City of Ghosts
Page 15
Not this again. “He’s my best friend, Lara.”
“That may be, but there’s a difference between wanting to stay and being too afraid to let go. You need to send him on.”
I turn to her. “You didn’t send your uncle on.”
Lara stills. “What?”
“I met him, when I was looking for you. He’s the one who taught you, isn’t he? About ghosts and in-betweeners. About the Veil and mirrors and the deals we made and what we’re supposed to do. You said you learned from his library, but that’s not exactly true, is it?”
Lara hesitates, then shakes her head. “He didn’t start teaching me until after …”
She trails off, and I don’t know if she means after he died, or she did.
“You knew he was here,” I say, “at the Lane’s End. You knew what he was, and what you were, but you didn’t send him on.”
“He’s not like the others,” she says defensively.
“I know,” I shoot back, “and neither is Jacob.”
Lara crosses her arms. “You’re right. I didn’t send Uncle Reggie on, but I didn’t pull him across the Veil, either.” She steps closer, lowering her voice. “Jacob used you to cross over, and you’re anchoring him here, and the longer he stays, the stronger he’ll get. He’s dangerous, Cassidy.”
We both turn to look at Jacob, who’s now stalking a flock of pigeons, trying to spook them into flight.
“I’ll take my chances,” I say.
Lara sighs. “All right. Just be careful.” She turns to go, then doubles back. “Oh, before I forget …” She draws her mirror pendant over her head. “Here,” she says, offering it to me.
I’m already reaching for it when I force myself to stop.
“I can’t take that,” I say. “You need it.”
“Don’t worry,” she says, pulling a second one from her pocket. “I always keep a spare.”
When I still don’t take the necklace, she steps closer and loops the cord over my head.
“Thank you,” I say, tucking the cool disk under my shirt. “For everything.”
Lara shrugs, as if it’s nothing, but we both know better. We’re bound by more than matching pendants.
Our cab pulls up to the curb. Lara hands me a slip of paper.
“My email,” says Lara. “In case you find yourself in trouble again.”
“Oh,” I say, “I doubt that will happen.”
Lara actually snorts, an almost indelicate sound. Then she pokes me in the chest. “Be careful with that.”
“I will,” I say, fingers drifting to the pendant.
She shakes her head. “I wasn’t talking about the necklace.”
With that, Lara spins on her heel and marches back up the front steps.
“Bye, Lara!” calls Jacob.
She looks back over her shoulder. “Bye, ghost,” she says.
And then she slips inside.
Grim sits on the seat beside me, emitting a low growl from within his crate. Jacob stares out the window as the city slides past, the castle looming in the distance.
Mom and Dad are already looking through their next folder, talking about stories and scripts as we head for a new city, a new film crew, a new guide.
A new episode.
A new chapter.
But there’s one last stop before we go.
The girl behind the counter at Bellamy’s smiles when she sees me.
Mom and Dad stay in the cab, which I guess is a sign of progress, though I know it’ll be a while before I’ve earned their trust again.
The shop girl ducks into the back and returns with an envelope. She whistles as she sets it on the counter. “Some of these are crazy.”
“You looked?”
“Sorry.” She shrugs. “Part of the job. But you’ve got skills. Most people couldn’t pull off these kinds of tricks without digital editing.” She taps a rainbow nail on the envelope. “You really captured this city,” she says, handing me the pictures. I thank her and accept them, paying her with the money Dad gave me in the car.
“The last photo is my favorite,” she adds with a wink.
I don’t look until I’m back in the car.
The envelope is covered in touristy photos, random couples posing in front of famous buildings, sharing meals on rooftops, standing on mountains.
Other people go on trips and take pictures of buildings.
I go on trips and take pictures of ghosts.
I draw the stack of photos out.
There’s one of the Lane’s End: Mrs. Weathershire in the doorway with a tray of tea.
Next, the Royal Mile, with its street performers and bustling crowds.
And Greyfriars, once, dotted with tourists. And a second time, grayer, with wisps of fog.
There’s Mary King’s Close, with its high walls and its uneven light, the shadow of something strange peering out of the dark.
My parents and Findley standing beneath streetlamps at night, and Lara standing on the stairs. The mournful father in his winter house, and the castle with its portcullis and its cannons and its prison cells.
Things get strange after that. In the Veil. A dozen photos, and almost nothing came out. Streaks and smudges that could be faces, hands, or just a trick of the light.
If you didn’t know, you might think the film was exposed the wrong way.
But I know. I can see the ghosts in the shades of gray.
And there, at the end, the last photo. The only one I didn’t take.
In it, I’m leaning up against the photo store window. On the other side of the glass is a smudge, a wisp of smoke in the shape of a boy. It could be a weird reflection, some distortion, but it’s not.
I see the telltale flop of his hair. The curve of his mouth. The turn of his head as he glances back. The edge of a smile.
There’s a difference between wanting to stay and being too afraid to let go.
In the cab, Jacob looks over at me, like he can read my mind. Of course, he can.
“When I saved you from the river,” he says, “you saved me from something, too.” I hold my breath. It’s the first time Jacob’s ever talked about his life—or death—before we met. I want him to go on, but of course, he doesn’t.
He holds up his hand, as if waiting for a ghost five, but this time, when we bring our palms together, we don’t make a smacking sound. We don’t pull away. We let them stay. And I swear I can almost feel his touch.
The longer he stays, the stronger he’ll get.
But then it’s gone.
The car slows to a stop outside the airport.
Mom and Dad pay the cab driver, and then we all pile out: two parents, a girl, a ghost, and a ticked-off cat, ready for the next adventure.
This book is dedicated to several people, and a very old city. The city, I’ve already thanked. The people, only a few of whom I’ll remember to name:
To my mum, who always encouraged me to get lost on purpose, and my dad, who always helped me find my way back when I did.
To my agent, Holly, and my editor, Aimee, for always being up for an adventure, even when they didn’t know where it would lead.
To Cat, Caro, and Ciara, for being the best part about this city, and Dhonielle, and Zoraida, for keeping me company on this long, winding road.
To the team at Scholastic, for letting me write this sometimes scary, always strange, little book.
Victoria (V. E.) Schwab is the #1 New York Times–bestselling author of more than a dozen novels for young adults and adults, including the Shades of Magic series, Vicious, Vengeful, This Savage Song, and Our Dark Duet. Victoria lives in Nashville, Tennessee, but she can often be found haunting Paris streets and trudging up Scottish hillsides. Usually, she’s tucked in the corner of a coffee shop, dreaming up stories. Visit her online at veschwab.com.
Also by Victoria Schwab
This Savage Song
Our Dark Duet
Spirit Animals (Fall of the Beasts): Broken Ground
Everyday Angel
#1: New Beginnings
Everyday Angel #2: Second Chances
Everyday Angel #3: Last Wishes
As V.E. Schwab
A Darker Shade of Magic
A Gathering of Shadows
A Conjuring of Light
Vicious
Vengeful
Text copyright © 2018 by Victoria Schwab
Map copyright © 2018 by Maxime Plasse
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The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available
First edition, September 2018
Cover photos ©: girl: Tana Teel/Stocksy United and Dima Zverev/Shutterstock; cat: Yongyuan Dai/iStockphoto; snow: Peter Gudella/Shutterstock, dimitris_k/Shutterstock, and Tana Teel/Stocksy United; back cover cat: GlobalP/iStockphoto
Cover art and design by Baily Crawford
e-ISBN 978-1-338-11103-3
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