by Lee Nichols
Halfway down the next hallway, he entered a dinky deserted classroom with a cluster of student desks shoved in one corner. Max immediately crossed the floor and opened another door, revealing a seriously decaying staircase leading downward.
“You—” I didn’t know where to start. The jamb was shattered. “Did you break the door?”
“Didn’t have the key,” he explained. “And we need those ashes.”
“Really? I didn’t know, because while you’ve been fighting Neos, I’ve been lazing on the beach in—” I stopped as a thought occurred to me. “Wait, did you find them?” Honestly, I didn’t care who found them. I just wanted this to be over.
“Nope,” he said, heading down the dark-shrouded stairs. “I found a ghast. You coming?”
I grunted and followed. The walls were built of flaking horsehair plaster and I smelled cool, dank air. The stairs were thick uneven boards, covered in dust and mouse droppings, and cobwebs were impressively, repulsively, everywhere.
“What do you need me for?” I asked. “You’re supposed to be a badass compeller.”
“It’s nasty. Worst ghast I’ve seen in a long time. I can make it leave me alone for a minute, but I need you to dispel it so we can search this part of the cellar.”
“Is it weird to you that we’re talking about ghosts?” I asked, brushing cobwebs from my face. He’d kept my parents’ secret about me being a ghostkeeper all these years, and I wasn’t about to forgive him. “You could’ve told me, you know. You didn’t have to—”
“Emma!” he said, in that irritating tone he always used when I was bugging him. “We can delve into your deep-seated inferiority complex later. Just kill the ghast!”
I made a hmphing noise as I pulled my dagger from my bag and slipped it from its sheath. I couldn’t help but be a smidgen smug over the fact Max couldn’t dispel a little old ghast.
I took the last step from the stairway onto the dirt floor of the old cellar as Max flicked on a flashlight. The room was low and dark, with empty racks along one of the stone walls and an eye-watering musty smell. A roughly circular stone mound, covered in rotting planks, rose from the gloom at the far end of the room, and I felt my breath catch.
“Is that a grave?” I whispered.
“An old well, I think,” Max said, also whispering. “Maybe the original plumbing.”
“Oh.” I imbued my dagger with power and stepped farther into the cellar. “Well, where’s this ghast?”
“Careful,” Max warned from the safety of the stairs.
“Why? Because it’s haunted?” I said, maybe showing just a little more bravado than I felt. But since battling the last ghasts, I’d fought dozens of wraiths, a siren who could control my thoughts, and Neos. I wasn’t too concerned. “This is nothing.”
“Just summon the damn thing and dispel it already.”
“Fine.” My boots were getting a little filthy from the dirt floor. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I recited in a sing-song voice.
I sent summoning energy into the void, and it took only a moment for the ghast to appear beside me. Well, not beside me so much as right in my face.
“Whoa!” I backpedaled, almost losing my balance.
It was a woman. I don’t know why that surprised me, but it did. She was what I believe they called “strapping” back in the day, about three hundred pounds of fleshy shoulders, wide hips, and tree-trunk legs, with mean eyes and stringy hair pulled into a sloppy bun. I didn’t see more after that first glimpse, because before I could dispel her, she swiped at me with one massive paw and I ducked out of the way, narrowly missing the attack.
Surprisingly quick for all that girth, she grinned at me from across the room, next to the old well. Her teeth were all blackened and drool dripped from her mouth, sizzling beneath her. She made a sort of sickening giggly noise that grated along my spine.
“Ooh, boy,” I heard Max say behind me. “Not exactly beauty-pageant material. Just dispel her already, Em.”
“Jeez, I don’t know what I did without your wise advice, Max.” My knife tingled with dispelling force; one cut and I’d have her.
I shot the ghast a warning look. You’re not going to make a fool of me in front of my broth—
She launched herself at me, moving shockingly fast, but instead of burying my dagger in her heart, I only managed to scrape a long furrow down her side. She howled and spun at me as I jumped backward, smacking into the old stone well. I gripped the dagger in my hand, waiting for her to get closer, and felt a sudden surge of energy from across the room. Max was trying to come to my rescue, but he’d only get in my way, so I called, “I got this. Don’t interrupt.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re—”
“Emma, watch out! There’s another one!”
As the first one attacked, I leaned back against the well and planted my boots on her belly, driving the dagger like a stake into her heart—then found myself staring into the face of a second ghast, identical to the first, except her stringy hair streamed messily around her pallid face. Hoo boy.
“Twins,” Max said. “Sumo ghast twins.”
I blasted a stream of power at the new ghast, but she was as quick as her sister and dodged almost faster than my eye could follow. I could feel Max unleash his powers as he compelled her to freeze on top of the old well. I clambered onto the rotting planks next to her and slashed her neck with my dagger.
“Die,” I said between gritted teeth as I blasted her into vapor with a surge of power.
I stood there for a moment, panting in relief—until the plank sealing the well snapped under my feet. I lunged for safety as the wood tumbled into the well—and heard my dagger plink, plink, plink down the stone walls into the dark pool below. It had slipped from my grasp as I’d jumped.
I thought I heard a disembodied giggle echo as the well began to collapse in on itself, sealing my dagger inside.
I stood beside the mound of stones, stunned and breathless.
Behind me, Max said, “Not bad.”
“No,” I said. “Terrible.”
He hadn’t seen my dagger fall, and thought I was upset about the fight. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He grinned at my uniform with the plaid skirt. “And since when did we become Catholic? Come give me a hug, Sister Mary.”
“You’re such a jerk,” I said, as he hugged me.
I felt him grin against me. “Some things never change.”
But one big thing just had. How was I going to kill Neos without my dagger?
I needed help.
Max had sent me back to class, telling me he’d meet me at the museum later. As I walked through the hallways, I worried about searching Thatcher. Would there be more ghasts waiting for us? Had Neos sent them purposely to get my dagger? No, it had felt like an accident, just stupendously bad luck.
But there were still so many rooms, so many hiding places. I needed someone who knew the school better than I did. So when Harry caught me searching the janitor’s room on my way to Trig and said, “Looking to buy the place?” I considered enlisting him. Except the last thing I wanted was to involve Harry with Neos. If he got hurt, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
I answered, “Not enough closet space,” and hurried off to class.
As I waited for Trig to start, I traced the desk graffiti with one finger, then summoned Edmund, the man in the brown suit who’d taught history at Thatcher fifty years ago. He’d been haunting the place ever since, and might know something useful.
Hi, Edmund! I chirped. How’s it going? Any, um, news?
He eyed me suspiciously. What do you want?
Just to chat, I said innocently. Did you know there were ghasts living in the old cellar?
I’m dead, young lady, not stupid.
Oh. Well, the reason I was down there is that I need to find Neos’s ashes. They’re here someplace, I filled him in. Where do you suppose they could be?
No, no, no. He shook his head. I’m
not involving myself in any of that.
Edmund, please. Don’t be a wimp. I need your help.
I do not know, he said in his most officious teacher voice, what gave you any indication that you could speak to me like that, but I’ll have you know—
I’m sorry, Edmund, you’re right. How about this: you help me find Neos’s ashes and I’ll— I swallowed. I’ll dispel you.
He’d been asking me to dispel him since we first met, but I’d refused. Dispelling still felt like murder to me, purely reserved for bad ghosts, or very nasty ghasts. Still, I needed his help, and this was his decision.
Give me your word, he said, knowing I might not follow through without it.
I hesitated. I—are you sure?
Positive. He looked completely resolute.
I took a deep breath. This felt so wrong, but with Natalie and Lukas wrapped up in themselves, I needed someone else. And this is what Edmund wanted. I promise.
Then we’re agreed, he said, almost cheerfully. But you’re quite a powerful ghostkeeper, can’t you simply sniff them out? They must reek of Neos.
I shook my head. I’ve tried.
Ah. Well, perhaps he’s found some way to hide the spectral traces of himself. Have you checked the dean’s office?
The dean’s office was in a little building outside Thatcher’s gates. Hadn’t even thought of it, I admitted.
Hmm. And the attic is a good hiding place, if a bit obvious. Perhaps the old herbal room and the closet under the back stairs? You know, this is quite diverting. I always enjoyed a treasure hunt.
If only we were looking for jewels, I said, thinking of the evil that must fester in Neos’s ashes. How was I ever going to defeat him now that I’d lost the dagger?
Edmund waved his hand in the air. A small matter. There’s still my reward.
I took a circuitous route to the cafeteria, hoping to find some ghostly trace along the way, but all I found was Sara flirting with the two sophomores who’d taken her to Homecoming.
“Isn’t it lunchtime?” she asked me.
“Yeah.”
“Then what’re you doing here?”
“Um, looking for—” I didn’t want to tell her about the ashes, either. “You. You ready?”
“Can we come?” one of the guys asked.
“No,” Sara told him, then hooked an arm through mine. “Let’s go.”
As she propelled me down the hall, I glanced over my shoulder. The two boys followed us with their puppy eyes.
“What brought that on?” I asked.
“They’re cute.”
“Is this about Natalie and Lukas?” I asked worriedly. “Because—”
“I’ve decided to focus on boys who actually like me, for once,” she said, a slight edge in her tone. “Is there anything wrong with that?”
“Not at all,” I said. “And they are kinda cute. Which one do you like?”
She smiled enigmatically. “Both of them.”
We found Harry sitting alone in the cafeteria, poring over a Herman Hesse novel. Natalie and Lukas were M.I.A., and I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know what they were poring over.
I plopped down next to Harry. “World Lit?”
“Yeah. Better than Beowulf, anyway.”
Sara pulled out her panda-bear-shaped bento box and dug into her sushi. A little pretentious, but who was I to talk, with my hand-packed silver and linen? Harry neglected to bring lunch, so I passed him a hunk of fresh-baked bread.
I wanted to tell them about Max and the ghasts, but worried if I told them too much, they’d want to help, and I couldn’t risk involving them.
So instead, we discussed Lukas and Natalie hooking up, and while Sara seemed jealous in theory—“because, let’s face it, he is really hot”—she didn’t seem that upset. Maybe it was her sophomore boys comforting her, or could be she was still hooked on Coby, or she was able to handle rejection well. In any case, I decided I didn’t have to worry about her and pressed Harry for better gossip than Lukas and Natalie, mostly because I couldn’t figure out how their relationship would end well.
“Did you hear that Britta is dating one of her parents’ friends?” he asked.
“No!” I said.
He nodded. “It’s true, Monkeytoes. They were seen at—hey!”
The slice of apple I’d flicked bounced off his forehead and fell to the ground. “Do not call me that,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with my toes.”
“Monkeytoes is a term of endearment!” he protested, then his gaze flitted toward the cafeteria doors.
Natalie and Lukas strode in, glowing with happiness.
“God, she looks beautiful,” I said.
“She looks happy,” Sara said.
“I guess a happy Natalie is a beautiful Natalie,” I said. “Not that she was so hard to look at before.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, with an odd look on his face.
Did he actually like Natalie? Great. Something else to worry about. I stuffed an orange slice in my mouth, trying to lose myself in its juicy sweetness.
After school, I waited for Natalie and Lukas at our usual spot at the front gates. I planned on telling them all about Max and the ghasts, but they didn’t show. Either they were avoiding me because they knew I’d bug them about finding Neos’s ashes, or because I’d reveal my true feelings about two ghostkeepers being involved. Or maybe they didn’t want a third wheel—which somehow made me feel worse.
I headed home alone, cursing the icy sidewalks and barren trees. As if I didn’t have enough to make me feel crappy, the landscape was positively apocalyptic.
On the other hand, walking into a warm house that smelled of cookies baking wasn’t so bad. I rushed into the kitchen and almost ran over a guy carrying a plate of cookies toward the table.
“Max!”
“In the flesh.” He popped one of Anatole’s cookies into his mouth and sat in the breakfast nook.
Has my brother been bothering you? I asked Anatole and Celeste, who was busy polishing a silver tea set.
Anatole made a disgruntled noise and his mustache bristled. Celeste said simply, Ah! Thatz who ’e iz. I cannot zay I zee the rezemblence.
I turned to Max. “What have you been doing to them?”
“So you can communicate with them. Mom told me, but …” He shrugged as if he couldn’t believe it. Probably because he’d always been better than me at everything. And yeah, I resented him a little bit for it.
Max and I did not have one of those perfect sibling relationships. I don’t know what it was, but he somehow brought out the worst in me. And the only time he was ever really nice to me was when he was seeing my former best friend, Abby.
Which reminded me. “Why did you dump Abby? You broke her heart.”
“I was afraid I’d lose my powers,” he protested.
“You idiot—she was weaker, she would’ve lost her powers, not you.”
Which she’d done anyway; Bennett absorbed her power after he started taking Asarum. Then I wondered: what was he doing now for power? Hitting up other unsuspecting ghostkeepers? A new worry. They never ended.
“Like you can talk,” Max said. “Mom says you’re with Bennett? I told him to stay away from you.”
“Is that what you fought about all those years ago?”
“I was protecting you, Emma. Bennett was going to mess you up. You didn’t know who you were—you were just a kid. God, you still are. Even if you do kill ghasts.”
“Did it occur to you that I might’ve wanted to know what was going on?” I could feel myself getting angry all over again.
“Mom and Dad said I couldn’t tell you. At least I kept Bennett from sucking all your power before you even knew you had any.”
“Yeah, well, Mom and Dad are full of crap.”
Max started to snap at me, then shook his head. “Damn. I forgot what it was like, having a sister to argue with. I missed you, Em.”
And just like that, the steam went out of me. “Me, too. Where’ve you
been all this time? Are you back for good?”
“Until we find Neos’s ashes. I’m back enrolled at Harvard. And the Sterns swung me an internship, cataloging the Thatcher archives. That’s what I was supposedly doing there this morning. Now have another cookie and tell me everything.”
The only “everything” I cared about was the dagger. I explained that it had belonged to the original Emma and I used it to dispel wraiths. “How am I going to kill Neos without it?”
“Can’t you use your power normally?”
“Sure, but Neos isn’t like other ghosts, Max. I’m not sure if I can beat him with the dagger. Without it … I don’t know.”
“We’ll figure something out.” Max shook his head. “It’s embarrassing.”
“It was an accident!”
“No,” Max replied. “I mean how little I know about you. My baby sister’s a living legend, and my best story is about the time she got her butt wedged in a tire-swing,” he teased.
“Have I mentioned you’re a jerk?”
8
I spent the rest of the week sneaking into offices and rummaging through the hidden hallways from when Thatcher had been Emma’s mansion—and, of course, attending the occasional class. Edmund entered wholeheartedly into the spirit of the scavenger hunt, and I hooked him up with Max, so they wouldn’t duplicate their efforts. They couldn’t communicate, so they did a lot of frustrated miming, which I have to admit I enjoyed watching. Hopefully they’d stumble onto something soon, because I was having no luck myself.
On Thursday morning before school, I knocked on the door of the dean’s office inside her little gate house building.
“Emma,” she said, after opening the door. “Something I can help you with?”
“It’s a little embarrassing,” I said.
She gestured me into her office. “Come in, have a seat.”
I looked at the stack of folders teetering on the chair opposite her desk.
“Ah,” she said, making a face. “I’m putting the calendar together. There’s Martin Luther King day, teacher workshops, Parents’ Night—” She paused, eyeing me. “You didn’t know about Parents’ Night? Are your folks still away?”
