City of Ghosts

by Victoria Schwab

  Huh. Maybe Lara has a soft spot after all.

  “And maybe I’m Skull Shooter,” says Jacob. “No offense, Cass, but I don’t care about Lara’s inner Hufflepuff. I care about getting your life back, and to do that, we need to find her.”

  Jacob’s right, of course.

  I follow the pull, let it lead me down the stairs and out onto the street. Mom always says to trust your gut, so I do.

  Have you ever stood at the top of a hill? There’s that natural urge to go down, the way your legs pick up momentum once you start, the pull of gravity sending you always, always, always toward the base of the slope.

  That’s what it feels like now.

  Like Lara is the bottom of the hill, and I’m being drawn toward her.

  All I have to do is trust my feet, and walk.

  I know it sounds crazy,” I say, explaining the pull I feel as we make our way through the ghostly city.

  Jacob shrugs. “It’s not the weirdest thing that’s happened today.”

  I laugh—a small, frantic sound. He knocks my shoulder.

  The Veil ebbs and flows around us, buildings going up and coming down, ghosts flickering past. I should have listened to my limbs when they told me I was going the wrong way. Now I let them lead me. I don’t ignore the tug, the voice in my bones that says go this way or that. My feet carry me, and with every step, the line between me and Lara tightens and tightens and tightens until … it starts to go slack.

  I slam to a stop.

  Thinking I’ve gone the wrong way, I backtrack several feet until the tension returns. I try again, but no matter where I go from here, the line slackens.

  This—right here—is where I’m supposed to be.

  The problem is, right here isn’t anywhere.

  The Veil is empty, except for smudges of street and the smoky outlines of places that don’t exist on this side of the curtain. It’s like one of those paintings where the artist leaves the sketch lines at the edges. This is an edge, a spot where the Veil and the regular world don’t line up.

  I squint, trying to make out the other side, but it’s getting harder to see anything beyond the curtain. When I try, everything’s out of focus, and—

  Focus.

  That gives me an idea.

  My camera is still hanging around my neck. It may be a weird camera, one that sees a little less and a little more. But all cameras allow you to adjust for different focal lengths, so you can focus on things that are up close or things that are far away. Like the Veil, and the regular world.

  I lift the cracked viewfinder to my eye, turning the lens until the Veil in front of me blurs. For a second, the whole picture is out of focus, but I keep turning the lens until the Veil becomes a haze, and the real world beyond comes into sharp relief.

  If we were in the real world right now, we’d be standing inside a bookstore.

  BLACKWELL’S, reads a sign on the wall in white and blue paint.

  “Follow me,” I tell Jacob.

  He keeps a hand on my shoulder, and I keep my eye to the viewfinder as we weave through a maze of customers and bookshelves.

  Down, says the tug in my chest, and I take the stairs, moving through a world I can see but not touch, passing through people as if they’re not even there—when really, I’m the one who’s missing.

  We reach the bottom floor, and there she is, in a corner of the bookstore café. She’s sitting at a small round table, stirring a cup of tea and reading a book.

  “Lara!” I shout, hoping her senses are more tuned than mine.

  She glances up, and my hopes soar for a second before she looks back at her book.

  “Lara, please.”

  A slight crease forms between her eyes, but that’s it.

  I reach out and push her as hard as I can. Or at least, I try. My hand hits the Veil, and it feels more like glass than fabric. The glass trembles, but doesn’t bend or break.

  Lara gets to her feet, shuts the book, and starts to leave.

  No.

  I follow her out of the café, Jacob on my heels.

  “Lara Lara Lara Lara Lara—” he calls as she rounds the corner into an empty aisle, promptly spins on one heel, and steps smoothly through the Veil.

  “What?” she hisses.

  I let my camera fall back on its strap. The bookstore shimmers like the afterimage of a flash, bright and gone, bright and gone.

  But Lara is there.

  Real.

  “So you did hear us,” says Jacob.

  “Yes, I heard you, ghost,” she snaps.

  “My name,” he shoots back, “is Jacob.”

  I don’t have time for any of this.

  “Lara,” I say. “We have a problem.”

  Her attention finally shifts my way, a smart reply already forming on her lips. But at the sight of me, gray and faded and lightless, she stops. For the first time since we met, Lara looks truly surprised. I didn’t think it was possible to faze her, and I’m not sure if it makes me proud or terrified.

  “Cassidy …” she murmurs.

  I thought my current state might merit some concern, but I’m still caught off guard when the next words out of her mouth are, “What have you done?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” I counter.

  “I warned you,” says Lara, hands on her hips. “I told you to stay away from the Raven. And you—” She turns on Jacob. “I told you to protect her.” Back to me. “I left you alone for an hour and you go and lose your thread?!”

  “You’re really not helping,” I say, fighting to keep the panic from my voice.

  “What were you thinking?” she continues. “Where was your camera?”

  I duck my head. “The cap was on.”

  Lara throws up both hands. “That’s just great, Cassidy.” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How did you even find me?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I just kind of knew. Like there was a rope, running between us.”

  Lara nods. Her eyes narrow in what I’m coming to recognize is her thinking face. “It makes sense, that we’d be drawn together. After all, like calls to like. I’ve felt it, too, but I didn’t realize it had a use …”

  “Not to interrupt your brainstorming,” says Jacob, “but Cass is CURRENTLY A GHOST.”

  It’s the first time I’ve heard the words out loud. It turns my stomach.

  “Don’t be dramatic,” Lara says. “You’re just stuck in the Veil,” she tells me. “Your life thread has been stolen. We need to steal it back. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  So I do.

  I tell her about the castle, the creepy children, the Raven in Red, and the way she stole my life. Lara listens to the whole story in silence, arms crossed and eyes cast upward. She stays that way, even after I’ve finished.

  “Say something,” I plead as an uncomfortable silence settles over us.

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Think faster,” says Jacob.

  All of a sudden, a shiver rolls through me, and for an instant, my lungs ache and the world dims, and I feel so cold, I can’t imagine ever being warm again.

  “Cass?” says Jacob, his eyes wide with worry. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper, trying to keep the tremble from my voice. But when I look down at my hands, they seem … grayer.

  “You really don’t look good,” says Lara, which is a totally unhelpful comment. Her own warm light shines brightly through her shirt.

  “I want my life back,” I say through chattering teeth.

  Lara bites her lip. “All right, do you want the good news, or the bad?”

  “I could really use some good news right now.”

  “The good news is, the Raven doesn’t own your life yet. It’s still yours. She’s just borrowing it.”

  “And the bad news?” I ask.

  Lara hesitates. “The bad news is what she’s going to do with it.”

  I don’t even want to ask. But I don’t have a choice.

 
; “What?”

  “Well,” says Lara. “She has to dig up her own body and put your life inside it. I guess that’s another piece of good news—it does take time to dig up a body, so we have until she manages that. But I guess that’s also the bad news. Once she places your life thread inside her body, well, there’s no untying that knot.” Lara looks down at her watch. “There are five historical graveyards in Edinburgh, and it’s safe to assume she’ll go to one of them …”

  I’m so caught up in the good news/bad news seesaw that it takes me a moment to remember—I know that answer. Findley already told me.

  “She’s buried in Greyfriars.”

  Lara brightens. “Well, that’s a step in the right direction. Greyfriars is not far from here. Let’s go.”

  Lara turns, but I catch her arm. “Wait. You can’t come with us.”

  “You need me there.”

  And she’s right. “I know. But I need you to do something else first.”

  “What could possibly be more important—”

  “You have to find my parents.”

  Lara blanches. “What?”

  “They’re up at the castle—or at least they were—look for the filming crew and Findley, and—”

  “And what exactly am I supposed to tell them?” snaps Lara. “That their daughter got snatched up by some creepy Scottish legend?”

  I pause for a second, wondering if Mom and Dad would actually believe that. But their interest in the supernatural only goes so far.

  “Just tell them I’m okay—”

  “I’m not big on lying—”

  “Make an exception. Please.”

  Lara shakes her head but says, “Fine.”

  I throw my arms around her. Lara goes stiff, then gives my back a small pat. I try not to think about how different she feels compared to me, how much more solid and real.

  “I’ll tell them something,” she says, pulling away, “and then I’ll meet you at Greyfriars.” She turns to go, one hand lifted to the Veil. But before she parts the curtain, she looks back.

  “Cassidy.”

  “Yes?”

  “We’re going to fix this,” she says.

  And then the curtain ripples, and she’s gone.

  There’s no sun in the Veil, only a wan gray glow, but the sky somehow darkens around us as Jacob and I head for Greyfriars Kirk. As if someone’s cast a shadow over everything.

  Fog slips through the streets, and the presence of ghosts feels suddenly menacing.

  I grip the camera in both hands, cap off and lens ready, in case of trouble.

  “I don’t suppose we have a plan,” says Jacob.

  “Sure,” I say, trying to sound hopeful. “The plan is to stop the Raven in Red and get my life back.”

  “I hate to point this out, but neither one of us has a physical form.”

  “I know.”

  “And the Raven is on the other side of the Veil.”

  “I know.”

  “And we can’t—”

  “I know,” I snap. Jacob cringes.

  I take a deep breath. “Look, I saw her back at the castle, after she crossed over.”

  “And?”

  “And she was beyond the Veil, but I could still see her, without even trying.”

  Jacob frowns. “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” I admit. “But I think it means she’s like me now.” Jacob starts to protest, but I hold up my hand. “I mean, I think she has one foot on either side. I think a part of her is still tied to the Veil. I’m hoping that means there’s a way for us to pull her back.”

  I don’t have to read Jacob’s mind to know what he’s thinking. The same fear is rattling around inside my head.

  What if we can’t?

  But he’s kind enough not to say it out loud.

  One step at a time, I think. First, we have to get to the graveyard.

  “Into your homes!” calls a voice. I turn around to see a group of hooded figures wearing monstrous masks—birdlike faces with long beaks. They are clutching lanterns, but smoke pours out instead of light. “Guard yourselves against sickness,” says one. “Be vigilant …”

  “Aren’t you a pretty thing?” coos an old woman with no teeth. She holds a bouquet of rotting flowers toward me. “Poppy for the lass. Come here, come here …”

  I back away and nearly clip a soldier.

  A bunch of them huddle against the wall, collars turned up as if against a biting wind. I can’t feel a thing, but they shiver, breaths fogging the air. Their eyes slide toward me, and I murmur my apologies as Jacob and I hurry on.

  If I were a good ghost hunter, I’d stop and reap these people. (Then again, if I were a good ghost hunter, I probably wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.)

  I paint the map in my head to keep my nerves calm. We’re almost to Greyfriars. We just have to get across the street, and down the old cobblestone road, and then—

  A hand comes out of nowhere, bony, dirt-stained fingers clawing at my wrist. The hand belongs to a man in a prison cart. His face splits into a broken smile. A grimace.

  “Get me out, lass.”

  “Let her go!” orders Jacob, pulling at the prisoner’s arm.

  But the grimy fingers only tighten on my skin.

  “Get me out or I’ll break your—”

  I don’t think. I bring the camera up, shoving it toward his face. His eyes cut toward the lens, and he lets go so fast that I lose my balance and stumble backward. Jacob catches me, but the camera strap comes loose and the camera itself tumbles to the cobblestones.

  My whole body clenches, afraid that it will break, but it lands on its back, lens up. I duck under the prisoner’s hands and crouch to grab it.

  I don’t mean to look at the lens.

  Or rather, I don’t think about not looking.

  But the moment I see my reflection in the silvered glass, my mind goes blank, and then I’m—

  In the river again, lungs filling with icy water, and this time, no one saves me.

  This time, I don’t come up for air.

  This time, the light gets farther away and I keep sinking down, down, down until—

  My vision goes black.

  And it takes me a second to realize it’s not an absolute darkness, but Jacob’s hands over my eyes, his voice in my ear. “You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.”

  I shudder back to myself. I’m kneeling in the street, cobblestones digging into my shins, and chest heaving. But I’m here. Real. Alive. Or as close as I can get right now.

  “Thanks,” I say. My voice wavers. Jacob pretends not to notice.

  “Rule number thirty-three,” he says with a smile.

  “Friends don’t let friends get trapped in reflections?”

  “That’s the one.”

  I know he’s trying to make me smile, but all that comes to mind is the horrible cold I felt, the knowledge of how that day could have ended. Should have ended. Did end … ?

  “Stop,” says Jacob firmly, reading my mind. “It didn’t. And it won’t. Not like that. Not like this. Now come on. We’re almost there.”

  He’s right.

  The entrance to Greyfriars is right ahead. Around the bend, and down a sloping road. I take up the camera and loop the purple strap over my head, careful to keep the lens pointing away from me.

  No wonder Jacob always averted his gaze. Never looked right into the lens.

  We round the corner and start down the road. The iron of Greyfriars’s gates comes into sight. And there, in front of the metal bars, a boy and a girl stand waiting.

  The girl is tall and blond, in jeans and a sweatshirt and a Slytherin scarf. She looks like she could have walked straight out of the Elephant House. But the boy is from a different time. He has black hair, and sad eyes, and looks like something out of a painting, a long-ago past. They’re so different, and yet they’ve got the same blank expressions on their faces. The same frost crawling over their skin.

&
nbsp; My steps slow. So do Jacob’s.

  “Maybe they just want to talk …” he says.

  “Maybe,” I say, but I’m not feeling hopeful.

  The girl straightens and stares.

  The boy pushes off the iron gates and draws his hands out of his pockets, moving toward us, and I realize I’ve seen him before. In a yellowing photo, in the hand of an old man in a freezing house.

  If you see my boy …

  “Hi, Matthew,” I say as we get closer. But he doesn’t blink, doesn’t seem to register the name.

  Have you ever heard that saying: There’s nobody home?

  That’s what it’s like, the two of them staring at us with empty eyes.

  “Is there some kind of password?” asks Jacob. “Like open sesame?”

  Beyond the gates, I can hear the sound of shovels striking earth. But when I try to step around the boy, he shifts, quick as light, blocking my way.

  My fingers tighten on the camera. “I’m sorry,” I say, raising it in front of the boy’s face. He stares vacantly into the lens.

  “Watch and listen,” I start.

  The boy cocks his head.

  “See and know.”

  A single slow blink.

  “This is what you are.”

  He makes no motion as I reach into his chest, ready to take hold of his thread.

  My fingers close around … nothing.

  No ribbon. No rope.

  Just empty space.

  Maybe I did it wrong. Maybe—

  His hand shoots out and wraps around my throat.

  It happens so fast—suddenly he’s shoving me back against a stone wall.

  I took a self-defense course once, one of those after-school workshops that was mostly common sense (don’t talk to strangers, avoid adults in vans offering candy or puppies), but toward the end, they taught us how to break free of someone’s grip. Not that I can remember the instructions right now.

  Luckily, I don’t have to.

  Jacob tackles the boy, and the two of them go down in the street.

  I stagger, drawing deep lungfuls of air as the girl surges toward me. I duck under her arms and haul Jacob to his feet.

  And we do the only thing we can.

  We run.

  Plan?” asks Jacob as we race down the road, past Greyfriars.