School Spirits (School Spirits #1)

School Spirits (School Spirits #1) Page 21

"Are you guys okay?" I asked once I'd reached Romy and Dex.

"Us?" Romy asked, pushing her hair out of her face. "You're the one who just leapt on Beth Tanner like a ninja."

"Yeah," Dex added. "That was...if I say hot, does that make me a perv?"

In spite of all the adrenaline coursing through me-or maybe because of it-I started laughing. And once I'd started, Dex joined in, and then Romy was laughing, too. The three of us stood there for a long time, cracking up while everyone around us looked horrified.

But when I turned back to the bus, my laughter died in my throat. Two teachers were helping Beth up from the ground. Coach Lewis was there, too, gesturing at the crowd. "Back up, back up!" By now, a siren was wailing in the distance, and a group was starting to form around the wrecked car.

"Wow," Dex said softly, as though the seriousness of what had happened was just starting to sink in. "She really could have been hurt."

I watched him carefully. None of this made sense. If Dex had screwed up the banishing on purpose, he was the best actor in the world. He looked genuinely freaked out right now.

"She could have died," Romy said, and then she closed a hand around my wrist. "But you saved her."

I tried to smile back and not think that if I'd done my job right, she wouldn't have needed saving at all.

CHAPTER 22

"I used enough salt," I told Torin later that evening. We'd just watched three episodes of Ivy Springs, but I hadn't concentrated on any of them. I'd been too busy going over everything that had happened that afternoon. "I know I did. But it didn't lock Mary in."

Torin scratched his chin. "That's exceedingly unusual."

I know Mom had said to stop going to Torin for advice, but, well, he was here and she wasn't. And this was definitely a day that required advice. Lots of it.

"It's more than just that; it's impossible," I replied, flipping onto my back to gaze at the ceiling. Whoever had lived here before us had put up a bunch of those plastic stars. "Ghosts can't fight the salt thing. It's part of why they're so un-fun to hunt."

Torin was quiet for a moment before saying, "You said both the teacher and the student received little...gifts. Warnings of their impending fate."

"Yup. A squashed frog and a jacked-up Barbie."

"That's smart," Torin said. "Fear makes spirits stronger. It's why older hauntings are so hard to dispose of. The longer a spirit can build up and live off of fear, the more powerful it is."

I turned over, facing Torin. "I've never heard that before."

Torin crossed his arms, smug. "Oh, how I love knowing things you don't. It's such a satisfying feeling."

"Well, now I do know it, so thanks for that."

"Hmm," Torin acknowledged with a nod. "That is the price for sharing my wisdom."

With a huge sigh, Torin flopped down onto my bed in the mirror. Looking at the reflection, it was like we were lying side by side. "So the ghost is strong because of fear," I said, dangling my legs off the bed. "But...ghosts are pretty much always scary. Why go the extra mile?"

"There's a difference between fear and terror," Torin said. "Terror is a much stronger emotion. It feeds all sorts of negative energy. Appearing in her ghostly form to these people would have, to use your vernacular, freaked them out. But leaving little gifts telling them how they'd be attacked? That builds a sort of anticipatory terror. Like fuel for a ghost. And when you have a ghost that's already terribly strong due to being summoned by magic, well. You end up with a problem like this on your hands."

I mulled that over. "But why summon a ghost?"

Torin was uncharacteristically silent, and when I tilted my head to look at him, he was fiddling with his cuff. "Torin?" I prompted.

"Spirits are not always summoned on purpose," he said at last. "There are times, if one is doing a particularly advanced spell, for instance, that the magic can have... unintended consequences. If, for example, one was attempting to raise the dead-"

"You can't do that. It's not possible to bring somebody back to life."

Sniffing prissily, Torin dropped his sleeve. "Of course. I'm sure your vast amounts of knowledge amassed over the past sixteen years greatly outweigh my own centuries-long existence and personal experiences."

Torin tended to get extra-flowery when his feelings were hurt, and I sat up, moving a little closer to his mirror. "I'm sorry," I said, meaning it. "It's just... Wait, have you raised the dead?"

"I'm not saying that," Torin replied, but he didn't quite meet my eyes. "I'm only saying that if you have a ghost who is resistant to salt, you probably have a witch as well, and one attempting seriously dark magic at that."

Chewing on my lower lip, I thought about Dex. He'd been there the night I'd tried to seal Mary into her grave, and it hadn't worked.

"You have that expression on your face that speaks of incipient moral dubiousness," Torin observed, making me glad I'd bought that thesaurus a few years back.

"Yeah, I'm about to get super morally dubious. Torin. Remember the other day, when you asked if I wanted you to go in Dex's mirror?"

"I do," he said, narrowing his eyes.

"And remember how I said I didn't want you to?"

"Indeed."

"I take it back." It was awful, I knew that. No matter what Dex was, he was my friend, and using my magic mirror to spy on him was most definitely Not Okay. But people were getting hurt, so I couldn't afford to be a good person right now. And somewhere deep inside, I must've know this was going to happen. Otherwise, why had I studied his mailbox number when he'd driven me past his house the other night?

I gave the address to Torin, telling myself that this was the only way. Being a Brannick meant making hard choices. Mom had once said it meant choosing what was right over what our hearts wanted. I thought she might have been talking about my dad, but I hadn't had the courage to ask.

Still, when Torin gave me a flourishing salute and vanished, I had to swallow the urge to call him back, tell him to forget it. But it was too late.

Sighing, I turned to my laptop, hoping Everton and Leslie's problems could distract me from my own. I was only about five minutes in when there was a soft knock at my door. Even though I knew Torin was long gone, I shot a glance at the mirror before calling, "Come in!"

Mom opened the door and leaned against the jamb. "There was a car accident at your school today," she said without preamble. "Anything to do with you?"

"Kind of?"

Mom took that in. "Anything I need to know about?"

I glanced at my mirror. "No," I said at last. "I got this."

Mom took a deep breath through her nose, but in the end, she just nodded. "Okay. Anything more on that boy?"

I tried hard to keep my eyes off the mirror this time. "He invited me to his house to meet his grandmother. Figured I'd take him up on that, see if there are any clues."

"Good idea," Mom replied with a little nod. "Have you finished your homework?"

"Yes." We'd had lots of extra time to wait while they towed the car and the dented bus, and I'd tackled the rest of my Macbeth questions as well as the first few paragraphs of my essay. Dex and Romy, thankfully, had made up. When a new bus had finally arrived, they were joking and teasing each other again.

"Okay," Mom said slowly. When I glanced up, she was still hovering in the doorway.

"I thought we might go out to dinner tonight."

"Does this town have restaurants?" I asked. "I mean, other than the Dairee Kween?"

Mom gave a snort that sounded close to laughter. "I passed that place today. I don't think I can trust anywhere that mangles the English language like that."

"I think I saw a Chinese place next to Walmart." I said. "I could go for some lo mein."

"Chinese it is," said Mom, pushing off of the jamb. "Meet me downstairs in ten."

The drive to the restaurant was quiet, but in a nice way. We didn't mention the case during dinner. Instead we talked about school, and I told her about Romy and PMS and one of the articles I'd read on the bus: "Twenty Uses for Your Hair Dryer You've Never Thought Of!" Mom didn't talk much, but she listened, and I decided that was good enough.

Once we were done and Mom had paid the bill, I figured we'd head home. I was kind of anxious to see if Torin was back yet. But instead, Mom started the car and said, "Why don't we drive around for a bit?"

"Um...sure."

If the drive over to the restaurant had been pleasant, this one was just...weird. When I flipped on the radio, Mom immediately reached out and turned it off. And she kept leaning over the steering wheel and peering out into the darkness, cocking her head like she was listening for something.

But it wasn't until she pulled in front of a house and shut off the ignition that I finally got what was going on.

"A job?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. The other day I was having breakfast at the Waffle Hut, and these two guys there seemed shady, so-"

I rolled my eyes. "Mom, everyone at the Waffle Hut is shady. That's why they go to the Waffle Hut. To...be shady. And eat waffles. Shadily."

Mom sat back in her seat. "I just...I needed to do something."

"Something other than your research?" I asked, and Mom's sigh seemed to come up from the soles of her feet.

"Why won't you tell me what you're looking into?" I asked, and to my horror, my voice came out thin and high, like I was on the verge of tears. "If it's about...about Finley, at least let me try to help. I know I messed up that night, but I wouldn't-"

She turned to me, and once again I was struck by how much she looked like Finn. All high cheekbones and pouty lips and strong jaw. "What happened to Finley was not your fault, Isolde," she said, using that commanding tone again. "I don't think that, and I never want you to think it, either."

I tugged at the drawstring of my hoodie. "I miss her a lot."

A car drove past us, and it must have been a trick of the light, because I could've sworn Mom's lower lip trembled a little. "I know you do."

It wasn't, "me, too," but at least it was something.

Leaning back, I thumped my head against my seat. "We're not going to find her, are we?"

Mom was quiet for so long that I wondered if she would even answer. And then she said, "I don't know."

Something about being in the dark in the car made all of it easier to say. "What are we going to do? If we don't find her. We're the last two Brannicks in the world. Do we just keep hunting monsters even though it's crazy dangerous? Until there are no Brannicks left?"

A muscle worked in Mom's jaw, but she didn't answer. For a long time, the only sound was the ticking of the cooling engine. Then, sounding as tired as I felt, Mom said, "I don't know, Isolde. All I know to do is...this." She nodded toward the house, but I knew she didn't mean this specific job. "My mother died in the field. So did my cousins and aunts and nearly every Brannick I have ever known. But I don't know what to do with myself if I'm not doing this. And searching through ancient, useless books for some clue as to what happened to Finn...I just feel like I'm going crazy. Following those guys from the Waffle Hut, thinking they might be Prodigium, was the first time I've felt happy in weeks."