meat spreads from one temple to the other. My right eye begins to twitch, and the hand I'm holding pulsates underneath my fingers like the blood is nearly at a boiling point.
"Who are you?" I ask.
No response.
I move closer, leaning to whisper in her ear. "Courtney, is there any way you can reach out to me? Anything. I'll help you. I swear I will, no matter what."
The soldier jerks her hand away, knocking it onto the corner of the lab table and breaking one of her perfect nails.
"What's your name?" I ask.
"I know your game," she growls through clenched teeth. "I know all about you."
While Courtney moves to "adjust" herself with one hand, she nabs a pencil with the other. She tries to write something, but it seems the soldier inside won't allow her to do this. Instead, she reaches for her cell phone, which I doubt the soldier would have the first freakin' clue about. She furiously moves her right hand over the buttons and then turns the phone to face me.
The soldier cackles again in my head, intensifying my pain and the eye twitch.
I slide the phone toward me and hold my breath.
>PLZ SAVE ME!
Courtney is in there. She heard me. And she wants my help.
"I'm on it."
Chapter Eighteen
Just as I'm about to fall asleep in my history class—discussion of the Restoration, Reformation, Renaissance, or some other historical r word—my phone vibrates in my pocket. My heart soars when I see it's a text message from Jason.
>it's me.
>hey me.
>what up?
>tryin 2 stay awake.
>me 2.
This is the first time we've talked since he stormed out the other night. I don't know whether he's still ticked off at me or what. I attempt to break the ice as Mrs. Hixon blathers on about Martin Luther and the Peace at Westphalia in 16-some-thing-or-other.
>so...?
>I'm sorry I wuz a dick.
>U wrn't a dick.
Yeah, he really was, but I get it.
>Yes I wuz.
>I understand. Em was out of line.
>So wuz I I'm sorry.
>u said that. ©
>mean it.
>love u, mean it.
>ur adorable.
>no, u r.
>;) c u soon.
The bell rings, signaling the end of the day, and I stash my BlackBerry in my purse. Jason and I have definitely begun our restoration. Could we be any cuter?
On Thursday, I sigh as I look at the folder that Celia has compiled on my archenemy ... and our new client: File GH-0023—Courtney Langdon.
"Great," I mutter.
"Was Courtney in school today?" Celia asks from her computer.
Taylor sets her Nikon D40 camera (a new toy she got off eBay) on the floor and pipes up. "She called in sick the last couple of days. Stephanie and Farah told me she was completely embarrassed about what-all she's been doing in public and has been hiding out in her room feigning some incapacitation."
Yeah, I've been on my own with the pig dissection, which is fine with me. A person can only take so many gnarly looks in a day.
"Whatever," Becca says. "She deserves what she gets. The bitch toyed with the spirits and bagged on what we're doing. She asked for this."
Sadly, Becca's right. However, it's our duty as ghost huntresses to help anyone who reaches out to us. Even Courtney Langdon.
"That's why we've gathered the team." I stand up in front of the girls and smooth out the wrinkles in my jeans. Jason and Clay—de facto members of the team—are absent right now, doing whatever it is that boys do after school on a Thursday, while we establish a game plan for dealing with the Union soldier who's playing marionette with one of the most popular girls in school. "Celia, you wanna tell us what you've been able to dig up?"
She swivels in the leather chair and plants her Reeboks firmly on the carpet in front of her. "So, I've done some research on the Crawford house."
"Why?" Taylor asks with a bit of a pout. "Shouldn't we be looking at Courtney's instead?"
"No," Celia explains, "this entity seems to be tied to the Crawford house. That's why he felt comfortable enough to bust in on our investigation in the carriage house with Stephanie's grandfather, and then later to attend a party and step into one of the guests."
"Who just so happened to have invited him in," Becca interjects.
Celia rolls her neck for a moment. "Annnyway. According to the registrar of deeds, the house has been in Miss Evelyn's family dating back to the early 1800s. In the Radisson library, I found some old lithographs of Union soldiers encamped in the area during Sherman's