Upstairs in the hospital, Officer Targent was pleased with himself. He’d bested his personal response time (a record-setting three minutes) by responding to the South Mendip alarm in a mere twenty-one seconds. There he found Dr. Fenster standing in a cluster of medical staff and toilet paper, brushing dog hair off her sleeve and sneezing. There was no fire. Not even a hint of smoke.
“Someone get this devil of a dog out!” ordered Dr. Fenster. She sneezed again and the fire alarm blared. “And turn that thing off!”
“No fire, then?” inquired the policeman. “You called emergency services because of a dog, Doctor?” The enormous Griffinage dog was padding in agitated circles, muddy paw prints covering the floor, matching the ones on the seat of Offier Targent’s car.
The doctor glared at him. The dog stopped pacing and wagged his tail.
“Gotcha!” said Officer Targent, making a show of grabbing Uncle Ben’s collar while the dog nuzzled him in a friendly way. Officer Targent watched as the hospital staff reset the fire alarm, then he headed downstairs with the Griffinage dog beside him. From the second-floor ward above, voices started yelling: “What do you mean she’s gone? Wasn’t anybody looking? What kind of hospital is this? Search the premises! Call the police! Call the fire brigade!”
Officer Targent sighed. So many emergency calls were simply false alarms from people overreacting. Whoever they were looking for, she’d probably just gone to the bathroom.
As the Griffinage garden and walnut tree came in sight, Will slowed down. It was all well and good to escape from South Mendip hospital and run across McBurney’s fields. Up until this point, a strong idea had been driving him—the idea that they ought to get back to the well. Meg agreed, and Shep hadn’t questioned it. The well seemed right. Now that they’d arrived, Will suddenly wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything. Well, he knew the manor ghost was following them, he could see her drifting form, but there was no sign of the girl ghost.
For the second time that afternoon, Will wished he had a more complete plan. A few paces away, the dark mouth of the well shaft yawned. He set Ariel down as gently as he could at the base of the walnut tree and scanned the area for ghosts. He wasn’t hiccupping, but he could feel a tingle in his neck and that whooshing sound again. The ghosts must be near.
Ariel didn’t stir. Her face was drained, and her cheeks had zipper marks from being pressed against Will’s jacket. The doll was still clutched in her arms. Will tugged fruitlessly at the doll, but it wouldn’t budge. Not even Caesar’s ramming had shaken its uncanny grip. Suddenly, Will felt foolish. He was in over his head. What if Ariel never got better? What if she never woke up? Why had he and Meg been so sure they could help Ariel if they ran away from the hospital? All their lives, Will and Meg would have to live with the haunting thought that they had stolen Ariel’s last chance for survival. The doctors and nurses might not know about ghosts, but they knew all about human bodies. Surely they could have saved her. Shep would be ages hobbling with his foot. It was all up to them. Two kids. And Will had no idea what to do next.
“What do we do next?”
Will realized Meg was looking at him expectantly. He gulped.
“Okay,” he said. “Um, next, we . . .”
“I have no idea,” admitted Will miserably.
Meg walked the last few feet to the old well. She didn’t know what to do next either, but Will was right: The well seemed to be the center of things. Maybe the well would have answers.
The well entrance was clear now. It was easy to see there was a gaping hole in the grass. The loose dirt had been trampled into a soft mud by the emergency crew when they’d lifted Meg out, and there were paw prints circling too. The rope from the toolshed stretched out nearby like an unruly snake. No question it was frayed. Several strands had snapped. Had she really trusted her life to that?
Meg looked away from the rope and followed Will’s gaze to the stone wall. Perhaps he was seeing something there. It was frustrating, being dependent on someone else to see for her. Then Meg saw a shape. Just a flash, really, but something was definitely moving along the stone wall.
She strained to look. It was the glimmer of the child ghost. Gradually, her form became clearer until Meg could see a stained white pinafore flapping slightly over her indigo-blue dress. Her face had a forlorn look. Poor little thing, thought Meg, again. She wants a friend. All those years down in that well.
The next moment, her sympathetic thoughts vanished. Will called out. Meg was just in time to see a greenish-white wind rushing toward her. It wasn’t the girl ghost; it was much larger.
The manor ghost.
Meg screamed. The manor ghost glowed brightly, her body outline gleaming in a halo of greenish white so intense that Meg could clearly see. The manor ghost paused before Meg and hovered there, as if undecided. Then she spun suddenly as if she’d been lassoed and veered sideways to land on top of Ariel.
Ariel still lay propped by the walnut tree, where Will had left her, her legs and arms sprawled out in an unnatural sleep. As Meg stared, the manor ghost slid down beside the girl, lifted Ariel’s head into her lap, and began to stroke her hair.
“My darling, my darling,” she crooned. “Come to Mama. Mama’s here now.”
For an instant, they all stood very still.
Then Kay Kay glided over and reached for Ariel too. No, no! thought Meg. This is all wrong. The two ghosts were supposed to want each other. How could they be ignoring each other and stealing her sister? Will lunged at Kay Kay, and Meg watched in satisfaction as the ghost girl backed away. He hadn’t pushed her, just spooked her. But it wasn’t enough. Kay Kay retreated to a branch above their heads, but a moment later began drifting down again, drawn like a magnet toward Ariel’s inert form.
Will lunged at the manor ghost too, but the grown-up ghost was not so easily spooked. She continued to stroke her prize.
Then Meg knew.
She’d done it once today, in the well, by mistake. She’d have to do it now on purpose. Meg walked toward the walnut tree where her sister lay. Her sister, who always delayed their trips, spilled things, followed her, and took her time away from Will. Her fabulous, creative, very own sister.
“What’re you doing?” asked Will.
Meg walked forward purposefully, each step closer to the manor ghost. She was near now. She felt a well of fear rush up her throat and forced it down. The ghosts were attached to the wrong things. If she and Will wanted to change the ghosts’ minds, they’d have to understand the ghosts’ true desires better. She’d have to get to know them. Know their feelings. What was it Aunt Effie sometimes said? Know thy enemy and know thyself and you shall win a hundred battles. Well, she didn’t need a hundred battles. Just one. She reached out a shaky arm.
“Meg! No, stop!” yelled Will.
It came from touch. The ability to merge herself with the ghost’s soul. Before, when she’d been carrying the manor ghost, the ghost’s body was latched onto Ariel, and she’d only absorbed some of the feelings. Now she would invite the full manor ghost into her body. Meg lifted the manor ghost’s cold fingers from Ariel’s head and gently placed them in her own hands.
Coldness. Surprise. Meg felt herself sucked in as the manor ghost clutched hungrily at her soul and enveloped her. She felt a tug on her heart, a chaotic, wild tug laced with pain and terror. Meg struggled against her instinct to pull back. She willed her hands to stay and clenched them around the ghost’s fingers.
Then the cold crept up her arms and through her shoulders. She sank into a swirl of inner feelings. She’d done it. She was inside. Trees. A lightning flash. Something silver. A bleeding horse and a blue hair ribbon pressed into the mud. At first she saw a confused blur of images and noise. There were bells, men shouting, an anguished squeal. It seemed to come from the horse. Spirit. The horse named Spirit. Then nothing but the rushing stream, and her voice shouting, “No! No!” above the bells. Gillian. Gillian. Meg probed for more, and the scene repeated. Horse, storm, muddy stream bank, blue hair ribbon. Aching grief and anguish. There must be more. She didn’t know how much time she’d have. How long did it take for a ghost to absorb your soul? The power tugging her heart intensified. She felt a surge of cold energy threading into her muscles. She couldn’t feel her own body clearly, but had the vague notion she wasn’t standing anymore, maybe floating. She wanted to run but couldn’t feel her legs. The scene repeated. Wasn’t there anything more? If the ghost was longing for her dead daughter, it was impossible. They couldn’t bring her back. Horse. Stream. Silver saddle buckle. Of course, not a belt at all. The silver thing they’d found was a saddle buckle. Meg pushed deeper. She thought back to their sprint across the pasture. How much lighter her steps had been when she’d opened up to the ghost’s longing. Meg took a long breath. Then she opened her heart as wide as she could, and gave herself up fully to the manor ghost’s soul.
And there it was. The scene of the dying horse and wild creek waters lifted. She was deep inside the manor ghost now. She saw. She knew. She knew why the manor ghost had attacked Will and why it wanted Ariel. She knew exactly what the manor ghost was longing for.
She knew. But she could not tell Will. She could not move or speak.
Complete coldness crept through her, icy tendrils numbing her mind.
The manor ghost was taking her soul.