Eleven

MARGARET LED US INTO the cemetery. There were some mourners under a temporary canopy, huddled around a casket. We steered clear of them.

The only graveyard I’d ever been in was the one where my mom was buried. Dad and I went every year on her birthday.

This one was bigger, with new graves at the front, where the mourners were. Margaret led us to the back, which had the old graves. It was empty there—the dead having been dead so long there was no one left to visit them.

As cemeteries went, I supposed it was nice, with lots of trees and benches. Take away the headstones and it would make a decent park, especially with the sun warming up the cold April morning. I tried to focus on the sun and the scenery, not on what lay under my feet.

Margaret stopped at one of the more recent graves in the old area. It was of a woman who’d died in 1959 at the age of sixty-three. Margaret said that was ideal—someone who hadn’t died so long ago that she’d be spooked by our modern clothes, but long enough ago that she wouldn’t have a lot of loved ones left and want messages passed on.

She told us to kneel like we were the family of this woman—Edith—come to pay our respects. Most necromancers avoided daytime summoning, but Margaret thought that was silly. Coming at night only called more attention to yourself. In the daytime, if you brought a friend—a supernatural of course—it was easy, because you could kneel at a grave and talk and no one would look twice.

“Or you could use a cell phone,” Tori said.

“That’s hardly respectful in a cemetery,” said Margaret with a sniff.

Tori shrugged. “I guess. But she could. And she should probably have a cell anyway, for when a ghost tries talking to her in public.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. I thought it was a good idea and appreciated it.

It would be great to think Tori was starting to like me, but, as she said, she’d realized how alone she was. Everyone needs an ally and I was the only choice.

I sighed. I’d never realized how good I’d had it, back in my normal life, where if a popular girl talked to me, the worst thing that could happen was she was planning to mock my stutter to get a laugh from the popular guys.

Margaret opened her briefcase and took out baggies of herbs, a piece of chalk, matches, and a little saucer. Ritual material to help necromancers summon, she explained. Tori suppressed a snort, as if to say I didn’t need that. I said nothing.

“Should I remove this?” I asked, pulling my pendant from under my shirt.

Margaret blinked. “Where did you get that?”

“My mother, when I was little. I was seeing ghosts, and she told me this would keep them away. So it’s for real?”

“Real, yes—real superstitious nonsense. I haven’t seen one since I was about your age. Necromancers don’t use them anymore, but they were once quite the hot fashion item for our kind. It’s supposed to reduce a necromancer’s glow.”

“Glow?” Tori said.

“That’s what ghosts see that marks us as necromancers, right?” I said.

Margaret nodded.

“And if this necklace makes it dim,” I said, “then the necromancer won’t attract ghosts.”

“Well, then Margaret’s right,” Tori said. “It’s definitely not working. But that’s not the same one you were wearing at Lyle House. That was red and on a chain.”

“It was red.” I fingered the blue stone. “The chain broke. But if it is real, then changing color could mean it lost its power.”

Margaret stared at the pendant. “It changed color?”

I nodded. “Does that mean something?”

“They say—” She shook it off. “Superstitious nonsense. Our world is full of it, I’m afraid. Now let’s get started. The first thing I need you to do, Chloe, is read the woman’s name, and keep that in your mind. Then, aloud, you’ll repeat what we call an entreaty. Say the spirit’s name and respectfully ask her to speak to you. Try that.”

“Edith Parsons, I’d like to speak to you please.”

“That’s it. Next we light the…”

As Margaret explained, a plump woman in a blue dress appeared behind the gravestone, her wrinkled face frowning as her bright blue eyes peered around. When those eyes swung my way, the frown vanished in a wide smile.

“Hello,” I said.

Margaret’s gaze followed mine and she jumped.

Tori snickered. “Guess Chloe doesn’t need that stuff after all.”

Margaret greeted the woman, who glanced her way, but her gaze—and smile—swung back to me.

“Aren’t you a sweet little thing,” she said. “How old are you, doll?”

“Fifteen.”

“And you can see ghosts. I can tell by the glow. I’ve never met one of you, but I’ve heard the others tell of such things. They call you a…” She struggled for the word.

“Necromancer,” I said.

Her face screwed up, like she’d bit a lemon. “In my day, they called people who talked to ghosts spiritualists or mediums. Much nicer words, don’t you think?”

I agreed.

She looked from me to Margaret and laughed. “All these years of not believing folks when they talked about you people, and here I meet two in one day.”

She reached out and tapped the air around me, my glow, I guess.

“So pretty,” she murmured. “It draws the eye…Yours is so bright, dear. Much brighter than hers. I suppose that’s because you’re younger.”

I’d heard that the stronger the glow, the stronger the necromancer, and it must be true, because Margaret’s lips tightened.

“C-can I try something?” I asked.

“Of course, doll. No need to be shy. This is a special day for me.” She lowered her voice. “It can get a bit dull on the other side. This will be a lovely story to tell my friends.”

“I’m going to take off my necklace, and I’d like to know if it changes my glow.”

“Good idea,” Tori murmured.

Margaret harrumphed, like it was a waste of time, but didn’t stop me. I lifted the ribbon over my head and handed it to Tori.

The old woman gasped. “Oh my.”

I turned to see her staring, eyes like saucers. Then there was a shimmer to my left…and one to my right.

Margaret let out an oath. She lunged over, snatching the necklace from Tori and pressing it into my hand. The air continued to shimmer, shapes taking form as I yanked the necklace back on.

Edith vanished and in her place appeared a young woman in a pioneer outfit. She knelt in front of me, sobbing.

“Oh, praise God. Praise God. I have been waiting so long. Please, help me, child. I need—”

A young man in a ripped and filthy denim jacket grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her back. “Listen, kid, I’ve been stuck here since—”

A heavyset man gave the young guy a shove, sending him flying. “Have some respect for your elders, punk.”

“Thanks.” I looked past him to the pioneer woman, cringing and sobbing. “How can I—?”

“I was talking about me,” the man said. “I was here first.”

“No, you weren’t. I’ll get to you.” I tried leaning around the man.

“You want me to take a number? Fine.” He grabbed the pioneer woman and threw her. She disappeared. “Whoops. Guess she left. My turn.”

I leaped to my feet. “Don’t you—”

“Don’t I what?” He lunged forward. His face went purple, swelling to twice its size, eyes bugging out, black tongue lolling. I reeled back. The guy in the dirty jacket jumped behind me. I spun out of his way.

“Sorry, kid.” He smiled, showing rows of rotting teeth. “Didn’t mean to spook you. Spook you. Get it?” He laughed. I backed away, but he closed the gap between us. “Got a problem you can help with, kid. See, I’m stuck here in limbo, on account of a few things I didn’t do. Bum rap, you know? So I’m trapped here, and I need you to do something for me.”

“And me!” a voice behind me shouted.

“And me!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

I turned slowly and found myself surrounded by ghosts of all ages, at least a dozen of them, pressing closer; eyes wild; hands reaching for me; voices rising, shouting, demanding, snarling. The heavyset guy who’d flashed his death mask planted himself in front of me.

“Don’t just stand there, brat. This is your job. Your duty. To help the dead.” He shoved his face down to mine, purple and swollen again. “So start helping.”

“We will,” said a voice to my left.

I turned. The mob of ghosts parted. Margaret stood there, a saucer filled with dried plants in one hand, a burning match in the other.

“You’re scaring the child,” she said calmly. “Come over here and speak to me instead. I can help.”

The ghosts swarmed her. Then they screamed. They howled. They cursed. And they began to fade, fighting and struggling and cursing some more, but continuing to vanish until only Margaret was standing there, blowing smoke from the burning plants in the saucer.

“Wh-what is that?” I asked.

“Vervain. It banishes ghosts. Most of them, anyway. There’s always a stubborn one.”

She strode past me and I turned to see a grandfatherly old man backing away.

“No, please,” he said. “I wasn’t bothering the child. I was only waiting my turn.”

Margaret kept advancing. Tori scuttled out of her way, looking around in confusion, only able to see and hear us.

“Please,” the man said. “This might be my only chance. It’s just a message.”

He looked past Margaret to me and his eyes glistened with tears. “Please, dear. Just one moment of your time.”

A creepy, queasy feeling snaked through me. This felt so wrong—a grown man begging me for a favor.

“Hold on,” I said to Margaret. “Can I hear what he wants to say? Please? He wasn’t one of the ones scaring me.”

Margaret hesitated, then waved for the man to continue quickly.

He took a moment to compose himself, then said, “I died two years ago. I fell asleep in my car and it went off a cliff. They never found it and they said…they said I took off, left my wife, kids, grandkids. All I need for you to do is send them a letter. Just tell them where they can find the car.”

“I have to write this down,” I said, turning to Margaret. I was sure she had paper in the car. Even a cell phone would do—I could text in a message—but she shook her head.

“Wait,” Tori said. She pulled a few pieces of folded paper and a pen from her pocket. “I was going to make a list of stuff we need. Andrew said someone would go shopping for us later.”

I took down his wife’s address and the location of the car. It didn’t make sense to me—roads and landmarks I wouldn’t know—but the ghost said his wife would understand. He said to add a note from him, that he loved her and would never have left her.

“She might not believe I sent a message from the grave, but she’ll look anyway. I won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you.”

Before I could say a word, he disappeared.

“Now that was cool,” Tori said, taking the pencil and extra paper from me.

As I folded the page with the information, Margaret reached for it.

I handed it over. “I guess it’ll have to be mailed from someplace far from here, huh? Just in case.”

“It’s not being mailed.”

“What?” Tori and I said in unison.

“You never promise to deliver a message for a ghost, Chloe. Never.”

“But—”

Her hand cupped my elbow, voice going gentle. “You can’t. If you do, then what you saw today will be only the beginning. Word will get out that you’re willing to help, and while there are perfectly good requests, like this one, you heard some of the others. Most of those ghosts were in limbo. Sentenced to limbo. You can’t help them, and you don’t want to, but that won’t keep them from hounding you day and night. So you have to ignore both: the good and the bad.”

I looked up into her face and briefly saw someone else there, a younger, sadder woman. I realized that what seemed like cold efficiency was self-preservation—the tough, no-nonsense necromancer, her heart hardened to the pleas of the dead. Was this my fate? Toughen up until I could throw that note in the trash and never think of it again? I didn’t ever want to be that way. Ever.

“Are you okay?” Tori whispered.

Margaret had moved away and was dumping out the ashes of the vervain. Tori touched my arm. I realized I was shaking. I wrapped my arms around myself. “I should have brought a sweater.”

“It’s still chilly when the sun goes in, isn’t it?” Margaret said as she came back to us.

She held up a baggie of dried stuff.

“Vervain,” she said. “I’ll give you some back at the house. Obviously you could use it.”

She tried to smile, but she was out of practice and only managed a twist of her lips.

“Thank you,” I said, and surprised myself by meaning it.

“Are you up to some more work?” she asked.

I glanced down at the bag she held, like it was a prize for a lesson well done, and as much as I wanted to quit, that eager-to-please part of me blurted, “Sure.”