Ways to See a Ghost (14 page)

Isis pulled herself out. “Cally, wake up!”

Cally didn’t react, not even a flicker of her eyelids.

“Don’t worry,” said Philip, giving Isis’s hand a squeeze. “She’s just in a deep trance. She’s having a lovely dream, really enjoying herself. Your mother’s a wonderful subject, very open to suggestion.”

“You’ve hypnotised her?” Isis stared at her mentally absent mum.

Philip nodded. “One of my modest talents. How else could we speak privately?” His grip on her hand tightened a bit, scrunching her fingers together and hurting her. “Calista would never let us talk by ourselves. She’s so protective, hardly lets you out of her sight.” He chuckled. “Not like your sister… she doesn’t pay
her
the slightest attention.”

Isis froze.

Philip glanced around the clearing. “Where is she, by the way?”

“You can see Angel?” whispered Isis.

“I could hardly miss her. Prancing about on the table like that!” He smiled at the memory. “Very sweet, if a little awkward, since the others couldn’t see her.”

Angel said none of them had seen her. But then, she was too young to tell if someone was pretending.

Philip looked at Isis. “We’re the same, you and I. Hadn’t you realised that?”

“You can see ghosts,” said Isis. Mandeville had been right.

“Did you think I was a fraud?” grinned Philip. “Fake, like everyone else in the Welkin Society?” He shook his head. “I suppose it
is
surprising to find a real medium in the society. When Norman asked me to join, all those years ago, I knew they didn’t have an ounce of psychic ability between them. But he was a very wealthy man, and if he believed in you… well, let’s just say he helped me a lot. Of course, that all changed these last couple of years.” He paused, then shook it away. “You probably think the people at my house were all charlatans, or liars. But they’re not, they’re just exceptional believers, even fooling themselves. It’s why they make such good hypnotic subjects.”

Isis looked at her sleeping mum. Could she shake her awake? Was it dangerous to shock someone out of a trance? “Please, wake Cally up.”

Philip ignored her.

“The meetings are pretty awful though. I have to stop myself from laughing when they start on about the wisdom of the spirits. You and I know what ghosts are really like!”

Isis stared at his smile. Was he trying to be her friend?

“What about the theatre?” she said, remembering all the tricks he’d used, the lack of any ghosts and the creature at the end.

Philip tilted his head. “I knew
you
wouldn’t be fooled by my stage show. The trouble is, despite what people want to think, the spirit of dear Aunty Ethel almost never appears at a seance just because her niece wants it. Ghosts are unpredictable by their very nature.” He leaned towards her. “Norman could never understand this, even though I tried to tell him. He couldn’t face the truth that ghosts aren’t whole people like us. They’re just leftovers. Longings and cast-offs. I never tell the punters this, but I think ghosts are just bits shaved off our spirits when we squeeze our way to the next life, whatever that is.” His voice was oddly high-pitched. “Dropped socks of the soul, I call them.”

Isis didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what she thought ghosts were.

Philip smoothed his hair with his free hand. “Anyway, people want to believe their loved ones are watching over them.
I
can’t tell them Aunty Ethel couldn’t even be bothered to turn up. So yes, I use tricks.”

Isis almost nodded, it all made a kind of sense, more
than Mandeville’s hints and mutterings. Except, there were lots of spirits waiting to be called at Cally’s performances, she just hadn’t been aware of them. If Philip was a real psychic, why didn’t the ghosts clamour to be at his shows?

“Norman just didn’t want to understand what it’s really like,” said Philip to himself. “I
tried
to show him.”

He looked back at Isis. “I know the Welkin Society has no talent, but they do have influence, money and connections. Not long after joining, I learned the techniques of hypnotism.” He smiled. “I told the group it was a special meditation, and they lapped it up! Soon I could drop them all into a trance with just a few words.” Now Philip chuckled. “I even used hypnosis to get my first big break. In one of my
meditations
I told Ian to take me on tour with him. He’d never have done it otherwise – he knew I’d steal the show.”

She’d thought Philip was a fake, but this was worse. He was using people, manipulating them.

Isis tried to pull her hand out of his tight, sweaty grip, but she was snare-caught, like a rabbit.

“Don’t worry,” said Philip, squeezing her hand a little tighter. “I wouldn’t do anything like that to you. Your mind has to stay open, untainted.”

There was something in the way he said it. An expectation.

“Why did you invite Cally to join the Welkin Society?” Isis asked carefully.

Philip chuckled again. “Well not for her talent, obviously!” His pupils were wide and black, even though the day was bright. “For
you
, Isis. I invited Cally for you.”

She pulled frantically, trying to get away from him, but he held on firmly, stopping her from standing up.

“Shh,” he said, “you don’t need to be frightened.” Like a hunter calming his prey. “I could hardly believe it when I heard about you, so I invited your mother to join the society.”

Heard?

“Who told you about me?” Isis asked.

Philip smiled, a little sly. “I have my means. Perhaps my spirit guide told me. And you’re such a clear psychic, the ghosts must flock to you!”

“No,” said Isis.

Philip looked smug. “You should probably thank me for that. They’re more respectful these days, and there aren’t the numbers there used to be.”

She felt a shiver at the back of her neck, as if someone
were watching. But apart from Cally, there was no one else in the clearing, living or dead. Only the trees and the plumed tiers of ferns.

“It was worse when I was your age,” said Philip. He frowned, remembering. “If I woke at night, they’d be around my bed. At school they blocked my view of the teachers.”

Isis nodded, surprised by a shared understanding.

“I did really badly,” said Philip, “left without passing any exams.”

“It’s hard to concentrate,” said Isis, thinking of her problems in the Victorian parts of her school.

“You know, don’t you?” Philip put his other hand over hers. “All the pressure, all the wanting. Filling up your life, creeping into your mind.” His voice cracked a little, he was struggling not to cry. “Imagine how much worse it was for me, when there were so many more.”

“What happened to them?” Isis asked.

Philip shook his head, not answering. And his next words were quick and aggressive. “It’s their own fault, if they insist on coming! And it’s
much
easier to hold things together when there are fewer ghosts to deal with.” His gaze shifted, pinning to her. “But I need to stop now,
to rest. I’ve done my time, now it’s someone else’s turn.”

You chatter.
She remembered the words, spoken long ago.
But I am hungry.

A frightened prickle ran up Isis’s spine, lifting the hairs at the nape of her neck.

“It was small at first, but it just kept growing,” Philip smiled at her. “You’re young and empty; you’ll be able to hold it, no problem. And it’s only fair, don’t you think? I’ve had it for twenty-five years, that’s a long time.”

The leaves of the trees washed into purple, as if dipped in ink, and the sound of wings hushed in the air.

“What will I be able to hold?” Isis asked, almost whispering.

Philip smiled.
“You know
. Try to think of it as a friend, as your protector. It’s already extending over you, and soon…” He tapped her forehead. “It’ll fit right in. Plenty of room.”

Isis gasped, her breath running ragged. “I don’t want it!”

Philip tutted. “Well it’s all decided, so there’s no point fussing. I’m getting tired, and it needs someone new. I’m sure it’s looking forward to the move.”

“I won’t! I’ll fight it!” She imagined the dark cloud pouring down into her head, grasping hold of her memories and pulling them apart with its fingers.

“You have to take your
turn
!” snapped Philip. “Someone
has to keep the ghosts down, otherwise they multiply like vermin. It’s your go, I’ve done enough.”

She shook her head desperately.

“Selfish,” Philip muttered. “I put
my
life on hold, never did the things I wanted to. Do you think I wanted to be a stage psychic, and have ridiculous middle-aged women constantly asking me about the afterlife? I wanted to be a vet when I was your age.”

Isis looked around, trying to see, straining to hear. But only the ferns in the clearing were whispering, speaking a breeze.

Philip sighed. “All right, I didn’t want to say this, but you really are forcing me. I give personal seances, and one of my clients is a poor woman who lost her husband. Very good hypnotic subject, works in the council’s social services department. Well, last week she gave me your file, not that she remembers doing it.” He flicked a glance at Cally, lost in the false safety of her dreams. “You should see the letters your teachers have written about you. And the replies from social workers.” He looked at Isis. “Are you aware how close you are to being taken into care?”

Isis glared at him.

“There’s nothing wrong with me and Cally!”

Philip pulled his face into a sympathetic expression. “We naturally defend our parents, but your file says otherwise. A chaotic and neglectful lifestyle. Cally dragging you all around the countryside on evening performances when you should be at home doing your homework, or in bed. People in the audiences reported it. And then your teachers are worried about how small and underfed you look. Turning up at school without the proper uniform, and no packed lunch. Apparently your concentration is really quite terrible. Of course they blame that on poor parenting, not ghosts.” He pulled Isis towards him a little. “Think how easy it would be for me to get you taken away from your mother. A nudge here and there. Perhaps a few concerned phone calls?”

Isis’s heart was pattering in panic. Was this true? Could it be?

It probably wouldn’t take much, now she thought about it. The deputy head already asked Isis questions like, “How’s your mother doing?” and, “How are things at home?” Isis had thought she was just being nice, but maybe she wrote down Isis’s answers and sent them off to a social worker?

“My dad,” she said. “He’d stop you!”

Philip’s mild expression flicked into harsh. “And where is
he, then? Oh yes, he left you. Do you really think he cares?”

The grass felt like rock beneath her. She could hardly breathe, the air stolen from her lungs. “Please,” she begged. “Don’t take me away from my mum.”

Philip gazed at her. “I don’t want to… I loved my parents too. Even when they called me lazy and stupid, even when they turned me out of the house at fourteen.” His voice was cold, tinged with bitterness. “I ended up in a care home, run by a man who
cared
for us with an old snooker cue. I still have the scars from his beatings.” He squeezed her hand tighter, so her fingers almost felt numb. “I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“Cally would never let them take me!”

Philip narrowed his eyes. “Even if she found out the truth? About Angel, and how you’ve been lying to her all this time?”

He looked up. The sky was a circle of blue, lined by the soft ruffle of the surrounding trees.

“Do you know why psychics are so rare?” he said quietly. “Because it’s a defect. Like two heads, or a heart on the outside of your body – it’s not supposed to happen. That’s why people with psychic ability suffer so much.” He looked back at Isis. “And you see ghosts very clearly,
don’t you? Which is unusual, even for a psychic – they all look quite blurry to me. So you’re at the extreme end of defective, don’t you see? You really need protection, or you’ll be gibbering before you know it.” He smiled. “You’ll get used to having it in your mind, after a while.”

Isis tried to breathe, tried to think. Mandeville had said the Devourer started as a protection, but now it was out of control. Had it somehow attached itself to Philip, was that what Mandeville meant?

“I won’t do it,” she whispered, trying to hold out.

“Well you will,” he said calmly, letting go of her hand at last. Blood prickled back into her fingers.

Isis stared at him for a second, then she sprang up, grabbing Cally’s shoulders, shaking her out of her trance. “Wake up! Wake UP!”

“Wha…?” said Cally, bleary, her eyes barely open.

“We have to go!”

Cally rubbed her eyes.

“We have to leave right now!”

“Isis,”
said Cally, turning to Philip. “I’m sorry, Isis is being so rude today.”

Philip smiled calmly. “It’s really quite all right. Everything will be sorted out soon.”

Violet colour fluttered through the trees.

“No it won’t!” shouted Isis. “Because Cally’s leaving the Welkin Society! We’re never seeing you again!”

“What are you talking about?” said Cally, standing up, frowning. “I’m not doing any such thing.”

Isis opened her mouth, but how could she even start to explain?

“The Welkin Society is… just a big con!” she said. “Philip said you were doing a meditation, but really he was hypnotising you!”

Philip chuckled, as if Isis were joking, and Cally narrowed her eyes, her voice shivering with contained anger. “Philip is one of the greatest healers in the country,” she said. “I think you should apologise.”

“Maybe this has been a little overwhelming for Isis?” Philip said to Cally, with what sounded like concern.

Cally shook her head. “That doesn’t excuse her behaviour.”

“It’s not just me who thinks you should leave the Welkin Society!” shouted Isis, desperate. “Gray thinks the same. And Gil!” Anything to get Cally away from here, away from Philip. “He says it’s a cult! He thinks you’re stupid for joining!”

She stopped, watching the blush rise in Cally’s cheeks.