Greg Weisman - Rain of the Ghosts

More teens manifested from between the banana plants. The N.T.Z. was packed. Full of laughter and shouting and the tribal drums of current generations. Sparks from the bonfire sailed up toward heaven on a ferry of pungent smoke. Black and white ashes floated down, leapt and danced and lighted, resembling the mosquitoes that the smoke had driven away. From under the branch of a mahogany tree, I watched the ghost of Sebastian Bohique lean forward out of habit, so that his sly “voice” could be heard over the music. “School starts tomorrow. You still feeling trapped, Raindrop?”

Rain Cacique’s eyes flared with their own fire. “No, I’m not trapped…. I’m the Searcher.”

Belatedly, I realized my tail was wagging. Probably had been wagging for some time. Well, so what? I thought. I’m not ashamed. I had been feeling fairly trapped myself, these last few years. Now the Searcher was found, and the Search had finally begun. So let it wag. Let the ol’ tail wag!

RAIN OF THE GHOSTS.

Copyright © 2013 by Greg Weisman. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America. For information, address

St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Design by Anna Gorovoy

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data ( TK)

ISBN 978-1-250-02979-9 (trade paperback)

ISBN 978-1-250-02980-5 (e-book)

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First Edition: December 2013

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