Deception (21 page)

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone was murdered.”

“What? Who? Your great-aunt?”

I shook my head. “No, a
—
a neighbor.”

“Whoa! Did you know him?”

“No. My brother did.”

Oh God. My brother. The first murder happened a mile from my house, the design from my mother’s necklace carved into some poor woman. And now this
—
also linked so closely to Max. The ghost even said she’d seen him here the night of the murder. But ghosts, they weren’t good with time.

I needed Max. I needed to know what happened. They were all gone, like they were on the run, with no way to contact them. My whole family had disappeared.

Except me.

Me, they’d left behind.

“Wow,” Sara said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m kinda freaked.”

“Let’s just go home.”

“Do you mind? I dragged you all the way here.”

“Sweetie, you’re a mess. I’m taking you home.”

We drove back to Echo Point in silence, as I tried not to relive every moment of Mr. Periwinkle’s murder.

“Thanks, Sara,” I said, when we pulled into the drive. “Thanks for being a friend.”

She smiled. “You know, I’m glad you moved here. You make everything … interesting.”

I half laughed. “I could use a little
less
interesting.”

“You’re supposed to say that you’re glad, too!”

I hugged her good-bye. “I am.”

Not only for my new friends, but because I was getting closer to the truth. About who I was, about Max and my parents. The only question left: did I really want to know?

22

I found Martha in the kitchen, compelling Anatole to make dinner.

“There’s a dead ghostkeeper!” I blurted.

“What?” She clanked her cup into the saucer. “Who?”

Maybe that wasn’t the best way to tell her. “Mr. Periwinkle
—
he owned an antique shop in Boston. Someone killed him.”

“Oh. Yes, I know.” Martha stared off into the distance. “Francis. He was a dear friend.”

I scooted next to her in the breakfast nook. “I’m so sorry. But I
—
do you know who killed him?”

“The Knell is investigating. Bennett’s working on that.” She furrowed her brow. “What were you doing there?”

“My brother Max interned for him. I thought maybe …” I found myself reluctant to say too much. “Maybe he’d heard from him.”

Martha smoothed her linen napkin. “Did you hear anything else? About how he died?”

I nodded. “I saw the bloodstains.”

“And … ?”

How could I reveal what I’d seen without implicating my family? Between my brother’s internship and my mother’s jewelry, I was even afraid of my own suspicions. But this was Martha. I could tell her. “There was some kind of design burned into the floor.”

Martha took a deep, shuddering breath. “Francis wasn’t the first victim. That mark on the floor
—
remember I told you some ghostkeepers need a focus? The Knell believes that mark is someone’s talisman.”

“Whose is it?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“
Was,
” she said. “They stopped practicing a long time ago. It doesn’t make any sense.”

She hadn’t answered my question, but I was afraid to ask again. Instead I said, “Where are my parents? That’s what doesn’t make any sense. Why don’t they contact me?”

“The Knell can’t find them.”

“The Knell,” I said. “They didn’t bring me to Echo Point just because there’s so much power here, did they? They’re not only curious about what I can do
—
they suspect my family’s involved with these murders.”

“Maybe they wanted you here to protect you.”

Or maybe they knew I wore my mother’s talisman around my neck. Or were using me to bait a trap.

“I can protect myself,” I said, and stomped away.

. . .

The next morning, I woke with a new resolve. Forget the Knell
—
I’d do my own investigating. So in fencing class I managed to pair up with Natalie, to ask what she knew about the murders.

She beat the crap out of me. With the proper fencing posture, and all the rules, I’d finally improved to the level of average, but Natalie was superb. I resisted the impulse to fight dirty, and managed to surprise her with a riposte. But as she was in the middle of a remise
—
another immediate attack
—
I didn’t get far.

I glanced at the two ghost jocks who, as usual, mocked me from the bleachers.

“They think you’re hot,” I told Natalie.

She didn’t deign to look at them. “What’s it like, communicating with them? Ben and I have always wondered.”

She called him Ben? I frowned then yelped as she scored another point. Why was she always catching me off guard? Had she called him Ben just to throw me?

“It’s better than talking to someone who keeps jabbing me with a foil,” I said.

She grinned. “En garde!”

After a few passes, I started digging for information. “So you and Bennett both work for the Knell. How’d you start with that?”

“Did he tell you how we met?”

“Should he have?”

“I grew up in a fundamentalist sect in Texas.” She easily parried a wild thrust. “You know that polygamous group they raided?”

I nodded, trying to keep my back arm at the proper angle.

“It was like that, without the polygamy. Though if our minister had suggested it, I’m sure my parents would’ve agreed. Hell, if he’d suggested
cyanide
, they would’ve agreed.”

“So they aren’t ghostkeepers?”

“My mom was,” she said. “My dad convinced her that ghostkeeping was the devil’s work. So my mother stopped practicing and tried to ‘cure’ herself.” Natalie shuddered. “Then I started showing tendencies …”

We stopped fencing and I bit my lip at her expression, forgetting all about interrogating her.

She stared into the distance. “They beat me, they starved me. They locked me in the basement. And when nothing worked, they tried exorcism.”

I shivered. “What does that mean?”

“They found more inspired ways to hurt me.” She shook her head, like she was banishing the memories. “I didn’t break, though. I never broke. I like it, Emma. I like summoning ghosts. It’s who I am.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.” And I realized it was true, despite everything.

“Then once, the minister tried to choke the devil out of me. That’s when my mom finally called the Knell. They sent Bennett.”

“Oh my God. Natalie, why didn’t you tell me?”

She half smiled. “It’s not something you bring up over lunch. I just
—
I wanted you to know why I’d do anything for the Knell, anything for Bennett. He saved my life.”

So Bennett really did fulfill my knight-in-shining-armor fantasy. Just not for me.

“We’re not here to gossip,” Coach snapped, crossing the gym toward us. “Natalie,
you
should know better. I’m afraid I’ve almost given up on you, Emma.”

“Maybe I can’t fence,” I told her. “But I do know how to use a sword.”

Which was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Coach saluted me. Her impressive calves bulged as she curled her back arm and drove me across the gym. Her style was much more intent and controlled than the Rake, who’d seemed to pay about as much attention as someone brushing their teeth. I think that helped me, actually, because it had caused my own style to be similar.

So I switched my grip and easily batted her away. She redoubled her attack, quick and controlled, and I lazily parried every strike. I felt a grin rise on my face
—
the Rake’s grin, infuriating and smug, but I couldn’t help myself. For once, I felt in control. For once, I was simply
better
than my opponent.

When she began to flag, I saw an opening … and I didn’t take it. I was afraid I’d learned the Rake’s lessons too well. He’d never shown me how to score points, only how to draw blood. I resisted the urge to switch hands, break her ankle with a kick, and drive my foil into her throat.

Instead, I dropped my guard and let her through. “Touché,” I said.

Then I spent the rest of the class period getting scolded, with my head bowed to hide my smile.

“What the hell was
that
?” Sara asked, back in the locker room.

“Oh … well,” I said, “I’ve been practicing at home.”

23

I spent the weekend in lockdown mode. Coby and Sara tried to get me to go out, but I pretended I was sick and texted them bi-daily updates on my condition for verisimilitude
—
one of the few PSAT words I had gotten right.

I filled my hours with research in the museum’s archival room and told Martha I was doing homework, which wasn’t a complete lie. I still had to turn in my Western Civ paper on Monday. I surfed the net to find some hint of my parents’ whereabouts, reading endless travel blogs, hoping to find mention of a couple of antiquities dealers. I checked auction sites looking for the kind of items they generally sold, trying to find some connection somewhere, but nothing resonated.

Next were the conspiracy sites. It was weird to see theories about ghostkeeping mixed with lore of vampires and extraterrestrials. It made me wonder if there really were bloodsucking aliens. Then again, most of the whack-jobs thought ghostkeepers controlled ghosts like families of mobsters, contracting them out for crime, so it was hard to give them any credence.

I couldn’t find a single reference to the Knell, which was a disappointment. I’d grilled Martha over breakfast, but she’d remained vague, simply saying, “When you’re ready, you’ll meet them. You needn’t worry until then.”

But I was worried. Worried that they were after my parents or Max for killing ghostkeepers and there was no way for me to protect or even warn them.

Sunday afternoon, an e-mail dinged in my mailbox:

Hey Emma,

First off, I’m sorry I deserted you. I know I suck as a best friend.

The thing is … I see ghosts, too.

Yeah, I’m serious. That’s why my mom worked for your parents, to be around people who understood. I never saw much until I fell for Max, and then I started seeing ghosts everywhere. And I freaked out. Max got all paranoid I’d steal his powers or something. Only I didn’t want his powers OR mine.

Emma, I HATE seeing ghosts!!!!!!!!!!

I despise that heebie-jeebie feeling you get when they show up—and have you ever touched one? It’s like insta-frostbite. I just hate them!

Anyway, that’s why Max dumped me and why I dumped you. My mom explained to me about ghostkeeping running in families. You know that’s what you are by now, right? You’re a ghostkeeper. If not, get help.

So I thought you had been like Max all along and had never told me. I’m glad you weren’t keeping it from me, but I don’t want to see ghosts anymore, Emma. I don’t know how you’re dealing. I’m sorry, I just don’t want anything to do with it.

Sooo … this sucks. I want to be there for you, but I can’t. Not even by e-mail.

I know I’m a terrible person.

Love always and forever … just from afar.

Abby

I spent the rest of the day going through the five stages of grief.

Denial: she couldn’t really be a ghostkeeper.

Anger: how dare she not like ghosts? Natalie loved being a ghostkeeper so much she wouldn’t let her family exorcise it out of her.

Bargaining: I’d never bring up ghostkeeping in Abby’s presence, then she’d still want to be friends with me.

Depression: I’d never see her again
—
never even talk to her. Abandoned by my parents, my brother, and my best friend. Forever.

I never quite worked my way into Acceptance.

Sunday night, I finished my paper. There wasn’t a single reference to ghostkeeping, talismans, or murders.

Or best friends who desert you. Not that it was relevant.

. . .

Monday morning, I found Martha drinking her tea in the solarium. It was more of a greenhouse, really, with small citrus trees growing in blue and white Chinese pots and orchids blooming on red lacquered tables. It was warm and smelled faintly of dampness and earth. I sat beside her on the wicker settee with sage green pillows.

There was a second cup on the tea tray and I helped myself.

“Is everything ready for winter?” I knew she’d been helping the ghosts clean and prepare.

“We’re close. A few more rooms. The house needed some love.” Her eyes shone with affection. “Some life.”

She thought that I’d brought life to the museum. But that wasn’t how I felt, since I was constantly shrouded in the trappings of death.

“Will we have to shut off this room?” The scent of the orange trees made me miss California. Even the trees and flowers would all be dead soon. I wasn’t looking forward to it.

“No, the sun and a heater keep it warm. And Anatole uses the fruit.” She set down her teacup. “I was going through some drawers and I found something that will interest you.”

“What?”

“It’s a surprise. Bennett’s coming to dinner, so let’s wait until then.”

“Okay.” I hadn’t talked to him since our last fight. I was nervous about seeing him.

“Will you work on the menu with Anatole? So convenient that you can talk with him.” She gave me a few dish ideas, then said, “And how are
you
, my dear?”

“Well,” I said. “I’ve been thinking. I can’t do this alone. I need to know all the secrets you’re keeping
—
you and Bennett.”

Martha took a long sip of tea, then said, “You’re right. We’ve been trying to protect you, but we’re only endangering you. I’ve spoken with Bennett
—
that’s one reason he’s coming. We’ll talk before dinner.”

“No more secrets?”

“Well, the Knell always has
some
. We all have some
—
even you.”

I managed not to touch the jade necklace under my shirt. “All I want to know is how my family is involved. Who killed those ghostkeepers and why? What’s the story with wraiths? What does ‘Neos’ mean? Why didn’t
—
”

“Wait.” Martha’s gaze sharpened on me. “Neos?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I think
all
the wraiths kind of … chanted that. The ones back in San Francisco, the ones here.”

“All the wraiths? How many have you seen?”

I tallied in my head all the times I’d heard that name: the ashes in my father’s urns, the shadows in the village and that monstrous thing I killed. “Three? I don’t really know if that’s what they are, though.”

“Neos,” she said, thoughtfully. “I’ll look into that while you’re at school. Should I invite Natalie to dinner?”

“Um …” Natalie and I were coming to terms, but I needed Martha and Bennett to myself tonight.

“If you let her, Emma, Natalie will be a real friend to you.”

“Oh, Martha.” I hugged her before leaving for school. “All I need is you.”

I waited at Thatcher’s front gates until Harry and Sara showed up. Coby had already gotten to school at the crack of dawn for football practice. Every waking moment he wasn’t in class, he was on the gridiron
—
that’s the football field. See what you learn when you’re almost kinda the quarterback’s sorta girlfriend?

On the way through the orchard, Harry recited an ode to Natalie’s butt. Seriously. In
terza
rima
,
he told us, with rhyming couplets. Neither Sara nor I had a clue what that meant. Except that he liked her butt. We got that part in triplicate.

By the time we reached the front doors, I started getting suspicious. Harry’s infatuation with Natalie was so completely over the top, I didn’t quite believe it anymore. Like maybe he was just trying to make Sara jealous or something. Especially when Natalie showed up for Latin, looking like she was made to wear a school uniform, and Harry didn’t blink an eye.

The mysteries of Harry’s mind were beyond me I decided, as I sat down in Trigonometry. Coby arrived to class looking flushed and windswept, and half the girls simultaneously sighed.

He really was perfect. If only he were perfect for
me
.

After Trig, I sat on the bench during Fencing, still in trouble. The idiot ghost-boys kept me distracted with their running commentary. Mostly about the girls in class.

Would you stop?
I finally told them.

Hey, there weren’t girls here when we were alive
, one said.

The other nodded.
That’s right. Cut us some slack. This is a novelty.

You’ve been dead for like thirty years! How long can girls stay a novelty?

Shall we tell her?
one asked the other.

Tell me what?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear.

Our advice from the Beyond,
one of them intoned
. Do not die a virgin.

I laughed, and the whole class turned to me. Coach was not pleased.

For lunch, I met Harry and Sara in the bleachers outside, where we shared the picnic Anatole had packed. We watched Coby practicing plays, throwing perfect spirals through the crisp autumn air. I would’ve enjoyed myself more if I hadn’t seen Sara’s face, shining with admiration as her eyes tracked him. How evil was I, kind of dating the guy she loved?

When she raced off for class, I asked Harry, “Do you ever wonder if you’re kind of a jerk?”

“All the time,” he said.

“No, I don’t mean
you
. I mean … What do I mean?”

“You mean you,” he said. “Do I ever think that
you
are a jerk.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not a jerk, Emma,” he said, kindly. “Maybe a cretin, or a nitwit.”

I shoved him. “Oh, shut up.”

“ ‘Ode to a Cretin.’ I’ll get right on that.”

“You’re such a comfort to me,” I told him, and trudged off to Western Civ.

Our essays were supposed to be fifteen hundred words, which is like six double-spaced pages, but what Mr. Jones hadn’t mentioned was that we were going to read them aloud in class.

After the first three boring presentations, I gave my own lackluster report, all about the history of jade. I hadn’t wanted to put my necklace on display, so I plugged my memory stick into the class computer and referred to a fuzzy image on the overhead monitor. Eyes glazed from the front row to the back.

Except for one pair that didn’t look away or even blink. Edmund, the man in the brown suit. He’d wandered in shortly after I’d started and watched intently.

When I finished, I stumbled to my chair next to Britta, who started presenting a paper on her father’s one-of-a-kind vintage Mercedes-Benz. I ignored Edmund, who was standing in the back of the room, not in the mood for his banter, but he pressed his thoughts toward me.

I need to speak with you.

I’m busy listening to the history of Nazi capitalism.

That jade design,
he said.
I’ve seen it before.

I spun toward him, startling Britta, who complained to Mr. Jones. “Is it too much to ask that Emma stop fidgeting while I speak?”

“Sorry,” I murmured. God, she was such a drama queen. I kept my face forward and my eyes focused on her as I communicated with the ghost.

Where?
I asked.
Where did you see it?
I watched Britta drone about the custom leather interior. W
ho had it?