Free Voices in Stone by Emily Diamand

said quickly, “about Friday. Will you sit with me today?”
    Isis studied Jess’s face, trying to see the signs of whatever cruel joke she was working up to.
    “You never want to sit with me,” said Isis.
    Now Jess’s gang were coming up behind them, giggling about something as they walked. Isis had no idea what they were talking about, but she felt sure it was her.
    She shook her head at Jess. “No thanks.”
    She went into the classroom, heading for a seat at the back, but Jess followed, and when Isis sat down, Jess sat next to her. Jess’s little gang hovered at their usual table, uncertain, and looking their way. Isis was staring at Jess too. When would the joke hit?
    “I’m sitting with Isis today,” Jess said to the others. Isis would’ve smiled at their shocked faces if she hadn’t felt so anxious. The other girls muttered together as they sat down. Maybe Jess hadn’t told them what she was planning?
    “On Friday Mrs Craven had to make you sit next to me,” Isis whispered.
    Jess’s eyes flicked down and she fiddled with her pen, twizzling it in her fingers. “No one’s making me sit here now.”
    Isis didn’t know how to answer that. So she sat silently, tense and untrusting, as the class settled down. Mrs Potter announced they would be learning sporting vocabulary. Voices broke out again and the room filled with the soundof ruffling paper as the teacher handed around photocopied sheets.
    “Practise the first column of words with your partners,” said Mrs Potter.
    Isis studied the words, trying to pretend everything was normal.
    “ Jouer a tennis ,” she said.
    “ Jouer a tennis ,” repeated Jess.
    Isis’s finger was on the next word, but she couldn’t say it.
    “What do you want? ” she hissed.
    Jess glanced around, then whispered back. “I want you to tell me more about Gran Marie.”
    For a moment Isis was too surprised to answer, then she shook her head.
    “I don’t know what you mean.”
    This had to be it. Jess was getting her own back somehow. Except she was chewing her lip, and her voice was hesitant.
    “Those things you told me on Friday,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about them all weekend.”
    Now Isis rolled out the words she’d been practising.“It was just a joke. I shouldn’t have said that stuff, but I don’t like being called ‘dead girl’.”
    In her mind they’d sounded firm and she’d even imagined that she might be able to erase the nickname, but now her voice quavered as she spoke, and worse, Jess didn’t believe her.
    “I hardly ever speak to you,” Jess said, “and I’ve never told you about Gran Marie. I’ve never told anyone at school what she said about me being good at art. So how could you know that?”
    Isis lifted her paper up in front of her face, desperately staring at the writing. What now?
    “We have to do the vocab,” she said. Maybe Jess would get bored, maybe she’d go away? “Jouer a football.”
    But a familiar smell of damp was building. A fibrous, sooty dew blackened the spare chair at their table, condensing into Mandeville.
    “How are we proceeding?” he asked, nodding at Jess.
    Jess pulled Isis’s paper down. “ Please , can’t you talk to Gran Marie again?” Her lower lip was sore and red where she’d been biting it.
    “I wonder what this spiteful young person could want?”asked Mandeville, leaning in close to Isis. “To gain access to her grandmother’s inheritance? Or find out a nasty secret?”
    “Mum and Dad never listen to me,” said Jess, “and I used to talk to Gran Marie about everything.” Tears gleamed in Jess’s eyes, her chin wobbled.
    Mandeville clapped his hands, the bones of his long fingers clattering together.
    “A miracle is performed! The bully becomes a kinder, better person.” He pressed a bony cold hand onto Isis’s. “ This is the power of the medium, my dear. This is the good work you are turning your back on. You think being a psychic is about the dead, but it is all for