said some crazy ritual and I could feel all that power draining from me. And now I canât see ghosts anymore. Theyâre gone!
Which means we can be friends again, even if youâre in Massachusetts and still part of that creepy ghost world. Iâm just glad itâs over. I worry about you. The guy wouldnât leave his name or number or anything, but I hope he finds you. Maybe he can cure you, too.
And if you ever need me, Iâm hereâjust not about this stuff! Anyway, I thought you should know that thereâs hope â¦
Love,
Abby
Wait. What? Some guy had stripped her powers? That sounded a little too much like Neos for comfortâthough nobody would call him cute. Maybe heâd possessed another body to steal her power? Had he approached Abby because of me?
So many questions, and nobody to ask for answers. Normally, Iâd be on the phone to Bennett, but not now. Should I call Gabriel or William? I barely knew them, and they already blamed me for everything.
Abbyâs e-mail left a bad taste in my mouth. She was there if I needed her ⦠just not about the only stuff I might actually need help with? Everything I was going throughâthe deaths of my friends, my family disappearing, Rachel dying, Bennett leavingâwas because I could control ghosts. How could she expect me to act like it was nothing, like I was just some normal girl?
Because I wasnât, not anymore. Maybe I never had been.
I didnât delete the e-mail, but I didnât respond, either. My mother always warned me that friends grew apart. I just wasnât prepared for how hard it would be. How hard everything would be.
I stared through the window, taking stock. According to Rachel, I needed a weapon to focus my powers and to watch out for some mysterious siren. Coby wanted me to talk to Harry and Sara, and I needed to figure out whoâd taken Abbyâs abilities. I also needed to wait for my team, so I could stop Neos before he killed anyone else.
That was a lot for one To Do list. What I really needed was food.
I raided the pantry for Anatoleâs chocolate-chip shortbread. Then googled âsirenâ and found a bunch of stuff about the Greek myth. Since I wasnât a sailor and couldnât be lured to crash my ship against the rocky coastline, it wasnât helpful.
I read the rest of my e-mail, which was just spam and hate mail from kids at school about Coby. I deleted them unread. The subject lines were bad enough. I skimmed some of my favorite blogs, but nothing satisfied. I was antsy, and wished I knew how to blow off steam like Natalie. I wasnât a runner like her ⦠but maybe there was another way.
I went upstairs and changed into a T-shirt and leggings, then went into Bennettâs dadâs study for one of the swords that hung on his wall. Across the hall in the ballroom, I closed the gauzy curtains and plinked a few keys on the grand piano.
The Rake appeared before I summoned him, as if he knew that I needed him. He was Bennettâs namesake and Emmaâs loverâthe one whoâd lived at Thatcher. I called him the Rake because he was an eighteenth-century bad boy with a rough exterior that masked the sensitive soul underneath. And he was awesome with a sword, because rakes were always fighting duels and such; at least, thatâs what Iâd learned from my motherâs old romance novels.
I saw a flash of motion and caught a glimpse of him in his open-necked dress shirt, buff-colored pants, and riding boots, before his rapier slashed toward me.
I yelped and backpedaled. Hey! Iâm not ready!
Such is life , he said with a crooked grin, as the flat of his blade smacked my elbow.
Pain flared in my arm, and I swore and switched the sword to my left hand and went on the attack. He lifted an eyebrow, which was about the only sign of approval he ever showed, and parried my furious blows.
Our swords caught and he said, Youâre getting