Betrayal (16 page)

16

Say what you will about Simon as a guardian, he got us to school the next day. I wasn't sure why he bothered, with the threat of Neos hanging over us—but I suspected that he felt that the illusion of normalcy strengthened us.

I answered a thousand questions about my bandaged fingers, which felt better already—achy but not awful. I looked forward to hearing Harry's outlandish explanation of the injury, but he didn't show for Latin. Which was good news. Meant he was probably at rehab.

I stumbled through the rest of the morning and barely greeted Edmund in Trig. He'd arrived looking peeved and severe.
Your friend is spending too long in the Beyond. Have you considered he might be leading you on?

Coby?
I said.
Leading me on? It's not like he asked me to wait for him to come home from the Beyond. We're just friends.

He's delving into unwholesome things.

I still don't know what you mean.

But he refused to answer. Which indicated it had something to do with Neos. Edmund was terrified of him. Because Edmund wasn't an idiot.

Finally he said,
I'll tell you if you dispel me.

Coby wants me to dispel him, too.

I asked you first!

I know, but I didn't create you. I'm the one who brought Coby back. He wouldn't be a ghost if it weren't for me. His spirit would be sitting pretty in his grave with the rest of his body.

Perhaps that would've been better
, Edmund said somberly.
Neos has incredible power in the Beyond. It's not inconceivable that he'd influence Coby.

I bore down so hard on my pencil that I broke the lead and hurt my damaged fingers. “Ow!” I said aloud.

Sakolsky turned from the board.

“The invalid's acting up,” Britta said.

I shot her a look. Why did I have to suffer through two classes with her?

“Emma?” Mr. Sakolsky looked at me.

“I'm fine. I'm just … having trouble writing.” I shrugged and showed him my broken pencil.

“Take a break,” Sakolsky said. “I'm sure Britta will be happy to share her notes with you.” It was always hard to tell with Sakolsky whether he was completely oblivious to social tension or benignly Machiavellian.

“Great, thanks,” I muttered. Then Britta and I stuck our tongues out at each other. She always reduced me to middle-school behavior.

You're actually worried, aren't you?
Edmund said.

That Britta's not going to share her notes with me? I think that's a given.

Don't change the subject, young lady.
Sometimes he could be so schoolteacherish.

No. I trust Coby. I always have.

I hope you're right. Betrayal is a terrible thing.

He faded away then, apparently happy he'd planted the seed of doubt. I just wished I could keep it from budding.

In Fencing, Coach took one look at my hands and told me to take a seat. I climbed the bleachers to sit next to the ghost jocks, who were on their usual perch.

I nodded to them.
Craven. Moorehead.
Which sent them into peals of teenage boy laughter that almost brightened my day.

Actually, I learned a thing or two about fencing as I listened to them debate the matches. They were taken by a particularly flashy riposte executed by Sara against Kylee. As much as I liked Kylee, I wasn't unhappy to see her get trounced—I'd been on the receiving end of her foil too many times. And it was good to see a little pep back in Sara's moves.

Maybe I should try that
. I fluttered my fingers.
When I'm well again.

Nah
, said Craven.
You fight dirty.

Yeah
, Moorehead agreed.
Can't teach that.

You have to be born in a gutter to fight like Emma Vaile.

Raised by streetwalkers
, the other said.

I sighed. Why did I even bother?

I moved across the gym and ignored them for the rest of class. Sara caught up with me in the locker room. She was looking better than she had in days. The accessories were subdued and her hair was in a ponytail, though at least it had been brushed. And she was even wearing lip gloss, a good sign when it came to Sara.

“Hey,” she said with a smile.

“How's Harry?”

“On lockdown in Boston. I called his parents and they met us there.”

“What's it like?” I asked, as we started toward the doors. “One of those glitzy rehabs with gourmet meals and maid service?”

“I guess, but it's still kind of grim. I just hope he's okay.” Her rough voice lowered. “I think I need to talk to someone about all of this. I'm such an enabler.”

When Harry was twelve, he went through a shoplifting phase.
Coby drifted into view.
Sara drove the getaway bike.

Hey!
I said.
Girls' locker room!

I'm dead, Emma.

You're still a guy.

I pushed through the doors into the stairs leading to the main hall. “Talking to someone's probably a good idea.”

“Is that him?” she whispered.

“What? Who?”

“I saw you looking. I can—I can almost feel something. Is it Coby?”

Don't tell her I'm here
, he said.

“Inside the girls' locker room? Does that
sound
like Coby?”

“No, he's too much of a gentleman.”

I nodded. “Yeah, he'd never sneak a peek, or tell anyone your secrets, like that time you rode the getaway bike when Harry shoplifted.”

“Coby!” she said, glaring in the wrong direction. “Promise me right now that you won't be hovering around the bathroom or I'll …” She looked at me. “What'll I do?”

“Ouija-board him.”

“Yeah, upside the head.” Her smile didn't quite cover her uneasiness. “Is he really here?”

Tell her I'll be good
, he said.
And toss me that pencil.

I told her, then I tossed a pencil in the air. Coby caught it—and it hovered there. He waggled it toward Sara, and she laughed, her uneasiness gone. Coby nudged one end of the pencil into Sara's hand, so she was holding half, and he was holding the other. They walked that way, holding hands through the pencil, upstairs and into the main hall.

“When can I see him again?” she asked, meaning like that brief moment on the roof.

“Oh, um …” I argued with Coby for a moment, back and forth, until he forced me to say, “Coby says, ‘never.' ”

She stopped walking, and gave the pencil a curt jerk. “What? Why?”

“ ‘Because Emma can't do that again,' ” I said. “I mean, that's what he says. I totally could, though.”

The pencil started twirling in her hand, and Coby's ghostly face watched her expression as she considered. She finally nodded, and waggled the pencil. “No,” she said. “You're right, Coby.” She started walking again. “Look at your hands, Emma. You did that for us—me and Harry. But once was enough.” Her eyes outlined the space she expected Coby to fill. “What will he do now?”

“He says he's not going to linger much longer. He's got a few things to do—”

“No! He can't leave me. Not again.”

Coby shook his head.
She has to forget about me.

Why? She loves you. She wants you to remain part of her life.

Because I won't always be here
, he said.
You know that.

I told Sara, and to my surprise she laughed. “Forget him? I'll never forget him. Just …” She looked in his direction. “Just don't be in such a rush.”

We continued that odd, three-way conversation until the bell rang. Then Sara rushed off and Coby vanished—and I realized I hadn't asked him about the Beyond. Or about Edmund's suspicions.

Before training that afternoon, Simon called us into the breakfast nook for a snack of pumpkin seeds and something called twig tea—which broke poor Anatole's heart. Even Celeste seemed a little downcast by the meager offerings. Only Nicholas, toying with the pumpkin seeds, seemed cheerful.

We ate and talked about everything. The Knell, the amulet, the siren. The dark ghostkeeper, my parents, and Neos.

I dreaded facing him. Yes, I wanted this to be over, but sometimes I felt like the knight who has to slay the dragon to win the princess. Charging into a wall of fire with no weapon but a flimsy little sword. Just once, it might be nice to be the princess.

“So this is where we stand,” Simon said. “We need to find Neos's final resting place … but we can't. Our second-best shot is taking that amulet from him—that, at least, will remove some of his power. And perhaps one of our readers can use the amulet to find his body. In any case, you're fully trained—or as near as you'll get. It's time to stop waiting, and to act.”

“What're we going to do?” Lukas asked.

“We'll head to the Knell, tomorrow,” Simon said. “Lay a trap for Neos, and wait till he springs it.”

“What kind of trap?” Natalie asked.

“We'll summon him, if necessary,” Simon said, avoiding the question. “That's why we're going to the Knell. That's where we're strongest.”

“You mean that's where Emma's strongest,” Natalie said. “This is all on her.”

“It's where the Knell can best help her.”

Natalie turned to me. “How are your hands?”

I glanced at them, still lightly wrapped in bandages. It had been less than twenty-four hours, but they were definitely getting better. It didn't make any sense, but maybe ghostbite healed faster than regular frostbite.

I bit the tape off my left hand and started unwrapping the bandages. “Just keep that siren away from me.”

“That's Lukas's job,” Simon said.

“What's mine?” Natalie asked.

“Summoning allies,” Simon said. “And keeping Emma out of the wrong kind of trouble.”

“How?”

“By keeping your eyes open. You and Emma have a bond. Sometimes being close to someone is as powerful as any ghostkeeping ability.”

“What're you going to do?”

“Coordinate with the Knell. If we all combine our powers, we'll win this. As long as Emma is ready.”

“I will be,” I said, flexing my almost-healed fingers.

17

You look a mess
, the Rake said.

After dinner, I'd slipped into the ballroom to summon him.
I thought you old-fashioned guys weren't supposed to comment on a lady's poor looks.

You are hardly a lady, my little warrior.

I half laughed. Even the Rake didn't see me as a princess.
Well, your little warrior is ready to be a big warrior.

He lunged at me with his rapier.

For once, I was ready. I deflected his thrust, and stepped in close. He backed and swiveled, trying to bring his sword to bear, but I slid under his guard and held my blade to his neck.

Passable
, he said.
Again.

My hand hurts.
I switched the dagger to my left hand, shaking out my right, and he attacked me again.

Hey!
I yelped.

Ignore the pain, Emma. Or better
—use
it.

I kept my distance from him, deflecting his thrusts and slashes and playing defense, while I thought about pain. The pain of my family disappearing and Bennett leaving me. The pain of Martha's and Coby's deaths. The pain of the ducking chair and of the ghostbite on my hands. Yet, here I was, still ticking like someone had filled me with Energizer batteries. Because the truth was, I was angry. That's what kept me going. And I focused that anger on the Rake until I pinned him three times in a row—and he finally declared me “adequate.”

When we finished, we sat in the white linen easy chairs at one end of the room. The wall of windows was filled with black light, and I longed to shut the velvet curtains against the darkness, but was too tired to get up.

Yes?
the Rake said, his blue eyes reminding me so much of Bennett's. The way he teased me reminded me of Bennett, too.

What?
I asked.

There's something you want to ask me. I can see it in your face.

I'd been distracted by thoughts of Bennett, but, yeah, I did want to ask him something.
Was your Emma always brave?

Not always. None of us are.

I
—
I'm scared. What if I can't protect them all? What if I can't win?

The Rake's smile warmed me.
Neos is right about one thing, Emma. You are the only real threat to him. He burns with raw power and hunger and hatred. But you … you burn brighter. You burn with life. He is stronger than you, but he doesn't understand
—
he
can't
understand
—
how fiercely you'll fight for those you love. You were well chosen, Emma Vaile.

His sudden earnestness embarrassed me, so I said,
Even though I'm just a girl?

Because
you are just a girl
, the Rake said, and faded into the ether.

The next morning, the light outside my window was dark gray: another beautiful day in Massachusetts. I rolled over for a few more moments of happily bedded bliss, and jumped when I saw Nicholas hovering over me.

Gah! What are you doing?

I sensed something
, he said, his eyes big and frightened.

I reached for my dagger.
What? In the house?

No. Yes. Outside
—
outside the gate. But not Neos
—
I don't think
—
not now, I mean, except maybe
—

Nicholas! Take a deep … whatever. Calm down. Tell me what you sensed.

He rippled for a moment, then said,
Yes, mum. I was outside, and I felt someone powerful on the street. A strange man. I thought a man, at least. He stank of power, so I hid between the oak tree and the fence, and I watched. And he stared at the house
—
at your window, I think. For a long time.

At my window
, I said, my heart hammering.

Nicholas nodded.
And I watched and watched. Then he finally left and I
—
I stayed there, hidden. I didn't move. Not for hours. I was
that
afraid, mum.

I tried to smile at him.
You do look a little … off.
He was always pale—I mean, he was a ghost—but there was a greenish tinge to his pallor this morning.
Then what?

I crept closer to where he'd been standing, and I found this.
He held out his hand to me, and in his palm was a small gray metal disk, like a flattened coin with slight indentations.

My spine tingled as I stared at the disk. I was getting some serious ghostly ping off it.
What is that?

I dunno, mum. I thought a button at first, but it's not a button. I think he might've rubbed it, like a rosary.

The skin on my arms began to prickle and my ghostbitten hands itched. I was afraid to touch the disk, terrified that I'd flash onto some awful place.

Nicholas thrust his hand closer.
Here, mum.

Not yet
, I said.
Go stand in the hall.

Please, take it. I'm afraid of Neos. You have to find him.
His eyes were wide and trusting, expecting me to handle everything.

I will, Nicholas. I just need to be ready.

I followed him from the bedroom and marched down the hall knocking on doors, and yelling for everyone to wake up.

Simon was the first to appear. He was wearing a white T-shirt and red flannel pajama bottoms. “Bloody hell, Emma, what's happened?”

“Does that really count as swearing in England?” Natalie's voice came from behind me. She wore a black satin mini nightie, very sex kittenish. “I always wondered if it's like saying fu—”

“Natalie!” I interrupted. “Get dressed—how do you sleep in that? Where's Lukas?”

On cue, Lukas stumbled from his room wearing nothing but black boxer briefs. “Yo.”

He caught sight of Natalie, and gaped—she might've teased him, except she was staring at him just as openly. Hoo boy.

“Hold up,” Simon said. “What's going on?”

“Why's Nicholas showing us that coin?” Natalie asked, looking away from Lukas with some effort.

“Looks like he's begging,” Lukas said. “Sometimes he takes this waif thing too far.”

“He's not begging,” I said, and told them what he'd told me. “There are waves of energy coming off it—can't you feel them?”

“We're not readers.”

“Well, I was afraid to touch it without you. You ready?”

They looked solemn, standing there in their pj's, drawing their power closer to the surface. Natalie with her summoning energy crackling around her kittenish nightie, Lukas with his ripped bare chest—I mean his waves of compulsive force—and Simon with a look of grim determination behind his flashing eyeglasses, his dispelling power flickering around him.

I took a breath and swiped the disk from Nicholas's palm. The ridges in the metal pressed into my still-tender skin, burning cold and hot at the same time. I felt a coil of dark power and then the whooshing, and the room began to spin, my vision whirling as though I were on a merry-go-round.

“Here we go,” I muttered, and closed my eyes against the wave of nausea.

When I opened them, I was standing alone on a dark city street in a neighborhood of old brownstones. A row of bare-limbed trees lined the sidewalk, and a scattering of lights glowed yellow in windows, too dim to illuminate the street. It was quiet, like early morning. Maybe the same time as it was in Echo Point?

Was that possible? That this wasn't a flashback, that the disk was showing me someplace else in real time?

As I watched, the street filled with a thick silvery fog, and I shivered against the cold, even though I knew this was all in my head, and I was still standing in the museum hallway.

I looked toward a doorway with a cheerful wreath, then noticed a flash of movement up ahead. A dark figure darted through the mist. It looked like a man. He rounded the corner as I followed him across the road and onto another narrow street. The air smelled of dense moisture, and I tailed him onto a block of brick buildings with little shops and cafés.

I lost track of the man for a moment, then spotted him crossing a square and entering what looked like an old stone church with a tall spire. I stared at the sign in front of the building until it resolved into words: Cambridge Memorial Church.

I dropped the disk, and with a
whoosh
I was standing back in the museum, the disk rolling across the floor and clinking against the wall.

“Cambridge,” I said. “He's in Cambridge, outside of Boston.”

“Who?” Simon asked.

“I don't know. I couldn't see him fully in the vision. But this coin? It stinks of Neos.”

“Cambridge,” Simon said. “You think he's there now?”

I nodded. “Hard to tell, but—yeah.”

“Then let's roll.”

Behind his back, Lukas mouthed “let's roll?” and Natalie chuckled as she slipped into her room to get dressed. I told Nicholas to ask Anatole and Celeste to make coffee and toast; then I changed into black leggings, a long gray sweater, and my black boots. I beat Natalie to the bathroom, washed my face, and checked myself in the mirror. The girl staring back looked pale and tired and not at all ready to battle ghosts.

I cleaned my hands in warm sudsy water, then carefully rinsed and dried them before applying a thin layer of Neosporin. The right one still stung from sparring with the Rake last night. Like he'd said, it was only pain, but I found a couple Advil in the medicine cabinet and popped them anyway.

A knock sounded, and Natalie waited on the other side of the door, dressed in jeans and a leopard-print sweater, her dark glossy hair slung back in a ponytail.

“Really?” I said. “Leopard this early in the morning?”

“It makes me feel fierce,” she said. “How are your hands?”

“Okay.” I waved them at her.

She didn't flinch, so I guess they didn't look that bad.

“I'll see you downstairs. I asked Anatole to make coffee.” I was strictly a tea girl myself, but Natalie loved her morning buzz.

I found Lukas in the kitchen, scarfing buttered toast, and I sighed. He no doubt had jumped into clothes he found on the floor, slapped on some deodorant, and called himself good. Meanwhile, I was trying to ignore my stringy hair, and Natalie was probably upstairs flossing.

Lukas swallowed when he saw me. “Dude, I got you something.”

I grabbed toast and a cup of tea and eyed him skeptically. Why would he want to give me a gift?

“Here.” He shoved a white plastic bag across the table. Another reason to be a guy: they didn't feel the urge to wrap gifts in polka-dot paper and pink bows.

“What is it?” I asked, half convinced it was a gag gift that would explode with green slime when I touched it. Considering the trouble he'd caused with the ghosts at his last school, I wasn't sure Lukas had grown out of that stage.

“It's for your dagger. I made it in art class.”

I used one finger to pry open the bag, and nothing burst out at me. Inside was a dark brown leather belt with a tight loop sewn into one side.

Lukas shrugged. “I just thought … way cooler than whipping it out of your down jacket.”

In the hallway, Simon bellowed. “Natalie! We're in a bit of a rush here!”

I slipped my dagger into the loop. Perfect.

Natalie stumbled in and grabbed the thermos of coffee that Anatole offered. She nodded her thanks and looked at my belt. “What's that?”

“Lukas made it,” I said. “It's a dagger holster.”

“Sheath,” he said.

Natalie's eyes twinkled. “Are those little hearts stamped into the leather?”

“Gimme a break,” Lukas said. “My teacher is pretty seventies. It was that or peace signs, which didn't seem apropos.”

“Oooh,
apropos
,” I said.