My So-Called Phantom Love Life

by Tamsyn Murray

  Nico looked away. ‘It’s not perfect,’ he admitted, a pensive expression crossing his face. ‘We offer them a way to be bound to the earth forever, so that they never have to leave. And we listen to them. There’s a price for all that.’

  My thoughts strayed to Dr Bailey, the ghost at school. He’d spent the sixty odd years since his death bellowing ineffectually at the living students around him, trying to get them to obey him. Until I’d arrived, none of them ever had. How would he react if someone made him feel important again and offered him a way to make a difference? Would he turn it down, even if there was a cost attached? I didn’t think so. Then something occurred to me. ‘Wait. Can you actually see ghosts now?’

  ‘Sort of,’ he said. ‘From what you’ve said I don’t see them like you do. It’s hard to explain, but imagine you were watching TV and it wasn’t tuned in properly. You’d see flickering, shadowy figures and the voices would be distorted. That’s what I pick up when there’s a ghost around.’

  I thought about that. If what he was saying was true then he could hardly have missed Dr Bailey. ‘Have you met the school ghost?’

  Nico frowned. ‘Old bloke, big moustache, hangs around the entrance hall and shouts a lot. I try to keep out of his way.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ I shuddered. ‘The first time I met him he gave me lines.’

  Nico pulled a face. ‘You should definitely help him to move on.’

  The thought had crossed my mind once or twice. Why was Dr Bailey still at the school? Maybe I’d try and find out when we got back but right now I had other things on my mind. ‘What exactly does the Solomonarii get out of this partnership?’

  ‘This and that,’ Nico replied, his gaze flitting away evasively. ‘I’m not one hundred per cent sure. Information, I suppose.’

  He was being deliberately vague and I couldn’t help thinking back to the troubled look I’d seen in his eyes earlier. But what he was saying kind of made sense; after all, information was currency for some people. Imagine if a businessman found out what products his competitors were developing, or if a poker player knew what cards his opponents held? They’d be able to outflank everyone and make big money. A darker thought occurred to me. What if a ghost could switch off a burglar alarm or memorise a safe combination? That was the kind of information which would be incredibly valuable to the criminal community. And I still didn’t like the description ‘Eaten’, no matter how much Nico described it as an acceptable price for regaining something resembling a life. It didn’t make it sound like much of the ghost survived the experience. ‘I don’t know —’

  Nico sat up straight and cut me off. ‘Look, I’m still learning about it myself. There’s a lot I don’t understand but they’re not as evil as you make out. My dad wouldn’t have got me involved with them if they were.’

  His voice lost confidence as he mentioned his father, almost as though he was questioning his dad’s motives himself, and again I wondered if something had happened. Or maybe my constant assertions that the Solomonarii were monsters had taken effect. A snake of guilt slithered uncomfortably through me. I hadn’t even met Mr Albescu and I’d already convicted him of being a terrible father. It was possible he didn’t know what I knew about the clan’s shady past. Then again, he couldn’t be that innocent if he’d initiated Nico.

  ‘Let’s say you’re right and what the Solomonarii do is distressing to the ghost. Maybe once I’ve learned more about what they do, I can make things better for them,’ Nico went on, reaching for my hand and dipping his head to fix me with intense, pleading eyes. ‘Don’t judge me based on rumours and fairy tales, Skye.’

  I gazed at him, confused. Part of me knew that I couldn’t be wrong about the Solomonarii; everything about them made my sixth sense tingle with apprehension. But I couldn’t help wondering if Nico had a point. And, as I sat there struggling with my conscience, another part of me was aware of his fingers entwined with my own, his face close enough for me to feel his breath tickling my cheek. My pulse began to quicken. If I leaned towards him now our mouths would meet, and suddenly there wasn’t anything I wanted more. Gazing into Nico’s eyes, I knew he felt the same.

  The harsh caw of a raven next to my ear made me jump and pull away. Glancing around, I saw the bird perched on the back of the bench, its black eyes peering beadily between the two of us. It croaked again, as though in warning. Seconds later, Miss Pointer walked around the corner of the building and glared at us.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you two. You’re late for the guided tour.’

  Gathering up my bag, I cleared my throat. ‘Sorry. We were working hard and lost track of time.’

  She threw me a disbelieving look. ‘Then you’ll be producing an excellent piece of coursework, won’t you?’

  Turning on her heel, she walked away. I went to follow but Nico caught my arm.

  ‘See? There are some good things about the Solomonarii. We’d be in trouble if the raven hadn’t warned us.’

  The bird had saved me from more than just a telling off from Miss Pointer; I might have decided there was no future for me and Owen but that didn’t mean I was free to go around snogging other boys. I gave a shaky laugh. ‘Coincidence.’

  Nico shook his head. ‘Believe me, it wasn’t. And in a few days, maybe I’ll be able to prove that we’re not all bad. Give me a chance, Skye.’

  The words rang in my ears as I followed Miss Pointer to join the rest of the class. I’d given him a chance before and he’d hurt me more than I’d thought possible. Could I really risk letting him do the same again?

  Chapter 12

  It took around three seconds for Megan to figure out something had changed. By unspoken agreement, Nico and I left a respectable gap between us as we approached Tower Green and didn’t look at each other. Megan wasn’t fooled, though. She peered from my face to Nico’s and back again, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. ‘What happened?’ she demanded. ‘And don’t say nothing because I can tell something did.’

  I hesitated, wondering whether she’d make a puddle on the floor if I told her the truth. ‘We talked.’

  Megan’s eyes widened. ‘You snogged!’

  I couldn’t meet Nico’s gaze. ‘No, we didn’t.’

  A disappointed expression crossed her face. ‘Well, you should have.’

  ‘Megan . . .’ I warned.

  She tutted in an impatient fashion. ‘You like him, he likes you – what’s the problem?’

  Fleetingly, I imagined what she’d do if I told her: laugh, probably, and tell me to stay off the drugs. ‘There is no problem.’

  ‘Good.’ Megan turned to Nico. ‘I don’t know what you did to screw it up last time but make sure you fix it, OK?’

  Nodding, Nico attempted a serious expression. ‘I’m working on it.’

  She folded her arms in satisfaction. ‘Then my work here is done.’

  As Miss Pointer rounded us up and herded us towards the waiting Beefeater for the tour, I snuck a look at Nico’s profile and felt my stomach give a familiar lurch. I’d fancied him from the first moment I’d seen him and giving in to the attraction had always seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Now I realised those feelings had never really gone away and my flirtation with Owen had only reminded me what I was missing. I hoped Nico could make me believe I was wrong about the Solomonarii. I was in for heartbreak if he couldn’t.

  ‘How was the Tower?’ Jeremy asked, when I trudged into the living room and sank onto the sofa. ‘Did anyone lose their head?’

  I wasn’t in the mood for one of his jokes. ‘You’re not funny.’

  He chuckled. ‘I’m a little bit funny.’

  I let out a leaden sigh. ‘No, you’re really not. The Pope is funnier than you.’

  Mary drifted through the wall from the kitchen and eyed me with keen interest. ‘I see thy wounded heart bleedeth again.’

  My eyes narrowed. She might be able to read my aura but did she really have to treat my love life like it was a double-page spread in H
eat? Folding my arms, I shook my head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘It may soothe thy soul to unburden thy sorrow,’ she urged, a look of earnest sympathy on her face.

  Oh for God’s sake, it was like living with a cross between Oprah Winfrey and Mystic Meg. ‘No, thanks.’

  Jeremy looked around. ‘Is Mary here? What is she saying?’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘She’s channelling her inner agony aunt.’

  Frowning, Jeremy peered at me. ‘Is this about Owen?’

  Why did everyone suddenly seem to think my business was their business? And why were all my problems the result of my supposed gift? Normal people didn’t have to discuss their love life with the man fashion forgot and a witch old enough to be their great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother. ‘No.’

  Celestine came in from the kitchen, clutching a mug of tea. ‘What’s going on? Did something happen with Nico?’

  It was the last straw. ‘Fine. Since you’re all so interested, I talked to Nico. He explained why he acted so weirdly when he came back from Romania and told me a bit more about the Solomonarii.’ Folding my arms, I glared round at them. ‘They don’t sound so bad to me. Nico said they actually try to help ghosts.’

  Mary sucked in a ferocious breath. ‘Wash thy mouth out with charcoal. The Solomonarii hath many a nefarious plot and seek thy help to see them through.’

  I’d said it before and I’d say it again: sometimes she made about as much sense as Pingu. ‘What kind of plot?’

  Celestine stepped in. ‘After you mentioned Nico the other day, I asked around again at the Dearly D. This time, they put me in touch with someone who claims to know a lot about the Solomonarii. His name is Gregor and I’m meeting him tomorrow afternoon.’ She paused and studied me for a moment. ‘I thought you might like to come along.’

  Part of me welcomed the chance to find out more, but another part was afraid of what I’d learn. What if I discovered Nico had been lying when he’d claimed to want to change how the Solomonarii treated ghosts? ‘What time?’

  ‘One o’clock at the Dearly D.’

  I chewed my lip. I’d promised Owen I’d pop by in the afternoon before our trip to the cinema, and I was hoping to persuade him to let me talk to his sister. But Celestine was doing the face which meant she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. I’d just have to hope this Gregor dude talked fast. ‘All right, I’m in. As long as you promise to remember that Nico is trying to help.’

  Mary huffed. ‘He hath bound thine eyes with silken words.’

  I sighed. ‘Mary, I know you switch the TV on the moment we’re all out. Get with the twenty-first century and speak English.’

  Frowning in what seemed to be deep concentration, she gnawed on a blackened nail. Then she smiled. ‘He talketh out of his arse.’

  Celestine blinked and choked on her mouthful of tea. Even I smiled, in spite of the fact that she’d basically just called Nico a liar.

  ‘Much better,’ I said, nodding my encouragement. ‘You’re wrong but at least we’re talking the same language.’

  ‘We shall see,’ she replied, watching Celestine mop up the mess she’d made. ‘The leopard changeth not his stripes.’

  ‘It’s those stripy leopards you have to watch out for, definitely,’ I agreed, hefting my bag onto my shoulder and heading for the stairs. ‘If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my room, contemplating the tragedy that is my life.’

  The worst of it was, I decided as I dragged myself wearily up the stairs, I wasn’t even joking; my life was tragic and my love life was practically non-existent. My whole life revolved around being psychic and it was getting me down. Suddenly, I missed my mum and the normality she brought with her. Being ‘special’ wasn’t always what it was cracked up to be.

  Saturday was one of those warm spring days when it’s hard to believe anything could be wrong with the world. Even so, I had a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach that no amount of birdsong could shift. Today, I’d find out more about the Solomonarii and maybe discover whether Nico really was talking ‘out of his arse’, as Mary had charmingly put it. I didn’t know what I was more scared of: that he was lying to me or that the Solomonarii really were as evil as everyone else seemed to think.

  By the time I got downstairs, my mood was filthier than an oil-slick and Jeremy’s tuneless humming was doing nothing to fix it.

  ‘What are you so cheerful about?’ I muttered as I flicked the kettle on for a much-needed cup of tea.

  He leaned against the kitchen counter. ‘It’s a nice day, I’m off work and your aunt tells me Isobel is getting along famously with someone at the Dearly D.’

  My spirits lifted a little. ‘Really? Is it Tony?’

  Jeremy frowned. ‘I can’t remember his name but I think he used to be in the police. Whoever he is, I owe him a pint. Isobel hasn’t bothered me all week.’

  Now that he mentioned it, I realised I hadn’t seen her skulking in the trees outside for days. ‘It’s not Parking Pete, is it?’ I asked dubiously, picturing the forty-something spirit who spent his days patrolling the King’s Road in Chelsea, looking for cars with tickets about to expire and taking great delight in issuing a ghostly penalty notice when he found one. ‘He was a traffic warden, not a policeman.’

  ‘If he wears a uniform then he’s your man,’ Jeremy replied. ‘Or Isobel’s, with a bit of luck.’

  I tried to imagine them as a couple and failed. ‘She has the weirdest taste in men. First you, then Pete.’

  His mouth quirked. ‘Celestine doesn’t seem to mind me.’

  I glanced at the clock. ‘Where is she, anyway? It’s gone eleven and she didn’t even try to turf me out of bed yet.’

  ‘Shopping, I think. She muttered something about a shoe sale somewhere and said she’d be back at midday.’ He nodded at the bubbling kettle. ‘Milk, no sugar, thanks.’

  Reaching for another mug, I dropped a tea-bag into it. ‘Do you know anything about this Gregor?’

  ‘Only what Celestine told me: that he’s a native Romanian and very hard to get hold of.’

  My eyebrows furrowed together. ‘If he’s so elusive, how come he’s around exactly when we need him? That’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?’

  Pulling open the fridge, he delved inside and handed me the milk. ‘Not really. Celestine tried to contact him when the thing with Nico first happened. It’s taken this long for him to get in touch. He’s a gypsy, I think, and spends most of his time travelling.’

  I digested this new information as I handed him a mug of tea. The only travellers I’d ever seen were the ones who turned up for the Gypsy Brae festival in Edinburgh each summer and they’d been more interested in whisky spirits than any other kind. ‘What makes him an expert on the Solomonarii?’

  Jeremy blew on his drink and shrugged. ‘I’ve got no idea. I don’t even know if he’s psychic, just that he’s the man to talk to if you want to know about Romanian folklore.’

  It was a deeply unsatisfying answer, I decided as I carried my tea back to my room to call my mum for a chat. Even the usually reliable Google drew a blank when I typed Solomonarii into the search field; all it came back with were World of Warcraft references which seemed to be written by fans and could be feverish imaginings for all I knew. Clearly, if I wanted the answers to the questions that tormented me I needed to talk to someone with first-hand experience of the cult. I hoped that person would be Gregor. Otherwise I’d find out the hard way whether Nico was telling me the truth.

  Chapter 13

  The Dearly D was almost empty when Celestine and I let ourselves in later that day. Over in one gloomy corner, I could just about make out Gawjus George and Handsome Eddie arguing over a game of chess. I half expected to see Isobel with Parking Pete, but there were no ghosts other than the chess grand masters and definitely no Gregor.

  ‘Are you sure he’s coming?’ I whispered and my hissed syllables seemed louder in the quiet church than if I’d spoken normally. ‘Maybe he’s the
kind of traveller who hates being inside a building.’

  I’d built up quite a mental image of Gregor since my conversation with Jeremy earlier that day. He’d be a big man, with dark curls, a moustache and a gold earring. His clothes would be colourful and his thick accent would make him almost impossible to understand. Now that I came to think about it, he sounded more Pirates of the Caribbean than Romanian history expert but the picture was too firmly fixed in my mind to dislodge. So when a smartly dressed, clean-shaven man pushed open the door of the Dearly D, I didn’t put two and two together at first.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ I called, getting to my feet and heading down the aisle towards him. ‘The next service doesn’t start until this evening.’

  He didn’t stop walking. ‘My name is Dr Mirga. I am here to meet Miss Celestine Thackery.’

  I hesitated. The words carried the barest trace of an accent and the suit he wore looked expensive. His dark hair was neatly slicked back and he carried a leather briefcase. All in all, he wasn’t the rakish gypsy I’d been expecting.

  ‘Welcome, Dr Mirga,’ my aunt said and I realised she’d followed me. She held out a hand. ‘I’m Celestine Thackery and this is my niece, Skye.’

  Dr Mirga inclined his head as he shook first her hand, then mine. ‘Charmed.’

  ‘Come this way,’ Celestine said. ‘There’s a room we can use to talk.’

  I stepped aside to let him pass and watched him fire an appraising glance around the church. His eyes swept past the ghosts without the slightest flicker, suggesting he wasn’t psychic. Filing the information away, I followed him to the front of the church and into one of the meeting rooms we kept for private consultations with the living and the dead.

  Once we were as comfortable as we were ever going to be on the hard chairs, Celestine didn’t waste any time. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see us, Dr Mirga,’ she began. ‘I know you must be very busy with your lecturing duties.’

  ‘It is my pleasure,’ he answered. ‘And please, call me Gregor.’