Queen of the Dead

  The girl looked at me with a mix of pity and disgust. “You’re a Casper lover.”

  I stared at her. “A what?”

  She shook her head and put the device back in her pocket. “Idiot,” she muttered.

  But I didn’t even know enough about what was going on to contradict her.

  She scooped up her equipment again and started to walk away. Then she stopped with a sigh. “If I leave you here, you’re going to get yourself arrested, aren’t you?”

  Uh…

  “Let’s go.” She gestured at me impatiently. “I can’t risk you blabbing to the cops.”

  “You’ve got another way out?” I asked. From what I’d seen, the whole house, other than the front door, was locked down and boarded up tightly.

  She smirked. “You don’t?”

  She hustled through the darkened doorway to the next room, leaving me to scramble after her.

  Disappearing sucks. It’s literally becoming nothing—simply not existing—for an undetermined amount of time. And that just can’t be good by any measure.

  But occasionally, reappearing is worse. As Will’s official spirit guide, I always reappear next to him, usually about a foot and a half to his right. But I never have any idea how much time has passed, and if he’s moved since I was last present, I might be in a completely different location than I last remembered. Which, frankly, is more than a little confusing.

  And every once in a while, just to make things interesting, I find myself in the middle of chaos.

  “Come on, let’s go.” Will grabbed my arm as soon as I was solid enough for him to do so, and started pulling me along.

  “Go where?” I asked the back of his head, which was liberally coated with dust, turning his black hair gray and dulling the gleam of the earrings in his left ear.

  We were now downstairs, I could tell that much. I was pretty sure we were in the room that had held all the strange equipment, although it was gone now. Crap. How long had I been out of it? I could hear police sirens outside, and they were getting closer. “What happened?”

  Will ignored the questions and tugged me through the darkened doorway on the other side of the room, the beam from his flashlight dancing and bobbing in a vaguely nauseating manner.

  And then a flash of movement ahead of us caught my eye. We were not alone.

  “Mrs. Ruiz?” I asked. Oh, she and I were going to have words. Most definitely. I mean, what the hell? We had been trying to help her. And there was just no excuse for cold-cocking someone like that. It was a bitch move.

  “No,” Will said. He sounded grim, but there was also this weird thread of excitement in his voice.

  He let go of me long enough to steady the flashlight and focus it on the person ahead of us.

  It was a girl, someone I’d never seen before. And yes, I know her back was to me, but with her shabby-looking black cargo pants with the pockets stuffed to the bursting point, boots that looked like army-surplus rejects, and a mass of dark wavy hair on the edge of frizz, I would have remembered her. And scheduled an intervention. Her hair was just screaming for conditioner and possibly a deep oil treatment. She was also carrying the largest duffel bag I’d ever seen, with one of the larger pieces of equipment in her other hand.

  “I don’t know her name, but she’s like me,” he said in an undertone.

  “Alive?” Duh. I could tell that much by the way she moved, too aware of edges and corners. When you can pass through that kind of stuff, you stop paying as much attention to it. Unless, of course, you’re around Will often enough. I’d lost count of the times I’d barked my shins on coffee tables and banged my elbows on doorways as I moved in and out of the field around him that gave me physicality.

  “No, a ghost-talker,” he said. His gaze, fixed on her, was bright with interest.

  Well, that explained it. People who could legitimately see and hear spirits were few and far between. Even fewer still were the ones who managed it without going completely insane. The only other one I’d even heard about was Will’s dad, who’d killed himself a few years ago, when the stress of itall had gotten to him. Not exactly a great example to follow.

  Still, I didn’t like the way he was looking at her, like she was some kind of miracle delivered to his door. So she could see spirits. Big deal. I could, too.

  “Really?” I asked. “She doesn’t look—”

  The girl stopped and spun around to jab a finger at Will. “If you and Miss Queen of the Dead want to keep chatting until you get caught, please, be my guest. But wait until I’m clear, okay?”

  I gaped at her. Nobody talked to me like that. Not when I was alive, dead, or anywhere in between. “Excuse me? Just because you dress like a homeless person with the requisite matching hair-care regime does not mean I’m—”

  Will stepped between us. “Understood.”

  She nodded curtly and turned back around to start forward again.

  I smacked Will’s shoulder and he winced. “What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.

  He glared at me. “The police are coming—”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  “—but she’s got another way out,” he continued. “So unless you want to wake up in jail with me tomorrow morning…”

  I shuddered. Wherever he was at 7:03 a.m., my time of death, that’s where I ended up. And I had kind of a thing about germs and public places. Yes, I know I’m dead. It doesn’t make germs any less disgusting.

  “Fine,” I muttered.

  The girl moved through the dark and dusty rooms without hesitation, even in the poor light. She knew where she was going. Or so I thought until she led us into a dead end, a room near the back of the house with nothing but big boarded-up windows and no door, other than the one we’d used to enter.

  Great. “So…either she’s planning a shoot-out, or just hoping if you stand really still no one will notice.” I folded my arms across my chest. I could have left at any time, of course, given enough distance from Will to pass through the wall, but I wasn’t inclined to leave him alone again so soon, especially not with HER.

  “‘She’ knows exactly what she’s doing and never invited you along anyway,” the girl shot back with a glare at me.

  “Like I need an invitation to watch you fail,” I snapped. My God, she just wouldn’t shut up.

  She set the one piece of equipment down—a portable generator, according to the label on the side—and then slung her heavy bag from her shoulder and shoved it at Will. “Here. Since you’ve messed everything up already, the least you can do is be useful.”

  “Hey!” I said on his behalf. She didn’t know him well enough to talk to him that way, not like me.

  Will shook his head at me, warning me to stay quiet. Right. Like that would happen.

  The girl ignored us both, reaching through the broken-out window to the plywood covering it.

  I snorted. “You’re not going to be able to tear through that with your bare hands—”

  With only a small grunt of effort, she shifted the plywood piece until it swung up and to the left. She must have removed the bolts or nails or whatever at the bottom of the plywood and loosened the ones on top until it would swing from side to side. And unless someone walking by happened to see her climbing in or out, they’d probably never notice what she’d done.

  Talk about planning. I was almost impressed. But momentary flashes of brilliance did not excuse wandering around like someone who used a grocery cart as her closet.

  Holding the plywood aside with one hand, she reached back and grabbed her bag from Will, lowering it out the window carefully. Then she followed, swinging her legs over the window frame and then hopping down to the ground.

  She twisted around to face us again. “Hurry up,” she whispered to Will, wiggling her hand impatiently for the generator.

  As soon as he gave it to her, I half expected her to let the plywood slide shut and then run from the house and us. But she didn’t. She held it open for him, waiting semi-patie
ntly even though he was moving slower than normal. In the waning pale blue light of twilight, I could see for the first time that the back of his shirt was torn and he was bleeding in several places. What all had I missed?

  Once Will was on the ground, I leaned forward to start through the window myself. And that’s when the girl let the plywood go with a mocking little smile.

  I yelped and jerked back an instant before it would have connected with my head.

  Oh, she did not just do that.

  I shoved the plywood aside and scrambled out and onto the ground. It was darker than when we’d gone into the house, but I could see them both clearly. They hadn’t gotten far, just a few feet from the window. I stalked toward them.

  The girl was adjusting her bag on her shoulder when I might have accidentally bumped into her. Hard.

  She stumbled forward, almost toppling face-first to the ground under the weight of everything.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said sweetly. “Didn’t see you there.” Ghost-talker or not, you do not mess with me. That is rule one. My dad, who is an excellent corporate negotiator, alwayssays that if you let people walk over you once, they’ll turn you into their favorite footpath. Or something vaguely fortune cookie–esque like that.

  She recovered her balance and straightened up, shifting her bag back into position. “I don’t have time for this,” she said with an irritated sigh. She turned to face me with something small, silver, and shiny in her hand. It looked like a flashlight, but it wasn’t on.

  “No!” Will shouted.

  “What is that?” I demanded. “What is she doing?”

  “Not now, Alona,” Will said tightly. He moved to stand between us. “Let’s just focus on getting out of here, okay?” he said to the girl. Behind us, the sounds of heavy footsteps and men shouting inside came through clearly even with the windows boarded up. The police were in the house now.

  Her gaze darted toward the house and then back to me. “Whatever,” she said. “I’m gone.”

  “Wait.” Will started after her. “I still don’t know your name.”

  Oh, please.

  She whirled around. “Look, playtime is over,” she snapped. “This was my third chance at a containment. And you screwed it up. Get it?”

  “No,” he said, sounding baffled.

  “Let her go,” I said. “We don’t need her.” Seriously, she was a little shorter than me and not nearly as attractive. And yes, I’m qualified to judge. It’s always important to know how you rank against other females in the immediate vicinity. Know your competition. Not that she was. Competition, I mean. I suppose she did have a bit of an exotic appeal with all of that hair, and her eyes might have been pretty if I could have gotten a better look to judge, but aside from that? Nothing. Well, the ghost-talker thing, I guess.

  She laughed. “Princess, you have no idea what you need.” Why did that sound like a threat?

  I tried to move around Will to get at her, but he threw up an arm to stop me, and I didn’t want to hurt him further.

  “Have a nice life, Casper lover,” she said to Will. “Stay out of mine.” Then she took off at a quick jog, all of her equipment rattling as she went.

  Will took a step after her.

  “Oh, no.” I snagged his sleeve. “Car is that way.” I pointed in the opposite direction of the girl.

  He didn’t respond, and for a second, I thought he might shake me off and chase her anyway.

  Seriously? I felt a tiny squeeze of panic, for the first time in a long while. Would he really do that? Ditch me, Alona Dare, for her, some random girl who just happened to be a ghost-talker?

  Oh, I don’t think so.

  Yes, I could make it out of here on my own just fine, but that wasn’t the point. We were in this together. Period. End of story.

  “Hey.” I snapped my fingers in front of his face. “Wake up. We need to go.”

  Finally, he nodded and we started hurrying in the direction of the car. Thank God.

  But that didn’t stop him from looking back after her every ten seconds, or me from noticing it.

  Crap. This would have to be addressed.

  “Ow!” I jerked out of Alona’s grasp and away from the tweezers she wielded with maybe just a little too much enthusiasm. “Are you trying to make it worse?”

  “You have, like, half the bedroom floor back here,” she said with no sympathy. “Besides, even if I was, you’d deserve it,” she said.

  She’d been beyond cranky with me since we’d left the Gibley Mansion grounds, and admittedly, she might be justified in that…to an extent. After the girl just left us standing there, it had been Alona who’d pulled it together and led me out, through the backyard and to the next block over, where I’d parked the Dodge. I’d been reeling still, torn between trying to follow the ghost-talker girl and just getting out of there before I got caught.

  Alona had had no such qualms. She’d dragged me to the car and then, on the way to my house, made me tell her everything she’d missed while she’d been gone.

  Unsurprisingly, none of those details—the silver that had been stolen and then restolen, Mrs. Ruiz’s attack on me, the weapon the girl had used against Mrs. Ruiz and almost Alona—had improved her mood.

  Now in the bathroom at my house, where first aid was supposed to be happening, she was evidently still mulling over everything and blowing things way out of proportion, in my opinion. Thankfully, my house was currently empty. Mymom was at the movies with Sam, her semiboyfriend/boss from the diner where she worked.

  “So, she could have killed me with that thing, whatever it was, in her hand?” Alona demanded. “Just wiped me out of existence because she didn’t like the way I was looking at her or something?”

  I hesitated, beginning to reconsider the wisdom of this conversation when I didn’t have enough—or any—facts…and when Alona was obviously pissed and in a position to cause me pain. “I don’t know,” I said finally. “I don’t know what the device does exactly, but it definitely did something to Mrs. Ruiz.”

  Alona removed another splinter from my back with brutal efficiency, and I winced.

  “I stopped her before she hurt you,” I pointed out through gritted teeth. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m great.” She waved the tweezers around. “Your new best friend is a homicidal maniac with mysterious weapons and hair that could be used to remove rust off a bumper.”

  At least she had her priorities straight. I resisted the urge to point out that since Alona was already technically dead, it wouldn’t really be homicide. I do have some sense of self-preservation.

  “Look, she didn’t know,” I said. “As far as she knew, you were another ghost who was going to try to hurt her.”

  “So quick to take her side,” she muttered. She bumped past me to wash her hands at the sink.

  I stared at her. “What is wrong with you?”

  “You know nothing about her, why she was there, even what all that stuff she had with her does.” She scrubbed her hands ferociously under the water. “Do you even know what happened to Mrs. Ruiz? Where she ended up after your friend made her vanish?”

  “I—”

  “No, you don’t,” she answered for me. “This girl just waves around her cool toys, and you’re hooked. No questions asked.” She shoved past me to dry her hands on a towel.

  “I don’t think it’s really an issue since I’ll probably never see her again,” I said. “She wouldn’t even give me her name.” Which sucked. Maybe I could figure out some other way to track her down, just to talk, exchange some information.

  She turned to face me. “Seriously? You’re not actually falling for this, are you?”

  “What? Why?” I felt like we were in two completely different conversations…or on two different planets.

  “First of all, not telling you her name is a form of manipulation. It only makes you want to know it more.” She shook her head at me in disgust. “Classic girl move. How do you not know this?” She pau
sed and then said, “Never mind. I forgot who I was talking to.”

  Nice. Just because I’d spent most of high school avoiding social contact…

  “Or, it’s possible she really didn’t want me to know,” I pointed out.

  “Then why not make something up? How would you know?”

  I opened my mouth and shut it without saying anything. That was kind of a good point.

  She flipped her hair behind her shoulders and ticked another point off on her fingers. “Second, another ghost-talker, a rare and endangered species according to you, just happens to show up at the same place at the same time as you?” she asked.

  “Well, yeah,” I said. “It’s possible.”

  “Please. Do you have any idea of what the odds would be on that?”

  “No, but it doesn’t matter,” I argued. “She would have had no way of knowing that I would be there tonight.”

  “Uh-huh.” She sounded less than convinced. “Because no one knew about the demolition tomorrow and Mrs. Ruiz’s issues.”

  Apparently, none of us had known the extent of Mrs. Ruiz’s issues, but her haunting the place was fairly common knowledge, and the impending demolition—as well as the Decatur Historical Society’s doomed efforts to prevent it—had been in the local news for weeks.

  I shook my head. “This is crazy. You think this is some kind of elaborate scheme? To accomplish what?”

  She threw up her hands. “How should I know? Ask your new girlfriend.”

  I frowned at her. “She’s not my—”

  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now whether she meant to find you or not,” Alona continued.

  “It doesn’t,” I repeated.

  “No. The fact is, she did find you. And if there are so few ghost-talkers out there, do you think they’re going to let an opportunity like this pass them by?”

  “Who?” I was beginning to wonder if one of us had experienced brain damage tonight. Honestly, I wasn’t sure which of us was the more likely candidate at this point.

  “The people she’s working for,” Alona said with exasperation. “Weren’t you listening? ‘This was my third chance at a containment.’That’s what she said.”