Betrayal (11 page)

The wraith caught Coby, slammed him into the ground, and started slashing at him with hooked fingers. But the pain and his words had snapped something inside of me. And for the first time that night, I knew what I needed.

My dagger.

I grabbed for the hilt in my pocket and leaped at the wraith pinning Coby. As I moved, I gathered all my rage and strength into a ball of lightning in my palm—then pushed the power into the blade.

A spectral edge of dispelling energy coursed from the hilt to the tip of the dagger, and I buried it in the back of the wraith's neck and twisted. A horrible death-cry tore through the graveyard, and the other two wraiths paused.

I didn't.

A ribbon of compelling power unfurled from my left hand into a noose that closed around the larger wraith and drew it toward me. It struggled and writhed, hands clawing at the path and the graves. It wasn't strong enough. I yanked close, like a fisherman reeling in a catch, and plunged my dagger into its heart. Its mouth opened in a wordless scream, and I snapped its neck with my elbow.

The final wraith screeched and sprang for Natalie—I spun the dagger in my hand and threw.

Sparks wheeled in the air as the blade cut through the falling light and plunged hilt-deep into the wraith's empty eye socket. The wraith melted to the ground, hollow screams echoing in the evening.

“Tell your master he's next,” I said.

Then I pulled my dagger from its eye, broke its neck, and fainted.

I didn't remember the car ride home, except for one odd flash of conversation.

“I've never seen her like that,” Natalie said.

“No one's ever seen anyone like that,” Simon said, his voice hard.

I woke in my own bed in the middle of the night, and gasped in panic. Then I groped around in the dark, and found the dagger under the extra pillow on the bed.

My hand closed on the hilt and I fell back to sleep.

11

Nicholas woke me the next morning by stoking the embers in my little fireplace.

I watched him messing around until the fire started blazing, and let the events of last night filter through my mind. Our failed mission to find Neos's final resting spot. The arrival of the wraiths, as if they'd been waiting for us. How I'd frozen when my friends needed me most, and how I'd finally unfrozen into a frenzy of destruction.

I groaned and lay back in bed.

Are you all right, mum?
Nicholas asked.

I burrowed deeper under the covers.
I'm fine. I just don't want to go to school
—
and stop calling me “mum.”

Didn't mean no offense, mum
, he said, with a cheeky grin.
I don't think you'll be going to school today, though.

My heart clenched in panic. Was someone hurt worse than I'd thought? Had the whole team not made it back?
Why? What happened?

It snowed.

I glanced toward the window and saw little mounds of snow on the sills outside, and lines of sunlight glistening from the eaves.
Omigod. Are those … icicles?

You never saw them before?
Nicholas laughed in excitement.
I heard there's no snow in California. I can't imagine what that's like.

He tugged a grubby mitten onto one hand, opened the window, and broke off an icicle. He crossed toward me, the icicle clutched in his fist like a sword. His sweet, childish face shone with pleasure as he lifted the jagged shard of ice. Then, in a flash, something changed in the air, and I felt threatened, like he was going to stab me. I grabbed my dagger and scissored my legs to pivot from the bed, slashing the blade toward him.

I saw the fear in his eyes, and stopped an inch from his chest.

He stopped, too, the icicle almost touching his lips. That's why he'd been lifting it—not to stab me, but to lick the ice like a Popsicle.

Oh, Nicholas. I'm so sorry. I
—
I'd never hurt you. I didn't
—
I'm still messed up from last night. I'm so sorry.

That's okay
, he said in a small voice, and tossed the icicle into the fire, where it sizzled and melted.

It's not okay.
I slipped the dagger back under my pillow.
It's not even close to okay. I don't know what's happening to me. I wouldn't hurt you, not ever.

I know. You're not like the others. You care about us ghosts.

They care, too
, I said.

Not like you. You're better than them.

But I remembered the feel of the dagger hilt in my palm; I remembered the jolt of pleasure when I'd snapped the wraith's neck.
I'm not as good you think.

After Nicholas rose through the ceiling into the attic on some errand for Celeste, I pulled my laptop into bed, but didn't turn it on. I just sat there, lost in thought, until Natalie knocked on my door and shoved inside.

“Finally conscious again?” she said.

“Barely,” I told her. “Are you okay?”

She sat beside me. “My neck hurts.” She moved her hair, and I saw the welts. “Plus I've got a serious bruise on my butt.”

“I'm sure Lukas would be happy to look at that for you,” I said. “Is he okay? And Simon?”

She nodded. “Lukas bled a lot, but the wound in his neck was pretty superficial. Mostly we all got scrapes and bruises and a few burns. We got lucky.”

“You were awesome,” I said. “I can't believe you summoned Coby and the jocks.”

“Yeah, who knew a summoner could actually
help
?” She lay back on the bed next to me and looked at the ceiling. “So what was up with you last night?”

“Which part?”

“The part where you stood there and watched a bunch of wraiths almost kill us.”

I shook my head. “I—I don't know. I just froze.”

“Like with the ghasts. Is this some Bennett thing?”

“No, I didn't even think about him. I don't know what it is. I just … zone out.” I felt nauseated. “God, what if Coby hadn't been there? You could've died. I would've stood there and watched you die. You know, when I first started seeing ghosts, I thought maybe I had a brain tumor, or that I was going completely bonkers. It's like that, all over again. I can't figure out what's happening to me. It has to be the siren. I just don't know exactly what that is, or how to stop it from happening. It's not communicating with me the way other ghosts do. I don't know how to tune it out.”

“Maybe Simon will know. Anyway, you redeemed yourself when you turned into Emma, Scourge of the Beyond.” She rolled over to face me. “You killed all three of them in like two seconds. Where did
that
come from?”

I didn't want to think about the numbness and the violence, so I just said, “They pissed me off.”

She giggled and, for some reason, that broke the tension. I asked what happened last night after I fainted, and she said Lukas carried me to the car and they came straight home—even though she'd wanted to take me to the hospital.

“Simon said you just needed sleep,” she said. “He pretended he wasn't worried, but he's been locked in the study all night. I don't think he slept at all.”

“Well, I guess we failed. We've got no idea where Neos is buried.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Have you noticed Simon's not that great a dispeller?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I don't think that's why he's here.”

Before she could answer, Lukas called from the hall. “Dudes, breakfast! I compelled Anatole to make pancakes instead of that tempeh crap.”

I grinned at Natalie. “How many calories?”

“A bazillion.”

“Sounds so good.”

“Race you,” she said.

I stretched in the shower, trying to shake out the aches and pains from yesterday. In an effort to look better than I felt, I ran styling stick through my hair, which really needed cutting, and glossed my lips. I put on a black wool sweater and my comfiest jeans, but my hair still wasn't behaving, so I accessorized with a black silk headband.

In the kitchen, Anatole was pulling a skillet from the oven, filled with something golden and puffy.

I thought Lukas compelled you to make pancakes
, I said.

Oui
, said Anatole,
but his mind is devoid of recipe. This iz ze Dutch pancake. Not your American flapjacks, which are ridiculouz.

I told him not to compel you.

His eyebrows waggled.
Well, ze boy iz not so bad, demanding ze pancake instead of zat health-food horror.

You
wanted
him to compel you!

He attempted an innocent look as he slid the puffed pancake onto a plate and sprinkled it with lemon juice and powdered sugar. Lukas and Natalie sat in the breakfast nook and watched Anatole slice the Dutch pancake into sections. I helped myself to tea, then settled beside them and dug in.

Lukas stuffed a second bite into his mouth and stared at me.

“What?” I said. “Is there sugar on my face?”

He shook his head, still watching me.

“Seriously, what?” I turned to Natalie. “Is it the headband?”

“It's not the headband,” she said, daintily cutting into her pancake.

“Then what? Why is he staring?”

Lukas grinned at me. “I didn't know how badass you are. That's kind of hot.”

“Shut up and eat your pancake,” I said.

So, of course, he didn't shut up. Instead, he offered makeup advice. “You need like some crimson lipstick and black eyeliner. Oh, and you should get a tramp stamp.”

Even Natalie had to snicker at that.

School was cancelled for the day, so when I finished eating I trudged back upstairs to loll around in bed some more. I was still tired from yesterday. When I opened the door to my room, I found Simon rifling through the wardrobe.

“Hey!” I said. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for drugs,” he said.

“There's Advil in the bathroom.”

“Right.” He gave up on the wardrobe and opened the top drawer of the dresser.

“That's my underwear.” I slammed the drawer shut. “I don't even smoke weed.”

“What are you on then?”

“What am I on?” I was incredulous. “You mean all the drugs I'm doing when I'm not at school, or training with you, or practicing with the dagger, or doing homework, or killing wraiths?”

He crossed his arms. “Show me your hands.”

“Why, are you thinking about becoming a manicurist?” I held out my hands for him to inspect. “Because you suck as a dispeller.”

He ignored the insult and examined my hands, then exhaled deeply. “I'm sorry. I thought … the way you killed those wraiths yesterday, I was certain you were taking Asarum.”

“What's that?”

“Wild ginger. An unremarkable herb, except for ghostkeepers.”

“Oh, my aunt told me about it. Neos used it to increase his powers.”

“It's like steroids for professional athletes, except more dangerous. And addictive.”

“Why did you check my hands?”

“For Asarum stains. It changes the pigmentation.”

“And you thought I was—” I was both mad and hurt. “How could you think I would do that?”

“What else was I supposed to believe after last night? First you stood there in a … a drugged stupor, then you cut through those wraiths like a—”

“A mad dog,” I finished, and sat heavily on the edge of my bed.

That stopped him for a moment. He inspected me, and when he spoke again, his voice was gentler. “You saved our lives.”

“I … I don't know what's wrong with me.”

And I didn't only mean my power, standing there watching my friends lose a fight. But where were the people who were supposed to care for me? Somehow I always thought Bennett would be around to protect me. And where were my parents? Where was Max? They'd all left.

“If it's not Asarum,” Simon said, “I think we need to consider the siren Max warned you about. Maybe she's not a myth.”

I nodded. “I think I hear a voice, like someone humming a lullaby. But if a siren was hanging around, wouldn't I feel her?”

He ran a hand through his sandy hair. “I don't know. Hearing things isn't a good sign. We don't know what kind of power she has.”

I licked my lips, because something else was worrying me, more than the mythical siren. “Simon, those wraiths last night. They were waiting for us—but there's no way Neos could've known we'd be there.”

“Not unless someone told him,” Simon agreed.

Not the answer I'd been hoping for. I'd wanted him to have some other rationale, because only the team and the house ghosts knew we'd be there. “Which means—”

“Which means you trust no one. Not even me. You're too important, Emma. You're the one he wants.”

“I can't even trust
myself
if that siren's in my head.”

“Emma,” he said, staring at me, “I'm not sure how I'm going to keep you safe.”

His words were so unexpected and his expression so heartfelt that I almost broke down. I crossed to the dresser and picked up the Barbie that had been lying there since I found her in my locker. I smoothed her shorn hair and straightened her skirt.

“I think that's my job,” I said.

Later that morning, Lukas and Natalie dragged me downstairs, insisting that I needed to build a snowman, catch snowflakes on my tongue, and generally catch up on a snowless childhood. My peacoat had disappeared, which meant Celeste was trying to clean the wraith grime from it, so I grabbed a red down parka from the hall closet.

Then I realized it had probably belonged to Bennett's sister, Olivia. I flinched as I slipped into it, worried I might flash onto her memories, but I was learning to control that power—or maybe the coat was just a coat. And the gray knit cap I found in a basket on the closet shelf was just a hat, even though it smelled like Bennett.