Surrender (13 page)

I settled into the chair. “The thing is … well, I lost a bet with Harry Armitage. And the loser has to help the janitors after school for a couple days. I thought maybe I could clean this building instead of the main one?”

“So the other students won't see you? I normally frown on betting of that sort,” the dean said with a smile. She gestured to her huge pile of files. “But in this case, I'll make an exception.”

She said I could come by after school to vacuum, dust, and wipe down the counters in the kitchenette. I thanked her halfheartedly at the door, trying to look abashed, then ran to catch up with Natalie and Lukas at the front gate. When I told them about my clever ploy to search the dean's office, they congratulated me and refused to help.

“This is important,” I said. “You're treating it like a
game. Coby's dead, Martha's dead, Bennett's sister, all those other ghostkeepers … If we don't stop Neos, more people are going to die.”

“Dude,” Lukas said, “you're not the only one with a cunning plan. We've spent the whole week sneaking around.”

“Yeah, and making out,” I muttered.

Natalie grinned wickedly. “It's the perfect excuse! They caught us in the endowment office, but when we started kissing they just thought we were looking for some privacy. They yelled at us, but didn't suspect anything.”

“Where are you looking today?” I asked.

“The drama department.” Natalie considered. “Lukas is going to dress as a pirate captain.”

“I am?” He looked dubious.

“And I'll be your saucy wench.”

“In that case,” he said, “yo ho ho.”

So that afternoon, I swabbed the deck while they … well, I didn't know exactly what they did. Probably walked the plank.

I took my time dusting the dean's office, checking all the knickknacks, every cubbyhole and cabinet. As I searched, I couldn't shake the feeling I was being watched. I kept spinning around, expecting to catch someone behind me, but there was no one. Only the weird blond American Girl doll, which for some reason the dean kept on her chair when she wasn't there. After it freaked me out for the third time, I hid it under the desk.

The dean was at a meeting and campus had already cleared out, so maybe it was some ghostly presence making
me jumpy. I probed with summoning energy and found nothing but one of Emma's old grooms, only confirming this had once been a carriage house.

I decided it must be the lingering memories of the previous Emma putting me on edge, and went to check the bathroom, which was, of course, empty. A bowl of purple potpourri sat on the toilet, over which hung a bland matching watercolor. The room was totally normal, for a bathroom; there was no reason for my nervousness. Except, as I turned to switch off the light, a hand grabbed my other wrist from behind me.

The Rake would've been seriously disappointed in me. Instead of reflexively striking at a nerve cluster or grabbing the hand and snapping the fingers, I shrieked.

The hand released me. “It's not gold.”

It was Britta, my gorgeous, tawny-skinned nemesis—the girl who sat next to me in Western Civ and hogged all the sunlight. Except at the moment she looked more chalky than glowy, nervously checking my hand like she was afraid she'd done damage.

“What?” She was staring at the silver band on my finger Bennett had given me. “What are you doing here?”

“I am doing a research project,” she said, like she was reading off a TelePrompTer. “What are you doing?”

“Um. Something for the dean. Are you okay?”

She fidgeted, tugging at her school tie, then rolling her shoulders like her bra was too tight. “I am studying the architecture of the school and grounds.”

“Well, good luck with that,” I said, putting on my coat.

“Thank you!” Britta said, smiling at me.

Why was she being so nice? I had enough problems, I didn't have time to worry about Britta going off her meds. I mumbled a good-bye and fled for the museum.

The next day, I complained to Edmund about the wild goose chase in the dean's office, but he was so happy poring over antiquarian books with Max that he didn't even take offense. Later, between fifth and sixth period, I snuck into the staff lounge. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and old leather couches and oriental rugs gave the room a clubby feel. Dim light came in through the low curtainless windows that looked over the front gates.

I doubted Neos's ashes would be there, but I had to look even if I didn't know what exactly I was looking for. Could the ashes be buried? Hidden inside a cushion or a wall? How much space did they take? Why couldn't I sense them? The possibilities seemed infinite, and casing the staff lounge made me feel sick to my stomach. I rifled through drawers and files, panicked about coming up with a good excuse if a teacher walked in.

Just as I decided nothing was here, I noticed a file box on a top shelf. I reached up high, and tipped it to the floor. The lid popped off and papers exploded everywhere.

I swore.

“You rang?” Harry stood in the doorway, with Sara behind him.

I stooped to pick up the papers. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We followed you, of course,” Sara said, adding some papers to my stack. “You've been acting even freakier than normal, so we wondered what you were up to.”

“I have
not
been acting freakier than normal.”

“So you admit you normally act freaky?” Harry asked.

“No, I—shut up.”

He shoved a bunch of papers onto the stack. “You know, if you take your shoes off, you can use your monkey toes to make this go twice as fast.”

“I don't need my feet to strangle you,” I said, then asked Sara, “Were you really following me?”

“Kind of. We couldn't figure out who you were sneaking off with,” Sara said. “I mean, you're so in love with Bennett. Harry thought maybe a teacher.”

“An older man,” Harry said, replacing the file box on the shelf. “Like Sakolsky. The girls all love Sakolsky.”

“Sakolsky?” I said. “Why not Jones? He's better-looking. Younger, at least. And not a math nerd.”

Sakolsky, however, turned out to be a prophetic choice, as he happened to walk in at that moment. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “You're not allowed in the staff lounge.”

“We're looking for you,” Sara said. “Emma and I missed tonight's homework assignment.” Her lie was so facile I almost believed it, until I remembered I had the assignment written in my notebook.

Sakolsky eyed us, and we all put on innocent expressions, which was more difficult for Harry. He didn't have that kind of face.

“And you?” Sakolsky asked him.

“Would you believe I was just keeping them company?”

“No.”

“In that case, they came for their homework, but I'm looking for a place to stash a chimp.”

“You have a chimp?”

“Not yet, sir,” Harry said. “I haven't found a place to stash him.”

Sakolsky started to answer, then shook his head, unwilling to continue the conversation. He opened his briefcase and gave us the assignment, which Sara and I both dutifully marked in our phones.

“Don't let me catch you in here again,” Sakolsky said. As detention was the last thing I needed right now, I thanked him profusely and scooted to sixth period, ignoring Harry's and Sara's hints that this wasn't over. I still wasn't sure what to tell them.

The bell rang as I hit my seat. I glanced at Britta, sitting to my right, waiting for the inevitable snarky comment. Then I remembered how strangely she'd acted the day before.

She was smiling at me again. “Just made it,” she said, and dorkily pretended to wipe sweat from her brow.

“Yeah,” I said, hesitantly.

“Nick of time.”

“Uh-huh.” I looked at her more closely, and she seemed kind of uncomfortable in her own skin. “Are you okay?”

She fidgeted. “What? Why would you ask that?”

“Because you're acting all nice. What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I am nice.”

“Have you
met
you?”

“Girls,” Mr. Jones cut in. “If you're done, I'd like to proceed with class. Since you're so talkative, Emma, why don't you tell us what you thought of the reading?”

I felt my face flame, not because Mr. Jones had singled me out, but because I'd told Harry and Sara I thought he was good-looking. Not that he knew I'd said that, but I still felt embarrassed. At least Harry and Sara weren't here to witness it. Harry would've noticed and made some veiled remark.

But as we discussed the French Reformation, I realized it wasn't thinking Mr. Jones was cute that was making me feel funny. My spine tingled, and pressure radiated into my arms. Which could only mean one thing: there was a ghost nearby, one I didn't recognize.

But where? If I stood to summon it, I'd look like a complete freak. I rolled my shoulders, letting my ghostkeeping power flow down my arms into my hands. I adjusted my position in my chair, trying to direct the probing tendrils of my power. I felt the imprint of a ghost thickening the air in the classroom, but couldn't pinpoint its location.

A wraith? I didn't think so, but couldn't be sure. I shifted in my chair, trying for a better position, and Jones said, “Yes, Emma? Do you need to use the bathroom?”

The room filled with laughter. I no longer thought he was cute.

“No,” I muttered.

The ghostly energy swirled and shifted. Jones continued with his lecture and Britta gave me a sympathetic look, which further weirded me out.

I scanned the classroom, trying to focus my powers without moving. No luck. The room was typical for Thatcher, and looked more like a drawing room than a classroom, with burnished wood paneling and antique furniture. And plenty of resident ghosts that I was able to ignore—unlike this one. I didn't know why, unless it was Rachel.

An agonizing forty minutes later, the bell finally rang. I was the first one out of the classroom, but I lingered outside the door, waiting for the room to empty. With everyone gone, I could work my magic and summon the ghost. I longed for my dagger, but even if it was a wraith, I should be able to dispel it without help.

Britta stopped and smiled at me. “Are you okay? I'm so mad at those students for laughing at you.”

“Yeah, I'm sure you feel terrible.”

“Why can't we be friends, Emma? Like those other friends of yours. You know, um—”

“What, Harry and Sara?” She really was acting weird.

“Harry and Sara,” she repeated in a robotic voice.

“What the hell is up with you? Are you recording this for some practical joke? Did Harry put you up to this?”

She smiled woodenly and wandered away.

“Okay,” I said to nobody in particular, and waited for Mr. Jones to drag his un-cute self out of the classroom.

Then I slipped back inside, pretending I'd left something behind. After I was sure I was alone, I got into my summoning stance and unleashed my full powers, but only felt traces of the unfamiliar ghost, until I heard someone clear his throat.

Jones stood at the door, watching me. “Is that qigong?” he asked.

I felt myself flush. “Tai chi. The beach ball pose.” I tossed an imaginary beach ball at him, and scurried away.

I zoned through my last class, too worried about what I'd sensed to concentrate. Was Rachel back? Had she brought Neos with her?

When the final bell rang, campus cleared out quickly. But as I gathered my things from my locker in the Lame Lounge, my spine began to tingle. The ghost was back, and not far off. I exited the lounge and followed its trail to a long corridor that stretched before me, lined by closed doors. It was the music and art department, and since I was skilled at neither, I never came down here. The lights flickered as I walked along the empty hallway, like in some low-budget horror film, and despite the cheesiness, my heart caught.

I needed to remember the lessons the Rake and Simon had taught me. I needed to remember who I was. I wasn't the scared little girl who accidentally blundered into the
monster's lair; I was the kick-ass hunter who drove a dagger through its heart. I might have felt braver if I'd actually still had my dagger.

I heard scuffling from inside one of the rooms, then a short, terrified scream and a grunt. There was a clamor of discordant music—piano keys struck randomly, violin strings shrieking and snapping.

Then I heard Sara yelling for help. “Coby! Emma! We need you!”

Lunging across the hallway, I pulled on the knob, but the door wouldn't open. Through the little rectangular window I caught a glimpse of the music room, glowing with a flickering light. Harry and Sara stood back to back, he holding a trumpet and she a chair, as three music stands whirled around them, whipping and slashing with sharp metal edges.

Two of the stands were wielded by a ghost in a 1900s-looking police uniform, and the other by a little rat-faced man. And in the far end of the room was Britta, who actually was floating on her own. Her face was contorted, and her normally tawny skin burned with a dull light. I was terrified for Harry and Sara. How could I have missed what was happening to Britta? She wasn't being nice to me, she was possessed.

A music stand slashed at Harry, and he barely deflected it with his trumpet. Sara yelled, “
Someone
, please help!”

“Where is it?” Britta asked, in an awful gravelly voice that wasn't her own. “Where does she keep it?”

I yanked harder at the doorknob, feeling the beginnings
of panic. Locked tight, the knob wouldn't turn an inch. I couldn't get to them, couldn't save them.

“Screw you,” Sara spat. “We'll never tell—”

“Wait, wait!” Harry said desperately, as a music stand barely missed his head. “I'll tell you!”

Britta's voice grew eager, rapacious, and the rat-faced man and the cop held the music stands in the air. “Tell me. Tell me now, or die.”