Betrayal - By Lee Nichols Page 0,26

and shoved his hands in his pockets, as if he were blowing smoke off the barrels of guns and holstering them.

I knew if I caught Natalie’s eye, we’d both burst out giggling. So I just said, “Yeah. Thanks. I’m Emma. The moth-eaten one is Natalie.”

“I’m Simon,” the older guy said, as he collected the black tar into what looked like a ziplock. “That’s Lukas. We’ll save the complete introductions until later. Let’s get back to the museum.”

“One sec,” I said. I knelt beside the mound of freshly erupted earth under the tire swing and started digging through the loose dirt.

“If you’re looking for the sandbox,” Lukas said, “you’re like thirty feet off.”

“You’re desecrating a grave,” Simon said. “We don’t do that, even if they were ghasts.”

“No?” I groped in the oddly warm earth up to my elbow, and suppressed a shiver. I found nothing. Damn. This is where the ghast had come from; shouldn’t the dagger be here?

Simon kept scolding me, but I ignored him, too busy concentrating to explain what I was doing. I closed my eyes, opening myself to all the spirits resting fitfully in their graves. This didn’t feel like the cemetery where Coby was buried; it felt fragile and dangerous, like ice that was cracking underfoot. I probed the darkness, feeling the restless ache of uneasy ghosts, searching for some sign of the earlier Emma. I’d lived her memories often enough that I’d know when she’d touched something.

I sent tendrils of energy through the playground, and felt an answering warmth. The resonance of Emma’s soul.

My eyes flashed open. “It’s there.”

“What is?” Lukas asked.

“You were right about the sandbox,” I told him. Good thing, too, because I hadn’t brought a shovel.

I found a plastic bucket in the sand and used it to dig. After I’d made a mound of sand, I tossed the bucket aside and reached down with my hand. I groped in the damp earth until my fingers touched something hard and smooth. Felt like … bone. Ick. I suppressed a shiver and kept digging.

Finally I found it, the cold touch of metal. I got a grip and yanked, and pulled the dagger from the earth. It was a long double-edged knife with a hand-forged steel blade and unembellished hilt, except for some intricacy carved into the silver pommel.

“What is that?” Simon demanded.

“Jeez,” Lukas said. “The kids play rough around here.”

“I’ll explain later,” I said, tucking it into my coat. “Let’s go home.”

We shed our coats in the foyer of the museum. Celeste materialized when we came in, and Lukas compelled her to hang our stuff in the hall closet—which bugged me. It’s not like she wouldn’t have done it anyway, and it was presumptuous of him to come in and start ordering the ghosts around.

I frowned, but didn’t say anything. If he was on the team the Knell had organized, I should try to get along with him. My goal was to catch Neos, and if a team would help with that, I’d let personality conflicts slide.

We went into the dining room, where Anatole had set out chicken sandwiches with the crusts cut off and tea in a silver urn. I laid the dagger on the long mahogany table, crossed to the massive fireplace, and downed a cup of chamomile, feeling the heat of the liquid glide through my body.

I helped myself to a second cup and a sandwich and went to stare at the dagger beside Simon.

“Why did you take this?” he asked. His glasses were slightly steamed from the heat of his tea, and he appeared older than he had at first. Probably in his late twenties. He had small gray eyes and wispy pale-colored hair, not quite blond or brown.

“Where are you from?” I asked, ignoring his question.

“Cambridge. Well, at least recently. I was born in Coventry.”

“So, England?”

“Yes, England.” To my surprise, he smiled. “I forget there’s a Cambridge here.”

“And you?” I asked, turning to Lukas, where he was making Natalie giggle by the fire. He was undeniably hot, with a swimmer’s build, dark hair, and slightly Asian eyes.

“Boston, born and bred.” He crossed his arms. “So you’re the famous Emma Vaile.”

“She’s more notorious,” Natalie said. “Even though she completely dropped the ball tonight.”

“Um,” I said, hanging my head. “Sorry?”

“What do you mean, she dropped the ball?” Lukas said. “She took down that big ugly pretty well.”

“After like ten minutes. She could hardly handle those two weenie ghasts.”

“Natalie,” Simon said. “Many ghostkeepers cannot handle a single ghast.”

“I know; I’m one of