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“That's… magic?” I said.
The ball dropped into his hand. “You don't believe me, do you?”
“No, I—”
He cut me off with a laugh. “You think it's some kind of trick or a special effect. Well, movie girl, get your butt over here and test me. ”
“I---”
“Get over here. ” He pointed at the spot beside him. “See if you can find the strings. ”
I slid closer. He said some words, louder now, so I could hear them. It wasn't English.
When the ball didn't move, he cursed. “Did I mention I'm not Harry Potter? Let's try that again. ”
He repeated the words, slower, his gaze glued to the ball. It rose two inches.
“Now check for strings or wires or whatever you think is holding it up. ”
I hesitated, but he prodded and teased me until I moved closer and poked a finger between the ball and his hand. When I didn't hit anything, I slid all my fingers through, then waggled them. Simon's fist closed, grabbing my hand and I yelped as the ball bounced off across the concrete pad.
“Sorry,” he said, grinning, his fingers still holding mine. “I couldn't resist. ”
“Yes—I'm skittish, as your brother has probably pointed out. So how did you . . . ” I looked at the ball, coming to rest on the grass. “Wow. ”
His grin grew. “You believe me now?”
As I stared at the ball, I struggled for other explanations. None came.
“Can you teach me how to do that?” I said finally.
“Nah. No more than you can teach me how to see ghosts. Either you have it or you—”
“Playing basketball in the dark, Simon?” asked a voice across the yard. “You should have called me. You know I'm always up for a little—”
Tori stopped short, seeing me now. Her gaze moved to my hand, still in his.
“—one-?on-?one,” she finished.
I yanked my fingers away. She kept staring.
“Hey, Tori,” Simon said as he retrieved the ball. “What's up?”
“I saw you playing and thought maybe you could use a partner. ” Her gaze swung my way, expression unreadable. “I guess not. ”
“I should get inside,” I said. “Thanks for the pointers, Simon. ”
“No, hold up. ” He took a step after me, then glanced at Tori. "Uh, right. You're welcome. And it is getting dark, isn't it? It must be snack time by now. ”
He hurried into the house.
* * *
I lay in bed, unable to sleep again. This time, though, it wasn't bad dreams that kept me awake but thoughts pinging through my head, so shrill and insistent that by midnight, I was seriously considering a real kitchen raid—to grab the travel tube of Tylenol I'd seen there.
I was a necromancer.
Having a label should have come as a relief, but I wasn't sure this one was any better than schizophrenic. At least schizophrenia was a known and accepted condition. I could talk to people about it, get help coping with it, take my meds, and make the symptoms go away.
Those same meds might cover the symptoms of necromancy, but as Simon said, it would be like coloring my hair—I'd still be the same underneath, my true nature waiting to pop up as soon as the medication wore off
Necromancy.
Where had it come from? My mother? If so, why didn't Aunt Lauren know about it? From my father? Maybe he hadn't worked up the nerve to warn me and that's why he'd seemed so guilty in the hospital, so eager to make me happy and comfortable. Or maybe neither of my parents or my aunt knew anything about it. It could be a recessive gene, one that skipped generations.
Simon was lucky. His dad must have told him about the magic, showed him how to use it. My envy evaporated. Lucky? He was stuck in a group home. His magic didn't seem to be doing him any good here.
Magic. The word came so casually, as if I'd already accepted it. Had I? Should I?
I'd spent days denying that I saw ghosts, and now, suddenly, I had no problem believing in magic? I should be demanding more demonstrations. Coming up with alternate explanations. But I'd done that with myself, and now, having realized that I really did see the dead, there was almost a comfort in accepting that I wasn't the only one out there with weird powers.
And what about Derek? Simon said Derek was unnaturally strong. Was that magical? I'd felt that strength. I'd read his file, and I knew even the authorities had been stumped for a cause.
As bizarre as it sounded, the explanation that made the most sense was the most far-?fetched one. There were people out there with powers found only in legends and movies. And we were part of that.
I almost laughed. It was like something out of a comic book. Kids with supernatural powers, like superheroes. Superheroes? Right. Somehow, I didn't think seeing ghosts and levitating basketballs was going to help us save the world from evil anytime soon.
If both Derek and Simon had powers, is that how they'd ended up together, as foster brothers? What had their dad told them? Did his disappearance have something to do with being magical? Was that why the guys had enrolled in school under fake names and kept moving around? Is that what our kind had to do? Hide?
The questions crowded my brain, none of them willing to leave without answers… answers I couldn't get at two in the morning. They bounced around like Simon's basketball. After a while, I swore I could see them—orange balls bouncing through my head, back and forth, back and forth, until I fell asleep.
* * *
A voice sliced through the heavy blanket of sleep, and I bolted up, fighting my way to consciousness.
I gulped air as I surveyed the room, ears and eyes straining. All was still and silent. I glanced over at Rae. She was sound asleep.
A dream. I started lying back down.
“Wake up. ”
The whisper floated through the half-?open door. I lay down, resisting the urge to pull the covers higher.
I thought you weren't going to cower anymore? That's the plan, right? Not to ignore the voices but get answers, take control.
A deep breath. Then I slipped out of bed and walked to the door.
The hall was empty. I could hear only the tick-?tick-?tick of the grandfather clock downstairs. As I turned, a pale shape flickered near a closed door down the hall. A closet, I'd presumed earlier. What was it with ghosts and closets in this house?
I crept down the hall and eased the door open. Dark stairs led up.
The attic.
Uh-?uh, this was as bad as a basement, maybe even worse. I wasn't following some ghost up there.
Good excuse.
It's not an—
You don't want to talk to them. Not really. You don't want to know the truth.
Great. Not only did I have to deal with Derek's taunts and jibes but now even my inner voice was starting to sound like him.
I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Twenty
I SLID MY HAND ALONG the wall, searching for a light switch, then stopped. Was that a good idea? With my luck, Tori would head to the bathroom, see the attic light on, and investigate… only to find me up there talking to myself.
I left the light off.
One hand on the railing, the other gliding along the opposite wall, I climbed the stairs, ascending into blackness.
