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“I have,” said Mr. Voland. “Have you?”
Ollie, frowning, gave a small nod. Mr. Voland’s expression sharpened. “What’s your name?”
“Ollie,” said Ollie. “This is Brian, and that’s Coco.”
“Pleased to meet you all,” he said. His two-colored eyes seemed to stare straight through them.
Coco asked, “Were you scared? When you saw a ghost?”
“I was,” said Mr. Voland immediately. His lips went thin, as though he was remembering something unpleasant. But then he shrugged, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and said, “It was a long time ago.” His eyes brightened. “Well, it seems you three are old hands at this ghost business. Do you want to explore the lodge with me this morning?”
Why hadn’t he asked them where they’d seen ghosts? Coco wondered. She did not want to explore the lodge. She was already worried about strange dreams, and strange figures in the shadows. She didn’t want to add anything else to the mix. She opened her mouth to say so.
But Ollie spoke first. “I’d like that,” she said.
“How lovely!” said Mr. Voland. He leaped to his feet.
Ollie hopped up too. “Let’s start now,” she said determinedly.
Brian frowned at Ollie, then shrugged and nodded agreement.
Coco shut her mouth again, wilting. Her friends already knew Coco had been scared about skiing. Now was she going to be scared about this too? What would they both think? So, Coco just nodded too.
But she almost wanted to cry, thinking of the warm fireplace, her sketchbook, and her chessboard. Why did her friends want to go looking for scary stuff?
“Mr. Voland,” Ollie sai
d, her expression still strangely eager, “have you ever talked to a ghost?”
Mr. Voland had produced a thermos from his jacket pocket; he was pouring the rest of the coffee into it. “Yes,” said Mr. Voland, not looking up. “There are tools for that. Talking to ghosts is much more common than seeing them, actually.”
“How do you talk to ghosts?” Ollie asked. She sounded like she was just asking a casual question. But as she talked, Ollie glanced down, just once, at the watch on her wrist.
Coco saw her do it. Instantly she understood why her friend was suddenly so eager to go ghost hunting.
Ollie’s watch wasn’t an ordinary watch. It looked ordinary: just a big digital watch with a compass. But Ollie’s mother had been wearing that watch when she died in a plane crash the year before. Its face was cracked; its compass didn’t point north.
However, that October, when Ollie, Brian, and Coco had been in terrible danger, Ollie’s mother had talked to her through words on the watch face. Had helped them. Guided them. Saved them. Of course Ollie would grab the chance to learn more about ghosts, Coco realized. She wanted to know more about how her watch worked.
Mr. Adler popped back in from the kitchen. A few yards away, Mrs. Wilson and Coco’s mom were attacking the fireplace with mops and shovels and buckets. “Zelda,” he called, “looks like the dishes are under control. I was thinking maybe we could go out and see what went wrong with the generators? If you know anything about generators, because I sure don’t.”
Coco’s mom sat back on her heels, a smudge of ash on one cheek. “As a matter of fact, I do,” she said. “Surprised? Coco’s grandpa was an electrician. Where’s the generator shed? Let me get my jacket.”
She turned to Ollie, Brian, and Coco and gave them a stern look. “You three need to stay inside today. Don’t make us go looking for you. It’s snowing a whiteout out there. Right, sweetie?” she added to Coco.
Coco nodded. Her mom pulled her in for an unexpected hug. “Be good,” she said. “I love you.”
Coco straightened up just in time to see Ollie turn away, her teeth sunk into her lower lip.
Ollie was thinking of her own mom, Coco thought. She ached for her friend. Ollie hated getting sympathy from anyone, but Coco couldn’t help trying. “Ollie—” she started, but Ollie wasn’t listening.
“What stuff do we need?” Ollie asked Mr. Voland briskly.
Mr. Adler and Coco’s mom were heading out of the room in search of jackets and boots. Mr. Voland put the lid on his thermos, took a final pancake, rolled it up around some egg, like a burrito, wrapped it in a napkin, and tucked it into a pocket. “You just need your wits about you,” he told them. “A notebook and a pencil to write down any impressions. And maybe a flashlight.”
“We’ll go up to our rooms right now to get our stuff,” said Ollie. “We’ll meet you in the lobby.” Without another word, she bolted for the stairs, running ahead of Coco and Brian. She disappeared into the shadows of the second floor. Coco and Brian followed her.
Mr. Voland stayed in the lobby.
