The Year of Shadows by Claire Legrand

before. Looking at them gave me the floaty, flippy feeling; I’d never felt that for anyone but Richard Ashley before.
    “Yeah.” I forced my attention back to my sandwich. “I’m curious.”
    “Well. If you do decide to help them—and I still don’t think you should—I’ll help them with you.”
    My head shot back up. “Really?”
    “Really.” Henry dug in for another glop of potato salad. “It’s not safe enough for you to do it alone. I don’t trust them.”
    This hot, tingling feeling raced up my arms, but I remained professional. “Maybe it isn’t so bad being your ghost-hunting partner after all, Mr. Perfect.”
    He smiled at me through a mouthful of food.

    That night, after Nonnie went to bed, I camped out by the rehearsal room door to let Henry in. He wouldn’t be there until midnight, but I couldn’t possibly stay in bed. My skin crawled with nerves; I hadn’t decided what to tell the ghosts, and part of me was afraid of what they’d do if I said no. They’d promised they wouldn’t hurt us, but what did a ghost’s promise really mean?
    As I was sitting there, huddled up in the dark with Igor in my lap and a flashlight under my foot, I heard someone stumble into the kitchen. The light buzzed on, bathing the hallway in harsh white light. I heard a heavy sigh—the Maestro’s sigh.
    “I thought he was asleep,” I whispered to Igor.
    Igor perked up. Finally, something to do. Then he leapt off me, darting silently into the kitchen.
    “Olivia?” The Maestro poked his head around the corner. I tried to blend into the darkness. “What are you doing out there?”
    I rolled my eyes and dragged myself over to him, arms crossed. “Nothing,” I snapped. I needed to get him into his room and asleep before Henry showed up.
    “I’m making chamomile tea, if you want any.”
    Chamomile tea. That was good. That would make him sleepy. “Great. I’m going back to bed.”
    But when I walked past the kitchen, a pile of glossy papers on the kitchen table caught my eye. I peered closer. I saw THE CITY PHILHARMONIC and shining pictures of the Maestro andthe orchestra. The concert schedule for the rest of the year.
    “What are these?”
    The Maestro tried to scoop all of them into his arms, but the paper was too slick. The fliers slid everywhere, falling to the ground. “They’re nothing. Just a little something.”
    I picked up one of the fallen papers. “They’re fliers about the orchestra.”
    “I thought maybe if I put them around town, it could help. Even though it isn’t much.”
    I stared at the paper in my hand. The ink was so bright, the paper crisp and shiny. “These must have cost a lot.”
    “Yes.” The Maestro paused, hunched over, his arms full of fliers. He seemed afraid to look at me. “They cost a good deal.”
    “Where’d you get that money?” I threw the flier to the ground. “Did you sell Nonnie and not tell me?”
    “How could you say such a thing?” The Maestro stepped toward me, and the pile of paper in his hands tumbled to the floor, skidding into the corners of the room. Igor chased after it, yowling.
    The Maestro stood there staring at the fallen papers like it was this mess he could never pick up. He was as skinny as I was. He needed to shave.
    “I think I might be going mad, Olivia,” he said at last. He slumped into the nearest chair. “I think that I see things. I think that I see her . But when I look again, it is just a trick of the shadows.”
    He looked up at me, wiping his face. It made him look so small, like a child, like Nonnie cuddling her scarves in her bed. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
    “You’re pathetic,” I whispered. “Mom’s gone. She’s not coming back.”
    The Maestro nodded. “You’re right. You’re right, of course.” Then he wiped his face again, and then he got on his hands and knees, picking up each flier one at a time, stacking them neatly, like they were pieces of glass.

    By the time Henry knocked our code on the