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“Chloe, it's me. Derek. ”
I don't know what I did next. I think I might have collapsed into his arms, but if I did, I prefer not to remember it that way. I do remember feeling the gag rip away, then hearing that awful thump-?thump and scrambling up.
“Th-?th-?there's—”
“Dead people, I know. They must have been buried down here. You accidentally raised them. ”
“R-?r-?raised—”
“Later. Right now, you need to—”
The thumping sounded again, and I could see them—in my mind—pulling their limp bodies along. The rustle of their clothing and dried flesh. The clatter and clicks of their bones. Their spirits tra
pped inside. Trapped in their corpses—
“Chloe, focus!”
Derek grabbed my forearms, holding me still, pulling me close enough to see the white flash of his teeth as he talked. From behind him came that faint light I'd seen earlier. The door had been left open, letting in just enough light to make out shapes.
“They won't hurt you. They aren't brain-?eating movie zombies, okay? They're just dead bodies with their spirits returned to them. ”
Just dead bodies? With their spirits returned to them? I'd sent people—ghosts—back into their corpses? I thought of what that would be like, shoved back into your decomposed body, trapped there—
“I—I—I need to send them back. ”
“Yeah, that'd be the general idea. ”
Strain sapped the sarcasm from his words; and when I stopped shaking, I could feel the tension running through him, vibrating through the hands gripping my arms, and I knew he was struggling to stay calm. I rubbed my hands over my face, the stink of dirt filling my nostrils.
“O-?okay, so how do I send them back?”
Silence. I looked up.
“Derek?”
“I . . . I don't know. ” He shook it off, rolling his shoulders, the gruffness returning to his voice. “You summoned them, Chloe. Whatever you did, undo it. Reverse it. ”
“I didn't do—”
“Just try. ”
I closed my eyes. “Go back. Back to your afterlife. I release you. ”
I repeated the words, concentrating so hard sweat trickled down my face. But the thumping kept coming. Closer. Closer.
I closed my eyes and made myself a movie, starring a foolish young necromancer who needs to send spirits back to the netherworld. I forced myself to picture the corpses. I saw myself calling to their ghosts, freeing them of their earthly bonds. I imagined their spirits lifting—
“Help. Help. ”
My throat went dry. The voice was right behind me. I opened my eyes.
Derek let out an oath and his hands tightened around my forearms.
“Keep your eyes closed, Chloe. Just remember, they won't hurt you. ”
A bony fingertip touched my elbow. I jumped.
“It's okay, Chloe. I'm right here. Keep going. ”
As I held myself still, the fingertips poked my arm, then slid along it, stroking, testing, feeling, like the blind man with the elephant. Bone scraped over my skin. A rustling clatter as the corpse pulled itself closer. The smell of it—
Visualize.
I am!
Not like that!
I closed my eyes—meaningless since I could see nothing with them open, but it made me feel better. The fingers crept and poked over my back, plucking my shirt, the corpse making gah-?gah-?gah noises as if trying to talk.
I gritted my teeth and blocked it out. Not easy, knowing what was touching me, pressing up against my side—
Enough already!
I concentrated instead on Derek's breathing. Slow, deep breaths through his mouth, as he struggled to stay calm.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Find a quiet spot. The creative place.
Slowly the sounds and touches and smells of the real world faded. I squeezed my eyes shut, and let myself free-?fall into my imagination. I focused on the bodies, imagining myself tugging out their spirits, setting them free, like caged doves, winging their way into the sunlight.
I repeated the images—freeing the spirits, wishing them well, apologizing as I sent them on their way. Dimly I heard Derek's voice, telling me I was doing fine, but it seemed to float, dreamlike on the edge of consciousness. The real world was here, where I was undoing my mistake, reversing the—
“They're gone, Chloe," he whispered.
I stopped. I could still feel bony fingers, now on my leg, a body resting against mine, but it wasn't moving. When I twisted sideways, the corpse fell, an empty shell, collapsing at my feet.
Derek let out a long, deep breath, running his hands through his hair. After a moment, he asked, as if in afterthought, whether I was okay.
“I'll live. ”
Another shuddering deep breath. Then he looked at the body.
“Guess we've got some work to do. ”
Twenty-nine
BY “WORK,” HE MEANT cleanup. As in, reburying the bodies. All I'll say about that is that I was glad even with the door open it was still too dark to see those corpses very well.
The graves were shallow, barely more than a few inches of dirt over the bodies, enough for them to claw through when their spirits were slammed back into their corpses. But I didn't want to think about that.
I could tell the bodies had been buried quite a while, probably before Lyle House had become a group home. And they were adults. For now, that was all I needed to know.
As we worked, I asked Derek how he'd found me. He said that when he realized Tori had stayed behind, he knew she was up to something, so he went to check on me. How exactly he found me, he didn't say, only shrugged and mumbled something about checking “the obvious places” when I seemed to be missing.
The question now was: What to do about Tori?
“Nothing,” I said, wiping my trembling hands after smoothing over the second grave.
“Huh?”
Nice to hear him say that for a change.
“I'm going to act like nothing happened. ”
He considered it, then nodded. “Yeah. If you blame her, things will only escalate. Better to ignore her and hope she gives up. ”
“Pray she gives up,” I muttered as I crawled for the door.
“Is there still clean clothing down here?” Derek asked.
“One load in the dryer. That's it. Why—? Oh, right. Better not to go upstairs covered in dirt. ” I climbed down the ladder. “Most of what's in the dryer was yours so—”
“Chloe? Derek?” Mrs. Talbot stood in the laundry room. “What are you two doing together? Derek, you know you're not supposed to—” Her gaze traveled over my filthy clothing. “Dear Lord, what happened to you?”
* * *
There was no sense denying we'd been in the crawl space, since she caught us stepping from the closet, me caked in dirt. I moved my legs together, hoping it hid the wet mark. The blow to the back of my skull throbbed and I struggled to speak, praying Derek would jump in. He didn't. One rescue a day must have been his limit.
