by Eliza Lainn
“I bet his friends texted him,” Oliver said. His phone, charging on his bedside table, rattled slightly as the ghost shifted it. Not enough that Walter noticed, but enough to cause Noah to hiss under his breath and Bronte’s eyes to widen as she shook her head slightly to get him to stop.
“What was your relationship with Scott like?” Rose asked. She had her notebook out, pen poised to take notes.
“He was ok,” Walter grumbled. He hugged the plastic trashcan tighter to his chest, his eyes glazing over as he remembered. “Good guy. Always fun to hang around with. Always been fit too, you know. Liked to workout. We gave him crap for it, but it landed him on the football team. The minute he got that jersey, he ditched us and didn’t look back.”
Bitterness layered his voice. I shared a quick look with Noah. Just like his friends from yesterday, Walter seemed resentful at being left behind.
“Did you try and reach out to him?” Bronte asked sweetly, with all the accusation of a kindergarten teacher.
Walter snorted. “No. Why would we reach out to him? He’s the one that left. If he wanted to keep us around, he was the one that needed to crawl back and apologize.”
“Why don’t you like the football team?” Rose asked, pen scratching.
“They’re jerks,” he answered as if we’d asked him the stupidest question on Earth. “And all they care about is looking cool. Did you know they had Scott run a campaign for them? And he actually did it?” he asked, appalled.
“Should he not have?” I asked.
Walter rolled his eyes. Then they fluttered shut as another wave of nausea hit him. “They don’t really care about the game. It’s only a laugh, something they can do once and then be like ‘Hey, look at us, we played Dungeons and Dragons like they do on Stranger Things’ like posers. They don’t really care about the game, you know?”
“They seemed to have fun doing it,” Noah shrugged.
He snorted. “Yeah, and when the next trend comes along, they’ll jump all over that too. These are the people who made fun of me for reading comics, playing board games, and watching anime. Now that it’s cool, they’re all for it, but they don’t mean it. Not like I do.”
“Stella,” Oliver called, “look at this.”
I glanced around the room, looking, until Noah cleared his throat softly. I followed his gaze to Walter’s desk. It was overflowing with character sheets, copies from official rulebooks for games, and miniature paint sets. But there was also a stack of books, and about halfway through, one of them was sliding out of the stack, moving so slowly a snail would have been comfortable riding it.
The spine featured a picture of skull. And the title read in elegant, blood-red script, The Occultist’s Compendium.
“Are you into the occult?” I asked Walter.
He blinked at the odd change of direction. He wasn’t the only one, either. Rose looked like she’d suffered whiplash while Bronte blinked at Oliver, still sliding the book from the stack.
“I guess,” he shrugged grumpily. “Just what I need to write fun campaigns. If you want to know more about the occult, you should talk to Molly.”
“Molly?” Rose asked, writing down the name.
“Molly Board,” he explained. “She used to campaign with us but then stopped a little before Scott ditched us. She didn’t do what he did, but she just stopped coming. Doesn’t really hang out with anyone at school anymore either. Or anyone, really. She had different circles she’d run around with.”
“And she knows more about the occult?” Rose clarified.
“Yeah. She’ll probably freak out to talk to actual ghost hunters. She loves that kind of stuff. She—” he broke off, throwing his head over the trash can and heaving into it.
“Ok, thanks Walter,” Rose called, already bounding out of the room, Bronte hot on her heels. I slapped a hand over my mouth following after them, surrounded by Oliver’s gagging noises.
Chapter Twelve
Noah stayed behind, getting the kid a wet rag and helping him clean up, before joing us out by his truck.
“Look at you,” I said, elbowing him playfully in the ribs. “Taking care of the sick while we all ran away like cowards. I’ll admit it, Noah: I’m impressed.”
Bronte nodded. “It was very nice of you to stick behind and take care of him.”
Noah shrugged, an embarrassed tilt to his head as his eyes skated to look anywhere except the two of us. “Elementary teacher. I’m used to it.”
Rose didn’t say anything, flipping through her notepad in an obvious ploy to not look up at him. “So, we’re pretty much back to where we started. Scott fighting with his former friends but generally content in every other facet of his life. Oh, Stella, I meant to ask about the football angle. How was he doing on the team?”
Noah opened his mouth to answer, his eyes darting to Rose. They lingered there in his hesitation.
Oh, for goodness’ sake, I felt like Hermione during the Triwizard Tournament when Harry and Ron were at odds with each other, flittering between the two like a freaking owl. “Good?” I asked him, eyebrow raised in question.
He nodded.
I turned back to Rose. “Good.”
She rolled her eyes, trying to hide the movement by ducking down to write more in her notepad but everyone saw it. Especially Noah, who noticeably snorted. Earning a dark glare from Rose before she continued scribbling down notes and thoughts.
“Are you two still going to the school to talk to the nurse? We can carpool if you are.” I suggested. This was getting out of hand. I could understand the frustration, the apprehension and uncertainty, but not even talking to each other anymore? When we were working a job? A job centered on kids?
Enough was enough.
“You sit in the front, Rose,” I called over my shoulder, marching to the back door of the truck. “I’m going to sit in the backseat with Bronte. There’s something we need to discuss.”
Oliver laughed at the expressions of horror on the other’s faces—even Bronte was aghast at the prospect of Rose and Noah sitting next to each other. But she recovered first, bounding after me and hoisting herself up into the truck beside me.
I could see them through the front windshield. Noah and Rose shared a hesitant look before they broke apart and climbed into their seats.
The truck rumbled to life, and as Noah backed out of the drive, a heavy and awkward silence settled into place.
“One nice thing about being dead is not having to suffer through this awkwardness,” Oliver commented amusedly. He sat beside Bronte, his voice floating from her other side. “Being a ghost is awkward enough. It sort of trumps any other kind of awkwardness, wouldn’t you say, Cyril?”
“We should drive back to the apartment,” Cyril said.
I caught Noah’s eyes flickering to the rearview mirror. “Why?”
“Rose can use her car. And Stella can leave the pocket watch at the apartment.”
Oliver grumbled. “Not this again.”
“They won’t need us for another day of interviewing children,” Cyril said, his voice worn thin, as if this conversation, and his viewpoint, had been recently overused.
Judging from the massive sigh Oliver let fly, I imagined they had spent a good chunk of the night debating this. “We were the ones that informed them about the drinking on the night of Scott’s death. And figured out that his former friends don’t have enhanced perceptions. We’re needed, Cyril.”
“Neither one of those has any bearing on the case.”
“Only because we managed to mark them off thanks to our involvement.”
“They will be—”
“Enough,” Noah snapped hotly, the viciousness in his voice causing Rose and Bronte to flinch. Hell, I would have flinched too, if I hadn’t been following along to the conversation.
Noah pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes darted over to Rose, taking in her souring expression, and he sighed as his knuckles gripped tighter on the wheel. “Just stop. You’re already here so y
ou’re coming. End of discussion.”
“Stella needs a break from the forces deepening her perception,” Cyril said, his voice moving to the front of the vehicle to speak with Noah.
“Hey,” I protested, “I’m right here, thank you very much.”
“She needs a break,” Cyril insisted. “Her abilities are getting out of hand.”
“They are not,” I hissed. Bronte and Rose were giving me equally confused looks.
Stupid, smart, concerned ghost. The best place to have this conversation, and to be heard without us shutting him down, would be in front of Rose and Bronte. Trapped as we were in the car, we couldn’t do much but listen to what he had to say. Not without alerting them that something was wrong, which I certainly wasn’t about to do.
They’d freak.
Considerate and almost sickly sweet with their concern, but it wouldn’t change the fact that they’d be worried.
I already had one person on my team twitching each time I opened my mouth. The last thing I wanted was for Rose and Bronte to follow his example.
“It’s fine,” I told Rose and Bronte before leaning forward in my seat, glaring all around the front end of the truck. “We will discuss this later, Cyril.”
“What if she reaches the point where she can’t turn her ability off?” Cyril ignored me, still talking directly to Noah. “Have you considered that?”
The leather of the steering wheel protested when Noah’s grip tightened even harder. “Yes. I have.”
“She needs to be away from ghosts, from investigations, for a time. Maybe that will work to dull her perceptions.”
“It hasn’t dulled mine,” Noah said.
“Told you,” Oliver snapped back triumphantly.
Cyril let out an aggravated snort. “We need to try. Her powers are growing, and I’m concerned that—”
“Stop,” I hissed. Power flooded through my tone, spreading throughout the cabin. I felt a dull throb in my skull as power slinked around every person in hearing range, freezing them for just a terrifying, agonizing moment.
A second later, they snapped back. Noah, panicking at not being able to move, jerked the steering wheel the moment his body flared back to life under his control.
We weaved into the next lane of traffic, cutting off another truck. They slammed on their brakes, narrowly avoiding the tail end of Noah’s pickup. Instinct would have had me slamming on my brakes, but Noah kept his foot on the gas, saving us from the truck plowing into us as they jerked the wheel to the side to give our intruding car space.
Rose’s hands shot out, bracing against the dashboard. Her eyes snapped over to Noah. “What the hell just happened?”
Bronte had one hand over her chest, the other clamped over her mouth. She stared at me with large doe eyes, her body heaving from the spike in adrenaline.
The car behind us sped past in their lane, flipping Noah off as they roared off.
Noah veered into the next parking lot, shaky hands barely throwing the vehicle into park before he let out a shuddering breath and rested his forehead against the steering wheel.
I scrambled out of the car, throwing the door open and practically falling out. Cool hands kept me from faceplanting as I righted myself and marched away from the car.
I was shaking. My hands, my senses, my mind. Everything buzzed with adrenaline and panic.
A car crash.
I’d nearly killed us all because of one slip. One word, layered with power.
“Stella,” Cyril sounded breathless, his voice coming from right in front of me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were so agitated. Talk to me, are you—”
I held up a hand, cutting him off. Biting down on my lip, I shook my head vigorously before stalking even further from the truck.
Maybe Cyril was right. Maybe I needed a break. No ghosts. No investigations. Nothing that could strengthen my perceptions even more.
I glanced over my shoulder, watching as Bronte followed me out of the car and leaned back against it. From the way she looked to her left and shook her head, I imagined Oliver was close by. Through the driver’s side window, I could see Rose and Noah, finally talking, as they gestured over to me.
I might have nearly killed us all, but hey, at least they were talking.
Chapter Thirteen
“Great to see you two again,” Ryan shook Noah’s hand, then mine, before ushering us into the guidance counselor’s office. “How’s the investigation going?”
He looked at me when he said it. His head tilted in a polite, curious way, awaiting my answer.
My mouth opened on instinct, ready to tell him.
When Noah cut me off.
“Fine,” he answered quickly.
Ryan’s eyes swung to Noah, a confused smile at Noah’s sharp jab of an answer. But he gave him a small nod as he brushed it off and moved to take his seat behind the desk.
Noah caught my eye as Ryan busied himself with pulling a file from his filing cabinet. He gave me a dark look, eyes narrowed, and jerked his head in a sharp shake.
Right. No talking.
I took in a deep breath, trying not to let another wave of self-disgust ripple through me. Then again, I deserved it. It might have been an accident, but I’d nearly killed us back on the road. That had happened less than thirty minutes ago, and here I was, nearly opening my big mouth and talking.
When we’d all agreed that I should talk as little as possible.
“How are you feeling?” Cyril asked, his voice close.
I shivered when I felt the coolness of his hand pass through my shoulder. As Ryan tossed his file onto the desk and began leafing through it, I gave the ghost a slight shrug.
“Molly Board,” Ryan said before Cyril or Oliver could say anything else. “I’ll admit, I’m surprised you wanted to speak with her. I didn’t realize she and Scott had been that close of friends.”
“Another one of Scott’s old friends mentioned her,” Noah explained, taking up the same position he had when we spoke to Scott’s old D&D group. He even adopted the same leaning back, arms crossed posture. “We just want to talk with her. See how she’s doing.”
“I bet she’d handling it like a champ,” Ryan mumbled under his breath, flipping through some more documents. “She’s a bright kid, in the top five percent grades-wise. I’ve never had behavioral problems with her, it’s not unusual to see her talking to different cliques, she’s a really good kid—the heart of the junior class, really. Stable. You said she knows his old friends?”
“That’s where her name came up.”
Ryan nodded absent-mindedly, his manbun bobbing and earning a chuckle from Oliver. “Never hurts to talk to a kid, to see if he or she needs help, but I bet you she’s…”
His words died as he looked up. His gaze slid past me, where I stood on the other side of his desk, to his door.
I turned. A girl stood in the doorway, wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt easily three sizes too big. It engulfed her completely, swallowing her in dingy, brown fabric. Her hair was pulled back into a lopsided ponytail, her rose-colored fingernail paint was chipped, and even from where I stood, I could tell there were water stains on her glasses.
“You asked to see me?” she asked with all the enthusiasm of someone reporting for jury duty. Her eyes slid around the room, taking in the three of us, but her eyes remained faded and dull. Not excited to see new people, not curious about what they might want—she regarded us like she would a piece of furniture.
Disinterested.
Ryan cleared his throat, waving her inside. “Yes, Molly, please, take a seat.”
She moved into the room, collapsing into a chair and sliding down it like sludge. “Thank you,” she mumbled, but it was more out of habit than truly feeling thankful about being given a seat.
I moved back, away from her, to the corner of the room I’d occupied during my last trip here. It gave me a perfect view of Ryan, who regarded Molly with barely contained confusion and concern.
Hearing
him talk about her, I’d expected the girl to be a bit more animated. Or, at least, to wear a shirt that didn’t have a massive coffee stain on the front. But this girl just seemed…hollow. Not bitter at being betrayed like Scott’s friends, not in mourning like his mother, not processing loss like his new friends—she was just empty.
Tired and empty.
“How are you doing, Molly?” Ryan asked, shoving her file away. He leaned forward eagerly, his eyes full of pity and sympathy. “How are you holding up?”
One shoulder raised up maybe an inch in response.