Betrayal by Lee Nichols Page B

Natalie said. “No, we can’t.”
    â€œYou can if you’re taught properly.”
    â€œWhy didn’t anyone ever tell me that?” Natalie asked, hand on one hip.
    â€œBecause you never met me before. It’s an old art, and rarely used, as we always team a dispeller with a summoner. But it’s possible.”
    â€œWhere’d you learn this stuff?” I asked.
    â€œFrom Yoshiro,” he said. “And far too many dusty books. Now go change; your snack’s waiting in the kitchen.”
    We headed upstairs, and Natalie said, “Do you think he’s all talk?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe it sounds believable because of his accent. We’ll find out soon enough.”
    I shucked my uniform and sank into gray yoga pants and a black tank top. If Simon’s drills were anything like Martha’s, I knew I’d be sweating, but in the meantime I tossed on a red cashmere hoodie that belonged to my mom. I hadn’t taken it to the cleaners and it still smelled a little of her perfume. Maybe my mom and I didn’t have the best relationship, but I still missed her. With each passing day, I began to worry that something really terrible had happened to her and my dad and Max. The longer I didn’t hear from them, the more I thought I never would. They were all ghostkeepers. If they were dead, they were dead. No ghosts lingering in the Beyond.
    When I met Natalie in the hall, she was dressed in her running gear. “You’re not—”
    She shrugged. “It’s comfortable. Besides, this can’t take all afternoon.”
    We met Lukas in the kitchen. He’d changed into jeans and a white T-shirt and sat happily sipping soup from a little Chinese bowl.
    I looked closer and saw brown rice. I peered at Anatole. Is that … miso?
    Do not even say that word! Mi-so. His mustache bristled. This is not soup; this is an offense against God and man.
    But … where are the cakes and cookies? The berries and homemade lemonade? There was a solarium off the kitchen, like a fancy greenhouse where Anatole grew orange and lemon trees.
    Don’t look to me, chéri. It is that horrible pale fellow, Simon. This was hiz doing.
    But how did he ask you?
    He pointed to a note, sitting on the kitchen counter. There were detailed instructions about how long to cook the rice and prepare the miso.
    You can read? I asked.
    Anatole scoffed. But of course. And in any case, we can oftentimes understand you . It iz just the living who cannot understand the dead. Unless you are a communicator, that iz to say. Then you ask the insulting questions — if I can read!
    I’m sorry. It’s just I’ve read in old books that servants —
    I am no servant! His French accent was even thicker than usual, which meant I’d really upset him. Pah . You are young. But have a talk with zat … horrible fellow. Hiz cooking iz not for me.
    I nodded, chastised, and sipped my miso. It was surprisingly tasty.
    Fifteen minutes later, we all shuffled into the ballroom, where Simon was waiting. He wore a gray tracksuit and a whistle around his neck.
    â€œLet’s begin,” he said.
    â€œSure, Coach,” Lukas said. “Should we run laps?”
    Natalie clapped. “Yeah, we’ve gotta get ready for the Big Game.”
    Simon blew his whistle. “Lukas, shut up. Natalie, summon a ghost from the harbor.”
    â€œWhat?” she said. “I can’t, that’s way too far.”
    â€œThat’s the first lesson—the rules are changing. Nobody has more than one ability, right? We all learned that. Except Emma has all the abilities. Possession is impossible, right? Not any more. Nobody’s seen a wraith in centuries—but Neos is creating an army of them, right now. We’re living through some big, scary changes. You don’t know what’s possible. You don’t know the extent of your powers.”
    â€œAnd you do?”