quiet.’

  His mouth quirked. ‘Right. So it’s not that you’re chronically messy or anything?’

  I pretended to be hurt. ‘No. I’m Little Miss Tidy normally.’

  ‘Shame,’ he said, peering at a pile of books next to my bed. ‘If death has taught me anything, it’s that life is too short to hoover a bedroom.’

  I felt the same way but, unsurprisingly, my aunt didn’t. Every now and then, she’d send me upstairs armed with a black bin liner and instructions to decontaminate the carpet. But she was much more relaxed than my mum had been. In Mum’s world, dust was the enemy, not something to doodle in.

  Smoothing the duvet across the bed, I sat down and scanned the room for the TV remote. Owen sat next to me, looking around.

  ‘Hey, you’ve been to see The Droids!’ Owen exclaimed, pointing towards the ticket from the Roundhouse in Kentish Town I’d pinned to my wall. ‘On a scale of one to ten, how amazing were they?’

  I thought back to that night, which had been standout in all kinds of ways. That had been before I’d discovered the real reason for Nico’s interest in me, when I’d still thought he liked me for me. ‘They were brilliant,’ I replied, picking my words with care. ‘It’s a fab venue, too.’

  My mixed feelings must have been obvious because Owen said, ‘I’ve brought back bad memories. Sorry.’

  ‘That’s OK.’ I pulled a face, half-impressed he’d picked up on my underlying emotions. ‘I went with my ex and we – uh – broke up a few weeks later.’

  He studied me. ‘But you still have the ticket on your wall so it can’t have been all bad.’

  What could I say? The time Nico and I had spent together had been the best weeks of my life; right up until he’d spilled about the Solomonarii and expected me to be impressed. And the wee
ks after it had been the worst I’d ever known. It summed up our relationship perfectly: divine highs and hellish lows. If I needed another reminder to stay away from him at school, here it was.

  I forced a smile. ‘Like I said, the band was great. I’ve got their album on my laptop. Hang on.’

  Opening up my laptop, I started up iTunes and chose a playlist. The sound of The Droids’ grimy baseline filled the room. Owen took the hint and let the subject drop. Instead, he gazed wistfully at the laptop. ‘I miss being online. Would it be morbid to ask you to log into Facebook for me? It’d be good to see what my mates are up to.’

  A jolt of realisation ran through me; I hadn’t even thought that he’d have an account but of course he must have. Everyone did. But the idea of bringing Owen’s page up on screen made me uneasy. It was common for Facebook accounts to remain open after the owner had died, so that friends could write messages on the wall and remember the good times together. If Owen logged into his account, who knew what he might see?

  ‘That would mean telling me your password,’ I said slowly. ‘Can’t I just search for you instead?’

  He shook his head. ‘We weren’t friends, you won’t be able to see anything.’ A smile tugged at his lips. ‘Don’t worry, I trust you not to write anything rude on my wall.’

  That wasn’t what he needed to worry about; his family would be sure to see whatever I wrote and I knew better than to mess with their grief. What I didn’t know was whether I could trust myself not to spy on his life; I’d hate it if someone nosed around the dodgy tagged pictures on my profile. If I had his password, I’d be able to see everything, from those photos to his inbox. Would I be able to resist checking out what kind of boy he’d been before he died?

  ‘I have a better idea,’ I said, pushing the thought aside. ‘Why don’t I introduce you to one of the secrets of the afterlife?’

  He looked puzzled. ‘OK.’

  ‘What we need is your finger, some determination and something to practise with.’ Grabbing a piece of paper from my bedside table, I scrunched it into a ball. ‘Ready?’