Ghostlight (13 page)

I slept a dark, dreamless sleep and woke to a fat beam of light coming through the window. Ordinarily Grandma couldn't abide slugabeds, but Mom must have convinced her to leave me alone. By the time I stumbled downstairs, she and Blake were coming in from the garden.

“Hey, sleepyhead!” Mom tousled my hair. “We made a quick job of it this morning. Need to head to the lake before it gets too hot.”

I waited for Blake to complain about having to do my work, but for once he kept his mouth shut. Actually, he looked at me almost like he was
concerned.
It creeped me out a little.

“What?” I rubbed my cheek. “Do I have slobber on my face or something?”

“No.” He glanced back at the kitchen. “Are you, um, okay?”

I nodded.

“That Julian kid is bad news.”

“I'm getting the key back today. Mom knows everything.”

“Yeah, she told me.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Guess you've foiled my evil blackmail scheme.”

“Are you guys ready for a quick breakfast?” Mom called from the kitchen. “We need to hit the road.”

“Get your suit,” Blake said. “Mom's already packed the towels and lunch. She says you can get the key after we come home.” He turned toward the kitchen.

“Hey, Blake?”

He glanced back at me. “Yeah?”

“Sorry…about last night. And about missing the garden work.”

He turned to face me, crossing his arms. “Oh, believe me, I'm working up a new and elaborate plan for extortion.”

I stared at him for a moment, my mouth hanging open. Then I saw the twinkle in his eyes.

“Right,” I said. “Just remember two can play at that game, Mr. Summer-Reading Fail.”

Having a day like old times—the three of us talking over one another as we drove to the lake, me and Blake horsing around in the water—helped push the whole dark business of Julian out of my mind for a while. Mom must have asked Blake to be extra nice. Any other time that would have ruined things for me, but after such a crazy night it was pretty cool.

The magic started to wear off on the drive back. I was worn out from swimming and too much sun, and once we hit the gravel driveway to Grandma's house, the darkness and dread settled right back in. It would've been so much easier if I never had to see Julian again. If Mom would just get the key for me, I could fold those memories away and shut the drawer on them.

I sent her a fragile, tormented look when I climbed out of the car, but she was having none of it.

“Go jump in the shower, Avery. You still have a job to do, and it needs to happen before supper.”

“But, Mom, it'll take a while for my hair to dry and all—”

“Your hair can dry on the way. Get a move on.”

Half an hour later I was crunching gravel on the walk down to Hollyhock Cottage, Julian's tablet in my hands and a wet ponytail dripping down my back. The hope that Curtis Wayne would be in a baking mood pushed me through those final steps up to the door, but when I heard the sounds of guitar strumming
and
singing, I knew there'd be no cookies or conversation to ease things along.

I knocked lightly on the door. After a moment it opened and Lily peered out. The shadows under her green eyes told me she was still having trouble sleeping.

“Hey, Avery,” she said softly.

I straightened. “I came to get the key to Hilliard House.” I glanced past her toward the living room. “But I can come back if this is a bad time.”

“It's okay. Dad's writing songs now, so he doesn't really hear us anymore. We have to stand right in front of him and shout to get his attention.” She opened the door wide. “Julian has your key.” She turned to lead me toward the staircase, but after one step she paused. “Avery, I'm sorry. About…you know.”

I guess if I was a nice person—a Christianly person—I would have smiled and told her it was okay. Instead the heat came to my face, and I wondered if she was just messing with me again. She was a little actress, after all, and she'd well and truly tricked me last night.

“I just need the key, Lily. Otherwise I'll be in even bigger trouble than I'm already in.”

She nodded with a sad little sigh—still acting?—and led me up the stairs. Julian's door was shut, so she knocked three times, paused, and then knocked twice. After a moment I heard footsteps on the wood floor and the door opened.

Julian looked tired, too, and the cut on his cheek was puffy. His whole body seemed to droop when his eyes met mine.

I handed him the tablet. “Now give me the key back.”

Julian set the tablet on his bed and walked to his desk. Lily sidled out of the room, but not before one last glance at me. She sure had the “pitiful child” act nailed. I turned back to see Julian reaching for a small plastic box, which he popped open and shook until he saw what he wanted. He pulled out the key. Then he turned in his chair and held it out to me.

He was going to make me walk to him and take it. Without even saying a word.

I hoped my face didn't look as red hot as it felt.

“So that's it?” I finally asked. The words came out kind of choked.

He shrugged.

“You don't have anything to say to me? I think you owe me an apology.”

“I'm sorry, I guess.”

It came out more as a sigh than a heartfelt statement.

I snatched the key from his hand. “You guess? You
guess
you're sorry? You used me, lied to me, made
me
lie and steal, and then you scared the pee out of me.
Literally.
And all you can say is ‘I'm sorry, I guess'?”

“Are you done yet? I have other projects to work on.”

I would have stormed out at that moment, except…his eyes glistened suspiciously.

“It wasn't all lies,” said a small voice from the hallway.

Julian groaned. “Lily, how many times have I told you not to listen at the door?”

Lily popped her head around the doorframe. “But she needs to know.”

“Know what?” I said.

“That we didn't make
all
of it up.”

My right hand curled into a fist. “You guys just don't stop, do you? Mom told me Margaret Anne Hilliard didn't die in the flood. She didn't even drown, so I know Julian made that up.”

“It was a working theory,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes at Lily. “And you. Pretending to speak to Margaret Anne just to freak me out.”

“I just…well, I wanted to talk with her so bad, I guess my imagination sort of filled in the gaps.” She bit her lip. “But I saw and heard things, Avery.
Felt
things. I don't know if it was Margaret Anne or not, 'cause I know it was a man's shadow in the mirror last night.”

I turned back to Julian. “Are you two still trying to scam me?”

He shook his head. “Lily says there's something there. And I believe her.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Seriously, Avery. You may still think I rigged the door and light fixture, but you can't believe that I threw myself against the wall and exploded my own headlamp.”

He was trying to make
me
feel guilty for accusing them of lying, which made no sense at all. So I just turned and walked out of the room.

Lily crept behind me like a shadow as I made my way down the stairs. Mr. Wayne sat in the living room, holding the music stand with one hand and scribbling something on the paper with the other. The guitar sat in his lap, glossy and smug. I wondered if Julian ever wished he could throw that thing in a gully.

I was halfway down the hall when Lily called my name.

“What is it now?” I asked.

Lily pulled the framed photograph of Margaret Anne from her back pocket. The silver gleamed as though she'd polished it. She placed it in my hand, still warm from being so close to her body.

“I took it from the house,” she said. “I just…I wanted her to be real.”

I found Mom and Blake sitting on folding chairs under the oak tree, sipping iced sun tea. They'd both showered, and Mom's hair was curling as it dried. When I handed her the key, she gave my hand a squeeze.

“Don't look so grim, sweetie. Now we can put all this behind us.”

“I know. Julian just…well, he and Lily are still messing with my head.”

“Do I need to talk to that boy's father?” Mom gripped the plastic armrests like she was going to stand.

I shook my head. “The last thing I want is for you to get up in Curtis Wayne's face.”

“You were crazy upset last night, Avery,” said Blake.

“I don't want to talk about it anymore,” I said. “Think I'll take a walk.”

I made straight for the copper beech tree and crawled beneath its branches. After settling against the trunk, I took deep breaths of cool air and listened to the leaves whisper in the breeze. All I wanted was to slide back into the woodsy magic of Kingdom—just for a little bit—but it seemed more cramped than usual under the leafy canopy. Plus, something in my pocket was poking my behind. I pulled out the framed photograph and studied the faces of those two girls. Then I turned the photo over and shifted the little metal pieces so I could take the cardboard backing off.

Someone had written names in sprawling cursive on the back of the photo.

Margaret Anne & Aileen

I considered their faces again. Margaret Anne's dandelion hair had settled into curls by that time. She smiled, but didn't look directly at the camera. Little Aileen, all pointy knees and elbows, looked straight at me from out of the photograph. She had the sort of face that smiled from the eyes as well as the mouth. Her dress seemed too big for her. I wondered if she was still alive, and if she might have anything useful to tell us about Hilliard House.

Lily says there's something there,
Julian had said.
And I believe her.

Despite what they'd done to me, I believed her, too. The first day we went inside the house I'd felt that warmth in the parlor. But once we'd focused on Margaret Anne, the place turned weird and dark.

Just as I put the photograph back in its frame, the branches rustled. A hand parted the leaves and Blake peered through.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

I shoved the frame back in my pocket. “Did Mom send you after me?”

“No.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“I like this tree, too, you know.” He picked at a shriveled leaf.

“Come on in, I guess.”

Blake pushed the branch to the side and squeezed through. “It's smaller under here than I remembered.” He sat down—not quite next to me, but not too far. “I've been thinking about Kingdom. Do you want to work on Princess Etheline's wedding? I've had a few ideas for the treaty.”

My heart made a little leap in my chest. “That's nice of you, Blake, but—”

“I'm not trying to be nice.”

I glanced at him. “All I meant to say is…you were right before. Kingdom's not the same anymore.”

After a moment he nodded.

“I need different stories now,” I said.

“Yeah, like what?”

I braced myself. “Maybe…something to do with Hilliard House.”

“Jeez, Avery. Are you crazy? Just leave that place alone.”

I was this close to swearing back at him. But he was partly right. I did sound a little nutty. “It's just…the house won't leave
me
alone.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“There's something there. I felt it. Julian and Lily felt it. Heck, even Grandma says she felt it a long time ago, and that must be why she freaked out when she found me there.”

“What kind of ‘something' are you talking about?”

I couldn't look at him. “Something…ghostly?”

The seconds ticked by, and he didn't say anything. When the silence grew to a roaring in my ears, I risked a peek at him. I expected him to look disgusted, but he seemed thoughtful instead.

“Well, it sure seemed like you were talking to
someone
that time I heard you in the house,” he said.

I perked up. “Did it sound like I was talking to a girl my age?”

“I don't know, maybe? You were very cheerful and chatty.” He frowned. “Except, you weren't giggling or talking about make-believe stuff, as far as I could tell. It was like someone was asking you questions, and you were replying very politely.”

“I wish I could remember. It's going to keep bugging me until I figure it out.”

“What if you did remember? What difference would it make?”

I sighed. “I don't know. The thing is, I can't stop thinking about the cemetery.”

Blake shook his head. “Now, that's just creepy.”

“There's a real mystery here, Blake. Just give me a second to explain.”

He shifted, and I was afraid he was getting up to leave. But he was just turning himself to face me. “All right. I'm listening.”

“Okay…the last owner of Hilliard House is buried in Clearview Cemetery, but in a different grave from his wife and daughter. Why? The daughter died when she was seven, and nobody seems to know exactly how. Who was I talking to at Hilliard House that night you heard me? And why does the house seem angry now?”

“Uh…how can a house be angry?”

“Well, last night things got out of hand.” I told him about the exploding headlamp, and how something seemed to push Julian against the wall. “Lily'd been making a big show of talking to the ghost of Margaret Anne, and then she even pretended to be drowned in the bathtub—”

“She did
what
? That's pretty sick.”

“I know, but she did it because Julian thought Margaret Anne drowned in the flood of 1937. They were trying to scare me for the movie. What I'm trying to say is…maybe it made the house, or whatever's inside the house, mad. Or even
hurt.
”

Blake shook his head again, as if he couldn't quite take it all in. I didn't want to push it, so I shut my mouth and let my thoughts wander.

Julian and Lily had made up a story about Hilliard House, but now I wanted to know the truth about Margaret Anne and Joshua Hilliard. Grandma had told me some things, but Mom had actually spent time with Mr. Hilliard. If she'd known Margaret Anne didn't drown, she must know other things, too. All I had to do was ask. And maybe I could write it all down and make a story out of it. It'd be nothing like Kingdom, no magic or adventure, but this story would have to do with
my
family, and it would be real. Mom was being funny when she made that crack about me being an investigative reporter, but maybe I really could be a detective uncovering the facts. Maybe that was what the house really wanted—just for someone to tell the truth.

I sat up straight. “I want to ask Mom some questions about Joshua Hilliard, but first I need to go back to the house for paper and a pencil.”

Blake raised an eyebrow. “You're going to interview 
Mom
?”

“Yeah.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Why don't you just record her? You could use my phone.”

“Really?”

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and typed in the pass code before turning it toward me. “See this microphone icon? It's an app for recording voice memos.”

“I know. Mom has the same phone, and she's always recording work stuff she doesn't want to forget.”

Blake tapped the phone. “Come to think of it, this thing has video, too.”

Video.

Why hadn't I thought of that? I could
film
Mom answering my questions. I didn't have much experience with making videos, and filming with Julian's super-complicated camera had been pretty intimidating. But Blake's phone was lightweight and simple enough for a toddler to operate.

After I filmed the interview, maybe I could get my own shots of Hilliard House, the river, and the cemetery. Mine wouldn't be as good as Julian's—not even close—but at least I'd have control over the story. I'd have a clear purpose, too. My footage would be used for a mystery instead of a horror story. And this was a mystery I could solve…but only with Blake's help.

“Hey, what if I use your phone to film Mom when I ask my questions? That would be quicker, right? And then maybe I could film Hilliard House and all the places linked to the mystery of Margaret Anne and Joshua Hilliard. Wouldn't that be cool?”

“So you're going to make your own movie now?”

“Well…I'd like to try.”

“Maybe I don't trust you with my phone,” he said warily. “What if I miss a text?”

“From who? Yourself? There's no signal up here, remember?”

“Still…”

“Oh, forget it, then.”

I drew my knees to my chest and imagined the copper beech tree eating Blake alive. In my head I could hear the satisfying crunch of his bones, but in real life the silence stretched on for a while.

“Avery?” he finally said. “I should be the one filming since it's my phone.”

I stared at him. “You're going to help me?”

“Only to make sure you don't break my phone. When Mom got it for me, she said it would cost hundreds of dollars to replace.”

Inside I was smiling, but I made sure to keep my face serious to keep up the game.

“Fine,” I said. “You can work the camera, but I don't want you taking over my story. We have to
discuss
things and agree with each other.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Discussing things and agreeing with each other means you have to actually listen to me and not go into meltdown if I have a different idea.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” I grinned. “This could work, Blake. Let's go find Mom.”