Dark Souls
Page 22
Behind them, stepping straight through the window and into the street, was someone Miranda had seen before. The ghost of Margaret Clitherow floated over the cobbled pavement for a moment, her long hair almost black against her white, blood-streaked shift. She looked up at Miranda’s window and smiled. Gentle fingers of cold traced their way across Miranda’s scalp, tingling against her skin.
Miranda smiled down at the ghost, not confused or afraid this time. She could see Margaret Clitherow today, but if she ever returned to York — when she returned to York — it might not be possible. Like Lord Poole, she might lose the power to connect with the dark currents of the spirit world. One day, maybe very soon, she would only see happiness.
EPILOGUE
At night, cornfields looked like the ocean, but during the day, at the height of a baking-hot summer, they were a swishing forest of green, stretching toward the sun.
Miranda hadn’t been back to the crossroads for months, but today she said she’d go. Alejandro, the exchange student, was here from Spain again, and he’d called Miranda, sounding diffident and shy. He remembered Jenna from that party in the farmhouse, one long year ago. He wanted Miranda to take him to the place, he said. The last place.
There was nothing to see there, Miranda warned him. Nobody had stuck a little white cross into the grassy verge; nobody had left fake flowers, or candles in jars, or ribbons. If Alejandro wanted to see Jenna’s grave, in the cemetery on the east side of town, Miranda could take him. There were always flowers there. Kids from school left notes for Jenna in a Mason jar. Miranda went there sometimes to tidy it all up, and wash the gravestone down with water from the rusty tap, so Jenna’s parents wouldn’t have to. But at the crossroads, there was nothing but the rippling song of insects — like radio interference, humming across the cornfields.
Rob said he would drive them. He was driving again now — not far, not often, but he was trying. They pulled over so Alejandro could walk around. Rob stood by the car, leaning against the hood. He kept his sunglasses on and his arms folded.
“You saw her, yes?” Alejandro asked, and Miranda gave him the bare bones of the story. This was the place the car landed. This was the path Jenna’s ghost took, padding across the grass and into the cornfield. This was the place Miranda sat watching her. Feeling Jenna’s cold fingers brush across her hair.
The last place she saw Jenna.
Miranda could still see ghosts — or, at least, she saw them occasionally, trying not to think about it too much. But she’d never seen Jenna again, and for that she was grateful. Nick had said that maybe Jenna had no unfinished business, that she’d only wanted to say good-bye. Miranda didn’t want to think of her hanging around in a cornfield like that farmer with the shotgun wound three miles down the road. Jenna was somewhere else, somewhere better. Somewhere with excellent New Wave music, not insects, as a soundtrack.
Alejandro looked at the corn, and he looked at the road, and he looked at the wide blue sky. This place reminded him of where his grandparents lived, he said, near Córdoba in southern Spain, except there the fields were planted with sunflowers.
On the drive back into town, Alejandro thanked Rob and Miranda for taking him. He’d thought about bringing something from Spain to leave there for Jenna — a soccer team pennant, some sand from the beach at Barcelona — but he’d decided against it, and now he was glad. It should be left alone, that beautiful place where Jenna disappeared, he said, and then he apologized for his poor English. He invited them to come and visit him in Spain, any time they liked.
Miranda thought about the fields of sunflowers, their faces raised to the sky. One day she’d go over to Spain and find them. There was so much in this world to see and do. Every new day — bright with sunshine or swirling with snow — was a gift.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Huge thanks to my patient and wise editor, Aimee Friedman, the team at Point/Scholastic, and the irrepressible Richard Abate at 3Arts. My husband, Tom Moody, was — as ever — a sounding board, first reader, and co-conspirator.
There would be many more factual errors in this book were it not for the advice of various well-informed friends — Gallaudet Howard (medical), Deborah Keyser (musical), and Andrew Keyser (legal and literary). I’m also indebted to one of the Pitkin Guides, The Fires of York Minster, and to Ghosts and Gravestones of York by Philip Lister. A special shout-out to the Haunted Walk of York for the winter’s-night tour that gave me many insights into the city’s stories; to my friend Trev Broughton, who reminded me of happy student days in York, when I went to Bettys every week and first learned the difference between a bar and a gate; and to Trev’s daughter, Ellen Hart, with the hope that she enjoys this novel and forgives me for the many artistic liberties taken with her beautiful hometown.
Also by Paula Morris
Ruined: A Novel
About the Author
PAULA MORRIS
is the author of Ruined, and has published a short story collection and several novels for adults in her native New Zealand. She has lived in a number of cities around the world, including York, England. She now lives in Glasgow, Scotland, and teaches creative writing at the University of Stirling. Visit her online at www.paula-morris.com.
Copyright
Copyright © 2011 by Paula Morris
Cover Illustration By Cliff Nielsen
Cover design by Becky Terhune
All rights reserved. Published by Point, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, POINT, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Morris, Paula.
Dark souls : a novel / Paula Morris. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Miranda Tennant arrives in York, England, with her parents and brother, trying to recover from the terrible accident that killed her best friend, and while in the haunted city she falls in love for the first time as two boys, one also suffering from a great loss and the other a ghost, fight for her attentions.
ISBN 978-0-545-25132-7
[1. Ghosts — Fiction. 2. Interpersonal relations — Fiction. 3. Grief — Fiction. 4. Loss (Psychology) — Fiction. 5. York (England) — Fiction. 6. England — Fiction.] 1. Title.
PZ7.M82845Dar 2011
[Fic] — dc22
2010033871
First edition, August 2011
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eISBN 978-0-545-38938-9