Chapter 31

“Maybe it would work better if we lit a candle or something,” Nate said, breaking the silence.

Figures. The undead bother you all the time until you finally want to talk to them, and then they can’t bother to show up. What the heck else do they have to do in the great beyond? Am I supposed to believe they got caught up watching something on TV and lost track of time? I rolled my shoulders back. Hunching over the Ouija board that Nicole forgot at my house had left me feeling sore. So far it had given me zero messages from the other side and a backache.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “You would think that a spirit who wants to get a message through would take this chance to say something.”

“Maybe it’s me,” Nate offered.

“No,” I said, but I wondered if he was right. Maybe the ghost knew about his reluctance toward the whole communication project. For all I knew, ghosts were touchy and sensitive about that kind of thing. “I’m telling you, the night of the slumber party this thing worked.” I gave the board a tiny shove across the floor.

“Maybe this ghost doesn’t have anything else to say.”

“One, two, three? I need more information than that. What am I supposed to make of numbers? That the ghost has mastered basic counting skills?” I winced as the words came out of my mouth. If the ghost was his sister, then I’d just insulted her. Evie had communication issues: she was most likely doing the best she could.

“What else do you have other than the numbers?”

“I have a few seashells and a piece of broken mirror.” I shook my head. “It sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

“Get everything out, and let’s look at it all together.”

I got up and pulled the seashells and mirror out of the back of my underwear drawer and put them in the middle of the Ouija board. Nate picked up the piece of mirror and turned it over in his hand a few times. I tried to show him the partial image of a face, but with only a corner of an eye and the side of a cheek visible, I could tell he didn’t see it. He suggested that maybe it was nothing more than damage to the silver backing on the glass. I pushed the shells around on the board until I noticed something.

“That’s weird.” I’d pushed the shells into three piles. One shell, two shells, three shells. “The numbers line up.”

“Or it could be one pile of six,” Nate said, pushing them back together.

“Hang on, there was something else.” I stood back up and went to my bookshelf. I pulled out my copy of Harry Potter and found the torn pieces of the sketch from my first night in the house. They fluttered to the floor and Nate assembled them like puzzle pieces until the picture of the window seat was complete.

“If there’s a clue here, I don’t see it,” Nate said.

“We must be missing something.” I pushed the slips of paper closer together, trying to fill in the gaps.

Nate looked at the picture. “It’s Evie’s room, the way it looked when she was alive. She used to sit in that window seat all the time and look through books. My mom would read to her.” Nate pointed at the book that Mr. Stripes was leaning against in the picture. “That’s my mom’s copy of Alice in Wonderland. It was her favorite story as a kid, and for a wedding present my dad gave her a first-edition copy. He lost his shit when he saw Evie looking through it once, because she had jam on her fingers. My mom said it didn’t matter, that books were like stuffed animals; they were better when they were well loved—more real, more alive. She used to read it to Evie all the time. To be honest, I’m not sure how much Evie understood, but at least my mom liked it.”

“Maybe there’s some kind of other number message in the picture.” My finger trailed along the bookshelves in the sketch. “There are twelve books in the picture. Twelve can be divided by one, two, or three.”

“Take this the nicest way, but I think you’re stretching. My sister had a pretty significant cognitive delay; coming up with number and story problems wasn’t exactly her thing.” He sounded annoyed.

“Well, if that’s not it, maybe you can think of some other idea of what all this means, or do you not want to do this at all?”

“No, I don’t want to do it. This whole thing feels wrong somehow.”

“I know thinking about your mom and sister upsets you.”

“Then let’s not do it.” Nate stood and pulled me up from the floor. “Let’s do something else, something fun.”

“This is what I need to be doing. Something is happening to me, and I need to figure it out. You said you would help me.”

“We tried to figure it out. How long are we supposed to spend on this project? This is the third night in a row I’ve snuck up to your room, and instead of doing anything else, we spend the entire time trying to talk to my dead sister.”

I took a step back. “Whoa. That’s not fair. Are you saying the only reason I should invite you up to my room is to fool around?”

“That’s not what I said.” Nate ran his hands through his hair. “Let’s get out of here.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then I’ll go by myself. Tonight’s the party out at the cove.”

“Tell me you’re joking. I thought you weren’t going to go, or do you like the idea of Nicole hanging on your every word?”

“At least she’s interested in what I have to say instead of wanting to hear from someone who isn’t even alive anymore.”

“Maybe the problem is you don’t want to hear the message.”

“This is bullshit. I’m leaving.” Nate crossed over to the door.

“You’re being a dick,” I called after him.

“And you’re acting crazy,” Nate spit out.

I felt my face flush red-hot as if he had slapped me. Tears sprang into my eyes. His eyes went wide too, as if he had shocked himself.

“Isobel,” he stuttered. “I didn’t mean that. I swear to God, it just came out.”

I crossed the room in three steps. “You meant it, but you’re wrong. There’s nothing wrong with me. Now get out.” I shut the door in his face before he could say anything else. I stood with my hand pressed against the door. I could hear him tap lightly, but I didn’t respond. I had the sense he was standing pressed against the other side. After a few seconds I could hear him slip down the stairs.

I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor with my back pressed against the wood. I put my head on my knees and let myself cry.