Ever Lost (Secret Affinity Book 2)

by Melissa MacVicar

  “I have to tell Kira I’m leaving,” I tell him.

  “You shouldn’t. They’ll gossip.”

  “I have to, though. She brought me.”

  He shrugs. “It’s your funeral.”

  The music swamps us as we enter the house. The party’s gone up a notch since we went outside. I may be new, but even I know it’s a bad scene. I scan the room. Everyone’s laughing, talking, hugging, dancing in various states of inebriation, or any combination of those. I don’t see Kira.

  “She’s over there,” Mateo hollers, pointing toward the living room.

  I turn and spot Kira draped across a boy’s lap. Actually, the boy might be more of a man, probably one of the college guys they were discussing. I push my way through the crowd. My head starts to throb from all the noise.

  I tap her on the shoulder. “Kira!” I shout over the music.

  She flicks her gaze over to me. “Yeah?” She’s clutching a drink that I assume has some hard alcohol in it, perhaps that vodka she was looking for earlier.

  “I don’t feel good. Mateo said he’d give me a ride home.”

  Her eyes widen. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s just a ride. Thanks for bringing me, though.”

  “Have fun.” She grins and turns her attention back to her companion.

  I glance back at Mateo, and he gestures with his head for me to follow him. We stumble and push our way to the front door. It’s a beautiful thing when we get outside, the crisp fall air enveloping us once again. The more steps I take away from the house, the better I feel.

  Mateo turns to the left. “My car’s old. Just so you know.”

  “I’m sure it’s better than my car.”

  “What kind of car do you have?”

  “No car.”

  Mateo chuckles. “Ah. I see.”

  We reach an older-model, pale-blue Honda Accord. It’s so old it doesn’t even have a key fob, and he has to unlock it with the key in the door. Once we’re inside, I lay my head back and close my eyes, hoping the pounding will stop. I inhale the piney smell of an air freshener mixed with the faint scent of old leather. Upon starting the car, Mateo silences the radio immediately, which is very considerate of him.

  He pulls out of the yard and onto the street. “Is it true you’re dating your stepbrother?”

  I snap open my eyes. “Who told you that?”

  “Blair.”

  Of course. I notice a rosary dangling from his rearview mirror. The silver chain and white pearlescent beads sway back and forth.

  “Well, is it true?”

  “He’s my stepbrother now. He wasn’t when we started going out.”

  “So that’s why you came here?”

  “Yeah. One of the reasons. I live at the Northwick Country Club, by the way.”

  “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do.” He smiles slyly.

  I eye him with fake skepticism. “Are you stalking me? Are you going to drive me to some deserted location and hold me hostage until I say I love you or something?”

  “No.” He smirks. “Why would I want you to love me?”

  “I don’t know. Isn’t that what stalkers imagine about their targets? That they can force them to love them?”

  “Since I’m not a stalker, I wouldn’t know,” Mateo says.

  “Touché.”

  We’ve made it to the main road and are headed into town. My eyes are drawn to the stick shift and the way Mateo uses it to drive the car. I have never seen anyone drive a manual shift car, and his ease in doing so fascinates me. We pass Connie’s shop, and I remember that I need to stop by there tomorrow.

  “Do you love him?” Mateo asks.

  “Who, my boyfriend?” I ask, shaken from my stick-shift fascination.

  “No, your great uncle. Yes, your boyfriend.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “So no?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said it was none of your business.”

  “If you did, you’d just tell me.”

  “No. I wouldn’t.”

  “Have you ever been in love?” he asks.

  “Oh my God. Please stop.”

  He shakes his head. “I haven’t. I thought I was once. But it turns out I wasn’t. I was confusing lust with love.”

  “That can happen,” I mumble grumpily. I don’t want to talk about Charlie with him. For some reason, it just feels wrong.

  He’s quiet for a bit. I watch out the window as we pass through town.

  “It’s good that you’re so loyal to him. I admire that. The only problem is that it makes me like you more.”

  “Mateo…”

  “Just being honest.”

  “Yeah, well try being honest all the time and not like this weird Latin Casanova half the time. Normal-friend Mateo is way better.”

  He wrinkles his forehead, but he must agree on some level because he doesn’t argue about it.

  I decide to change the subject. “Are you going back to the party?”

  “I don’t think so. The cops will probably be there soon. It’s way too out of control tonight.”

  When we approach the entrance to Northwick, I tell him, “It’s the carriage house, on the right, just inside the gate.”

  “Did they say when you’ll be able to play soccer again?” Mateo asks, swinging the car into my semicircle driveway.

  “No. They want to do another test to see what my reflexes are like and stuff.” If I have my way, I won’t be playing soccer again anytime soon. Hopefully, I can milk this injury for all it’s worth.

  My dad has left the outside light on for me, and I realize I’ll have some explaining to do about why I’m not at Brittany’s and why I got a ride home in this beat-up Honda. Kira’s going to kill me if I screw this up.

  “I’ll see you Monday,” I say as the car comes to a stop. “I gotta get inside before my dad sees you. He thinks I’m with Kira.”

  “I wasn’t going to try to kiss you.” Mateo grins.

  I roll my eyes at him. “Okay. But I still gotta go. Thanks for the ride.” I jump out of the car and jog to my door. I give him a little wave before I step inside the house.

  Jade

  Chapter 10

  “Who was that?” Dad asks, peering out the window next to the front door.

  “Mateo. He was over at Brittany’s with her brother, and I got a headache so he said he’d bring me home.”

  “Oh. Does he go to Layton?”

  “Yeah. How was your night?” I bounce up on my toes and give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Fine. I wasn’t expecting you so early. I’m watching a movie.” He gestures toward the living room, where the TV screen is paused on Denzel Washington’s face.

  “Oh. I’m going to take some Advil and head to bed. ’Night.”

  “Okay. Don’t forget to write down a note about the headache. The doctor said to keep track of them—when and how they started.”

  “Okay. I will,” I say as I trot up the stairs.

  When I get into my room, I immediately send Charlie a text. He knew I was going to a party, and he was going to one, too. I want to know who’s there and what they’re doing and if anyone is flirting with him. Not that he’ll tell me. Maybe he would, but I don’t plan on telling him about Mateo because it would be pointless. Charlie would get jealous, and he has nothing to be jealous about. I drop on my bed, kicking off my flip-flops and heaving a huge sigh. Let the phone staring begin.

  My phone squawks, waking me. I must have drifted off.

  “Hello,” I gurgle into the phone.

  “Hiii, Zhade. Sorr’m so late.”

  “Charlie?”

&nbs
p; “Yeah… hi. ’m drunk, an’ I din’t tex’ you back… sssorry.”

  “Are you home?”

  “Yeah. In trouble. Dad c’n smell it. But don’ worry. Nick dro’ me.”

  “Oh, shit. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Tol’ ’im iz hizzz faul’ for makin’ you leave. Tol’ ’im I hate ’im.” He sniffles loudly into the receiver.

  Charlie might be officially losing his crap right now. I’ve never seen Charlie drunk. Normally, he cares too much about taking care of himself and not getting in trouble, but from the sounds of it, drunk Charlie is very, very sad.

  “Oh, Charlie, it’s okay. We’ll be okay.” I want to sound soothing, but my throat tightens from my own urge to cry.

  “Miss you. Miss you so mush…”

  “You should go to sleep. Skype me in the morning. You’ll feel better then.”

  He chuckles softly, sniffling at the same time. “They wan’ us to break up. Hope you meet som’ne new and forge’ all ’bout me ’n’ I’ll go to collesh and f’get all ’bout you.”

  “That could never happen. Never. I love you. I love you so, so much.”

  “F’rever. You ’n’ me. Promish?” He’s slurring badly and sounding sleepy.

  “I promise. Promise, promise…” I repeat it over and over again in a hushed voice, hoping it will lull him to sleep.

  “’Night, Charlie,” I whisper.

  When he doesn’t answer, I hit End, tears dripping down my cheeks like rain.

  “It is very strong in you. I can see it here,” Connie says, pointing at a deep line in my palm. Everyone probably has this line, but Connie thinks it’s a sign of my intense ghost gift. Whatever.

  “I just want to come up with a plan to get rid of this ghost.” I didn’t come here for a diagnosis. I already know that I see them. What I fail to understand is how her reading my palm is helping my situation.

  Connie continues to stare at my palm as if it’s the Bible and she’s the pope. I look around at her shop. The place is cute in a new age, funky sort of way—light and breezy, decorated in whites, blues, and greens. There’s nothing dark here, nothing to indicate that evil exists.

  Connie finally looks up at me and asks, “When would you like to do it?” Her voice is sweet, but the niceness sounds forced, which is sort of weird. I expected her to be satisfied by the reading, not all awkward and strained.

  “Maybe next Saturday? The school will be open for games and stuff, but no one should be in the classrooms.”

  “I’d have to close the shop.” She purses her lips. “But I guess it would be worth it. How about the morning? Around ten?”

  “That sounds great. When you did banishments in the past, did the spirit leave right away? Or did it take multiple tries?”

  She clenches her jaw, and her lips twitch. “Oh, they’re all different. Some left right away, but some stayed and needed more work.”

  “I hope this ghost will go. It’s going to be a huge problem if he doesn’t.”

  “We’ll do the best we can. I’ll meet you at ten then? At Layton?”

  “Umm, I don’t really have a ride there. I guess I could have my dad bring me. I can tell him I want to go to a game or something.”

  “Or I could drive you. Where do you live?”

  I’m not sure I want to tell her that, so I think fast. “I’ll just walk to town and meet you here. Is that okay? Say nine thirty?”

  “Perfect. And take this lavender sachet. Put it under your pillow to help with sleep and relaxation. I think that would be good for you.”

  I want to roll my eyes, but polite me knows I should just take it. “Okay, thanks.”

  I wave as I exit, a tinkling bell announcing my departure.

  Researching something is way more interesting when it’s real-life drama. When I had to look up Lacey, I found out she was actually Lydia Chase. It was pretty amazing to discover what had happened to her. Lydia had committed suicide, so she lingered in my stepfamily’s home for over a hundred years because of her unresolved issues. As a ghost, she thought I was her daughter, Eliza, who’d been taken away from her by her vengeful ex-husband. I guess he had a good reason to want revenge because she’d cheated on him while he was off whaling in the South Pacific. She couldn’t exactly claim he was the father of her baby when he’d been away for eighteen months by the time she gave birth. Lydia was the reason my family found out about me and my powers, so in the long run, I guess I should thank her. And my grandmother and I moved her on, so she’s no longer haunting my house in Nantucket.

  Researching the suicide of a math teacher who died this April is different. First of all, there are news articles about the investigation and death. Lydia had no stories written about her. They didn’t write news articles about cheating wives who committed suicide in the eighteen hundreds. But with Mr. Avery, I have a lot more to go on. Lying in bed with my tablet, I start my Internet search. The first news report states that he’s missing.

  North Shore Gazette, April 14th

  Beverly, MA. David Avery, a 29-year-old math teacher at Layton Academy, was reported missing Sunday morning. His roommate, Layton art history teacher Clarke Fraser, told police that Avery was feeling depressed Saturday evening and left the house for a walk. When Avery hadn’t returned by the next morning, Fraser called police. A search of the school grounds has been conducted. Avery’s parents report that their son did not suffer from depression. “David’s a people person. He’s also a very dedicated teacher. He would never just disappear like this.”

  The next article, a day later:

  North Shore Gazette, April 15th

  Beverly, MA. Police returned to Layton Academy yesterday to interview staff and teachers about missing math teacher David Avery. Avery lived with a roommate on the grounds of the school in a former caretaker’s dwelling. A source close to the investigation reports that a suicide note was found on a laptop belonging to Avery. Police are planning to send in divers to search the pond near Avery’s home tomorrow.

  North Shore Gazette, April 17th

  Beverly, MA. The body of missing math teacher David Avery was recovered yesterday from the pond behind his home. The Beverly man has been missing since Saturday night, when he went out for a walk and didn’t come home. The school community at Layton Academy “is shocked and saddened by this tragic loss of life,” said Headmaster Brigham Fraser. Although police are fairly certain this is a case of suicide, an autopsy will be performed to determine if any foul play was involved. Ogden and Phyllis Avery, the parents, adamantly dispute the claim of suicide. “David would never harm himself. It is just so far from his nature. I don’t understand how anyone who knew him could think it.” The autopsy and toxicology could take up to five weeks.

  I search for an article about the autopsy results, even though I already know what they conclude—suicide. That’s what everyone at Layton believes, so it must have been the finding.

  North Shore Gazette, May 4

  Beverly, MA. The official autopsy report for David Avery was released yesterday by the medical examiner. The M.E. states that the official cause of death was drowning. There were no traces of drugs or alcohol in the body nor were there any signs of foul play. Rocks in the pockets of the deceased’s clothing prevented the body from surfacing in the days after the drowning. Avery’s parents, Ogden and Phyllis Avery of Ipswich, disputed the findings when called for comment. “We plan to pay for our own private investigation of what happened to our son. We strongly disagree with the finding of suicide. David did not end up in that pond of his own volition.”

  For the second time, I seriously consider calling Gram. The case of David Avery could be complicated. Did he mean to die? Did he change his mind after it was too late? Maybe he fell in, but that doesn’t explain the rocks. It doesn’t sound like it could be murder because they said he had no marks
on him or drugs in his system. I imagine someone would have to struggle to put rocks in the pants pockets of a conscious person.

  The problem with calling Gram is still Papa. He was hospitalized again with an irregular heartbeat last week, so I’ll have to try to work this one out with Connie. It’s not ideal by any means, but it will have to do for now.

  Jade

  Chapter 11

  I have been dreading the Fraser study session all day. Mondays are bad enough without having to meet with a teacher who may or may not be on the hunt for new jailbait. On top of that, I had precalc last block, and Mateo is following me out the door, trying to talk to me.

  “So I can give you a ride today. After soccer. If you want. If your dad can’t make it.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’m going to wait for Kira.” I keep up with the crowd headed toward the stairs, then I take a left and start to climb to the third floor, where Fraser’s office is located.

  “Where are you going?” Mateo asks. He stops in the middle of the stairwell, blocking the way.

  “Fraser. Study help,” I reply, jogging up the steps. When I look back, he’s fighting his way back against the flow to follow me.

  “Jade! Wait!” he calls.

  I stop when I get to the top landing. “What?”

  Mateo reaches me, not even winded. “Is he being sketchy with you?” He glances back down the stairs to see if anyone is listening.

  “No. He’s fine. I’m just getting extra help.”

  Mateo’s frown deepens. “But you’ve heard the rumors, right?”

  “Yeah. But this is fine.”

  “I’ll come, too. I’ll say I need help.”