If both Derek and Simon had powers, is that how they'd ended up together, as foster brothers? What had their dad told them? Did his disappearance have something to do with being magical? Was that why the guys had enrolled in school under fake names and kept moving around? Is that what our kind had to do? Hide?
The questions crowded my brain, none of them willing to leave without answers . . . answers I couldn't get at two in the morning. They bounced around like Simon's basketball. After a while, I swore I could see them —orange balls bouncing through my head, back and forth, back and forth, until I fell asleep.
A voice sliced through the heavy blanket of sleep, and I bolted up, fighting my way to consciousness.
I gulped air as I surveyed the room, ears and eyes straining. All was still and silent. I glanced over at Rae. She was sound asleep.
A dream. I started lying back down.
"Wake up."
The whisper floated through the half-open door. I lay down, resisting the urge to pull the covers higher.
/ thought you weren't going to cower anymore? That's the plan, right? Not to ignore the voices but get answers, take control.
A deep breath. Then I slipped out of bed and walked to the door.
The hall was empty. I could hear only the tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock downstairs. As I turned, a pale shape flickered near a closed door down the hall. A closet, I'd presumed earlier. What was it with ghosts and closets in this house?
I crept down the hall and eased the door open. Dark stairs led up.
The attic.
Uh-uh, this was as bad as a basement, maybe even worse. I wasn't following some ghost up there.
Good excuse.
It's not an —
You don't want to talk to them. Not really. You don't want to know the truth.
Great. Not only did I have to deal with Derek's taunts and jibes but now even my inner voice was starting to sound like him.
I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Twenty
I SLID MY HAND ALONG the wall, searching for a light switch, then stopped. Was that a good idea? With my luck, Tori would head to the bathroom, see the attic light on, and investigate . . . only to find me up there talking to myself.
I left the light off.
One hand on the railing, the other gliding along the opposite wall, I climbed the stairs, ascending into blackness.
My hand slipped off the end of the railing, and I pitched forward. I'd reached the top. A trickle of moonlight came from the tiny attic window, but even after I paused to let my eyes adjust, I could only make out vague shapes.
I walked with my hands out, feeling my way. I smacked into something, and it sent up a cloud of dust. My hands flew over my nose to stifle a sneeze.
"Girl . .."
I stiffened. It was the ghost from the basement, the one who kept insisting I open the locked door. I took a deep breath. Whoever he was, he couldn't hurt me. Even that janitor, as hard as he tried, couldn't do anything more than scare me.
I had the power here. I was the necromancer.
"Who are you?" 1 asked.
". . . contact . . . get through . . ."
"I can't understand you."
". . . blocked . . ."
Something was blocking him from making contact? Leftover meds in my system?
". . . basement . . . try . . ."
"Try that door again? Forget it. No more basements. No more attics. If you want to talk to me, do it on the main level. Got it?"
". . . can't . . . block . . ."
"Yes, you're blocked. I think it's something I was taking, but it should be better tomorrow. Talk to me in my room. When I'm alone. Okay?"
Silence. I repeated it, but he didn't answer. I stood there, shivering, for at least five minutes before trying one last time. When he didn't respond, I turned toward the stairs.
"Chloe?"
I wheeled so fast I knocked into something at knee level, my bare legs scraping against wood, hands hitting the top with a thud, enveloping me in a cloud of dust. I sneezed.
"Bless you." A giggle. "Do you know why we say that?"
Blood pounded in my ears as I recognized the voice. I could make out Liz, a few feet away, dressed in her Minnie Mouse nightshirt.
"It's because when we sneeze, our soul flies out our nose and if no one says 'bless you,' the devil can snatch it." Another giggle. "Or so my nana always said. Funny, huh?"
I opened my mouth but couldn't force words out.
She looked around, nose wrinkling. "Is this the attic? What are we doing up here?"
"I —I—I—I—"
'Take a deep breath. That always helps my brother." Another look around. "How did we get up here? Oh, right. The séance. We were going to do a séance."
"Séance?" I hesitated. "Don't you remember?"
"Remember what?" She frowned. "Are you okay, Chloe?"
No, I was pretty sure I wasn't. "You . . . never mind. I — I was just talking to a man. Can you see him? Is he here?"
"Um, no. It's just us." Her eyes went round. "Are you seeing ghosts?"
"Gh-ghosts?"
"Chloe?"
This voice was sharp and I spun to see Mrs. Talbot feeling her way over to me. I turned back to Liz. No one was there.
"Chloe, what are you doing up here?"
"I —I—I—I thought I heard . . . a mouse. Or a rat. Something was moving around up here."
"And you were talking to it?" Tori stepped through the attic doorway.
"N-no, I —I—"
"Oh, I'm pretty sure I heard you say ghost. And you were definitely talking to someone. It seems you aren't quite as cured as you said you were."
Mrs. Talbot brought me a sleeping pill and waited while I took it. The whole time, she didn't say a word to me, but as I heard her feet tapping double time down the stairs, I knew there would be a lot of words for Dr. Gill and Dr. Davidoff.
I'd blown it.
Tears burned my eyes. I swiped them back.
"You really can see ghosts, can't you?" Rae whispered.
I said nothing.
"I heard what happened. You aren't even going to admit it to me now, are you?"
"I want to get out of here."
"News flash. We all do." An edge crept into her voice. "It's fine to lie to them. But I thought you were seeing ghosts even before you did. Who gave you the idea of looking up that guy you saw at your school? You looked him up, didn't you? You just didn't bother to tell me."
'That's not —"
She rolled over, her back to me. I knew I should say something, but I wasn't sure what.
When I closed my eyes, I saw Liz again and my stomach clenched.
Had I really seen her? Talked to her? I struggled for some other explanation. She couldn't be a ghost because I'd seen and heard her clearly —not like the ghost who'd called me up there. And she couldn't be dead. The nurses had promised we could talk to her.
When could we talk to her?
I struggled to get up, suddenly needing to know now. But I was so tired that I couldn't think straight and hovered there, propped up on my elbows, as the sleeping pill kicked in.
Something about Liz. I wanted to check. . . .
My head fell back to the pillow.
Twenty-one
THE NEXT MORNING WHEN I was called into a meeting with the doctors, I did my best damage control. I claimed 1 really had gotten past the I-see-dead-people stage and accepted my condition, but had woken up hearing a voice in the night, calling me to the attic. I'd been confused, sleep drunk, dreaming of seeing ghosts, not really seeing them.