Betrayal

2


I didn’t think I’d ever tire of walking into the museum. The French blue, sea green, and pale yellow palette of the walls and furnishings always comforted me, along with the hearty scent that wafted in from the kitchen.

Bennett leafed through the mail, then asked if I’d be ready to leave in a couple of hours. “I know the timing’s not great, so soon after the funeral, but they’re expecting us.”

“They” were the Knell, the covert society that ruled the ghostkeeping world. Actually, I wasn’t exactly sure what they did. Sometimes they sounded like the secret police, other times like a crazy cult. Bennett had made an appointment for us to meet them at their headquarters in Manhattan.

“They’re really going to help us?”

He nodded. “This is what they do. They’ve been investigating Neos, and Yoshiro knows more about this stuff than anyone.”

“Who’s Yoshiro?”

“The leader of the Knell. Not the friendliest guy in the world, but he’ll know exactly how to beat Neos.”

I brushed at the mud on my coat, thinking about the Knell. “Is it like CONTROL in that Get Smart movie?”

“No,” Bennett said. “Although they do have the Cone of Silence.”

My eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah, and you enter the building through—”

“A telephone booth?”

“Porta-potty.”

“Oh, ha-ha.”

He smiled. “Are you going to be ready to hit the train at three?”

“As long as I can eat first,” I said, starting upstairs to pack. “Though I’d be faster if you had a shoe phone.”

He turned back to the mail. “I’ll see what I can do.”

I smiled, but my stomach soured. I didn’t want to go. The Knell and I didn’t exactly have a cordial relationship. Admittedly, the only members I knew were Bennett and Natalie, who were also my only friends at the moment. But back in San Francisco, the Knell had ordered Natalie to get me into trouble with the cops, and Bennett to play my savior. It’d taken a while to forgive them, with Martha helping me work through the deception. I hadn’t quite forgiven the Knell yet.

On the other hand, the Knell was my best chance—maybe my only chance—to find both Neos and my missing family.

Upstairs, I found Nicholas in the hallway, listening at Natalie’s door. Even while lurking, his youth made him seem innocent. From the look of him, he’d died sometime during the Dickensian era. “Food, Glorious Food” could spring from his lips at any moment.

What are you doing? I asked.

She won’t stop crying. Even after I made her a fire.

Nicholas laid the fires and polished the silver and did whatever other tasks Anatole and Celeste deemed below their dignity. Gotta love a household staff of ghosts.

I’ll take care of her, I said. Go find something to eat, will ya?

I wish, he mumbled, before fading out.

Oh yeah, he couldn’t eat. Sorry, I called after him, then knocked on Natalie’s door. “It’s me.”

She cried harder.

I went in and found her curled in a fetal position on the bed, not bothering to look up. The room was a mirror image of my own, with antique furnishings and a minuscule fireplace, but hers was in shades of yellow, while mine was blue green. I plopped down next to her and started rubbing circles on her back.

She took a shuddering breath. “I like ghosts,” she said, in a small voice. “I’ve never been afraid of them, you know?” She turned her face toward me and I grabbed a box of tissues from the bureau to wipe her tears.

“Blow,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Mom,” she said, lifting tissues from the box.

“Well, right now …” I left the rest unspoken. We were both missing our moms, and with Martha gone, we kind of had to fill in for each other. I brushed her hair behind her ears and silently encouraged her to tell me what brought this on.

“It was just seeing his casket go into the grave. I knew you were going to summon him later, but he won’t be the same, will he?”

“Not quite,” I said, looking at the gray light filtering through the window. “He’s sad. I don’t remember his ever being sad.”

“And then—this is totally selfish—but I couldn’t help thinking about me. All those people there. If I died, who’d even come to the funeral? Do you think my parents would care?”

“I’m sure they—”

She blew her nose. “I don’t even have a family anymore. I chose seeing ghosts over my parents. And now I drift from place to place, wherever the Knell sends me. What kind of life is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“A crappy one.”

“But, Natalie, look at you. You’re the queen of coping. You’re pretty and fun and you make friends everywhere you go.”

“I’m in eleventh grade and this is my fifth high school.” She sniffled. “You know the Knell is paying for Thatcher?”

Thatcher Academy was the private school we both attended, with uniforms and fencing classes and old money. I’d wondered who was footing the bill for both of us, but had been too preoccupied by the fact that I could control ghosts to ask about it.

“They already told me they’ll pay for college,” she said.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

She grimaced. “They saved my life.” She’d been in a bad situation, before Bennett stepped in and rescued her. “But when am I going to stop owing them? I don’t think they’d care if I died.”

“Natalie, stop. You’re not going to die. And I’d care.”

“You would?”

I took her hand. “Of course. And so would Bennett. We’re your family now.”

She gave me a watery smile. “We do bicker like sisters.”

“Exactly!”

I hugged her and she said, “Um, now that we’re sisters, I feel I can say that you need to do something about that smell.”

“I fell into Coby’s grave.”

She started laughing, like I’d hoped she would. Her mood lightened and, with that crisis averted, I told her I had to pack for the appointment with the Knell.

I was at the door when she said, “Emma, don’t let them split us up.”

“Why would they?”

“They don’t like us to get too close. But they’ll listen to you.”

I frowned. We were like family, and the Knell had played manipulative games to get us together. I hated the idea that they might try to separate us. And what did that mean for me and Bennett? Did the Knell know how close we were getting? Were they going to send Bennett away? My heart constricted at the thought.

“I won’t let them,” I promised, though I wasn’t sure how I’d stop them.

But it was enough for Natalie. She nodded, looking relieved.

I crossed the hall to the bathroom and set the shower to blistering. I stepped in and scrubbed my hair and skin, trying to scrape away the feelings along with the dirt: all the anxiety, pain, and fear from the last week. It didn’t work, but at least I no longer stank.

My bedroom was down the hall, across from an oil painting of one of Bennett’s stuffier-looking ancestors. Inside, I found my suitcase open on the bed where Celeste—the resident ghost maid—had undoubtedly left it. She knew I didn’t like her packing for me, but she always wanted to help. I put on black jeans and a gray wool sweater, then rifled through my clothes. After a minute’s thought, I packed everything else I owned that was black. In New York, I wanted to blend in.

I was zipping my suitcase when my stomach rumbled. I’d skipped breakfast that morning, nervous about summoning Coby, and was suddenly starving. I went downstairs to the kitchen for a few bites of whatever was filling the house with a delicious smell.

I found Anatole pulling popovers from the oven. Before he died, Anatole had been resident chef to one of Bennett’s ancestors, and his spirit had lingered. It was odd how quickly you could get used to a French ghost serving your meals. Yum. Can I have one now?

Oui. I made them for you. He slathered one with butter and handed it to me on a blue and white china plate.

Fameux, I told him.

I’d been looking up French words on the Internet to please him. Hopefully excellent had the same connotation in French as in English, and I hadn’t just said excellent … in bed, or something. There was no telling with the French. He and Celeste, who was sitting in the breakfast nook, appeared unimpressed, so I guessed it was okay.

What are you up to? I asked, sitting down beside her. It was unlike Celeste not to be occupied with some household task. Unless she was telling Nicholas to do it.

Waiting for you, she said. She was young and pretty, as ghosts went, and wore a gray dress and white apron. I wondered if she ever got tired of that outfit and wished for a day off.

I finished my packing. I bit into the popover, which was like eating a buttered cloud.

Oui, but you are off to ze big city— She gestured to an assortment of beauty products on the table. I do your hair and makeup.

Oh. The last time Celeste gave me a makeover, I ended up strapped to a ducking chair and almost drowned. I don’t know if I need …

I will be quick as a quicky quick, she said. Talk about lost in translation.

I don’t think that’s an expression.

She paid no attention as she drifted behind me and worked product into my hair without touching my scalp.

I finished my popover and brushed crumbs from my chest as she applied blush and mascara. I wiped my mouth with the linen napkin Anatole handed me, then puckered for her to apply lipstick. She fluttered around me for another few minutes, then said, Fini, and handed me a mirror.

I looked exactly like myself, only prettier. I don’t know how you do that.

She’d even made my hair look longer. I’d been trying to grow it, despite remembering with a shiver that Bennett had told me he liked it short. You had to like a guy who wasn’t looking for a Barbie doll.

Celeste smiled a secret smile, then told me to be careful in New York.

Oui, chéri, Anatole said, leaning against the table. You cannot trust those people.

Which people?

He shrugged meaningfully, but before I could press him, Bennett stepped into the kitchen.

He eyed the three of us at the breakfast nook, and Anatole leaped to serve him a popover while Celeste tidied the makeup away. Bennett frightened them a little, because he couldn’t communicate with them, only see them—and dispel them, if he wanted. Which he wouldn’t.

I frowned. At least, I thought he wouldn’t. Last week I’d finally heard from my mother. She’d left me a photo of Bennett in the mailbox with the cryptic message: Don’t trust him.

Thank you, Mom, for that detailed letter after you’ve been missing for two months. So glad to hear that you and Dad are having a marvelous time, wherever you are. Oh, and thanks for keeping the fact that I’m a ghostkeeper a secret all those years. You’ll shortly be receiving your nomination for Best Parenting award in the mail. Oh, wait, I don’t have your address.

Anyway, I’d crumpled the photo before Bennett saw it, but I still worried about it. Anatole’s comment made me wonder if I was supposed to mistrust Bennett because he worked for the Knell. Is that what my parents meant? Or did they know something about Bennett that, as usual, they weren’t telling me? And did I even care what they thought?

Bennett downed the popover in three bites, then pressed his hands together in a praying motion and bowed to Anatole, which I thought was nice.

He turned to me. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” I said, then remembered: “Oh no, my coat.” Still covered in grave muck.

It iz cleaned and in ze front hall, Celeste said.

I couldn’t hug her without suffering from ghostly frostbite, so I blew a kiss and followed Bennett to the front door.

Watching him carry my suitcase to the car, I couldn’t help but remember that the last time we’d gone on a trip together, I’d ended up three thousand miles from home, seeing ghosts, and battling wraiths. I hoped this journey wasn’t quite so life changing.



It was a thirty-minute trip to the train station in Boston. Enough time for me to simply enjoy riding around in a car with my boyfriend. I could get used to this.

Ten minutes out of Echo Point, we passed a little shack with a giant, hand-painted ice cream cone bolted to its side. “They make the best ice cream,” Bennett said.

The window was shuttered, and it looked as though they hadn’t served ice cream for months. “If it’s so good, how come they went out of business?”

“They’re just closed for the season. Come Memorial Day, I promise I’ll take you there.”

I tried not to get too excited at the idea of a future together. “Nothing ‘closes for the season’ in San Francisco. There’s only foggy and less foggy. People eat ice cream in both conditions.”

“The weather is awesome here in the summer.” Bennett glanced at me. “Do you like to sail?”

“Um …” I’d actually never been on any boat other than a ferry, but picturing me and Bennett out on a little sailboat in Echo Point harbor was about as romantic as I could dream. “Yeah. I like it a lot.”

He smiled. “Good. Because we have a boat. And you and I are on it all summer.”

We passed a stretch of ocean on the left. I gazed out at it, longing for summer. Crystal blue water and warm air caressing my skin. Or maybe by then it would be Bennett caressing me. “Will we ever have to come back to shore?”

“Not if we don’t want to.” He gazed at me hungrily and I tried not to blush.

His look gave me goose bumps and I crossed my arms to keep from shivering. It all seemed so impossible, but a girl could dream. “Sounds like heaven.”



We left the Land Rover in long-term parking at the station and caught the bullet train to New York. We sat in plush first-class seats, courtesy of Bennett’s family money, and a waiter brought snacks and drinks. They didn’t have chai, so I settled for an English Breakfast tea with milk in a cute little plastic teacup, and watched the scenery as we glided down the track.

It was painful, sitting so close to Bennett. He was wearing a navy linen button-down that made his eyes seem almost too blue. I found it hard to focus on what he was saying when I looked straight into them. The problem was, I really wanted to brush his dark bangs out of his eyes, and kiss his perfect lips, and run my hands over his chest, and … I gulped my tea.

I couldn’t do any of that, because if Bennett and I stayed together, kept touching and kissing and doing everything else we wanted to do, we’d risk our ghostkeeper powers. So I fiddled with my empty teacup and stared out the window, afraid that if I talked to him we’d have more conversations like the one in the car, and I’d end up climbing into his lap. They didn’t cover this kind of agony in advice columns.

His phone rang and he said, “Hey, look at this.”

I turned from the window to his iPhone, expecting to recognize someone’s name in the caller ID. Instead, there was a picture of the sole of a shoe. Bennett swiped his thumb over the heel, which slid open to reveal a mouthpiece.

“Bennett Stern,” he answered in a spylike voice. “We’re on the train now. We’ll arrive at six o’clock.”

He flipped the heel closed and turned to me, grinning.

“You were talking on your shoe phone,” I said. “To headquarters! Where’d you get that?”

“Off a dead KAOS agent in East Germany.”

I couldn’t help myself: I hugged him, then buried my face in his neck. I breathed in the scent of him, savoring every second. Then pressed my lips to his skin and he gasped.

“I’m sorry,” I said, pulling away.

“I’m not.”

He leaned closer and kissed me. The train trembled and my heart beat faster. My eyes closed and I lost myself in the sweetness of it. We kept our hands to ourselves, like if only our lips touched, then maybe everything would be okay. A false hope, but it made it the sexiest kiss ever, feeling nothing except his lips on mine.

When I regained my sanity, I turned my head to end the kiss, but that just gave him access to my ear. He nibbled. I melted. Eons later, when I rediscovered my bones, I stood shakily.

“I, um, I’m gonna …” I fumbled for my bag. “I think I should sit somewhere else.”

With his hands gripping the chair rails, he nodded.

I stumbled over him and found an empty seat, four rows back, next to the window. I leaned my head against the glass and watched the world outside blurring into grayness. The hours passed, and I wondered how much longer we could go on like this. This wasn’t some unrequited crush where you didn’t know how the boy felt, where if you threw yourself at him, he might recoil. I knew exactly how Bennett felt, and he knew exactly how I felt. We wanted each other, plain and simple.

Okay, maybe not so simple. But I couldn’t allow myself to think that there wasn’t some solution, and I spent the rest of the train ride trying to figure it out.

As we pulled into Penn Station, Bennett slid into the seat beside me. “Tell me it’s worth it,” he said. “Tell me this is going to be over soon, and we can be together.”

He’d never asked me for reassurance before, not like that. I wanted to comfort him, tell him that everything would definitely be okay. But I owed him the truth.

“It’s not just your sister, Bennett,” I said. “It’s not just finding Neos and killing him.”

“What is it, then?” he asked.

As the train squealed to a halt, I looked into his eyes. “It’s you. The you I fell in love with is a ghostkeeper. That’s the only you there is. How can I ask you to give that up?”

“I want to,” he said. “For you.”

But I just shook my head, and we gathered our bags as the other passengers started to exit. I followed Bennett through the station and onto the street. The air was cold and a grim sky peeked between the looming buildings.

Moments later we were in a taxi, heading downtown.



The avenues of Midtown started to narrow, and the taxi turned into a cramped neighborhood of brick buildings and little quaint shop fronts filled with antiques and cool clothing. I tried not to look like a tourist while gawking at everything. Even jaded urbanites gawked sometimes, right?

Bennett told the cabdriver to stop at the corner, and we grabbed our bags and stood on the sidewalk in the powdery snow. My senses flared at the sights and sounds, and I almost staggered under the impact of all the spirits lingering along the streets.

Two male ghosts in navy uniforms passed a flapper from the twenties, who winked gaily at a young ghost who looked like he’d died in some kind of disco accident. The ghosts roamed in packs of two and three, greeting each other and commenting on the snow, and generally acting as though they weren’t dead.

“Pretty intense, huh?” Bennett said.

“Wait—is that Elvis?”

“What would Elvis be doing here?” he scoffed. “That’s just a chubby guy with muttonchops and a white jumpsuit.”

He led me down the cobblestoned street, past narrow brownstones with ornate wrought-iron fences and with ancient trees growing between the sidewalks.

“So, is this whole block ghostkeepers?” I said.

“Yeah, mostly people involved with the Knell.”

As dusk crept over the rooftops, I watched a ghost boy who looked like Nicholas climb a streetlamp, light a long match, and fiddle with the glass. The lamp lit instantly—but from electricity, not his flame.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “They’re not like the ghosts in Echo Point.” Or even the ones I remembered from my childhood, before my parents had my ability suppressed. “It’s like they don’t know they’re dead.”

“Maybe it’s the street,” he said. “Or the Knell, or how many ghostkeepers live here. No one’s really sure why, but they almost forget they’re ghosts.”

We passed a small private park where a few old spirits played chess at tables under the streetlamps. A younger one moved a rook. He was eccentrically dressed and somehow familiar.

I stopped and stared. “Is that …?”

“The actor?” A movie star who’d recently died of an overdose. “Yeah.”

“Have you asked if it was suicide or an accident?”

He looked at me. “No.”

“Oh, right.” Communicating was my thing, not his.

The block dead-ended at a white stone behemoth of a house, with columns and turrets and arches, and things that might’ve been flying buttresses, for all I knew. It looked like an institution, but there was no sign; instead, ornate iron gates and heavy trees stood guard.

“What did it used to be?” I asked, expecting Bennett to say it belonged to the first governor of New York or a Rockefeller or, I don’t know, the pope.

“It’s always been the Knell.”

We headed toward the gate; then Bennett stopped and gave me a strange look, one I couldn’t decipher.

“What?” I asked.

“I should’ve prepared you.” He tilted his head. “I didn’t tell you before, because I didn’t know how, but there’s something inside. You’re not going to like it.”

“Well, that’s nice and cryptic.” I took a steadying breath. “It doesn’t matter. As long as they help us find Neos and my family.”

Then the iron gates swung open and the house received us.