Deception

by Lee Nichols

  “Maybe I didn’t come about the homework.” He glanced up shyly.

  Nicholas hopped onto the windowsill beside me. Celeste says they won’t buy the cow if they get the cream for free.

  I silenced him with a glare, and said to Coby, “So why did you come?”

  “Halloween’s next weekend,” Coby said. “You want to go to Harry’s party with me?”

  With all the ghosts in my life, I didn’t really feel up to a Halloween party, so I’d ignored Harry’s Evite. Yet I did want to be a normal girl who went out with her friends on the weekend. And the one who said yes to the cute guy who’d come all the way across town to flirt with her by moonlight.

  So I did. Say yes, I mean, and we made plans for Saturday night.

  I watched Coby slink across the lawn, back toward the gate, telling myself I didn’t really wish he’d been Bennett. When I closed the window, Nicholas shot me an arch look.

  I decided to distract him from romantic advice.

  Have you ever played Tetris? I asked.

  He shook his head, his eyes big.

  I pulled out the Game Boy Martha had given me. You are gonna love this.

  We played past midnight, snuggling—though at a slight distance, to prevent frostbite—on my bed. Nicholas glowed with excitement. Literally. He glowed. And you’d expect ghostly laughter to sound hollow and chilly, but his burbles of childish delight radiated warmth.

  When finally I fell asleep, the last thing I heard was, Nobody ever done nothing like that for me before, mum. Not ever.

  “What are you going to wear?” Sara asked the next day as we headed for fencing class.

  “Um, you know—jacket, mask, glove. The regular.”

  “Emma, focus!” She shook her head in disgust, and her chestnut hair fell in lustrous waves around her shoulders. I found it hard to like her sometimes. “For the Halloween party,” she said.

  “Oh. Well, not my uniform.” I’d dressed in full-on frumpy regalia again. Yeah, I looked awful, but it was more comfortable than the minuscule outfit. And the Thatcher ghosts made me jumpy enough without fidgeting with my clothing all day. “Back in San Francisco, I could get away with the slutty uniform. Public school kids find uniforms hilarious. Plus guys have those Catholic schoolgirl fantasies … except Coby—he’s only into nurses, right?”

  Her face closed. “Were you surprised he asked you to Harry’s party?”

  I shrugged. I’d been so distracted by all the craziness, I hadn’t really thought it through.

  “You know this is a date, right?” Sara said. “A guy doesn’t visit a friend by moonlight to ask her to a party.”

  “I guess.” Yeah. Obviously it was a date.

  “So you like him?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” Of course I liked him. He was cool, smart, cute, and reliable. The only problem was, I liked him for all those perfectly good reasons, but I liked Bennett for no reason at all. I was torn between them. Coby was probably a better match for me and, unlike Bennett, he actually expressed some interest. But somehow that didn’t stamp out all my feelings for Bennett and it was big that I could talk to Bennett about ghosts. If Coby and I got together for real, I didn’t know how I would keep my ghostkeeping skills from him.

  “Promise you won’t hurt him,” Sara said.

  I almost laughed. The idea that I wouldn’t be the dumpee in this relationship was ridiculous. I mean I was literally a freak. “I promise,” I said, mock solemnly. “Now what should I wear?”

  “Well, since we’re in costume all week, I like to wear normal clothes on the weekend. I’m just going to dress up and wear a mask. I suggest you do the same.”

  “Oh, thank God,” I said, as we descended the winding staircase to the gym. “I hate Halloween parties. You choose between a bulbous pumpkin, hideous witch, or slutty police girl in a garter belt. Embarrassing whichever direction you go.”

  “Actually, last year I was a slutty witch.”

  “Really?” I said. “I was a hideous police girl.”

  She laughed as we entered the locker room. “Do you want to borrow something? I’ve got extra masks.”

  We removed our uniforms, and even Sara’s underwear was lacy and chic.

  “Yes, please,” I said.

  Inside the gym, I saluted Kylee, the nearsighted ninety-pounder, and we dropped into en garde position. This time, however, I used the grip the Rake had taught me, and managed to swat her foil across the room.

  I glanced toward the two jock ghosts in the stands.

  No witty repartee today? I said. No insults?

  Your uniform’s on backward, the skinny one said.

  I glanced down. No, it’s not.

  Made you look!

  Grrrr!

  Kylee returned with her foil, and we engaged again—and I disarmed her immediately.

  Then Coach called, “Halt!” We stopped, and she checked my grip and asked, “What is this?”

  Dizzy with triumph, I said, “I know, right?”

  “I’ve never seen anyone hold a blade that way.”

  I shrugged modestly. “Just felt more comfortable.”

  “And you believe we’re learning comfort here?”

  Uh-oh.

  “Fencing is a martial art—emphasis on art. We’re learning balance, poise, proportion, discipline. And honor. Think about that, Miss Vaile.”

  She went on and on, until in the end I held the foil the proper way. And Kylee beat me like a rug.

  The dark-haired ghost jock must have somehow seen an episode of The Simpsons, because he made a perfect Nelson impression as I slunk back to the locker room.

  Ha-ha.

  At lunch, my date with Coby was the elephant in the cafeteria. The news had spread like wildfire and everyone seemed to be treating us like we were a couple. Especially Harry, which was really annoying. Thankfully, Coby didn’t act like we were dating. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he’d put his arm around me.

  Then in Western Civ, the teacher said, “In lieu of a midterm, you’ll be writing a paper on a family heirloom. You can choose—”

  Brittle Britta raised her hand. “What if you, like, don’t have any heirlooms?”

  “Perhaps if you let me finish my sentence, Britta?”

  “I mean, I have heirlooms, the whole estate is an heirloom—but I’m thinking of those less fortunate students who can’t, like, even afford tuition.”

  She glanced archly at a few kids in the back of the classroom. The autumn light streamed in through the long-paned windows and fell across the oaken tables. The two ghost jocks from Fencing materialized in back, leaning against one of the walnut bookcases.

  What are you two doing out of your cage? I asked.

  We like pretty girl, the dark-haired one said with a Neanderthal impression.

  They meant Britta. Too bad her personality doesn’t match her looks, I said.

  Personalities are overrated, the other one said.

  What is she on about anyway? I asked.

  Financial aid students, the dark one said, disdainfully. A few students a year are accepted on scholarship.

  A thought struck me. Who was paying my tuition? My parents probably didn’t even know I was here. Were Bennett’s parents footing the bill?

  The teacher cleared his throat. “As I was saying, you can choose any item. An old photo, a used car—if the oldest thing in your family is your mother’s wedding ring, do a history of wedding bands.”

  “Maybe like their dad’s La-Z-Boy?” Britta sneered.

  “Industrial design,” Mr. Jones said, “is a fascinating subject.”

  “How about, like, architecture?” I said, widening my eyes in an imitation of Britta. “Then I could, like, write about my entire estate.”

  A few kids laughed and Britta hissed, “What’ve you got? You’re just freeloading off the Sterns.”

  That struck a nerve. “I’ve got my ponies,” I continued, “and, like, sometimes Mummy and Daddy buy me a friend.”

  At that, Britt
a burst into tears and called me a bitch.

  Then the light-haired ghost boy reached out and pinched Britta. Which would’ve been funny if I didn’t get blamed. And if I hadn’t sort of felt she was right, that I had been a bitch. Did I really have to stoop to her level?

  Mr. Jones made me apologize and I got my first detention and demerits at Thatcher. I couldn’t help feeling manipulated by the ghost jocks. They snickered in the corner, as though they’d planned this all along.

  I wanted the darker one to pinch the other one, see how he liked it. I willed him to do it.

  And he did. I watched as he reached over and goosed him on the bottom.

  Ow! Why’d you do that? The light-haired ghost punched him in the arm.

  He winced and said, I don’t know. I think she made me do it.

  They turned bitter faces toward me.

  Was it possible? Had I compelled him? Only one way to find out. I willed the light one to slap his own butt and the dark one to pat his head and rub his tummy.

  They did it! Their eyes bulged at me in indignation. I almost burst out laughing, but remembered myself just in time. I didn’t want a second round of detention.

  Oh my God! I could compel ghosts! I wondered if I could make them disappear, too. Not dispel them, just compel them to go away. I pushed at them with my mind, willing them to just leave, like when you will your number to be picked for a lottery. Only that never works and this did. It didn’t take much effort as I watched their furious faces fade into the ether, while they continued to whack themselves silly.

  The class bell rang, but I remained at my desk, my heart beating faster. I almost wanted to summon the ghosts back, to see if I could. But I knew I didn’t need to. They’d come if I beckoned.

  Mr. Jones noticed me and told me I couldn’t talk him out of detention. Then said he knew I wasn’t living with my family, so if I wanted a different assignment …

  My family. Full of ghostkeepers. But did any of them have powers like mine? Able to summon, compel, and communicate with ghosts? I pulled the amulet I’d found in my mother’s jewelry box from inside my shirt. If I were home in San Francisco, there’d be loads of heirlooms to choose from, like Nefertiti’s head. But this was the closest thing I had. I rubbed the cool jade spirals. Somehow I felt that researching the origin of the amulet would give me a clue to my parents’ lives. Maybe even into their secrets.

  “No, I’m good,” I said.

  Sadly, my punishment didn’t end with detention. After I explained what had happened with the ghost jocks at school, Martha decided it was unsafe for me to roam the streets without learning more control.

  “You have to admit, it’s kinda cool I can do all that,” I said with a grin.

  “Into the ballroom, missy,” she said repressively.

  I don’t know why, but I couldn’t say no to her. Maybe because my mother wasn’t exactly motherly and Martha was like a sweet grandma who always offered wise, loving words and cookies warm from the oven (even if she compelled someone else to bake them). Plus, she’d been Bennett’s nanny, and I was certain she held the secret to figuring him out.

  It was all so Karate Kid—minus the headband—as I practiced in the middle of the ballroom. Martha drilled me in summoning, communicating, and, despite my reluctance, compelling. It was one thing, getting even with the ghost jocks, but I was uncomfortable compelling Nicholas, who’d offered himself as a test subject. It was easier to just ask him to do things. But I did learn how to dampen my reaction to ghosts and to protect myself from the frostbite of physical contact—which were useful. After an hour and a half, Martha suggested a hot chocolate break.

  We sat in the kitchen, and she said, “The Knell isn’t going to believe this. Believe you.”

  “Who’s Nell?”

  “The Knell, with a K. They’re the … the CIA of the ghostkeeping world.”

  “You mean they eavesdrop on our phone calls?”

  “They track the identities of ghosts—their appearances and abilities. And their crimes.”

  “Crimes? Like ghasts, you mean?”

  Martha sipped her cocoa. “Mm. When they hear what you can do, they’ll want to recruit you.”

  “Recruit me? I’m still in high school.”

  “You’re uniquely talented, Emma. Communicating is rare enough, but you …”

  “Can do all of it.” Summon, communicate, and compel.

  She nodded. “As far as we know. You haven’t dispelled yet.”

  “And I’m not about to try.” I was willing to do a lot for Martha, but not that.

  She’d urged me to practice on a strange ghost I’d summoned, but I couldn’t be as blasé about ghosts as she and Bennett were. They treated them like second-class citizens, but they were still people, right? I mean, dead people were people, too.

  I wouldn’t dispel any of them without good cause. Or even with good cause. The man in the brown suit wanted me to dispel him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  We practiced for another hour before Martha again brought up the Knell.

  “I don’t want to meet them,” I said. “I’ve got enough problems.” I was barely surviving Thatcher and missing my parents. I didn’t want to get involved in fighting off ghasts or whatever they did. I only wanted to be with the house ghosts.

  “But you already have,” Martha said. “Bennett is a member.”

  “Are you?”

  She got a distant look on her face. “Not anymore.”

  I would’ve questioned her further, but Anatole rang the bell for dinner. As Martha refused to talk business at meals, I had to leave it for another time. But my mind was racing with questions. Why hadn’t Bennett told me he was working for the Knell? Why had Martha quit? And what did they know about my parents?

  It seemed the more I settled in Echo Point, into being a ghostkeeper, the more I realized how little I knew.

  18

  The rest of the week followed the same routine. School, ghostkeeper training with Martha, then sneaking into the ballroom for more abuse from the Rake after homework and dinner. The Rake didn’t say five words to me all week, but I kept going back, despite his surliness. There was something about his presence that comforted me, perhaps the echoes of the original Emma’s memories.

  So life was going pretty okay in Echo Point. Ghostkeeping felt more natural all the time. At least Nicholas no longer danced like a marionette when I compelled him. I’d done as Bennett asked and made friends at school—actual humans—and was even acing Trig, despite the lack of help from the man in the brown suit. Turned out his name was Edmund. Well, he’d always be the man in the brown suit to me.

  Then in class on Friday, Harry paused during a rant in Latin about my dowdy uniform and switched to English: “SILF at three o’clock.”

  “Would you stop with that?” I said. “You’re like ten years too late with it.”

  Lately, he’d been using the ILF part of MILF to describe anything he liked: pizza was PILF, Coke was CILF, and S obviously stood for “student.”

  “Et tu es a taedium sus,”* I said, though I couldn’t help but glance at the door.

  And there stood Natalie.

  Yes, that Natalie. Slim as ever, dark and beautiful with her flowing hair and fitted uniform.

  My stomach dropped, and I felt my world crash around me. Natalie would instantly be best friends with Sara. Coby would ask her to the Halloween party. And Harry would start being snide to me. Well, snider.

  And I’d go back to being the girl with no friends.

  “What’s she doing here?” I said.

  “You know her?”

  “Yeah, she’s more like a BILF.”

  “Good,” Harry said. “You can introduce me.”

  “Since when do you need an introduction? And I’m not talking to her.”

  Even if she stood right at the edge of my desk. “Hey,” she said. “Long time no see.”

  “Not long enough.” Okay, so I broke already. I’d never been good at the silent tr
eatment. Just ask Max. If you could find him.

  “Yeah, I was hoping we could talk about that,” Natalie said.

  Harry cocked his head. “Talk about what?”

  “Not now,” I told Natalie. “Or Gossip Girl here will repeat it to everyone.”

  “Don’t believe a word she says,” Harry told Natalie, standing politely to greet her.

  “Yeah, I’m the liar,” I muttered.

  He ignored me and took her offered hand. “I’m Harrison. Very pleased to meet you. You knew the frumpy one in San Francisco?”

  “We partied together,” she said. “Briefly.”

  Instead of saying something biting and perfect, I just goggled at her. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Natalie showing up was like some recurring nightmare, worse than anything the ghosts had thrown at me. What could she possibly be doing here? Besides torturing me.

  She and Harry flirted outrageously until class started. She probably thought I had a crush on him like Jared. Well, she was welcome to him. Coby, too. Just as long as she never met Bennett, everything would be fine.

  After Mr. Z introduced the new student, Natalie mentioned that we knew each other, so he paired us for the weekly dialogue.

  “Don’t hate me,” she said in Latin.

  “You’re horrible. Why shouldn’t I hate you?”

  “Quoniam tu es non bonus proculi exosus,”* she said.

  I didn’t know what to say to that. “How come you speak so well? You didn’t take Latin in San Francisco.”

  “I’m beyond what they offered.” She eyed me archly. “We’re always advanced at Latin, hadn’t you noticed?”

  “We who?”

  “Phasmatis custodies.”

  Custodians of phantasms? Oh God. Ghostkeepers.

  She saw my expression and nodded. “We’re good at dead things—including dead languages.”

  “No way.” No way that backstabbing, Jared-kissing Natalie from San Francisco was a ghostkeeper. “You’re lying. Again.”

  “I never lied, I—”

  “You said you were my friend. And now you’re saying you’re a ghostkeeper—” Except how much could I reveal about that? The more Martha talked about the Knell, the more they sounded like the Mafia. “Not that I have any idea what you’re talking about.”