Deception (13 page)

16

After I showered the next morning, I found a new uniform in the wardrobe. I put it on and examined myself in the mirror. Well, it fit. The skirt was a frumpy knee length and the blouse was shapeless. I guess Bennett took my “school slut” joke to heart.

Maybe he’d been jealous.

I left my tie unknotted and headed downstairs. When I stepped into the kitchen, Martha looked up from the table, where she sat with papers spread all around her.

“Morning,” I said. “Um, is Bennett awake? I need help with my tie.”

“Come here, dear. Happy to help.”

“Oh! That’s okay, thanks. Bennett’s got this special knot I’m learning.”

Her eyes twinkled. “The one that requires him doing it for you?”

“No!” I said, glancing at the door to check Bennett hadn’t overheard.

“He’s already back at school. He lost a week, fetching you from California and investigating … his other research. He’ll be busy for a while.”

“A while,” I said despondently, flopping into a seat.

“A while,” she repeated firmly, as though she disapproved of my interest.

She taught me a knot
—
not an Oriental
—
and I watched Anatole flit about, preparing my lunch. Cutting the crusts from sandwiches and tossing tangerine segments into a fruit salad.

Then he turned to me and said,
Ma chère
,
what may I bring you this
matin?

Except I didn’t hear him with my ears, but inside my head. I goggled at him for a moment, then thought back:
You talk!

But of course—and so have I always.
He stroked his luxuriant mustache.
But you, now you’ve started to listen. Your ability grows with each passing day. What may I bring you?

Is there any oatmeal? I could kill a bowl of oatmeal.

Ze porridge?
Oui
.
But there is no slaughtering involved.

I smiled.
Cool.

He frowned.
You prefer ze porridge cold?

Uh, no,
I said.
Hot, please.

Good, good. I worked in ze town home of a viscount and his wife—I will not call her ze viscountess
—
she refused any dish warmer than tepid. Fah!
He took a heavy-bottomed saucepan from the rack.
Also, she ate custard two meals a day. Those days tried a man’s soul, to see my talents wasted.

That must’ve been difficult,
I said, suppressing a giggle.

Oui, a terrible waste.
He bustled about, setting oatmeal and a little bowl of brown sugar on the counter. But then he got an odd look on his face and paused. The liveliness faded from his eyes as he opened the fridge and removed a carton of eggs. Instead of making oatmeal, he cracked eggs into a cast-iron skillet.

“Did you just compel him to make eggs? I asked him to make oatmeal.”

Martha cross-checked her list. “Oh, he can’t hear you.”

“Um. He asked what I wanted. And then he started to make oatmeal, before you compelled him to make eggs.”

Her attention snapped to me. “What?”

“Eggs are good. I don’t need oatmeal.”

“No, Emma. I mean you can
communicate
with him?”

“You can’t?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I can merely compel him.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to make eggs?” I asked, glancing at the stove where Anatole was unhappily flipping eggs. “What if he wants to make oatmeal or huevos rancheros?”

Martha furrowed her brow. “A compeller compels, Emma. And while I like and respect Anatole … the dead serve the living, not the other way around. We aren’t concerned with their desires.”

Well, maybe we should be. But I kept that little tidbit to myself. Martha had only been kind to me and I didn’t understand the philosophies and ethics of ghostkeeping. Yet.

“It’s a rare gift, communicating with ghosts,” she said. “Odd that Bennett thought you were a summoner.”

“I think because I kind of did. Summon them, I mean. In the garden.”

“Nobody has more than a single power. Perhaps you just …
asked
them to come near? And they were already present?”

“I suppose,” I said. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Because what did I know about ghostkeeping? And as Anatole handed me my eggs, he definitely understood my
Merci.

You’re welcome,
chère
.
Do not worry about Martha. She’s an old friend, and means well.

I only had a chance to finish a few bites of egg before the church bells on the corner struck eight. I grabbed my backpack and gave Martha a kiss good-bye, which seemed to please her. I smiled at Anatole as he handed me my lunch and headed outside.

I ran into Sara in the apple orchard, and she said, “Coby likes you.”

I’m not that girl who pretends she doesn’t know that a guy is into her for more than just friendship, so I didn’t bother denying it. Still, I didn’t know
why
he liked me. With Sara’s long chestnut hair, raspy voice, and electric blue wool coat, if I were Coby, I’d like
her
.

“Does he always like the new girl?” I asked.

Maybe that was just his MO. Or maybe he cycled through the girl geeks. There’d been a guy like that at my old school
—
and a new awkward dweebette each week, dressed in a turtleneck to cover the hickeys.

“Does he seem like that kinda guy?” she asked, a little sharply. “Because he’s not.”

“I just don’t know why he’d like me.”

“He’s the quarterback, Emma. He’s smart, he’s cute, he can like anyone he wants.”

I remembered they’d grown up together, and now she was acting like a protective sister. Maybe I should’ve told her I wasn’t interested in Coby, but that seemed like a conversation I should have with him first. Besides, maybe I
was
interested. I wasn’t sure of anything at the moment.

Sara suddenly took a step back and eyed my new uniform. “What happened? You used to look so cute. Easy, but cute.”

“Bennett noticed,” I said.

“Bennett Stern?”

“Yeah.”

“Hot,” she crooned. “I’ve seen him at Harry’s parties. What’s your relationship again?”

“Um, he’s my guardian? My parents are traveling overseas.” Which didn’t exactly explain everything, but wasn’t a total lie, either.

“Harry says you like him.” She fluffed her hair as we walked up the school steps, and managed to look even more perfect. “That is so twisted romance novely.”

I pulled on the ends of my own hair, trying to get it to grow. “If Harry gossiped any more, he’d be a girl.” I thought of the ghosts. “Anyway, it’s more of a horror film than a romance novel.”

She paused at the school door. “Because of your clothes? Where’s your phone? I’ll give you the number of my tailor.”

I knew her clothes fit too well to be off the rack. But I wasn’t about to flash her the purple dinosaur. “I forgot to recharge it. Text me later?”

Harry caught us in the front hallway. He looked me up and down and said, “Goody Vaile, you seem to be missing your bonnet.”

The day went downhill from there.

The man in the brown suit greeted me with a bow in Trigonometry.

I rolled my eyes.
Go away.

Ah! Now she talks.

Thanks for disappearing on me in the attic,
I said.
That wasn’t scary or anything.

I’m a ghost, Miss Vaile. Grant me my little moods.

I ignored him as Mr. Sakolsky passed out a pop quiz.
If you’re going to stick around, at least help with my quiz. What’s the answer to number two?

No idea. I taught American history in this room, back when Thatcher maintained higher standards. Before they let girls in.

I shot him an evil look
—
which Coby thought was aimed at him, and appeared wounded.

“I hate quizzes,” I mouthed.

“Emma,” Mr. Sakolsky said. “No whispering.”

I put my head down and began working on the problems, but ghost-man distracted me.
Don’t you have better things to do?
I asked.

I could haunt the staff lounge.

Please do.

But he didn’t. He loomed beside me, making concentration impossible. So I finally asked,
You taught here?

Best years of my life.

How did you die, anyway? Is that rude to ask?

He shook his head.
I loved everything about Thatcher: the teaching, the students, the campus. I poured my soul into my work. And when I felt a heart attack coming on, in that corner right there
—
he pointed to where Mr. Sakolsky was sitting at his desk
—
I didn’t want to go. I wasn’t ready. I fought death every step of the way.

And you won.

With a wry smile, he said,
This isn’t life. I lost, but I remained in this form. I’ve regretted it ever since.

I heard his voice in my head, the deep timbre, the old-fashioned posh accent. I sympathized with him, but was I supposed to be helping ghosts? I had no idea. So I finished one of the trig problems instead and circled my answer.

You could send me back, couldn’t you?
he said.

Back where?

To my body. I’m buried across town. Dispel me.

That’d be like killing you. I could never! Plus, I don’t know how.

I was totally freaked out by the idea. Dispelling was the only thing about Bennett I wasn’t sure I liked.

I’m already dead. I’m bored. It wasn’t bad when they were still teaching history in this room, but I
despise
trigonometry. You could help me. I’m ready now.

I finished my quiz.
The answer is no. Now go away.
I shooed at him with my hands. He looked completely miffed and dematerialized.

Coby looked at me, wondering why I was waving at him.

“Fly,” I mouthed.

At lunchtime, I walked with Coby and Sara toward the cafeteria. Coby teased me about acing the Trig quiz as Sara deflected the attention of two sophomore boys who’d clearly dared each other to talk to her.

As we turned the corner, a janitor loomed in front of me, mopping the floor. I yelped and sidestepped, and Coby laughed. “Emma! Drunk again?”

“What? I didn’t want to”
—
to stumble into the ghostly janitor nobody else saw?
—
“to start drinking so early, but I needed to numb myself from the pain of fencing.” I laughed nervously.

The janitor tipped his cap to me as we continued past, and I noticed a few more ghosts in the crowded hallways. It was like now that
I
knew I was a ghostkeeper, so did all the ghosts. I’d already been heckled by two idiot ghost boys during Fencing, who appeared shortly after I started sparring with Kylee, the twig-armed girl.