The Story Pirates Present

by STORY PIRATES

  Tommy didn’t answer. He just stood, blinking at the floor, while Eliza stretched her head carefully from side to side. Then, with silence still hanging in the air between them, he turned and strode past her, straight out of the greenhouse. Moggie trotted after him.

  Eliza’s heart plunged. Apparently an apology wasn’t enough.

  She bent and picked up the broom. She wished she were home, in her own familiar house, in her own familiar room, with all her books and snacks and ghost souvenirs. If she had to be alone, at least she could do it there, where the sheets smelled right. She shoved the broom under the next table. The backs of her eyelids prickled.

  She’d just finished sweeping the row when a voice said, “Hey.”

  Eliza nearly dropped the broom again.

  Tommy stood beside her, holding out a potted plant with slender stems and deep blue-purple blossoms. “Monkshood,” he said.

  “It’s pretty,” said Eliza.

  “Don’t touch it!” Tommy warned as she reached out a hand. “Just touching it can make you sick.”

  “Oh.” Eliza stared at Tommy through the cluster of flowers. Suddenly the pretty plant felt like a live bomb. And Tommy was holding it out between them.

  Was he threatening her?

  Before she could be sure, Tommy blurted, “I read that story. ‘Rappaccini’s Daughter.’ ”

  Eliza blinked. “You did?”

  “Yeah. I found it online.”

  “Did you like it?”

  Tommy shrugged. “It was okay. Kind of old-fashioned and weird. But I liked the stuff about the plants.” He nodded down at the plant. “That main flower he described, the beautiful purple one, the one that’s poisonous even to touch…It made me think of this.”

  “Oh.” The tightness in Eliza’s neck loosened. Moggie, who had followed Tommy back into the greenhouse, flopped down with a loud sigh between their feet.

  “Its real name is Aconitum, but people call it Queen of Poisons, Devil’s Helmet, all kinds of stuff,” Tommy went on. “A tiny bit of it can kill a person in hours. It’s related to wolfsbane—Aconitum lycoctonum—which has been used in all kinds of mystery stories. You know that old movie Dracula? The black-and-white one?”

  Eliza nodded. Before his kung fu movie phase, Xavier had been a classic horror film fan. He and Chloe and Eliza had watched practically everything starring Boris Karloff or Bela Lugosi or Vincent Price. Tales of Terror was Eliza’s favorite, but Dracula had been pretty good, too.

  “In Dracula, they put wolfsbane wreaths everywhere, to keep the vampires away.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Eliza slowly. “I remember.”

  Tommy turned the plant so the indigo flowers swayed. He looked back up into Eliza’s eyes. “I just thought, because of that story, that you might…I don’t know,” he faltered. “I thought you might think it was interesting.”

  “Yes,” said Eliza before Tommy could look away again. “It is like the story. It’s really cool.” She smiled. “Thanks. Thank you.”

  Tommy blinked. One side of his mouth rose. “Sure. I mean…you’re welcome.” Then he turned and carried the plant away.

  Eliza went on smiling as she swept beneath the next table. Maybe she wasn’t completely alone.

  “DON’T YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL?” cooed Mrs. Carroll.

  She wasn’t talking to Eliza. She was talking to the box of bouquets in Eliza’s hands. “Just put them right in the back of the van, dear,” she sang. “Thank you!”

  Eliza slid the box into place between two others. Tommy set another box beside it, and Mr. Carroll slammed the van’s back door.

  “The wedding reception is just a few miles away. Setup shouldn’t take long.” Mr. Carroll nodded toward the shop glowing in the pinkish afternoon sun. “It’s a quiet time of day, and the place is in good hands with you two. And if anyone has any burning botanical issues—and I don’t mean poison ivy!” He interrupted himself with a laugh. “Remember that Mrs. Stahl is there to help, too.”

  “Thank you, dear!” Mrs. Carroll sang again, through the open driver’s-side window. “Both dears!”

  Mr. Carroll climbed into the passenger seat. The Carrolls’ Gardens van, with its painted leaves and swirling vines, whooshed off down the street.

  Eliza and Tommy stepped back into the shop.

  Mr. Carroll was right; it was a quiet time. Nobody moved among the thick plants except for Moggie, who was moving so slowly it almost didn’t count.

  “Um…as long as no one’s here,” said Tommy, “would you mind if I go back to my work in the greenhouse?”

  “Sure,” said Eliza. “Moggie and I can handle things out here.”

  Moggie sprawled on the floor and sighed.

  Tommy disappeared through the rare plant room, leaving Eliza and the snoring dog on their own.

  Eliza surveyed the room. Ruddy wisps of late-afternoon sun reached through the windows, softening the shades of green all around. The pond bubbled softly. In the far wall, the door to her mother’s workroom was closed.

  Eliza stepped behind the cash register counter. Moggie raised her head with a little wheeze.

  “Shh,” Eliza whispered. “You can keep sleeping.”

  But Moggie lumbered to her feet. She followed Eliza, her yellow eyes tracking each movement.

  Eliza checked the row of hanging keys. Both the attic and the basement keys were still missing.

  Eliza sighed. Tommy had obviously taken the basement key. But what about the attic? Was someone using the fourth floor—or trying to keep her out of it?

  Eliza stepped slowly out from behind the counter. Moggie waddled after her.

  Maybe one of the Carrolls had taken the key, although Eliza couldn’t guess why. Or maybe it was someone else. Maybe it was a poltergeist, a restless spirit trying to make trouble or to lead Eliza toward some long-hidden secret that—

  The bell above the shop door jingled. Eliza jumped.

  A young man and woman in casual clothes breezed inside.

  “Welcome to Carrolls’ Gardens,” said Eliza, in her most grown-up voice. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

  The woman smiled. “We’re just browsing.”

  The bell tinkled as someone else stepped inside.

  “Great,” Eliza told the young couple. “Our most popular plants are here in the main room, and our more unusual items are in the second chamber, just through that archway.”

  “Thank you very much,” said the woman.

  Eliza turned away, feeling proud of herself. Our more unusual items. Very professional and grown-up.

  She scanned the room for the other customer. There was no one among the orchids, or sniffing the blooming perennials, as far as she could see, but the plants were so thick she might have been looking for a bird in a forest. Still, the customer had to be somewhere nearby. Eliza wound through the shelves. To her right, behind a rack of ferns, something gray fluttered.

  Eliza stepped around the ferns.

  And there he was.

  A man in a dark coat and wide-brimmed hat.

  His back was to her. He was looking down at a plant, but as Eliza approached, he stiffened. His chin rose. His body went still.

  “Hello,” said Eliza brightly. “Welcome to Carrolls’ Gardens.”

  The man spun to face her.

  His coat was long black wool—so long it almost brushed the floor. Its waist was gathered so that the back flared and pooled around him as he moved. It closed with funny old-fashioned buttons that might have been made of wood or bone. The man’s hat was old-fashioned, too; not a top hat or a tricorn, but something broad, made of wool felt.

  Between the hat and the coat’s high collar, Eliza could hardly see the man’s face. What she could glimpse was very pale, almost gray. Even his eyes were hidden, covered by a pair of sunglasses, the cheap plastic kind you find in convenience stores. The sunglasses looked so strange with the m
an’s antique outfit that Eliza did a double take. It was like noticing that someone had added swimming goggles to the Mona Lisa. And the whole ensemble—except for the sunglasses—was completely wrong for a sunny summer day. It would almost have been funny…except for the way that, from behind those plastic sunglasses, she could feel the man’s eyes staring down at her.

  As Eliza stood, staring back, everything within the shop seemed to go quiet. A gush of cold washed over her. She could feel it rushing into her nose, down to her lungs, rippling over the rising hairs on her arms. Even time seemed to freeze, the seconds inching by so slowly and strangely that Eliza had no idea how long she had stood there, staring up at the dark-coated man.

  But she knew one thing.

  This man was no ordinary human being.

  He might have been human once. But not anymore.

  Eliza took a step backward. She nearly toppled over Moggie, whose bulgy body was pressed to the back of her knees.

  “Uh…,” she said unsteadily. “Can I help you with anything?”

  The man hesitated. She wondered if he was going to speak at all. If he even could speak. But then he murmured, “Thank you, miss. I do not believe so.”

  His voice was soft, low, and polite. The way that he said each word so precisely made his voice seem old-fashioned, too. It sounded out of practice, like an antique that no longer does the job it was made for.

  Another wash of cold, followed by a thrill of excitement, raced over Eliza’s body.

  The strange old clothes. The silent movements. The rusty voice.

  She was talking to a ghost.

  It took all her willpower to keep from reaching out and grabbing the man’s arm, to find out if it was solid or wispy, icy cold or not there at all. Eliza’s heart leaped. There was so much evidence to gather! So much material for her research notebook! If this was the ghost—the shadow she’d spotted on the street, the source of the sounds in the attic—he must have a reason for haunting this place. She needed to learn more without scaring him away.

  “Is this your first time in our shop?” she asked carefully.

  The man hesitated again. Eliza caught a twitch of motion on his nearly hidden face, as his eyes traced the path between Eliza and the workroom door.

  “It is,” he murmured at last.

  “But you’ve been on this street before?” Eliza pushed on. “You’ve been…nearby?”

  Behind their plastic sunglasses, the man’s eyes homed in on her face. Eliza thought she saw one side of his mouth shift, his lips curving just above the edge of his collar. The ghost was warming up to her! He knew that she understood him! Eliza’s heart buzzed in her ribs.

  “True,” he answered. “I have been nearby.”

  Eliza wanted to blurt out a hundred questions. Had he lived here? Had he died here? What kept him tied to this place? What time was he from? Had anyone but her ever seen him?

  While Eliza’s brain swirled with things to ask, the man took another few steps toward the workroom. The dark coat rippled behind him. Eliza followed.

  “Oh, that’s where my mother’s working,” she said. “You should probably—”

  But the ghost halted long before reaching the door. Again, his body stiffened. He turned his head slowly, until his hidden eyes were aimed straight through the rare plant room, in the direction of the greenhouse. He seemed almost to be sniffing the air, sensing something that Eliza couldn’t perceive.

  “Is there something that keeps you here?” Eliza whispered.

  The ghost didn’t answer.

  He stood still for so long that Eliza’s skin started to itch. Then he turned, very slowly, and gazed straight down at Moggie, who kept herself pressed to Eliza’s legs. The dog’s curly gray hair stood up in tufts. Her hackles rose. She let out a long, deep growl.

  “Moggie,” Eliza scolded. “Moggie, hush.”

  The dog bumped past Eliza, putting herself between the ghost and the back of the shop. She growled again. Louder.

  The ghost threw one more look at the workroom door. Then, his shadowy coat sweeping behind him, he wheeled around and strode straight for the front door.

  He moved so quickly that Eliza couldn’t catch up.

  “Wait!” she called, as he shoved through the tinkling door. “Wait! I want to help you!”

  But he was already out of her reach.

  Eliza charged through the door onto the sidewalk. She looked both ways. She scanned the storefronts across the street.

  He had vanished.

  Eliza stood for a few seconds, breathing hard. She had lost him.

  But for a little while, she had talked to a ghost.

  And he had talked to her. He had been real.

  Eliza’s body was so full of joy, it could have let off sparks.

  She dashed back into the shop.

  The young couple was still there, browsing near the pond.

  “Tough customer?” said the man sympathetically.

  Eliza smiled. “You could say that.”

  So they had seen the ghost, too! More material for her notebook!

  She was mentally preparing her notes when Tommy emerged through the arch of the rare plant room. He stopped at the center of the shop, staring toward the front door. Moggie positioned herself beside him.

  “Hey,” he whispered to Eliza. “Did something just happen?”

  Eliza could have blurted out the whole story. But Tommy’s twitchy, anxious movements told her there might be more evidence to collect first. “What do you mean?”

  “I just…I got the weirdest feeling. Like—like someone was looking right over my shoulder. Breathing in my ear.” He shuddered. “But then I looked around, and…”

  Eliza had to press the excitement out of her voice. “And you were alone?”

  Tommy’s reply was barely a whisper. “Yeah.”

  “Hey there, you two!” Mr. Carroll boomed into the shop. His form filled the entire front door like a tropical-print curtain. “Everything all right while we were gone?”

  Eliza beamed back at him. “Everything was great.”

  Tommy just nodded.

  “Glad to hear it!” Mr. Carroll lifted a white bakery box. “There was a cupcake buffet at the reception. The happy couple gave these to us, although if they hadn’t, I’d have been tempted to steal them anyway.” He gave Eliza a wink. “Come pick your favorites, before I pick them all for myself.”

  “All right,” said Eliza. “Thanks!”

  Tommy still didn’t speak. He looked down, shaking his hair over his face. In the last clear glimpse she got of them, Eliza thought she noticed something strange in his eyes.

  Maybe it was fear.

  * * *

  After the shop closed for the night, everyone gathered for a gumbo dinner in the Carrolls’ apartment. Mr. and Mrs. Carroll and Eliza’s mother were all in great spirits, talking about strange plants and stranger customers. Eliza sat in an invisible ray of joy that was all her own.

  She had finally met a ghost.

  Everything she’d hoped and researched and prepared for was real.

  It made her want to twirl around the room.

  She was dying to tell someone. Someone who would believe her. Who would understand. Maybe she would send a note to Xavier and Chloe later. Or maybe…

  She glanced across the table at Tommy. While everyone else was in high spirits, Tommy had slumped so far down in his chair that his face barely cleared the tabletop.

  “Um…Aunt Camila?” he spoke up. “I’m not feeling so well. I think I’ll take a walk.”

  “Oh?” Mrs. Carroll looked concerned. “What’s wrong? Did I make the gumbo too spicy? Do you need an antacid?”

  “No.” Tommy backed quickly away from the table. “Just a little air. I won’t go far.”

  “All right,” called his aunt, but Tommy was already out the door.

  Eliza jumped up. “Wou
ld it be okay if I went with him?”

  Under the table, Moggie prodded Eliza’s leg with her wet snout.

  The Carrolls both smiled, but her mother’s face was wary. “I don’t know, Eliza. It’s getting dark, and you don’t know the neighborhood….”

  “I’ll be with Tommy,” Eliza argued. “And we’ll stay close to the shop.”

  “Tell you what,” said Mr. Carroll. “Why don’t you take Moggie with you? She knows the neighborhood. Every tree and hydrant, anyway. And nobody will bother you if you’ve got this tough old girl along. Am I right?” He aimed this question at Moggie, who answered with a little Hmmppgh.

  A minute later, Eliza stepped through the front door of Carrolls’ Gardens, Moggie’s leash in her fist. She just hoped she wasn’t too late to catch sight of Tommy. She paused, looking up the sidewalk.

  But Moggie didn’t pause. The dog took off to the right, dragging Eliza after her.

  “Do you smell Tommy? Did he go this way?” Eliza asked.

  Moggie pulled harder. Eliza decided to take this as a yes.

  Sunset was falling over the neighborhood. A smoky orange sky glowed between the tops of buildings and the fluttering leaves of trees. People filled the sidewalks, strolling into cafés, walking other dogs. Moggie ignored all of them. She lumbered on, snorfling at the pavement, until they reached a corner that Eliza had never turned before.

  Moggie yanked to the left.

  They sped past a little park that Eliza didn’t recognize, and then past a row of sidewalk cafés, Moggie leading the way. Eliza couldn’t spot Tommy anywhere. And the night was getting darker, the people all around turning to black and blue shadows. A half-moon floated in the gray sky like a broken cookie in a pond.

  “Where is he?” Eliza asked the dog. “Where did Tommy go?”

  But at that moment, Moggie had spotted a dog across the street. It was a big shaggy brown mutt, part sheepdog and part mystery, and obviously a stray, with no leash or collar. Moggie gave an enthusiastic Woof!

  The other dog looked up, startled. It whirled and skittered away.