Betrayal - By Lee Nichols Page 0,17

he was gone.

The train pulled from the station, and I didn’t bother checking outside to see if he was watching. No romantic, lingering looks for us. No blown kisses, no promises to meet again. No nothing.

I froze all the way back to Echo Point, shivering in my wool coat even though the train was heated, hating the gray November sky and barren New England landscape. Wishing I was back in California—before my parents disappeared, before my best friend, Abby, deserted me, before Bennett had walked back into my life, and before I’d ever heard the word ghostkeeping.

But I didn’t cry. Not until the train pulled into Boston and I saw Natalie waiting for me at the station, concern etched into her face. Bennett had obviously called and prepared her. I stumbled from the train and fell into her arms, weeping.

We took a taxi back to Echo Point. Natalie cradled me as I explained everything to her, not caring that the driver could overhear. “He hates me,” I said.

“He doesn’t hate you, Emma. Just the opposite.”

“It’s all my fault,” I said. “If I’d just let him go to his own room …”

“Emma, stop blaming yourself. It was inevitable. There’s nothing you could’ve done differently.”

I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Why doesn’t that help?”

“Because it’s still a heartache. And nothing makes you want to die more than that.”

When I woke on Wednesday, a sparky little fire was blazing in the fireplace in my bedroom, no doubt thanks to Nicholas. All my clothes were put away, and Celeste had hung my clean uniform on the wardrobe door. I glanced at the clock on the mantel, and buried my head under the covers.

I’d taken two days off from school, and was going to take a third. I couldn’t face Harry and Sara and all the other kids who blamed me for Coby’s death. Not this week. Not after losing Bennett. This week was for wallowing in self-pity, eating junk food, and sleeping myself into oblivion.

I lay in the overheated darkness until a knock sounded at my window. I peeked from under the covers and saw Coby hovering outside.

When he saw me, he shimmered into existence beside my bed.

You’re getting good at that, I said, sitting up in bed.

I’ve got a lot of time on my hands, he said.

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I started chewing on my thumbnail.

I’ve been to my parents’, he said. You didn’t tell me they wouldn’t be able to see me.

I— It hadn’t occurred to me that you’d think they would. They’re not ghostkeepers.

Ghostkeepers, right. He sprawled on the chair. God, that’s so lame.

Yeah.

I saw Harry and Sara, he said.

They hate me now.

He didn’t seem to care. Harry’s drinking again.

What?

He starts first thing in the morning. It’s bad, Emma. Keeps a silver flask in his coat pocket.

Damn, I said. What about Sara?

An unreadable expression flicked across his narrow, pale face. Did you know she was in love with me?

Yeah, I answered softly.

You did?

She made me promise not to hurt you, I said. Instead, I got you killed.

How could she not tell me? If I’d known— He shook his head. It doesn’t matter. You have to help them.

They won’t even speak to me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

Well, figure it out, or you’re going to have two more dead friends on your hands.

With that parting shot, he dematerialized. Had he only come to make me feel guilty? If so, it had worked.

I huddled under the covers again. I didn’t want to think about Harry and Sara or Coby’s parents. I didn’t want to think about anything except Bennett. I closed my eyes and returned to that moment when he was beside me, and everything had been perfect. I imagined his eyes and his hands and the little scar on his back that a ghast had left him. I remembered his voice and mouth and the things he said that made me thrill and blush at the same time.

But he wasn’t there. He’d left me, just like everyone else. Maybe my mother was right, and I couldn’t trust him. I let the sadness wash over me and began to cry.

And then I must’ve fallen back asleep, because I dreamed not of Bennett, but of a woman’s face. In her early twenties, she had short dark hair, wide-set eyes, and scarlet red lipstick. Her brown eyes were deep wells of warmth and comfort, and I fell into them, like a vat of hot chocolate. Her voice