Deception

by Lee Nichols

  Then I started yelling, and he started yelling back. Loudly enough that Anatole, Celeste, and Nicholas came to investigate, shimmering into being in the hallway.

  Finally, I said, “Get out.”

  “It’s my house, Emma.”

  “I don’t care,” I said. “They’re my ghosts. My family. You can’t even talk to them.” Which was a cruel thing to say.

  He clenched his jaw. “Give me the amulet.”

  I clasped my hand over it. “No.”

  “Emma, there are ghostkeepers in the Knell who can read objects. They’ll know what to do.”

  “Bennett, I’m one of those ghostkeepers. Don’t you think I would know if there was anything to read?”

  “Maybe.” His look was suspicious.

  “You don’t think I’d tell you.” I unclasped the gold chain and gave him the amulet. “Fine. Take it. I have nothing to hide.”

  27

  I woke in a sweat, the dampness of my skin mingling with a fading mildew scent from a dream. A nightmare. I huddled under the covers, back in my old room at the museum.

  I’d stood at the window last night, waiting for Bennett to leave after we’d fought. He didn’t, not for an hour. An hour in which I’d paced the room, wondering what he was doing and whether he’d come back to apologize.

  He hadn’t.

  I’d watched from the window as he’d climbed into his ancient Land Rover and pulled away. He hadn’t even glanced up at my room. I’d thrown myself onto the bed and wept.

  Then I’d closed my eyes and fallen into the dream:

  I walked through a graveyard at dawn, the sun still trapped below the horizon. There was the crunch of gravel echoing in the stillness as I passed ancient gravestones with etched names that were faded and indecipherable.

  Then I reached the tomb.

  It was carved of granite, with black iron gates and grotesque statues in a semicircle around the front. A thousand whispers spoke my name, and I shivered in terror.

  Then a portly man with a baseball cap walked past me. I’d never seen him before, but his eyes shone with the same terror I felt. His motions were confused and jerky and compelled. But he wasn’t a ghost.

  He stopped at the gates and bony fingers reached through the iron bars to pluck at him. Withered skin dangled from the hands like tattered clothes on a line. A rotted corpse pulled him close and licked at him with its desiccated tongue. I felt the man’s revulsion and fear and pain. Then his surrender.

  It was a wraith. With wet, sharp teeth it bit into the portly man’s neck—its tongue working inside his skin—probing and scraping. It suddenly pulled back and between its skeletal teeth, I saw my mother’s jade amulet, and heard a howl of triumph and—

  I woke in a sweat, surrounded by the scent of mildew.

  I shivered again under the covers, but firmly told myself to get it together. There were enough real nightmares in my life that I couldn’t start worrying about the ones I dreamed.

  I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Ugh, it was too late to go to Natalie’s for my uniform. At least I still had the slutty outfit hanging in the wardrobe.

  I pulled off the T-shirt I’d slept in and slipped into the uniform. Downstairs, I found Anatole in the kitchen, stirring raspberries into a steaming bowl of oatmeal, while Celeste set the table.

  Morning, I said.

  They exchanged a glance. Did you feel that, last night? Anatole asked, stroking his mustache.

  Like a spider, Celeste said, running down your spine.

  I shook my head. I was kinda distracted. I had a nightmare. I told them what I remembered.

  That may not have been entirely a dream, Anatole said.

  A chill struck me and I ran to the phone and dialed Bennett. For once, he answered. “Emma,” he said, “you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Did something happen last night after you left?”

  “I gave your mother’s talisman to a reader.”

  “What did he look like? Did he wear a baseball cap?”

  “How did you—”

  “I dreamed about him. A wraith—”

  “He’s dead, Emma.”

  “What?”

  “The amulet’s gone.”

  “Oh God. Neos,” I said. “He told me he needed it. Why would he need it?”

  “I wish I knew.” A horn honked on his side of the line. “I’ve gotta go.”

  “Bennett, wait. I’m sorry. I should have given you my mother’s amulet before. Maybe if I hadn’t held on to it, that guy … or I should’ve—”

  “It’s okay, Emma. Everything’s going to be all right. Stay there. Go to school and stick close to Natalie. And stay out of trouble, both of you.”

  So I went to school. The walk was a long three blocks. I felt responsible for everything: the fights with Bennett, the death of Martha and the other ghostkeeper. And now Neos had the amulet. What would he do with it? I stopped in the middle of the block, overwhelmed by it all. Sometimes this endless roller coaster exhausted me. So, of course, the ride wasn’t over.

  Sara’s little BMW darted to the curb in front of me. “C’mon!” she said.

  “I’m pretty sure I can walk from here.” There was only a half block to go. Then I saw Harry in the passenger seat and Natalie in back. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got the day off,” Sara said.

  “It’s not a holiday.”

  “It’s a Harry-day,” Harry called. “Get in!”

  I wasn’t in the mood for whatever they had planned, but Bennett had told me to stick close to Natalie, and by trouble, I think he meant with ghosts, so I crammed myself in beside her. “Am I going to regret this?”

  “Don’t worry,” Sara said. “Once a year, Harry arranges an unofficial day off.”

  “They tell me it’s basically a school tradition,” Natalie told me.

  “Where’s Coby?” I asked. “Football again?”

  “Always.” Sara sighed.

  “So where are we going?” I saw a gleam in Harry’s eyes. “And why do you look so pleased?”

  Natalie laughed. “He thinks we’re going skinny-dipping. He’s got a heated indoor pool.”

  “Wait,” he said. “We’re not?”

  “Harry,” Sara said, patting him fondly on the knee. “Look at you. Now look at me, Natalie, and Emma. Do you think that’s gonna happen anywhere outside your dreams?”

  I tried not to hurt his feelings by snickering.

  “We’re going to Sara’s house,” Natalie said. “To raid her closet for Homecoming.”

  Harry groaned, but when we got there he stationed himself in an oversized chair outside Sara’s walk-in closet, probably hoping for a peep show. He passed judgment on everything we tried.

  “That one,” he told Natalie after three dresses. “Stop. You’re done.”

  “This?” She ran her hands down the short black sheath. “It’s too plain.”

  She looked flawless in it.

  “It’ll please your date,” Harry said.

  “Well, then”—she gave him a secret smile—“I’ve found my dress.”

  Harry was her date.

  Here’s what he said about my five choices:

  1) “No.”

  2) “Please, no. I beg of you.”

  3) “That dress is an offense against God and man.”

  4) “You look like a boy.”

  5) “Poor Coby.”

  “Be nice,” Sara called from inside the closet. “Emma’s beautiful.”

  “I never said she wasn’t beautiful,” Harry said. “She just looks awful in your clothing.”

  I threw a shoe at him.

  Sara strutted out of the closet in her new dress and I noticed Harry’s expression. Maybe he was remembering the times they’d fooled around.

  “You, on the other hand, wear them quite nicely,” he said.

  “You’re going to make your dates—both of them—very happy,” I said. She’d grudgingly allowed the two sophomore boys who’d been crushing on h
er to escort her.

  “Who gets the first dance?” Natalie asked.

  “I thought they could sandwich me,” Sara quipped.

  Then Harry complained of hunger, so we went into the village for sushi, and on to his house for a swim. With swimsuits we’d borrowed from Sara.

  Coby showed up at one, looking sexy and spent from a lunch-hour practice. Bennett drew me irresistibly, like a moth to flame, but in terms of pure gorgeousness, Coby was in a league of his own. He stripped to his trunks, then dove into the pool. We all watched as he broke the surface and climbed from the water, his muscles slick and wet, his green eyes glowing in the half light of the glass ceiling.

  I heard Natalie and Sara both sigh, and Harry murmur that it almost made him want to go gay.

  Coby stretched out on a chaise beside me and asked, “So you still sorry you moved here?”

  I thought about that and everything it meant. Being with Bennett, becoming a ghostkeeper, Martha’s brief presence in my life, and the ghosts. Always the ghosts.

  “No. I’m not sorry,” I said. “It’s where I’m meant to be.”

  “I’m sick of practice,” he said. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in a week.”

  “You’ve got the whole school counting on you.” Then I noticed Sara staring at us from across the pool. I bit my lip. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

  He rose onto his elbows. “Sure.”

  “How come you and Sara never … ?”

  “We did,” he said, looking away.

  “What? I meant how come you never dated, not how come you never—”

  “Oh. Damn.” He looked completely abashed. “It was only ’cause we’d been friends forever.” He lowered his voice, not wanting her to overhear. “Sara said we should lose our virginity together, because, you know, why not with your best friend? But then …”

  “What?”

  He glanced at Sara. “I don’t know. She kind of withdrew.”

  I nodded, fiddling with my towel. She was in love with him, the idiot. She couldn’t handle being only friends after that—at least not for a while.

  “Anyway,” he said, taking my hand. “If I was with Sara I couldn’t take you to Homecoming tomorrow.”

  I squeezed his hand, and made a vow. After Homecoming, I was getting Coby and Sara together. No matter what it took.

  Saturday morning, while helping Celeste clean the side parlor, I told her about my Homecoming predicament. None of Sara’s dresses worked. And the dance is tonight. I’d spent a sleepless night back at Natalie’s feeling guilty about Coby and worrying about why I hadn’t heard from Bennett.

  Have you looked in ze attic? Celeste asked, dusting the blue and white ginger jars.

  What will I find in the attic? One of Bennett’s old suits? I recalled Harry’s “You look like a boy” comment. A men’s suit wasn’t going to help.

  Non, I would not put you in men’s clothing. She didn’t quite arch her eyebrows at my jeans and T-shirt. In ze attic are dresses—even some from my mistress, Bennett’s great- grand-mère.

  You think that’d be okay, to borrow something?

  Celeste shrugged elegantly. What else is to be done with them?

  Ten minutes later, we knelt over an open cedar chest in the attic. Inside were layers of tissue paper enshrouding blouses and skirts and several dresses. Celeste pulled out each item and let me inspect it before gently rewrapping and laying it to rest again. When I brightened at a white beaded flapper dress, Celeste said simply, Non, not for you.

  At least she was kinder than Harry, but I’d almost given up hope, when we found The Dress.

  This is ze one, Celeste said.

  She carried the dress to the window so we could examine it in the light. A satin gown, formal without being fussy, and the color reminded me of, well … ghosts. In the shadows the fabric looked gray, but in the light a shimmer of blue appeared.

  I love it, I said.

  Celeste held it against my skin. Perfect, she said. Try it on.

  I took off my jeans and T-shirt and stood before her.

  No brassiere, she said.

  I hoped Bennett didn’t show up. I kept my back to Celeste as she slipped the dress over my shoulders, and I shivered as the satin touched my skin. The neckline was high and the back open to the waist, and the skirt grazed the floor. For once, I guess it was good I didn’t really need a bra.

  As I smoothed the skirt, there was a slight whoosh as I flashed on memories from Bennett’s great-great-grandmother. But they didn’t overwhelm me. They were like snapshots of her dancing and dining in this dress. She had been happy.

  I turned and found Celeste with a finger pressed to her mouth, gazing thoughtfully at me.

  What? That bad? The fabric felt exquisite and the color for some reason satisfied me. Like even though I could only admit it to a few, I was letting the world know what I saw.

  Turn, Celeste said briskly.

  I turned. There was no mirror, so I was relying on her judgment.

  Again, she said. Oui. Very good. Take it off.

  I slipped from the gown and she sailed from the attic before I finished dressing, trailing satin behind her.

  Celeste? I called after her.

  I will find you in your room, mademoiselle, late afternoon. You will have showered.

  Great, now I was getting hygiene advice from a nineteenth-century French ghost. But I just said, Right. See you then.

  I spent the afternoon with Anatole in the kitchen, first listening to his philosophy on cheese soufflé, then watching him make gingerbread dough, which Nicholas and I rolled out, cut into little men, baked, and decorated. In a fit of panic over Bennett and Coby, I bit the heads off a couple.

  At four, fresh from the shower, I slipped the original Emma’s gold band onto my now-empty chain from my mother, then found Celeste in my bedroom. She’d set up a dressing table with a mirror, and motioned for me to sit.

  First ze makeup, she said, gesturing to the MAC and Chanel spread before her.

  Is this Bennett’s mom’s makeup? I asked.

  Oui. Your own supply is … pfft.

  Thinking of my lip balm and mascara, I couldn’t really argue. She faced me away from the mirror so I couldn’t see what she was doing and promised to keep it simple.

  Hair, she said, when she’d finished powder-puffing my face.

  If I’d had my watch, I would’ve been checking the time obsessively. First, Coby was picking me up for a pre-Homecoming cocktail party at Harry’s, then the game started at 7:00. I was looking forward to cheering in the tiers while wearing my gown, an ancient Thatcher tradition, then we’d head to the catered ball at the Echo Point Country Club after the game. These private schoolers really knew how to do it up. At my old school we shuffled to a DJ in the school gym. We were lucky if we got streamers.

  I twitched in my seat as Celeste fiddled with my hair. Whatever she was doing involved a surplus of pins and braids. What was I going to do if she made me look like some nineteenth-century lass missing her bustle? And how exactly would I tell her? She might be dead, but she still had feelings.

  Celeste made a small hum and smiled. Finis. But do not look. Let us put the dress on you first.

  When she took the dress from the wardrobe, I almost didn’t recognize it. The stormy blue color I loved was the same, but she’d lowered the neckline, nipped in the waist, and trimmed the arms so they revealed more shoulder. As I slipped into the dress and my new black satin peep-toes, I wondered how I’d explain to Bennett’s family what I’d done to their heirloom. Then I forgot all about it as Celeste turned me toward the mirror. The effect was magical.

  Boysenberry lipstick, heavy mascara, and the faintest of blush. The dress was perfectly suited to my figure. You couldn’t even tell that I’d eaten half a soufflé and maimed a bunch of gingerbread men. She’d transformed my blond strands into something totally current to go with the retro dress.

  I turned to hug her, then remembered she’d burn my skin, which wouldn’t
really help my look. Thank you, thank you! Now I won’t feel like the Wal-Mart special at Barneys.

  I have no idea what that means, but I’m glad you are happy.

  I’m not just happy, I’m thrilled. I gave a little spin. I wished my mother could see me. I wish Martha was here.

  Oui. She would say you are a beautiful angel.

  She’d tell me all about her own school dances. I bet she— I stopped, hearing footsteps downstairs in the front hall. He’s early!

  I galloped to the top of the grand stairway, then remembered the gown and slowed. Halfway down, I saw him. Bennett. Watching me, one hand on the banister—simply standing there, as I walked down the stairs, my gown trailing after me. I paused and met his gaze. Neither of us smiled, neither of us spoke. Then I descended to where he waited, and he took my hand. I thought he was going to kiss the back of it.

  Instead, his eyes never leaving mine, he kissed my palm.

  Heat rose in my face. I’d never felt anything so intimate, and for a moment I didn’t care about anything—nothing but standing here right now with Bennett. The doorbell rang, and I looked over his shoulder. “That’s him.”

  Bennett nodded and disappeared down the hallway. I stood irresolute. There was so much left unsaid.

  The doorbell rang again and I remembered Coby. This was his night, the high school quarterback’s big game. I couldn’t disappoint him—he deserved better than that. I opened the door and he smiled, looking spectacular in his dark gray slim-fitting suit.

  “You look amazing,” he told me.

  “Thank you.”

  “I brought you something.” With a charmingly shy expression, Coby held out a box. “You don’t have to wear it. Sara said you’re not really a corsage kind of girl.”

  Nestled inside was a thin bracelet of tiny white flowers sewn to black satin ribbon. “I love it,” I said, and held it out so he could tie it to my wrist.

  “I wasn’t sure what color your dress was, so I got black and white.” He squinted at me. “What color is that, exactly?”

  “The color of ghosts,” I said faintly.