Body & Soul

I've seen Alona in a lot of situations. A lot of messed-up situations, actually. Confronting angry ghosts who wanted to tear through her to get to me, discovering that her “friends” were mostly worthless jerks, and most recently, inhabiting the body of a girl she didn't know.

This, however, was the first time I'd ever seen her struck completely and utterly speechless. Her mouth worked, opening and closing several times, without a single word escaping.

Misty looked slightly disconcerted by Alona's fish-outof-water routine. She shifted away from Alona in the chair, like she half expected an explosion of some kind. Frankly, I wasn't sure what to expect.

“Excuse us,” I said to Misty, hastily reaching down to grab Alona's hand.

I pulled her to the far corner, near the door to the outside, and fortunately, no one followed, though the ghost in the Abe Lincoln hat (thankfully, not the real deal, just someone who apparently favored the long-dead president's taste in fashion) was staring at us now. Great.

“So much for subtle,” I hissed at Alona.

“She thinks I'm haunting her.” She sounded stunned.

I raked my hand through my hair. “Yeah, I kinda got that.”

“I'm not, though.” She shook her head as though clearing it, which made her wobble. I grabbed her elbow long enough to steady her, but she didn't even seem to notice.

“I mean, I did try it once,” she continued. “Back a few months ago, right after I died.”

“Yes, I remember,” I said tersely. She'd almost disappeared for good then, thoroughly screwing both of our chances for survival.

“But not since then, and I can't now. I mean, look at me!” She gestured toward herself with distaste. “I'm all… bodified.”

I gritted my teeth to keep from responding with any number of comments that would only make things worse. Yes, okay, her point was that she couldn't be haunting anyone in her current condition, but it was more than that, I knew. Alona hated being trapped in a body that wasn't her own or up to her previous standards — fine. But Lily was not exactly the Hunchback of Notre Dame, as Alona would make her out to be. Lily was cute, always had been, and yes, the scar on her face and the limp were noticeable, but they didn't make her repulsive… not by any stretch of the imagination.

But now was not the time for this argument.

“Look, we need to focus on the situation at hand, okay?” I glanced over my shoulder. Severed Arm Dude and Spring Break Girl had joined the faux-Lincoln ghost, and they were now talking among themselves and gesturing in our direction. Well, half gesturing, in the case of the ghost with only one arm.

Not good.

I turned back to Alona. “We need to see Malachi the Magical or whatever, and figure out what he knows, if anything, and then get out of here.” Hopefully in one piece and without a trail of ghosts following both of us home.

She jerked her head up to glare at me, and the all-too-familiar fierceness in her expression made me step back. That was all Alona. I could almost see her beneath the surface of Lily. It was… unsettling, to say the least. “Someone is pretending to be me, the spirit of me, to scare my best friend.” She jabbed a finger in my chest with the last three words. “How is that not a concern?”

I sighed. “Or maybe her guilty conscience is finally catching up to her, and she's seeing ghosts where there aren't any because she feels bad.” It happened all the time. Sometimes picture frames just fall over. Doors slam shut, screws fall out, etc. Not all of it is the result of ghosts, but when people feel like they deserve to be haunted, that's usually the first explanation they believe. “Which do you think is more likely?”

With a sound of disgust, she shoved past me and limped back toward Misty, who honestly looked a little frightened at her approach. Faux Lincoln and Severed Arm Guy scattered to get out of her way.

I groaned silently and hurried after her. This could not possibly end well.

“I'm sorry about that,” Alona said to Misty, as she reclaimed the chair next to her. “You took me by surprise is all.”

Misty gave a harsh laugh. “You don't believe me.”

Alona shook her head. “No, I do. Actually, we do,” she said, giving me a “go along with this or die painfully” look.

Oh, good.

“But I'm not sure why you think it's Alona. From what I know of her, she would never—”

“Wait.” Misty held up her hand with a frown. “Who are you again?”

I held my breath.

“Ally Turner. It was Lily, but I go by Ally now,” Alona said. “I was… I am a year behind you at school.” Her words sounded forced and false, but maybe only because I knew the truth.

“But,” Alona continued quickly, “we have experience dealing with this kind of thing.”

“We've been haunted before,” I added, lying to save our asses. Was she trying to get us killed? Why not just announce to all the ghosts in the room that we could see and/or hear them?

Misty nodded slowly, as if that was not a surprise. Then she shook her head with a sad smile. “Well, whatever you know about ghosts, you did not know Alona. And trust me, it's her. She…” Misty hesitated. “She was my best friend. But she wasn't exactly the forgive-and-forget type, you know? Revenge. That was her thing.”

Alona stiffened.

Oh, crap.

“Have you considered that maybe those people deserved what they got?” Alona demanded.

I poked her and she swiveled to face me with a frown. Shut up, I mouthed.

But fortunately, Misty seemed too lost in her memories to notice. “I took Chris from her. Actually, Chris and I… We just kind of found each other.”

“Found each other, right,” Alona muttered. Hmm. Maybe she hadn't yet completely forgiven Misty.

“I didn't think Alona knew before she died, but now I… I'm not sure. It wasn't intentional for either of us,” Misty added defiantly.

“And that makes a difference how?” Alona demanded.

I cleared my throat sharply. “I think what Ally”—

I emphasized the name, glaring at Alona, who rolled her eyes—“means is, what signs are you seeing that make you think Alona, specifically, is haunting you, not some other random ghost?”

“Oh.” Misty looked startled and then confused. “Why would there be a random ghost haunting me?”

I was pretty sure there wasn't a ghost involved at all, but trying to explain to Misty that she was likely haunting herself probably wouldn't have helped. All I could do was try to show Alona that it wasn't someone impersonating her. “There probably isn't. But I'm just trying to understand why you think it's her. Other than the fact you think she'd be angry if she knew about you and Chris, which she doesn't,” I said, aiming my last words at Alona, who slumped in her chair and folded her arms over her chest.

“Whatever,” she muttered.

Misty lifted her hands in exasperation at my apparent idiocy. “Hello? Who else would it be? And why would it start right after Chris proposed?

Alona froze. “Proposed?” she whispered.

Oh, boy. With a sigh, I sat down.

Misty gave an uncomfortable shrug. “He's going away to IU and I'm staying here. He wanted us to be engaged first.”

Alona sat up. “You can't do that,” she said, shaking her head.

“I think what she means is you're young,” I said quickly. This conversation was going to kill me. “Can we get back to the signs, please?”

Misty was looking back and forth between us like we were crazy, which wasn't far from the truth today. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Picture frames knocked over, covers pulled off me in the night, footsteps in my room but no one is there, and sometimes, when I'm falling asleep, I hear someone call my name.” She shuddered.

And… picture frames fall over, covers slip off, people often think they hear footsteps or someone calling them when they're half asleep.

“Oh, and she wrote her name in the steam on the mirror in my bathroom.”

Whoa. I leaned forward in my chair. “You saw that happen?”

She shook her head. “No, it was just there one day when I got out of the shower.”

Huh, well, that changed things a little. Maybe it wasn't a guilty conscience. But that didn't necessarily mean it was a ghost, either. A living person could do all of those things she mentioned, including the mirror writing. Steam up the mirror, and write the words you want. Then, when the mirror is covered in steam again, the words reappear. Maybe a living someone wasn't pleased with this new development in Misty's love life and had decided to express it as “Alona.”

“I can't believe you're getting married,” Alona said. “What are you going to do for a maid of honor? It better not be Leanne.”

Misty gaped at her, but before she could respond, the door to the back rooms opened, catching everyone's attention.

An elderly woman in a tidy black suit and heavy black shoes shuffled out, clinging tightly to the arm of a guy who had to be Malachi the Magnificent. For one, he was wearing a cloak. In August.

The sight of that was enough to shake Alona from her sulk. “Seriously?” She snorted. “I'm beginning to think this guy doesn't understand the difference between a magician and a medium.”

Probably a lot of people didn't. It was all in that mysterious realm of “might be real” to most. And if this guy was willing to play up the mystical part of it, that likely helped sell the bill of goods.

Other than his cloak, “Malachi”—no way was that his real name — didn't seem too extraordinary. He was maybe in his mid-twenties, a thin, kind of dweeby guy with curly red hair and heavy black-rimmed glasses. The effect, actually, was of someone who'd gotten lost on his way to a Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings costume party.

Great.

A few steps behind the elderly woman and the caped douche bag, a young guy in an Al Capone — era suit and hat followed, looking kind of pissed.

“You're not listening. That's not what I said at all,” he shouted at Malachi.

Next to me, Alona stiffened, and I knew she'd heard the ghost, too.

But Malachi just smiled fondly at the old woman and walked her over to the main door. She squeezed his hand, leaving him with a wad of cash, which he quickly tucked inside his cloak.

I relaxed, relief warring with disappointment. Malachi was a fake. We weren't any closer to finding a solution for Alona or figuring out what my dad had been doing checking out all these fake ghost-talkers. But at least we didn't have to claim Malachi in our ranks.

I leaned over to Alona. “When he takes the next person in, we'll get out of here.”

She frowned at me. “No way. What about her?” She tipped her head toward Misty, who was staring at Malachi like he was a walking ray of hope.

I shook my head. “I don't think it's anything we can fix.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped as Malachi moved to stand in the center of the waiting room.

He bowed his head and placed his fingertips at his temples.

“Oh, please,” Alona muttered. “Doesn't this drive you crazy?” she demanded of me.

I grimaced and looked around, but Malachi seemed to have the rest of the room captivated. “What do you want me to do?” I whispered back to her. Denouncing him as a fraud would only cause more problems for us, and we didn't need that.

Misty shushed us.

Malachi rocked back and forth on his heels. “I'm sensing several spirits here who'd like to communicate.”

“Yeah, I have something to communicate,” Alona muttered, maybe not quite as quietly as she should have. “Jerk.”

He looked up sharply and searched the room until he identified Alona as the source, which probably wasn't too tough. She was glaring at him as if she'd have set him on fire if she could.

He gave a forced magnanimous chuckle. “I see we have a doubter in our midst.”

Heads, belonging to both the living and the dead, turned toward us. Damn it, Alona.

Malachi approached, still smiling. “I understand your hesitation, but the ways of the dead are not—” He stopped abruptly, staring at me.

The color drained from his face, making his glasses stand out starkly. He attempted to keep his smile, but it wobbled and then fell away. “The ways of the dead are not our own,” he tried again in a croaky voice, his hands at the sides of his cloak.

Then he swallowed hard, forced out a barely audible “Excuse me,” and turned tail, stalking back through the door he'd just exited, his cloak flapping behind him.

I couldn't have been more surprised if he'd dropped to the ground and started clucking like a chicken.

Alona stared after him. “What the hell?” She looked to me, and I had no answer.

Except… he'd looked right at me and freaked. That had to mean something, didn't it? It was almost like he'd recognized me, but I'd never seen him before. Did he know that I was the real thing, the ghost-talker he was pretending to be? Or… could he possibly have known my dad?

The thought took my breath away.

My dad and I had looked enough alike; it wasn't impossible that Malachi would come to the conclusion that we were related.

I scrambled to my feet and hurried after Malachi. At least, that was the plan — catch up to him, pin him down, and make him talk. But apparently the ghost of the girl dressed for spring break had the same idea. And we collided… hard.

We went sprawling in different directions.

I'm not sure whose gasps of surprise were louder — those of the living people, including Misty, who saw me bounce off seemingly nothing and hit the floor, or those of the dead, who saw exactly what happened and knew what it meant.

“Will!” Alona lurched to her feet.

Misty looked astonished.

“Will?” the ghost in the Abe Lincoln hat repeated, moving closer to stare down at me.

Crap, crap, crap. Still half dazed, I rolled to my side and pushed myself to stand, ignoring the sharp pain in my elbow. Malachi's carpet had, unsurprisingly, the cushion factor of cheap toilet paper.

Spring Break Girl flipped her long auburn hair out of her face and got to her feet. “You're Will Killian? The one everyone's been talking about?” she asked, reaching through the neck of her Señor Frog's T-shirt to tug her bright pink bikini top back into place. She managed to sound surprised and disgusted at the same time.

“Another ghost-talker?” Severed Arm Dude asked, pointing the stump end of his arm at me.

The woman in the long white nightgown danced closer. She seemed, possibly, a little crazy.

I took a step back, unable to stop myself. Severed Arm Dude, Faux Lincoln, Spring Break Girl, and Nightgown Lady… four, no, five — I'd forgotten about the Al Capone— type who'd been disappointed by Malachi's interpretation of his message — against just me.

If I tried to run, they'd stop me without breaking a sweat… Well, you know what I mean. If it came down to a physical confrontation, each of them vying for attention, they'd probably tear me apart. Attacking me might drain them of some of their energy — being violent as a spirit takes away from the resources required to remain on this plane of existence — but how much and whether that would be enough… there was no way to know. Not until it was too late.

I swallowed hard, my heartbeat shaking my whole body.

Alona moved toward me, faster than I'd seen her move before, at least in this body. She stepped between the ghosts and then turned to block me from them, her bad leg dragging a little behind.

“If you know Will,” she said calmly, “then you know his spirit guide.” The ghosts stared at her, as if uncertain what to make of her. I wondered, for the first time, what she looked like to other spirits. Could they see she wasn't like the rest of us?

“What are you doing?” I whispered, alarmed. They hadn't even known there was anything different about her. She was putting herself at risk unnecessarily.

Alona ignored me and turned to face Severed Arm Dude. She lifted her chin, daring him to come closer. “You don't want to get on her bad side, do you?”

I prayed I was the only one who could tell she was a little off, her gaze on his neck instead of his face. Several of the breathers who'd been waiting for Malachi bolted for the door. I didn't blame them. I could only imagine what it must look like to them. Misty was still in her chair, staring at us.

“The one who they say disappeared weeks ago?” Severed Arm Dude scoffed. “No one has seen her.”

Spring Break Girl rolled her eyes as if the entire conversation were ridiculous.

I couldn't see much of Alona's expression at this angle, but from the sudden tension in her shoulders, I guessed she hadn't considered what the ghosts might be saying about her absence.

“Really?” Alona flipped her hair back, a classic attitude-filled move for her, and seemed startled when it didn't stay behind her shoulders. Lily's hair was shorter. But she recovered quickly enough. “I've seen her, and trust me, she is not happy.”

Spring Break Girl tilted her head to one side, giving Alona a shrewd look. “Who are you?”

“No one you need to know,” Alona said in a snotty tone that was a bit jarring to hear in Lily's voice. She reached back toward me with her left hand, flapping it until I realized she wanted me to take it. I stepped up and slipped my hand into hers. Her fingers closed over mine and squeezed almost to the point of pain, and as I drew even with her, she leaned into me the slightest bit, and I could hear her uneven breathing. She needed the help, I realized belatedly. That quick moving she'd done had come at a cost.

“We'll be going now,” Alona said. “Give our regards to Malachi.”

She started forward, and to my surprise, Severed Arm Dude and Spring Break Girl moved out of her way, though the latter watched us with more suspicion than was probably healthy.

I adjusted my stride to match Alona's shorter one so she could lean on me without it being as noticeable. But the slow walk across the room to the door felt interminable with the ghosts staring holes through us.

I held my breath, waiting for their rallying cry and the inevitable rush to block the door.…

But they let us walk out without another word.

So, maybe there was something to be said for being a bitch… or at least, knowing one. We'd coasted out of there on nothing but attitude and Alona's spirit-guide reputation. Problem was, that was not going to last forever.