Free Giving Up the Ghost by Phoebe Rivers Page B

I—I am Sara Collins. I want to help you. Please?”
    I opened my eyes. Nothing. My room was the same old room. Cluttered bureau. Lots of clothes all over the floor. Books and photography stuff strewn around near my reading chair in the corner. I was a naturally untidy person, and my dad wasn’t big on reminding me to clean my room. Whatever. I sighed. This wasn’t working.
    A cloud must have finished passing over the moon, because my room filled with silver light. I could see the picture of my mother next to my bed from where I sat. I looked over at it, trying to gain strength and resolve. I clutched the moldavite crystal Lady Azura had given me. I tried again.
    â€œNina Oliver? I was hoping you could just, um, drop by for a chat? I know this is a little unconventional, me summoning you up here and all. But please. Could you show yourself?”
    I opened my eyes. Still nothing.
    Wait.
    There was something.
    The candle flickered. Went out.
    And then lit again.
    My foot began tingling. My breathing grew shallow. A silver shimmer that I thought was the mirror turned out to be behind me, reflected in the mirror in front of me. I turned around slowly. A spirit was beginning to materialize.
    I realized I’d been holding my breath, and I let it out quickly, shakily. My heart thudded in my chest.
    Nina Oliver was now a solid-looking form, faintly glowing in the dim light from the moon. She strode across the room and stood in front of me. Hastily, I stood up to meet her.
    â€œWell? What do you want?” she demanded.
    It was the same woman. The woman from my dreams. Long white hair, down to the shoulders. A business suit and sensible shoes. If you looked at her quickly, and didn’t know she was a spirit, you might mistake her for a lawyer or a banker. But if you really paid attention, you would notice something wrong. Something off about the expression on her face. Her eyes. They kept darting from side to side, then down to the floor, not meeting my gaze. She looked annoyed, like I’d interrupted her in the middle of an important business call.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I became aware of a swirling movement. It was the dark cloud. It seemed to grow larger and larger, billowing around the room. Then it swirled around the two of us. It seemed to engulf us, so I could only see her as though through a gauzy haze. I felt cold all of a sudden. The hopeless feeling returned. What was I doing? Why was I even attempting this? This spirit wasn’t going to change. She wasn’t going to help me. She was mean and hateful even in death. The way she was in life.
    I tried to control my thoughts. Don’t lose hope. Don’t judge. Don’t think anything critical. She had a hard time when she was alive. Maybe on some level she really wants my help. Try. Don’t give up.
    â€œOh, so that’s what you think, is it?” she practically spat at me. “You think I want your help? That I am to be pitied?”
    She can hear my thoughts.
    â€œOf course I can hear your thoughts! Don’t you realize how powerful this ability made me in life? No one could stop me. No one was invulnerable.”
    I tried to conjure up the bubble. The one that I’d been practicing, which blocked me from hearing other people’s thoughts. Maybe it could help block my thoughts from reaching her.
    â€œIt’s no use. You cannot block me.”
    The bubble failed. A wave of nausea clenched my stomach, and I suddenly felt dizzy. I clutched the edge of my desk. I had to do something. It was an awful feeling, knowing my thoughts were swirling from my head into hers. Now I understood how other people must feel. Maybe they didn’t know that I was hearing their thoughts. But maybe at some subconscious level, they did.
    â€œPlease. Stop,” I said out loud.
    She laughed, but not in a nice way.
    I had to struggle to stay calm. Not to cry. Not to get angry.
    â€œDon’t fight this power,” she