The Haunting of Sunshine Girl (28 page)

I trudge upstairs to shower and change. I pull my phone from my jeans pocket, impressed that I had enough willpower to keep from looking for nearly five whole minutes. Still no word from Nolan.

Maybe I should text him again.

Maybe he was somewhere without a signal and my message got lost somewhere in the cyber-ether and he's just walking around in the woods somewhere, totally oblivious to my apology.

Or maybe he's just so angry at me that an apology wasn't enough. I force myself to put my phone away.

In my room not even one item is out of place—no toys strewn across the floor, no unicorns facing the wrong way. The checkerboard is exactly how I left it: Anna hasn't made her next move. Even Dr. Hoo is still and dry on his perch.

“Anna Wilde,” I say out loud. The walls shudder in response. “I talked to your mother. She misses you. And I know how much you miss her.”

I bite my lip. I sure miss mine.

“I'm sorry for all the times I wanted you gone,” I add softly. “I know it's not your fault you're still here. That none of this is your fault.”

It's my fault. Because I was born different.

After a shower I change into pj's—no feet, but Christmas colored, red and green with white kittens dancing across my shoulders like the Rockettes. I pull my computer onto my lap and search for exorcisms and demons and luiseach until the words all bleed into each other. I can't make heads or tails of any of it. Having another week won't do me any good if I can't make more progress than this.
What am I going to do?
Miraculously, I fall asleep eventually, my hand still on the mouse.

I don't know how much later it is when I wake to the sound of knocking on my door.

“Come in, Mom,” I call, slamming my laptop shut.

“It's not your mom,” a male voice answers. A voice I know well. I pull myself to sit up and try to straighten my pajamas and flatten my hair as Nolan steps into my room. Despite the fact that it's much colder out now than it was the day I met him, he's still wearing his leather jacket, though now there's a gray scarf wrapped around his neck and a black knit hat pulled down tightly over his ears, his blond hair peeking out from under it.

“I got your text,” he says. He slips off his hat and sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. I feel a rush of warmth in his presence—not the oppressive heat I felt in Victoria's house, and certainly not the bitter cold I felt on the walk home. Not to sound like Goldilocks or anything, but this warmth is just right.

“I wasn't sure. You didn't write back.”

“I couldn't,” he replies. “I was driving.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

“Won't your parents be mad at you for missing Christmas with your grandmother?”

Nolan shrugs like he knows that they might be, but it wasn't enough to make him stay. “I couldn't stay away. Not when I knew you needed me.”

Ashley was wrong. Neither the pink nor the taxidermied bird will make Nolan turn tail and run away as fast as his legs will carry him. Not if he came back after everything else that happened.

If this were a movie, now would be when he leaned in to kiss me. Or maybe he'd just take my hand, and the warmth of his skin against mine would make my heart flutter and maybe our lips would fit together like they were meant for each other.

But this isn't a movie, and even though I like how close to me he's sitting, I still feel strange. I wonder whether Nolan can feel it too. Maybe this haunting—maybe Anna and the demon—are the reason for it. Maybe the feeling will dissipate if I defeat the demon and save Anna and my mom. Which I
must
do. I
have
to. I
will.

Or anyway, I'll try.

“You were right,” I say.

“About what?”

“About everything,” I sigh. “But mostly, about me.” I take a deep breath and say, “I'm a luiseach.”

“Oh, you know how to pronounce it now?” Nolan smiles, but I know he's serious.

“Shut up,” I say shoving him gently away, careful to make sure that my palm presses against his jacket and not his skin. A gagging fit would really ruin this moment.

“I did a little research of my own. And I found some new evidence.” I tell him all about Anna Wilde, about running to Victoria's house at the crack of dawn. About the fact that Victoria confirmed what Nolan already believed: I'm a luiseach.

“There's something else,” I add urgently. I explain what will happen to my mother's spirit—and Anna's too—if we fail. I swallow the lump in my throat. I don't want to cry anymore. I can cry all I want once all this is over, but right now I have to stay focused.

“But we only have a week,” I add urgently. “And I have so much to learn before then.”

“I know.” Nolan nods. “But I'll help you. And Ms. Wilde can help too. Good thing you found a luiseach, right?”

“I left that part out. She's not anymore. She had to give up her powers in order to put the test in motion.”

“You can stop being a luiseach?” Nolan asks. “I thought it was a lifelong kind of thing.”

“Apparently not.” I try to sound nonchalant, but the truth is, I want to know more about what Victoria did. So that when all this is over—when my mom is safe—I'll be able to do it too. Give up my powers and go back to being a normal sixteen-year-old. Well, as normal as I ever was.

“Okay, but she
used
to be a luiseach, at least. She must remember what to do, right?”

“I hope so,” I say, and I smile. “I'm sorry.”

“You already apologized.”

“Over text doesn't count. I needed to say it out loud.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Are you sure?” I smile again. “I mean, you're in a position of power here. You could probably make me grovel a little bit more. No need to waste this opportunity.”

Nolan cocks his head to the side as though he's weighing his options. “Nah,” he says finally.

“You sure are letting me off easy.”

“It's not your fault. You couldn't fight with a demon, so you picked a fight with me. I understand.”

“You sure understand a lot more than I do.”

“I picked a lot of fights with my parents after my grandfather died.” He pauses, running his fingers back and forth over my comforter like it's a keyboard. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I was telling the truth when I said I came back here to help you, but I also came back because I hate being at my grandparents' cabin without him there.”

Nolan swallows hard, his Adam's apple bouncing up and down. He glances around the room, his eyes landing on the checkerboard and the Monopoly game.

“Are these the games you're playing with Anna?” he asks, and I nod. He leans down over the board. “Are you red or black?”

“Red,” I answer. He starts to slide one of my checkers across the board, right next to one of Anna's. When he lifts his hand, the checker slides right back.

“Weird,” he says, sliding it again. And again, it slides back.

“Maybe she doesn't want to play with you,” I say, attempting a joke, but I'm actually mesmerized.

“Maybe,” Nolan says, brushing his hands though his hair. “Or maybe I
can't
play with her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm not a luiseach. So I can't interact with ghosts like you can.”

“It's a checkerboard, not a Ouija board,” I protest, but I know he's right. “I'm glad you came back.”

“Me too.”

I bite my lip. “I owe you more than just an apology.”

“You do?” Nolan drops his gaze, his hair falling across his face.

“I owe you a thank you. I mean, I owe you about ten thousand thank yous. For all your research and your help. For believing me. For believing
in
me, even when I didn't.”

I pull my sleeve down over my wrist so that my palm is covered, and I rest my hand on top of Nolan's on the bed, squeezing gently. He turns his own hand over and wraps his fingers around mine. Despite the strangeness, it does feel like our hands fit together.

“You said I couldn't fight a demon so I fought with you instead?”

“Yeah?”

“Turns out I
can
fight a demon. I
have
to. I just have to figure out how.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

A Wise and Trusted Teacher

The day after Christmas
Nolan and I walk together from my house to Victoria's. Unlike my last visit, this one takes place at a reasonable hour, almost noon.

“The last time we got expert help it didn't go all that well,” I say as we walk down Victoria's woodsy street, cringing at the memory of Professor Jones's freezing empty office, the building that threatened to fall down around us.

“Sure it did,” Nolan counters. “We never would have learned the word
luiseach.
We never would have figured out what you are.”

I nod aimlessly as I walk beside him through the cold. The snow has turned to ice, and it crunches beneath our feet. It feels like we're breaking something with every step we take.

Nolan is wearing his grandfather's leather jacket, and a wool hat covers his dirty-blond hair. My own frizzball is tucked into
an old gray hat of my mother's, with a matching scarf wrapped around my neck. When we get to Victoria's house I keep the scarf on. It smells like Mom.

Victoria is smiling when she opens the door. “Welcome back,” she says; then turning to Nolan, she adds, “Welcome.” I guess she expected he'd be coming with me.

Victoria's dark clothes stand out against her brightly decorated house. I wonder whether she dressed like this before Anna died or whether she wears the dark clothes as a sign of mourning.

“You said you could help,” I begin eagerly as she leads us into the living room. I don't sit down like Nolan does when Victoria gestures to her couch. Instead, I take a deep breath and make the request I've been practicing for the past twenty-four hours. “I need you to teach me everything you know about how to exorcise a demon. Will you be my mentor?” When she doesn't answer immediately, I add a desperate, “Please?”

Victoria shakes her head. “I'm sorry, Sunshine. It doesn't work that way. You already have a mentor.”

“No, I don't!” I'm tempted to stomp my foot like a little kid, but Victoria's carpet is so plush that it would barely make a sound. Instead, I lift my hands desperately, begging for help. “If I had a mentor, then he'd be here, helping me, teaching me. Isn't that what mentors do?”

I looked up the word mentor in the dictionary this morning:
a wise and trusted counselor or teacher.
Victoria might not be a qualified art teacher, but she's still the closest thing I have to that definition.

“He
is
helping you,” Victoria insists.

“How?”

“The professor,” Nolan says softly, and I turn around to face him. He looks so out of place in this room—Victoria's plush furniture seems to swallow up his long arms and legs. “Your mentor must have brought him back to help us.”

Nolan has a point: someone must have put that specter of a professor there for us to find. “So my mentor hacked into the university's computer system with a listing of a long-dead professor's office hours? Furnished an empty office in an abandoned building that he somehow magicked into looking only slightly less abandoned?”

“Maybe he even planted the article about him in my grandfather's papers,” he thinks aloud, his voice intense.

I bite my bottom lip. Okay, fine, that's
some
help. But it's not nearly
enough
help. Not when my mother's life is at stake.

“He will appear, Sunshine. You just have to wait.” Victoria brings her long white fingers to her mouth, as though she's said too much. I feel like she's barely saying anything at all.

“But I
can
help you,” she offers slowly, her soft voice melodic as she stands and disappears into the kitchen.

“Why don't you sit down?” Nolan suggests gently, and I sit on the couch beside him, but not too close. I don't actually need his warmth, not in this house.

I expect Victoria to return with a tray full of tea, but instead she comes back holding a handkerchief wrapped around something. “Here,” she says, holding the package out to me.

I unwrap the item and immediately drop it into my lap.

“A rusty old knife?” It's not even a big knife. I mean, it's not, like, a butter knife or anything, but it's not exactly a sword or an axe either. It's the kind of knife Mom uses to chop onions or carrots or celery. The sort of knife you'd find in most any kitchen.

“It's not a rusty old knife,” Victoria counters. “Can't you see what it really is?”