12-08

by Bethany Chester

  Jamal has something else on his mind. “Humans?” he mouths to me, behind Clemency’s back. It takes me a moment to work out what he means, but then it clicks – Clemency used the word ‘humans’ as if she wasn’t one.

  I shake off the thought. Questioning Clemency’s species isn’t going to help me right now.

  “But why?” I ask. “What does all this have to do with me?”

  “Your friend Sidney made an enemy of this being,” Clemency says. A straight answer? I guess miracles will never cease. Not that I’m any closer to knowing what all this has to do with me.

  “How do you make an enemy of a poltergeist?” I ask. “I still don’t understand what…”

  Clemency hushes me. “I’m getting there. Be patient, I don’t have time to explain it all. Suffice it to say that Sidney Smith was not a casualty of war – at least, not in the sense that the newspaper article would have you believe.”

  It takes me a moment to process that. “Wait, are you’re saying that the poltergeist – I mean wraith – killed Sidney?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Then why does it hate him? Surely it should be the other way around?”

  “That’s one of the things I can’t explain right now,” she says. I groan.

  “But what I will tell you,” she says, “is that our wraith is determined to cause pain for any living person who matters to Sidney. His family were essentially wiped out, so you’re the closest it can get, and that’s why you’re the target.”

  “Oh my God!” I say, panicked. “What about Grandma Edna? Surely if it knows she’s still alive, it’ll try to hurt her?”

  Clemency folds her hands placidly. “I don’t think your grandmother is in any danger, but I don’t have time to explain why. Not right now, anyway.”

  “You don’t have time to explain anything,” I grumble. “What exactly is keeping you so busy?”

  “If you must know, I have to be back to work by two,” she says. “I’m actually on my lunch break right now. In fact, I need to go right this instant. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  She gets up and glides out of the door. I don’t hear her footsteps on the stairs, but I do hear the front door slam shut shortly afterwards.

  Jamal raises his eyebrows at me. I can only shrug.

  “She’s a strange one,” I say.

  “Understatement of the century,” he says. “She just waltzes in, tells us we’re the victims of an evil poltergeist, and then waltzes out again. She obviously doesn’t have time to waste on us mere mortals.”

  “I thought she came over so she could tell us how to protect ourselves,” I remark. “But she only said that I’m in more danger than my grandma. She didn’t tell me what I’m supposed to do about it.”

  “Look on the bright side,” says Jamal. “She probably wouldn’t be so blasé if you were at a lot of risk. You must be relatively safe.”

  “Either that,” I say, “or she doesn’t like me very much.”

  Jamal snorts. “Or that. It wouldn’t really surprise me. I don’t think she likes anyone much.”

  I’m uneasy for a moment, until I remember what the time we met up in the Hummingbird. “This is what I like about hanging around with you,” she’d said. Then she spoke about the brightness of my aura, and said, “I instantly knew that I could tell you pretty much anything without being judged”.

  My fear evaporates like clouds parting before the sun. She likes me, and she won’t let bad things happen to someone she likes. I’m going to be fine.

  I just hope she likes Jamal, too.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Clemency texts me at half seven, telling me to meet her in the Hummingbird at nine. I wish she wouldn’t order me around like that. For all she knows, I have a lecture at nine.

  Okay, so I don’t, but that’s not the point.

  And come to think of it, she probably does know, being psychic and all.

  “Oh, good,” she says, when I sit down at her table. It’s the same one as before. I bet she always sits in the same place.

  “What’s good?”

  “That you’re on time. We have a lot to get through. Now where did we leave off yesterday?”

  Would it be so difficult for her to converse like a normal person?

  “We didn’t exactly ‘leave off’,” I say. “You missed out half the details and told me you didn’t have time to say any more. Then you disappeared.”

  “Don’t be petty,” she says. “This is serious.”

  I grit my teeth, trying not to lose my temper. She is infuriating.

  “Okay,” I say. “Well, I’m still not convinced that my grandma is safe. Why don’t you start by explaining to me exactly how you can be so sure that she’s not in danger?”

  “You probably don’t want to hear it,” Clemency says, stalling.

  “Tell me. I have to know.”

  She sighs. “Fine, but remember, you asked for this. Basically, our wraith wants to create the greatest impact possible, to cause the most destruction it can. It wants to upset the course of nature. If it kills one elderly lady, someone who is on the brink of death anyway, then there will be an impact, but it will be minimal.”

  Clemency pauses, gauging my reaction. I keep my expression blank, for all the good it will do. She knows exactly how I’m feeling anyway.

  “If the wraith kills a young girl, someone who is in her prime,” she continues, “then that will cause major disruption to the natural order. To take away the life of someone who has barely lived is, in terms of the other world, a more serious offence than taking the life of an elderly person. Of course, these things always sort themselves out in the end, but the impact is extremely negative.”

  “So what you’re really saying is that killing my grandma would be viewed as less sinful than killing me?”

  She can hear the anger in my tone.

  “This isn’t about sins, or what’s right and wrong,” she says. “It’s about what will most upset the natural balance. Obviously, in terms of human morals, most would agree that every life has the same worth – if the value of a life can be measured at all. But the inescapable fact is that our wraith will do more damage by taking a young life. Remember, it’s determined to cause its arch-enemy pain in the process, and as the granddaughter of the woman he loved in this world, the being that was Sidney Smith will feel a deep connection to you.”

  “So you’re saying this has more to do with disrupting the natural order than getting revenge?”

  She considers. “To really understand the situation, you need to understand what makes a wraith. I’ll try to explain it as quickly as I can.

  “In theory, wraiths are spirits like any other, but they are derived from people who revelled in causing pain and discomfort when in this world. Some are more malignant than others, of course. Many do little more than move things around and bang on walls. They are allowed to roam both worlds almost as freely as they wish, as are other spirits.”

  “But some are different?”

  She nods. “Some are possessed by a more violent desire – the desire to kill. They are jealous, and they want to take away that which they no longer have – human life. They derive pleasure from loss of life, in the way that some serial killers do.”

  “So why don’t they just go round murdering people?” I ask. “What’s to stop them from slaughtering people en masse?”

  “There’s a barrier in place,” she explains. “Or a law, if you like. The wraith can cause as much trivial damage as it likes, but if it takes a life, it is banished to the other world.”

  “Then surely our wraith was banished after it killed Sidney Smith. Why is it a danger now?”

  “The banishment is not permanent,” Clemency says. “Time is something of an arbitrary idea in the other world, because everything is permanent in the true sense of the word. I don’t know how long the period of banishment is in terms of our years, but looking at the recent activity, I’d say…”

  “That it’s over?” I finish.
>
  “Almost,” she says.

  “But what about the thing in the park? If the banishment isn’t over yet…”

  “As far as I can tell,” Clemency says, “there is a period of parole, if you like. The being’s ability to travel around and manipulate this world returns gradually. I think what happened in the park was a testing of the waters. Soon, it will probably return to its full strength.”

  “Do you know when that will be?”

  “No,” she says simply.

  I bite my lip. “Can we at least do something to make sure my grandma is safe? I know you said she wasn’t in danger, but…”

  “Nothing material will help her,” she says, “but I can remove any negative energy from her home. That should make the area more hostile to wraiths. A dreamcatcher might not be a bad idea, either. It won’t protect her as such, but it might make her feel more at ease.”

  “Thank you,” I say gratefully. “Could you do it this afternoon?”

  “I don’t see why not,” she says. “Call your grandmother and arrange it. Say you’re visiting her with a friend.”

  I do so. Grandma Edna is surprised to hear from me again so soon, but she sounds pleased, and says she’s looking forward to meeting my friend.

  Surprisingly, Clemency hangs around while I make the phone call.

  “There’s one more thing I need to tell you,” she says, once I get off the phone.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know the exact circumstances of Sidney Smith’s death,” she says. “But I do know a fair bit about wraiths, and I know that they gravitate towards wars.”

  I’m not quite sure where this is going, so I just nod.

  “One reason for that,” she says, “is that they can then kill several people with one blow, without raising a great deal of suspicion. The long period of banishment isn’t really worth it unless they take multiple lives. And they want to upset the natural order without revealing their existence.”

  “So what does this have to do with Sidney?” I ask.

  “There are two possibilities as to what happened to him,” she says. “He might have been killed as part of a group, but that doesn’t explain why the wraith has singled him out and developed such a hatred for him.”

  “You think something else happened,” I say.

  “Yes, I do. I think it’s more likely that he stood in the wraith’s way, probably in an attempt to protect the rest of his regiment. I don’t know how he realised they were at risk, or how he did it, but he probably died to save them.”

  I feel a sudden surge of pride for this man I never knew. I guess I’m proud on Grandma Edna’s behalf. I think I would have liked Sidney if I’d known him.

  “In fact,” Clemency says, “I have it in on good authority that Sidney has continued to torment his killer in the other world.”

  “When you say ‘good authority’…” I say carefully.

  “Probably best not to ask,” she says.

  I take her advice. I don’t think I want to know.

  *

  We go to Grandma Edna’s that afternoon. Clemency is uncharacteristically charming and charismatic. Grandma Edna seems to love her.

  Then Clemency asks where the bathroom is and leaves the room. I know she’s doing the thing with the energy, which makes me a bit nervous. I’ve no clue how it works, but it sounds complicated.

  As we agreed beforehand, I keep Grandma Edna talking for as long as possible so that she doesn’t notice the length of Clemency’s absence. She’s gone almost fifteen minutes, by which time I’m beginning to worry. Grandma Edna doesn’t really seem to notice, though. Either that, or she’s being polite.

  When she finally returns, the three of us talk a little longer. Then Clemency says, “Eddie, we left it in the car.”

  It’s a moment before I realise she’s talking about the dreamcatcher.

  “Hold on, I’ll go and get it,” I say. “Back in a minute, Grandma.”

  My poor grandma must think this is all very strange, but that can’t be helped. I’m a little apprehensive about leaving her alone with Clemency, but since she’s on her best behaviour today, I decide to chance it.

  I’m back within a minute, dreamcatcher in hand. I recognise it from Clemency’s flat – I guess she made it herself. In fact, I think she made them all. God knows where she found the time; she must have been doing it since she was a child. This one is hung with turquoise and purple feathers, with painted wooden beads in between. The colours suggest calmness, serenity. I can’t think of anything more appropriate.

  “We brought you this,” I tell Grandma Edna. “It will give you good dreams. But only if you believe in it.”

  If she finds this odd, she doesn’t show it.

  “That’s very kind of you, girls,” she says, looking genuinely pleased. “It’s beautiful. It will have pride of place in my room.”

  Clemency and I exchange a look of relief. Everything appears to be going to plan.

  By the time I pull up outside Hamilton House, I’m feeling considerably calmer. It’s all going to be okay. I just need to take this one day at a time.

  Chapter Twenty

  When I get back home, Annemarie is white and shaky-looking, and Jamal has his head in his hands.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, alarmed. “Guys? Is something wrong?”

  Jamal lifts his head. “I had to tell her everything,” he says, looking pained. “Sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  I toss down my handbag. Okay. This is going to take some patience.

  “Why?” I ask helplessly.

  “Because I knew you were keeping something from me!” Annemarie says, indignant and self-righteous. “Why didn’t you think you could trust me?”

  “Trust had nothing to do with it,” I say. “We didn’t think you’d believe us, that’s all.” I don’t mention that she usually overreacts hysterically whenever anything is even slightly out of the ordinary. Luckily for me, she appears to have got all that out of her system already. Poor Jamal.

  “Well, at least we’re all on the same page now,” I say, joining them at the table. I swear, I don’t know why we even have a living room; we seem to spend all our time in the kitchen. Then again, we are students.

  “I knew there was something weird about that burglary,” Annemarie mutters. “I don’t know if this is better or worse than having a random stranger steal from us.”

  It’s worse, of course, but I don’t want to alarm her any more than necessary, so I don’t volunteer an opinion.

  “So has Clemency told you anything new?” Jamal asks.

  I don’t even know where to begin.

  “Yeah,” I say. “She’s actually telling me things now. Or she was today, at any rate.”

  “I knew there was something weird about her, too,” Annemarie says unhelpfully.

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” Jamal says. “Tell us what she said.”

  I launch into a barely coherent account of the stuff Clemency told me, about wraiths and the other world and Sidney’s death. Annemarie’s mind appears to be blown. This must be a lot to take in all at once. I mean, it was a lot for me to take in, and I’ve known about some of this stuff for the past month or so.

  “So, what now?” Jamal asks. “We just wait for a vengeful poltergeist – or whatever the hell you call it – to hunt us down and attempt to kill us?”

  “Not exactly,” I say hurriedly. I can see the mounting panic on Annemarie’s face, and I do my best to quash it. “We have to figure out when it’s going to regain its full strength, and make sure we’re protected at that time. We should be fine as long as Clemency’s with us, which she will be. She always turns up when anything freaky is going on.”

  “And how exactly do we go about figuring out when it will regain its full strength?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  I almost expect Annemarie to lose it, but she remains fairly composed.

  “We need to look at the clues,” she says.
“The answer is probably there somewhere.”

  “What clues?” I ask.

  “Well, the book and your hummingbird ornament, to start with,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing she’s ever heard. “I thought you’d agreed that they weren’t taken at random, that there was some other meaning behind it. If you find that meaning, then maybe you’ll be closer to finding the answer.”

  Jamal and I look at each other.

  “She may have a point,” he says.

  “Well, since you’re such a good detective,” I tell Annemarie, “maybe you can tell us where to start.”

  She doesn’t protest. “Well, I’d say it makes sense to start with the hummingbird,” she says. “You need to think how hummingbirds could be relevant to a soldier fighting in the Second World War. It could even have something to do with your grandma. It’d make sense for it to be related to someone he cared about.”

  “Remind me why we didn’t ask her before,” Jamal says. “How did we forget she was such a brainbox?”

  Maybe we should have told her from the start, but how were we to know she’d be so accepting? Never mind. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

  We try searching “soldier” and “hummingbird” on Google, but we don’t find anything relevant. Jamal and I trawl through several pages of crap before Annemarie decides to make us look stupid again.

  “Have you looked in the book?” she asks.

  “What book?” I say.

  She rolls her eyes. “How about the one that was stolen from our flat and mysteriously reappeared on the doorstep? You know, the one someone was trying really hard to bring to your attention. The one which you continued to ignore regardless.”

  “Oh,” I say. “That one.”

  Jamal frowns. “I don’t really see what the link is…”

  “Jamal,” I say patiently. “It’s a book of war memoirs. From the Second World War.”

  “Oh,” he says. “Right.” He disappears off to his room, presumably to fetch the book.

  “I can’t believe we didn’t think to read the book,” I say. Annemarie snorts.