Ruined

by Paula Morris

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  you as well." Aunt Claudia leaned forward, brushing Rebecca's hair away from her hot, damp face.

  "So how do you know my father?" Rebecca demanded. She couldn't understand why her father was putting so much faith in someone who read tarot cards for a living.

  "I was the one person in New Orleans he'd kept in contact with. He's a few years younger than I am, and I used to baby-sit him a lot when he was a child. We would explore the cemetery together, and I would scare him with stories about Miss Celia. I swore him to secrecy about them, because I thought I might get into trouble with my mother or his, and I needed that babysitting money. Paul never told a soul. And even though years passed and our lives moved in very different directions, we knew we could always trust each other. I was his eyes and his ears here, trying as best as I could to take up where Miss Celia left off."

  "And that's why you went to see him in New York that time," said Rebecca, trying to piece it all together.

  "Yes, that's why. I had to remind him that you would be at risk wherever you lived, whatever name you had on your birth certificate. The curse doesn't care about pieces of paper. And now, the fact that you can see the ghost, just as Helena can, proves that the spirit world knows exactly who you are, even if nobody else here has a clue."

  "But I still don't get why I have to be here," Rebecca said sulkily. "Helena is the seventh girl -- when she dies, the curse will end. Isn't that what you said?"

  She realized this sounded incredibly mean and selfish, as though she was wishing death on Helena, but she couldn't stop herself.

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  "Miss Celia had a very specific vision of the end of the curse," Aunt Claudia reminded her. "Remember? She saw two girls on the night of the Septimus parade. Meeting each other face-to-face by torchlight. For the seventh girl, it will end in the cemetery -- and you're right, Helena is the seventh girl. You're several weeks younger than she is. And your taking part in the parade ... well, maybe it's a good thing."

  "A good thing?" Rebecca was incredulous at her aunt's sudden change of heart.

  "Septimus is a nighttime parade, so the route will be lit by the flambeaux. And because they park on Louisiana rather than Jackson, the floats of the royal court drive along Prytania. Past the Bowman mansion -- you see? Even if Helena is too sick to attend, she'll be watching out the window. There'll just be you and Marianne on your float, so she won't be able to miss you. Miss Celia's prophecy will come true -- the two of you will see each other by torchlight."

  "But what about the burning house and all that other stuff?"

  Aunt Claudia tapped one finger against her mouth.

  "That one had me stumped for a while," she admitted at last. "Until Aurelia told me about the theme for the parade -- the rising phoenix. I guessed that one or more of the floats would be decorated to resemble a burning building. Everything Miss Celia saw related to the parade."

  "My costume is designed to look like flames," Rebecca told her. "And Marianne's is all dark, like smoke and ashes. The other two maids are wind and water, I think, but I haven't seen their costumes -- they're on another float. Everything's about fire and rebirth, Marianne told me."

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  "So this might be it!" Aunt Claudia looked relieved. "Helena is very ill -- I heard two of the maids talking about it at the grocery store just a week ago. She's too sick to leave her bed most days."

  Rebecca decided not to mention seeing Helena standing in her bedroom window the other day, Anton by her side, gazing down at Rebecca with snooty contempt. Clearly Helena wasn't so ill that she couldn't struggle to the window. She had looked pale and drawn, it was true, but then, she'd been inside the house for weeks.

  "And we have this page." Aunt Claudia pointed at the March twelfth sheet lying next to Rebecca. "That means you'll be here to see your birthday -- your real birthday."

  "I hope so." Rebecca was overcome by everything she'd learned tonight. Her father ... her father was a Bowman! And he was right here, in New Orleans, hiding from everyone. Hiding from her.

  "The prophecy will play out, just as Miss Celia saw it," Aunt Claudia was saying. "Everything will happen just as she said. And you'll be safe at the end of it all -- you mustn't worry, Rebecca. When the parade ends, I'll be waiting to help you off the float and take you home. Then it'll all be over."

  "For Helena," Rebecca whispered. It was so hard to believe that she was really going to die.

  "Poor girl," said Aunt Claudia, shaking her head. She gathered up her glasses and pushed herself up out of the low armchair. "This curse has been a blight on our community for too many years. It's made too many people secretive and fearful. I feel terrible for poor Helena Bowman, but I just want all of this to end."

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  Neither of them were in the mood for parades that evening. They ate a dinner of warmed-up leftovers, and then, after she'd washed the dishes, all Rebecca wanted to do was sleep. Or lie in her darkened room, at any rate, trying to process all this new information. Aunt Claudia followed her along the hallway as though she were reluctant to let Rebecca go.

  "Say nothing to anyone about this conversation," she whispered, pulling Rebecca close for a bony hug. "Don't let Marianne think you're anything other than excited about taking part in the parade. Just act the way you always act at school. And whatever you do -- don't tell a soul that you can see the ghost."

  "All right," Rebecca murmured, wriggling free of her aunt's grasp the way Marilyn the cat squirmed away from Aurelia. She slipped into her bedroom and closed the door, her heart thundering.

  Don't tell a soul you can see the ghost.

  But she'd already blabbed about seeing the ghost. She'd told Anton, that day in the cemetery. Maybe he thought she was joking, or lying, or just trying to show off. Or maybe he'd gone straight to the Bowmans and told them all about it. There was no way Rebecca could find out, because something told her she wouldn't be seeing or hearing from Anton again.

  Once upon a time, Rebecca had thought he was on her side. But then, she'd thought that about Lisette as well. And Lisette must have known all along what it meant when Rebecca could see her -- that Rebecca was a Bowman as well, and a potential victim of this curse.

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  Her father, Anton, Lisette ... there was nobody Rebecca could trust anymore. They all told her half-truths. They all tried to keep her in the dark.

  But one thing was crystal clear to Rebecca. Tomorrow she was going to walk back into the cemetery, to look for the ghost causing all this trouble. The Septimus parade was just days away, and she wanted the truth from Lisette. The whole truth.

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  ***

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ***

  On saturday morning, dark clouds still rolled in the sky, threatening a more severe downpour than last night's intermittent showers. Rebecca shivered, a damp cold invading her bones as she marched past a yawning tour group -- all in rain jackets, conventioneers' plastic lanyards hanging around their necks -- and toward the Bowman tomb. It was strange to think of her father playing here when he was a child -- long before he was "Michael Brown," in the days when he was still Paul Bowman. This was the place Aunt Claudia had told him her creepy stories; this might even be the spot where he first learned about the curse on the Bowman family and the prediction Miss Celia had made all those years ago. All this time, Rebecca had thought of the cemetery as her own secret place, in a way, but her father and her aunt knew it as well. Knew it more intimately than she did, probably, because they'd grown up looking at it every day. She wondered where her father's bedroom used to be in the Bowman house. Maybe he could have

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  gazed right into the cemetery from his window, the way Helena could now.

  Because she was so lost in thought, Rebecca managed to trip over a tree root and stub her toe on a shattered tomb plate en route to the Bowman tomb. But one thing she didn't miss: the sight of Lisette huddled on the cold steps of the Bowman tomb, staring up at her, looking about as miserabl
e as Rebecca felt.

  "I know what's going on," Rebecca said, stalking up to the ghost and stopping a few feet away. However dejected Lisette looked, Rebecca wasn't going to allow herself to melt with sympathy or let Lisette off the hook in any way. "You haven't been honest with me."

  Lisette leaned back against the base of the tomb, her dark eyes dull with sadness.

  "I've told you my story," she said softly. "You know what I know."

  "That's not true!" Rebecca was trying to keep her voice down, but it was hard when she was so upset. "There are other things you could have told me -- should have told me. Like the old lady, Miss Celia, coming to the cemetery and making her prophecy. You must have been here for that!"

  "I was." Lisette stroked her long braid, gazing up at Rebecca. "But there were lots of people who came and went and said things about the curse. Lots of crazy ladies, and a priest, and some kind of Indian who was chanting and rattling something all around the tomb. They all said they could see into the future."

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  "And you know more than they do, right? You're just not willing to tell me."

  "I don't know anything!" Lisette looked wounded. "I've told you everything I know. I have no idea when the curse will end. You know as much about all this as I do."

  "Yeah, right," hissed Rebecca. She crossed her arms, glaring down at Lisette. "With one major exception. That first night, when you found me here in the cemetery, and I looked up at you -- when I could see you! I didn't know what it meant, but you did -- didn't you? You've known all along."

  Lisette took a long breath; she said nothing. She wasn't admitting anything, but she wasn't denying it, either.

  "The only people who can see you," Rebecca continued, "are other ghosts, and girls from the Bowman family. Girls who are your age, just about to turn seventeen. It's been that way for the last hundred and fifty-five years, right? The girls can see you, just before it's their turn to die."

  "No!" Lisette shook her head. "I mean -- that's the way it's been in the past. But I thought this time maybe it meant something else. Helena was my age, she belonged in the big house. You're not from here. You're not old enough. You didn't scream when you saw me, the way the others always did."

  "But you must have known," Rebecca insisted. "Why didn't you warn me? If the only girls who can see you are the ones about to die ..."

  She choked up, unable to finish her sentence. This just wasn't fair. Even if her father had lived here years and years ago, he'd changed his name and renounced his, inheritance. Rebecca wasn't part of this place. She didn't belong here. The

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  curse had nothing to do with her, but somehow she was at risk from it, just as Helena was. For all Aunt Claudia's reassurances last night, Rebecca felt incredibly nervous about next Friday. What if she was the one the curse decided to take?

  "I just don't know if I can trust you anymore," she finally managed to say. "Maybe everyone else has been right all along -- you're some kind of evil spirit."

  "I'm your friend!" Lisette protested, jumping up from her seat on the steps. "You know that!"

  In the distance, Rebecca could hear the murmuring of the tour group, the high-pitched voice of their guide, the crunch of their footsteps. Lisette must have heard them as well, because she reached out a hand to Rebecca: If Rebecca took it, she'd be invisible.

  But she didn't want to take Lisette's hand. Rebecca just didn't trust her anymore. Maybe Lisette always told Bowman girls she was their friend -- right before they died.

  "I don't know anything anymore," she muttered, sniffing away the tears dribbling down her face. "I don't even know who I am."

  "I can prove to you I'm your friend -- let me show you!" Lisette took a step toward her; Rebecca backed away. "Maybe I can help you somehow! Maybe I can ..."

  The tour group rounded the corner, headed toward the Bowman tomb. Lisette glanced at them, and Rebecca decided this was her cue to leave. She turned, walking as fast as she could without breaking into a jog, refusing to look back to see if Lisette was following. All she had to do was get through the gate and onto Sixth Street as quickly as possible, because that was a place Lisette could not go.

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  The gate was in sight now, just a few paces away. But someone was stepping out from behind the Dumpster filled with trash and sawed-off tree limbs, moving in front of the open gate.

  Anton.

  He must have been lying in wait for her. There was something menacing about him today: He was all in black, and his face looked drawn, sunken beneath his high cheekbones. He loomed over her like some kind of sinister vampire, blocking her escape route.

  "Rebecca -- I need to talk to you." He placed one hand on the gatepost to stop her from squeezing past.

  "Then why don't you just call me, like a normal person?" she demanded, using her sleeve to swipe the tears off her face. She was in no mood for another interrogation from Anton. "Or how about you come knock on my front door? Please get out of my way."

  Rebecca tried to duck under his arm, but she was too tall, and he was too strong; she just bounced back into the cemetery. He was breathing hard, she noticed. His pale face looked haunted, as though he was the one who could see ghosts.

  "I know why you're here in the cemetery," he blurted, the words running together. "I know you can see the ghost, OK? I believe you. You were talking to her at the Bowman tomb just now, weren't you?"

  So he was spying on her and following her, not just lying in wait. Rebecca was incensed: She couldn't trust herself to speak. Did Anton want her to know he "had" something on her?

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  "I didn't believe you at first," he said quickly; there was panic in his eyes. "But just now -- I heard you. I know I shouldn't have been sneaking around...."

  "No, you shouldn't."

  "Look, I'm just really stressed-out and worried right now."

  Worried about his friend, Helena, thought Rebecca.

  "Would you let me pass, please?" If she had to punch and kick her way out of this cemetery, she would. "I have to get home. Unless you just want me to get into trouble again."

  Anton hung his head.

  "Don't ride in Septimus," he muttered.

  "What?"

  "Don't ride in Septimus."

  "Why shouldn't I?" Rebecca was outraged. Who did Anton think he was, telling her what she could and couldn't do? Was she such a leper, such an outsider, that her very presence on a Septimus float would sully the parade?

  "I ... it's just that I have a bad feeling about it. I can't explain." His eyes bored into her, so intense they were almost manic. "Tell Marianne you can't ride."

  "Are you insane?" The parade was in less than a week. It was too late to pull out, simply because Anton had some unspecified "bad feeling." Probably a bad feeling that Rebecca didn't have enough family money or blue-blooded connections. If only he knew who she really was! She had just as much right to ride in that parade as Marianne and Helena.

  And anyway, she had to ride: Aunt Claudia had said so. Miss Celia's prophecy would be fulfilled when Rebecca's float passed Helena's house, when Helena looked out and saw

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  Rebecca in her costume of glittering flames. The curse would end--Aunt Claudia was convinced of it, even if Rebecca wasn't. She could tell Anton none of this. He didn't deserve any honesty from her; he was as unreliable and shady as Lisette.

  Anton was staring at the ground now, opening and closing his mouth as though he wanted to say something but didn't know how to get the words out.

  "You've said what you wanted to say," Rebecca told him. "I have to go."

  "Please!" Anton looked up at Rebecca, his eyes red, his face twisted in some secret pain. "Please don't ride in the parade."

  "Whatever." Rebecca was too exhausted to feel angry anymore: She just wanted to get home and shut the door. She was tired of people pushing their secret agendas, of hiding the whole story. Obviously Anton -- who seemed tongue-tied all of a sudden -- wasn't going to explain himself. May
be he thought that seeing Rebecca ride in her place would be too much for poor, fragile Helena. No wonder he was reluctant to say more. Please don't ride in the parade, Rebecca -- the sight of you makes Helena sick!

  Helena, Rebecca thought. My cousin.

  Anton sighed, staring over Rebecca's head at something in the distance -- maybe someone walking in the Washington Avenue gate on the other side of the cemetery. Now was her chance. She slithered under Anton's arm and ran down the street, relieved that she'd left the door unlocked. She didn't look back, so she had no idea whether Anton was following.

  She should have listened to Aunt Claudia that first night