Kelley Armstrong - The Reckoning

“K-Kit? S-Simon’s dad?”

We stared at each other. Gwen’s lips formed a soundless curse and she winced.

“Guess I really am spreading gossip. Typical.” She gave a shaky laugh as she busied herself checking her cell phone. “It probably isn’t true. Even the part about her dad being a sorcerer might not be true. Not like I’d know-I never worked for the Edison Group and I don’t know either Kit or Diane. Anyway, sorcerer blood or not, I’m sure Tori will be just fine. I’ll tell her-”

“No! I mean, she doesn’t know the rumors. Any of them. Her dad being a sorcerer was just something I overheard at the lab.”

“Well, then, I won’t tell her. You shouldn’t either.”

Was Kit Bae Tori’s father? He couldn’t be. Kit Bae was Korean, and you could easily see it in Simon. Not so in Tori.

Sure, genetics did some wonky things-like Simon’s dark blond hair. But if Diane Enright intentionally got herself pregnant with a sorcerer’s child-as the demi-demon claimed-picking Kit Bae would be like choosing a redheaded father when neither you nor your husband had red hair. There was a good chance Tori’s dad would know the baby wasn’t his.

So, no, Tori and Simon didn’t share a father. But if everyone else believed they did, Tori and Simon might hear the rumor, and that was a complication no one needed.

MARGARET ARRIVED SHORTLY AFTER Gwen left. When Tori came down and heard Margaret was taking me out for my lesson, she decided to join us. Tori might be good at hiding it, but I knew she was just as anxious and restless as we were. The last thing she needed was to spend the morning in our room. Derek and Simon sure wouldn’t invite her to do anything with them.

When Margaret hesitated, I said I’d be more relaxed with Tori along. Complete crap, but I can’t help it. Derek isn’t the only one to suffer from overwhelming instincts. I have the unshakable urge to be helpful, which I usually end up regretting. I only hoped I wouldn’t this time.

Before we left, Andrew gave Margaret a bunch of tips about touring with a half-million-dollar runaway. It was clear he didn’t want us to go out at all, but Margaret insisted. I was a long way from Buffalo, she said, and with my black hair, I didn’t look like the girl in the poster. Besides, what kidnap victim would be driving around with a woman who could pass for her grandmother?

So we left. Margaret’s car was some fancy European model, like the kind my dad always leased, which made me think about him. Dad and I had never been real close. I was Mom’s baby, and after she died, well again, it was that instinct thing. Some people have the instinct to be parents and some don’t, and Dad didn’t, though he tried his best.

He traveled a lot, which didn’t help. He did care about me, though. More than I realized. After my breakdown he flew from Berlin to stay at my bedside until I went to Lyle House. He only went back when he had to, and he thought I was safe in Aunt Lauren’s care.

“So this necromancer stuff,” Tori said from the backseat. “Chloe doesn’t know a lot about it.”

She motioned for me to start asking questions. I’d fantasized about meeting another necromancer, and here I had one and hadn’t asked a single thing. Worrying about Dad wasn’t going to help me any.

I started by asking Margaret about the ghostly reenactments I’d seen. Residuals, she called them, but she didn’t tell me anything else I hadn’t already figured out. They were leftover energy from a traumatic event that played over and over again, like a film loop. Harmless images, not ghosts. As for how to block them…

“You won’t need to worry about that for a few years. Concentrate on ghosts for now. Deal with residuals when you’re old enough to see them.”

“But I am seeing them.”

She shook her head. “I suspect what you’re seeing is a ghost reverting to his death form-how he appeared at the moment of his death. Ghosts can do that, unfortunately, and some like to do so to intimidate necromancers.”

“I don’t think that’s what this was.” I told her about residuals I’d seen-a man jumping into a saw in a factory and a girl being murdered at a truck stop.

“My God,” Tori said. “That’s…” When I glanced at her, she’d gone pale. “You saw that?”

“I’ve heard you like movies, Chloe,” Margaret cut in. “I suspect you have a very good imagination.”

“Okay, so can you tell me how to block them when I do start seeing them?”

I must have let a little sarcasm sneak into my tone, because Margaret looked over sharply. I fixed her with my best wide-blue-eyes look and said, “It helps if I know what’s coming. So I’ll feel ready to handle it.”

She nodded. “That’s a good attitude to take, Chloe. All right then. I’ll let you in on the trade secret. When you see a residual, there’s a surefire way to deal with them. Walk away.”

“Can I block them?”

“No, but you don’t need to. Simply walk away. They aren’t ghosts, so they can’t follow.”

I could have figured that out by myself. The problem was: “How do I know it’s a residual? If it looks real, how do you know it isn’t? Before you see…the dying part.”

“One sign is that residuals don’t make any noise.”

I knew that.

“Another is that you can’t interact with them.”

Knew that, too.

So if I noticed a guy about to jump into an industrial saw, I should stop and listen for any noise? Yell at him and see if he answered? By then, if he was a residual, he’d have already jumped, and I’d see exactly what I’d been trying to avoid. And if he was real, I could let him die while trying to spare myself an ugly sight.

If I could tell it was just a ghost-residual or not-I’d know the person wasn’t in danger and I could get out of there. So, while she drove through a small town, I asked how to do that.

“Excellent question,” Margaret said. “Now the real lessons begin. There are three ways to tell the ghosts from the living. First, clothing. For instance, if a man is wearing a hat and suspenders he’s a ghost, likely from the nineteen fifties.”

“I’ve seen guys wearing hats and suspenders,” Tori said. “Young guys, too. It’s retro.”

“A Civil War uniform, then. If he’s wearing that, he’s a ghost.”

No kidding.

“Second, as you may have noticed, ghosts can pass through solid objects. So if he walks through a door or a chair, you can be sure it’s a ghost.”

Even someone who wasn’t a necromancer could figure that out.

Margaret turned the car onto a road leading out of town. “And the third…Any ideas, Chloe?”

“If they don’t make noise when they walk?”

“Excellent! Yes. Those are the three ways to tell ghosts from the living.”

Great. So if I saw a guy standing still, and he wasn’t wearing an old uniform, I just had to ask him to walk through furniture. If he stared at me like I was crazy, then I’d know he wasn’t a ghost.

I hoped that the practice part of the day would go better. When I saw where she was taking us, though, that hope faded fast.

“A c-cemetery?” I said as she pulled into the parking lot. “I c-can’t-I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Nonsense, Chloe. I certainly hope you aren’t afraid of cemeteries.”

“Um, no,” Tori said. “It’s the bodies buried in them that worry her.”

Margaret looked from me to Tori.

“Uh, dead bodies?” Tori said. “Potential zombies?”

“Don’t be silly. You can’t accidentally raise the dead.”

“Chloe can.”

Margaret gave a tight smile. “I’ve heard Chloe is quite powerful, but I’m sure she doesn’t need to worry about raising the dead yet.”