Game's End

by Natasha Deen

  “Shouldn’t that be my question?” he asked. “I know that guy destroyed your locker. It’s all over his face.”

  “Everything’s fine,” I said. “What were you doing with that kid? Casting a spell?”

  He blushed. “Hardly.” He wrapped his arms around me. “I saw your locker, I saw the kid, put it together, and wanted to go nuclear.” Craig’s hold tightened. “But you are strong, Mags, and I’m sure me stepping in like some caveman boyfriend would be the last thing you need. You got stuff handled.”

  “The moving lips—?”

  He laughed. “I guess I was casting a spell of sorts. I was whispering, ‘Don’t be a dick, Maggie will ask for help if she needs it. Don’t be a dick. Don’t be a dick.’”

  “He’s right,” said Bruce. “People are being stupid, don’t let it get to you.”

  “Easy to say, hard to do,” I said. “Especially when the mob is destroying my locker.”

  “It’s just a matter of time before they come after our stuff,” said Nell. She turned to Tammy. “You might want to park outside of the lot for a while.”

  “No problem,” she said. “Bruce and I could use the extra exercise.”

  I was uncertain how I felt about their casual display of loyalty. For sure, I was all for having the group support me. But giving support was a lot harder when people were chucking stuff at your head or bashing in your windows. Not for the first time, not for the last time, I wondered if it had been a wise or rash decision to make friends.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” Serge took my hand. “But even if they bail, at least you had them for a little while.”

  I don’t know if that makes it better.

  “I’m dead and Mr. Donalds remembers me because I wrote graffiti on your locker and did my best to screw up your life. No one will ever remember me with kindness. They won’t even remember me with mixed emotions.”

  I’m sorry for that—

  “Don’t be. Those were my decisions, and this is what I deserve.”

  It might be the consequences, but you don’t deserve all the blame.

  He smiled. “Want to know what I found out before Nancy shut me down?”

  I nodded.

  “You guys moved a lot.”

  I know that, smart guy.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t.” He grinned. “I told you, I was going to tell you what I learned, not what you knew.”

  Is that it?

  “Your dad doesn’t have much of a credit history,” he said. “It’s not weird, but it’s unusual. Do you know why?”

  I shrugged. No, is that a big deal?

  “How did he buy the funeral home in town if he didn’t have money to back him up?”

  Think he’s a mob hitman in hiding and he got the money as a retirement gift?

  “Your dad, a hitman? He cries at cute animal memes,” said Serge. “I doubt he’d know which part of the gun to hold. Nancy shut me down, but I’ve got enough to start backtracking your life and see if I can find out anything about your mom.” Serge blipped out.

  The rest of lunch was uneventful. Visual arts class was first up that afternoon, and Mr. Parks was setting up a silent film when the intercom crackled and the droning voice of Principal Larry filled the room. “It has come to my attention that one of the lockers in this school has been vandalized.”

  All heads turned in my direction.

  “This is unacceptable. Lockers are school property, and when you damage them, it costs time and money to repair. That money comes out of a tight budget—”

  He went on about the lack of funding and cuts to programs, but the message was clear. The principal didn’t care that I was the victim, he wasn’t going to look for the culprits, and the subtext was in bold font: Maggie Johnson was a fair target, just don’t mess with school property.

  Mr. Parks tossed me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure he’ll come around to talking about you soon.”

  I doubted it.

  Principal Larry prattled on when there was a sudden scuffle and muffled shouts from the intercom. Someone—the principal—cursed, then yelled, “Ow!”

  “Listen, you flaccid, little meatballs—”

  Nell. I was up and grabbing my books.

  “Go! Go!” Mr. Parks waved me to the door.

  “You’re bullying Maggie because she’s been at the centre of two murders, two accidental deaths, and one questionable death,” said Nell.

  Nell, trying to help and instead making me sound like the grim reaper.

  The principal must have grabbed for the mike because there was another round of muffled thumping.

  “Think it through, airheads,” said Nell, as I sprinted down the hallway. “If Maggie is the angel of death, if by some weird alignment of the planets she’s able to command the other side, do you really think it’s a good idea to anger her?”

  More scuffling, more cursing from Principal Larry.

  “Behave, because unlike Loser Larry, I will be looking for you,” said Nell. “And you won’t like what happens when I find you.” She finished the last part as I staggered through the office door. Nell smiled at me and held out the mike. “Did you want to add anything, Maggie?”

  I shook my head, too out of breath to speak.

  “Young lady!” Principal Larry smoothed the strands of his toupee back in place. “Your conduct is outrageous—”

  I lunged for Nell and slapped my hand over her mouth, but she elbowed me in the stomach and reared on the principal.

  “My conduct? My conduct?”

  I grabbed for her again, but a pissed-off Nell proved faster and more agile than my winded self.

  “You’re supposed to be an educator. You’re supposed to ignite our love of learning and sense of connection. Instead, you watch as people set us on fire to see us burn.”

  “She’s overwrought,” I wheezed, pressing the stitch in my side. As soon as I’d found Zeke, Homer, my mother, and brought the soul-eater to justice, I was getting a gym membership. “I’ll take her home.”

  “Your friend has a good idea,” he said. “Possibly the only good idea she’ll ever have.”

  The scene flickered in my vision. For a moment, the serengti appeared beside the principal. I put a vice-grip on Nell. “Let’s go.”

  “No! Not till I’m done.”

  “You’re done,” I told her. Then I called Serge to me.

  He appeared and took in the scene. “Want me to hold him down while Nell pummels him?”

  I saw Serena. She only comes when a kid’s going to be hurt. Cover the principal’s heart. If he makes a move to Nell, zap him.

  “Or you.” Serge strode to where Principal Larry stood. “He touches either one of you, and he’s got a one-way ticket to the Great Beyond.”

  “You had a chance to stand up for Maggie and Serge, and you did nothing. Especially for Serge,” said Nell. “If you’d helped him instead of licking the reverend’s boots, he’d never have gone after Maggie. He’d still be here.”

  “That’s enough.” The principal’s face went leather tight. “You apologize for that or you’re suspended.”

  “I won’t!”

  “Let’s go, Tiger,” I pulled her out of the office. “Walk it off.”

  “Your friend can leave the grounds, Miss Johnson, or I’ll call the sheriff to remove her.”

  “She’s leaving,” I said. “You don’t need to call Nancy.”

  “Yes,” he said. “But you’re not. School is in session and you have a class.”

  “I’m not abandoning her,” I said.

  “Do it, or you’re expelled.”

  Serena appeared again, flickering like a half-formed thought.

  Do you see her? I asked Serge.

  “No.”

  “Miss Johnson, make your decision.”

  “I’m n
ot leaving my friend.” My voice sounded like I was underwater. I felt like I was underwater. Heavy and light, both at the same time.

  “This world doesn’t revolve around you,” he said.

  “It doesn’t revolve around you, either.”

  His face went scarlet. “Miss Johnson—”

  What was going on with me? If Dad heard me disrespecting the principal like this, I’d be grounded for eternity. So why did I hear my voice saying, “You’re a hateful man. I’m glad people see you for what you are and I’m glad your family’s status can’t protect you anymore.”

  He blanched.

  “Maggie!” Serge grabbed my hand, and suddenly, the fog cleared.

  The principal reached for his desk and pulled it open. I caught a flash of something dark, with a muzzle.

  I grabbed Nell and got us out of the office before the principal went nuclear.

  Chapter Ten

  “Your dad’s not going to ground you for a week,” Nell said as she pulled into Golden Chicken Market and did a double take at the parking lot. “What’s with all the cars?”

  It was a good question. The lot was almost full and most of the vehicles had rental stickers. “Maybe there’s a wedding.”

  “If so, it must be someone important.” She maneuvered the car into a spot and cut the engine.

  “Time to find something to bribe my dad with before he grounds me.” I unbuckled my seatbelt.

  Her cell binged, and she checked the text. “Nancy says she’ll look into what we say is in the principal’s desk, but she figures he’ll have moved the gun by the time the deputy gets there.”

  “Which one is she sending?”

  “Andrews,” said Nell.

  “The adorable one with freckles? She should’ve sent Frank. That guy’s big enough to intimidate.”

  She climbed out of the car. “Anyway, your dad won’t ground you because one, you didn’t say anything to Loser Larry that didn’t need to be said, and two, you’re ghost-hunting.”

  I got out and shut the door. The rotting scent hit me again. “They need to do something about the old mill. The smell coming off it is deadly.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Nell. “When the wind hits just right, the stink can bring tears to your eyes.” She sniffed the air. “You must have super-human smell because of your woo-woo abilities. I got nothing.”

  As I followed her into the store, my gaze caught a dark sedan with a blond guy inside—the same guy I’d passed leaving the Tin Shack the other night. He caught me looking and drove off. “Dad’s big on respect of elders, even and especially the ones you can’t stand.” I swung wide of a group of customers clustered around the fresh bread. “But you’re right about the ghost-hunting. He won’t ground me. Worse, it’ll be two weeks with no dessert.”

  “I’ll smuggle you chocolate cake.”

  I caught a few of the people in the store watching me. A couple of them had their phones out. “In the meantime, let’s go. I need all the help I can get when it comes to not getting a Dad glare.” And that meant getting in his good books by picking up a bag of his favourite dark-roast coffee. I headed for the coffee and tea aisle, spotted the woman standing in front of the bean grinder, and came to an undignified stop.

  Nell crashed into the back of me, then peered around my shoulder. “Let’s go,” she whispered. “We’ll wait in the frozen foods—”

  The woman turned and laid eyes on us.

  I straightened. “Mrs. Pierson.”

  Nell lifted her hand.

  The three of us stood there, locked in a bizarre high noon, with no bad guy and no sheriff in sight. Just a bereaved mother and two girls who had answers to her daughter’s afterlife, but no way to tell her.

  Mrs. Pierson stared for a long moment, then moved our way. Her gait was uneven, but her makeup and clothing were impeccable.

  “Nancy Drew and crew,” she said, and I smelled the traces of alcohol on her breath. “Any more murders solved?”

  Nell opened her mouth and our long friendship told me she was going to offer condolences. I put my hand on her arm to stop her. Nothing we could say would make it better.

  “The wonder girl, solving all the murders, walking away smelling like a rose, while the rest of us dig graves.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Nell said. “But Rori was a loss to me, too.”

  “She wasn’t your daughter.”

  “She was like a little sister.”

  “Then you should have done a better job caring for her,” said Mrs. Pierson.

  That was ironic or stupid, or both.

  “You should have found her sooner. Found her before I had to bury—” Her voice broke on a sob.

  Instinct made me reach for her. Grief made her sink into me. She wept silently, as if the heartbreak was so great, it defied sound.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “We’re all hurting.”

  She pushed away and shook her head. “You didn’t lose your husband, your daughter, your reputation. I have nothing. You don’t know my hurt.” A hard light came into her eyes. “Amazing how you escape. You survive the fall off the bridge, but Reverend Popov dies. You survive the push down the hill, but my daughter loses her life in a field. One day, Maggie, you will hurt like I do. One day, you’ll know pain.” She pushed me away.

  “Give me your phone,” I told Nell. When she did, I called Nancy and told her to swing by the market, that Mrs. Pierson was probably drunk and needed a ride home. Then I got the coffee for Dad.

  “That was wrong of Mrs. Pierson,” said Nell. “It’s not your fault.”

  “She’s hurting,” I said. “I can’t take it personally.”

  “But hoping for your pain—that’s a little intense for a woman wearing cotton candy-scented lip gloss.”

  I had no answer and no idea how I felt about any of it. Time to change the subject. “Sure you don’t want to get your dad anything to offset his straight-A daughter being suspended? We can swing it by the hospital.”

  “Nah,” she said. “I texted him. He’s busy and doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s at work. Anyway, I got it handled.”

  “You were born having it all handled.”

  “You know why?”

  “I swear, if you say it’s because you’re plucky, I’m dropping you in the nearest snowbank.” I paid for the coffee and got Nell to drive me to the funeral parlour.

  “It’ll be fine, and that’s not just me saying that.” She put her hand on mine. “Rori said.”

  I left her and went to find Dad in his office. As I stepped inside, I caught a flash of dark. The sedan from the market, with the blond guy at the wheel, drove slowly down the road. I frowned, then dismissed the coincidence as the reality of a small town. People ran into each other all the time. Look at what happened with me, Nell, and Mrs. Pierson. I let the door shut behind me.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I’m not surprised.” Dad handed me a cup of coffee. “It was always a matter of when, not if, Larry lost his mind with you. Are you suspended or expelled?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. You won’t be either.”

  “I’m not grounded or cut off from desserts?”

  “I hate to admit it, but I’m tempted to give you an extra helping. That guy’s such a—” He caught himself before he swore, then lifted his mug in salute. “Don’t make a habit of it, though. Respect people, Maggie, even when they don’t agree with you, and especially when they’re being idiots. Hate and anger come from a place of powerlessness, don’t give them yours.”

  “Am I allowed to give them something to chew on, in addition to my respect? Like maybe a knuckle sandwich for Principal Larry?”

  His grin flashed. “Don’t be disrespectful.”

  “I wouldn’t have minded a suspension. I could use the days off,�
�� I said. “Trying to figure out—” I swallowed my words before I mentioned my mom and her connection to the soul-eater. “—What’s going on with the entity that stole Zeke and Homer.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  He seemed relaxed so I took a breath and prepared to tell him about Mom. Dad cleared his throat, a sure sign he was about to say something big. I decided to let him go first. “What?”

  “This thing with that horde of ghosts who had the Meagher boy—”

  “The Family? What about them? Craig sent them to the other side.”

  “It’s about the night they broke into the school.” He set down his mug. “One of the guys was showing me a video—” He stopped talking and played with his cup.

  “Of the Tin Shack?”

  “No, the other video.”

  “Serge in the trunk of my car?”

  He shook his head. “You haven’t seen the other one?”

  “You’re freaking me out,” I said. “What’s going on? Show me the video before I lose my mind.”

  “Watch.” Dad pulled out his phone and called it up.

  I took the cell.

  He leaned over and took back his cup of coffee.

  The footage was surprisingly clear. Someone had recorded the town meeting the night that the ghosts had tried to take possession of the townspeople. The footage showed Principal Larry, droning on about useless crap no one cared about. His speech was interrupted by the hissing and shrieking of the microphone and speakers. By virtue of my cursed gift, I could also hear The Voice—my mother—wailing my name.

  The person recording the video panned the audience, then honed in on me as The Family descended in a red haze. They separated into wisps and went after the crowd. To those with non-supernatural eyes, it would have looked like flickering lights and lightbulbs popping. The crowd, infected by the psychic energy and sick on paranoia, screamed, surged, and ran for cover.

  “The guys here say it’s become a virus,” Dad said.

  “You mean viral.” There were too many people that night, too many with their phones out for me to know who was behind this video. But their hand was steady. Amidst all the confusion, they recorded like a professional, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.