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Chapter Text

“I believe in all kinds of things. Ghosts. Gnomes. True love.” —King of Scars, Leigh Bardugo  

Chapter One 

Jesper had been unable to ignore his mounting sense of dread ever since his father picked him up at the airport. 

He had been grateful to see his father again, of course. That had never been in question, not after the long summer he had spent locked away in a residential treatment center. It had been months since he had seen his father, longer still since he had seen him without his court-appointed social worker hovering nearby, her pen hovering over his case file. She had finally signed the paperwork allowing him to travel without supervision, but it had been a narrow thing. 

It wasn’t as though he could slip away, anyway. Colm had greeted him right outside the security checkpoint, holding a sign with his name scrawled in magic marker. Jesper had almost laughed at the sight. After all, he would recognize his father anywhere. Colm had dressed in his Sunday best, his bright red hair combed tidily back from his brow. But he had dropped the sign the moment he spotted his son, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

“You’re back,” Colm murmured. “You’re finally back.” 

Jesper had blinked back the tears in his eyes, simply nodding as he returned the hug. 

He hadn’t trusted his voice not to crack. 

The weather outside the airport had been beautiful as well. The palm trees lining the parking lot swayed in the coastal breeze. He thought he might taste the sea salt in the air with each breath. He had stared up at the cloudless sky as he dragged his luggage behind him, his suitcase wheels catching in the gravel. It should have been a minor annoyance. With the late afternoon sunlight warming his skin, it should have been easy to forget the flickering fluorescent lights in the facility. It should have been easy to forget how much it had hurt to have been sent away in the first place. 

But the moment he clicked his seatbelt shut, he felt like a rabbit trapped in a snare, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest. His knee started bouncing up and down before his dad had even backed out of the parking spot. 

Colm glanced towards the passenger seat, his brow furrowed. “It is about an hour to our new neighborhood,” he said apologetically. “I was planning on taking the scenic route along the coastal highway, if that is okay with you? The views along that stretch of road are worth the extra time, but I know you’ve never enjoyed sitting still quite that long—” 

“Da, you don’t have to worry about me,” Jesper interrupted, pretending to smile. “I’m just—I’m just excited to see the new place. It sounded beautiful in your letters.” 

Jesper remembered reading and rereading his father’s letters each night before lights out in the dormitory, his palms sweaty as he smoothed the pages flat against his pillow. He had known that the family farm had fallen on hard times, but he had been shocked to learn that his father had agreed to sell the land nevertheless. It had been in their family for generations. But his father had explained that he had enough equity in the property to purchase a fixer-upper in a town along the coast. Instead of farming cash crops, he planned to put his green thumb to use in the landscaping industry. Meanwhile, Jesper would finish his education at the only private school left on the west coast that had been willing to accept him with his, quite frankly, abysmal academic record. 

The new house has the sort of garden your mother would have loved, Colm had written. I think it would be nice to start fresh, don’t you? We both could use a fresh start.

Now, his father eyed him doubtfully a moment longer until the car waiting for their spot started to honk. He turned his attention back to driving, following the signs towards the parking lot exit. 

“The electrical wiring on the second floor still needs some work,” Colm admitted, tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel. “There’s a light on the second floor that seems to flicker no matter what I do. Maybe you can help me take a look at it?”

“Sure,” Jesper said with a shrug. 

“Once you’re settled in, of course,” Colm said. “I certainly missed your help during the renovations, but everything seems to be up-to-code at this point. I want you to focus on your schoolwork more than anything else.” 

Jesper slumped in his seat. “It has been less than an hour since the plane landed,” he groaned, twisting the rings on his fingers. “The last thing I want to think about is school.” 

“Too bad,” Colm said, though his lips twitched slightly. “I plan to see you walking across the stage, diploma in hand, in the spring. There is nothing more important to me than your education. Do you understand?”  

Jesper turned to stare out the window. “I understand.” 

It was one of the things that should have been easy for him. He was a smart kid. His grades were good when he managed to keep out of trouble… but trouble tended to cling to him like a particularly stubborn stickle burr. 

For the rest of the drive, silence stretched painfully between them. The sunlight had grown uncomfortably warm, and the air conditioning rattled as it struggled to cool down the car. Upon realizing that his son was in no mood to chatter, his father had reached towards the center console to switch on the radio. He fumbled with the dial until classic rock filled the air, drowning the rattle of the vents. 

Jesper rested his head against the window as he stared out at the gleaming ocean in the distance. The scenic highway, at least, had certainly lived up to its reputation. The water seemed to shimmer in the setting sun, white waves crashing against the granite cliffs. The ocean vanished once his father exited the highway, but even then, the roads were lined with wildflowers, billowing in the sea breeze. The foliage looked like it had been painted across the landscape on a canvas carved from limestone. In fact, the views were so breathtakingly beautiful that he started to imagine that maybe—just maybe—things would be better this time. 

But his stomach had dropped the moment his father turned into the driveway of their new home. 

The house was beautiful, of course. There was no doubt about that. Jesper could see why his father believed his mother would have loved it. He was no expert in architectural history, but it looked as though it had been built some time in the 1800s. The roof was steeply pitched, decorated with ornate finials that had been painted the same cream color as the clouds. The wooden slats were the same color as the sky overhead, and the porch was surrounded by flowering bushes—wild roses and indian paintbrush and lupines. In fact, there were flowers everywhere. His father was right. His mother would have loved them. There were even stained-glass cherry blossoms fashioned into the window arch over the entrance, catching the golden light setting in the west. 

Jesper half-expected to glimpse his mother wandering the widow’s walk, but the platform remained, mercifully, empty. 

“You didn’t mention it would be this old,” Jesper said, climbing out of the car. “This house has to be… what? At least a hundred?” 

It took everything in his power to keep his voice nonchalant. 

Colm followed his gaze up to the widow’s walk. “It is a good deal older than a hundred years old,” he admitted, walking towards the trunk. “It was built in the late 1850s.” 

Jesper quickly did the math in his head. “But that means it's older than the entire state.”  

“Give or take a decade,” his father, smiling slightly as he unloaded the luggage. “I did some research before signing the paperwork. According to the local historians, the house operated as a boarding house when it was first built. The early blueprints are in the town archives—”

“I can’t live in an old building,” Jesper interrupted. “You know—you know what happened at the last school.” 

He knew his father hadn’t forgotten. How could he possibly forget when it had been what had landed his son in a court-ordered mental health facility in the first place? 

But he knew that his father would never admit the truth out loud. 

Colm shook his head, his expression pinched. “It’ll be different here,” he insisted stubbornly. “I can arrange a visit to the local historical society to put your mind at ease, but you have to trust me. There is nothing here that can hurt you. I promised you a fresh start, didn’t I? This is it, Jes. This is our fresh start.” He slammed the trunk shut, the resulting bang startling several crows that had been roosting among the ornate finials.

Jesper winced, watching the birds take flight in a flurry of feathers. He had the sinking feeling that it was an ill-omen, but he knew his father would never believe him. As he stared up at the widow’s walk, he suddenly felt much older than his seventeen years.

“I’m sorry,” he said, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I–I’m so sorry, Da. I–I think the jet lag must be getting to me.” He risked another glance at his father. 

Colm’s expression had softened. “Let me show you where your bedroom is, so you can get some rest,” he said. “I promise to stay out of your hair until tomorrow morning. In the meantime, there are cold cuts in the fridge in case you get hungry later. How does that sound?”

Jesper grabbed his suitcase, drumming his painted fingernails anxiously across the handle. “Good. That sounds good.” 

The house was as lovely inside as it was on the outside. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the stained glass, illuminating the dark-wood wainscotting and floral wallpaper throughout the first floor. His father helped him heave his suitcase up the ornate staircase to the second floor, taking special care not to scratch the hardwood floors. His bedroom was at the end of the hallway overlooking the garden. Maybe I was getting too worked up earlier, Jesper thought as he dragged his suitcase past the bathroom. Maybe it will be alright, maybe no one was ever unhappy in this house… 

But then he opened the door to his new bedroom and froze in his tracks.

There was someone already sitting near the window. 

Jesper turned back toward his father to see if he had noticed the intruder. Colm hadn’t, even though the intruder was right there, right in front of his face. Instead, he was watching his son with narrowed eyes, his forehead creased with concern. He followed his son’s gaze to the window, then back towards his son, before shaking his head, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. 

“Oh, Jes,” he sighed. “Not again.” 

* * *

Jesper had learned at a very young age that his father didn’t believe in ghosts. 

Of course, there are countless people who don’t believe in ghosts. Most people are more than happy to explain away their encounters with the supernatural. The lights flickering on the second floor? That’s a problem better suited for an electrician than an exorcist. Those footsteps in the attic? In all likelihood, it’s probably just the resident raccoons getting frisky, best not to think about it too hard, really. 

There was just one small problem. 

Jesper not only believed in ghosts… the dead had been his constant companions since childhood.

His first ghost had been the girl in the garden. He couldn’t have been more than five years old. The summer he turned five, he had spent days and days on end with his nose pressed to the window as rain lashed against the glass. On the morning in question, the storm finally slowed to a drizzle. Da had long since loaded his truck to drive down to the fields, his tires leaving deep ruts in the dirt road. 

Dressed in a bright yellow raincoat, Jesper was stomping in rain puddles outside in the garden, his little rubber boots covered in mud. He remembered that there had been a crow perched in a nearby cypress tree, watching him with beady black eyes. Ma had been watching from the kitchen window, as well. She had been washing the morning dishes, her arms elbow-deep in sudsy water. Every now and then, she would tap on the glass, warning him not to wander too far from the back porch. 

It had been their morning routine in the years before her poor health kept her bedridden—she would tidy up around the kitchen, while he helped gather vegetables from the garden. Jesper had been impatient even then, plucking tomatoes from the vine long before they had the chance to ripen.

If I didn’t know better, she would laugh, I would think there was a little rabbit in my garden stealing all the vegetables. 

But that morning, his little woven basket had been long-since forgotten. Instead, he had been poking at earthworms with a stick, picking up their wriggling bodies so he could better examine their reddish-brown segments. He had just spotted a particularly plump specimen when he heard someone calling his name. 

He glanced at the kitchen window, but his mother was still washing the dishes, her eyes downcast as she focused on scrubbing a particularly stubborn casserole dish. 

Then, louder this time, the voice called his name again. He dropped his stick in the mud, turning just in time to glimpse something strange beneath the cypress tree. 

There was a girl peeking out from behind the trunk. 

That, alone, would have been strange enough. The nearest house was several miles down the road, and it was little more than a charred husk, its skeletal remains reaching heavenward like the legs of an upended beetle. It had been years since the wildfire that had destroyed it, sweeping down from the mountains with the west wind. In fact, their home had only been spared thanks to a creek that cut between the two properties. The house down the road, on the other hand, had not been nearly as lucky.

Jesper had once asked his mother about the three wooden crosses standing sentinel where the mailbox once stood. She had given him a sad look before explaining that the family who used to live there had died. 

It was a tragedy, she said. Did you know their daughter used to babysit when you were little? Her name was Shani. Oh, but I am sure you are too young to remember. 

He had, indeed, been too young to remember. However, that morning in the garden, he was certain that he knew the girl beneath the cypress tree. She was barefoot, dressed in her pajamas, her dark hair curling loose around her shoulders. She crooked her finger towards him, beckoning him closer and closer. He took one step towards her, then another, his rain boots creating ripples in the puddles. 

Suddenly, several loud knocks shattered the silence. 

It had been his mother, knocking on the glass windowpane. His heart pounding in his chest, he turned back towards the house to see his mother staring into the garden, one palm pressed flat against the window. Her eyes, fixed on the cypress tree, had been immeasurably sad. He glanced back over his shoulder to see that the girl had vanished. 

Later that evening, his mother had pulled him into her lap, hugging him tight. “You saw something in the garden this morning, didn’t you?” she whispered in his ear.

Jesper turned to stare at her. “There was a girl. I–I think she was calling my name.”

“I am not surprised,” his mother said with a heavy sigh. “She was always so fond of you when you were little, and well, who could blame her?”

“But who was she?” he asked impatiently. 

His mother kissed his forehead. “I am not sure you are old enough to understand—” she had laughed as he groaned “—but I promise to explain when you are ready. Now, go brush your teeth before bed.” 

He had been disappointed at the time, but the secret lessons had started shortly afterwards. Every now and then, when they went into town, his mother would guide him on a detour through the cemetery, stopping here and there to help its local denizens. Through those secret lessons, Jesper had grown to realize that the girl in the garden had been long since dead. In fact, the dead were everywhere once he started paying attention. He saw the dead in the supermarket aisles, and he saw the dead in line at the post office. Once, he even saw a dead hippie attempting to hitchhike, pale white daisies braided into her limp brown hair. She approached the car when they stopped at a red light, peering into the windows. 

Jesper had been alone in the car with his father that day, watching with wide eyes as the hitchhiker tapped—once, twice, three times—against the passenger window, but his father never so much as blinked an eye. 

Later that night, Jesper had complained as his mother tucked him into bed. “It was like he couldn’t even see her!” he exclaimed. “Is that why Da never joins us in the cemetery?” 

His mother frowned. “It’s better that you don’t mention our lessons to Da, hmm?” 

Jesper tilted his head to one side. “Why not?” 

“Because he can’t see what we see,” she said. “It would worry him, and he has quite enough to worry about already, don’t you think?” 

It was true. The family farm had been struggling, even then, and things took a turn for the worse not long afterwards. One morning, he woke up to find his mother retching in the toilet. It had soon become a common occurrence. In the weeks that followed, she started seeing doctors, who sent her to see more doctors. It had taken months to learn the grim truth—his mother had mere months left to live. In the wake of the diagnosis, his secret lessons had been forgotten. Instead, Jesper had grown used to spending long hours in hospital waiting rooms, reading the same knock-knock jokes over and over again in battered copies of Highlights for Children. 

But he had been at home the night his mother died. He had been sleeping when he had felt his mother press a single kiss into his curls. He remembered sitting up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the corner of his blanket. His mother was smiling down at him, her eyes bright in the darkness. She looked healthier than he had seen her in months, her dark skin practically glowing in the moonlight. 

“Ma?” he asked. “I thought you were still in the hospital.” 

His mother cupped his face in her hands. “I feel much better,” she murmured, rubbing her thumb along his cheek. “I need you to understand that. I feel better than I have felt in months.”

Jesper sat up straighter in the bed. “Then you get to come home from the hospital?” 

She shook her head sadly. “You have been so very brave, but you are going to have to be brave a little longer,” she said. “Can you do that for me, Little Rabbit? Can you be brave for your father?” 

Jesper blinked sleepily in confusion. “I don’t understand.” 

“I know,” she said. She gently pressed his shoulders back into the mattress, tucking him back beneath the blankets once more. “I would give anything to have more time together—more time to explain just how special you are—but since we are out of time, I need you to remember something for me. I need you to remember that I love you more than anything in the world.” 

“I love you too,” he mumbled, his eyelids growing heavy. 

He had felt her smooth the blankets one final time as his eyelids slipped shut. She curled up next to him on top of the covers, humming an old lullaby until sleep finally claimed him. He did not know how long he had slept, but the moonlight was still filtering through the blinds when he felt someone gently grasp his shoulder, shaking him awake. 

It was his father with tears streaming down his face. 

Aditi Hilli had been buried beneath a cherry tree in the local cemetery less than a week later. Jesper remembered watching the cherry blossoms drift slowly to the ground, blanketing the fresh-turned earth like pale pink snow. He remembered how his father had gripped him so tightly during the funeral service that his shoulder had bruised. But most importantly, he remembered the strange song he had heard on the wind. It had been an old lullaby—the same lullaby his mother had hummed into his pillow the night she died. 

He asked his father about it on the ride home. “Who was singing in the cemetery?” 

“What do you mean?” Colm asked, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

Jesper tilted his head to one side. “Someone was singing in the cemetery. Didn’t you hear it?” 

His father pulled the car over on the side of the road, turning in his seat to look back at his son. “There was no one singing in the cemetery.” 

“But—”

“There was no one singing in the cemetery,” Colm repeated firmly, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Jesper, this is very important, so I need you to listen to me. It—it isn’t normal to hear things that no one else can hear. It isn’t normal to see things that no one else can see. If people found out—well, if people found out, they might try to take you away from me, and that would break my heart. Do you understand?” 

Jesper hadn’t understood at the time, but he learned soon enough. The dead brought nothing but trouble. The spirits of the dead stalked him in his elementary school cafeteria and trailed him around the playground. When the dead tapped on the glass of his classroom window, he would stare down at the papers on his desk, struggling to focus. Eventually, the dead would grow more insistent, more determined to be seen. That was when everything would go wrong. But how do you explain to your principal that you didn’t throw your textbook across the classroom? Instead, it was the ghost of the janitor trying to get your attention. 

It had been the dead that had eventually landed him in a mental health facility for monitoring. In the facility, he had managed to catch a glimpse of his file. Potential symptoms of early-onset schizophrenia, it read. Monitor as possible candidate for antipsychotic medications. Indeed, his breakfast tray each morning had included a little paper cup with two chalk-colored pills resting in the bottom. 

Once he had been discharged, he had flushed those pills down the toilet at the airport. Despite his daily dose, the dead had never stopped visiting him anyway. 

* * *

Colm Fahey might not believe in ghosts, but he knew that his son was different. Even worse, he knew that different tended to mean dangerous, the sort of danger that had landed his son in a mental-health institution in Northern California for the better part of the summer. 

So, Jesper knew exactly what he had to do the moment his father sighed. In fact, it was what he had grown increasingly accustomed to doing in these situations. 

He told another lie.  

“It’s okay, Da,” he said with a phony grin. “I was just… caught off guard by the view from the window, that’s all. I–I knew that it overlooked the garden, but I didn’t realize you could see the ocean in the distance.” Indeed, there was the barest smudge of shimmering shoreline on the horizon. “It really is beautiful.” 

Jesper could tell his father didn’t believe him, not really. But his father wanted to believe him so desperately that he accepted the explanation anyway. “I’m glad you like the view,” Colm said. “The widow’s walk is right above this room. It was the second owner who built it, as I understand it. According to the gentleman at the historical society, her son was rumored to have been lost at sea, but she never gave up on him.” 

“Cheerful,” Jesper said, struggling to keep the grin plastered on his face. 

“Well,” Colm said, clearing his throat. “I can show you around the rest of the house once you’ve had a chance to settle in. You’ll let me know if you need anything, won’t you? The bathroom is right down the hall, and there should be a new toothbrush and toothpaste for you in the medicine cabinet.”

Jesper could feel the muscles in his face starting to twitch. “I’m sure that I will be able to find it,” he said. “In the worst-case scenario, I can use my old toothbrush. It’s seen better days, but I won’t tell the dentists if you don’t.” He patted the handle of his suitcase for good measure. 

Colm remained frozen in the doorway. “I just want you to be happy, Jes,” he said at long last. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Do you think you can be happy here?” 

His shoulders were slumped, his freckled face creased with an emotion somewhere between sadness and hope. Jesper pulled him into his arms, giving him a tight squeeze. With a start, he realized that—sometime in the last several weeks—he had grown taller than his father. “Sure, Da,” he said. “Sure, I’ll be happy here. I feel at home already.” 

Colm pulled back to look him in the eye. “You swear?” 

“I do.” And Jesper wasn’t really lying. After all, there had been ghosts in his old bedroom all the time, too. 

After some more fussing with the luggage, Colm left the room, and Jesper shut the door quietly behind him, letting his forehead rest against the cool wood. He waited until he couldn’t hear his father’s footsteps on the stairs anymore, and then turned around. 

“All right,” Jesper said to the ghost near the window. “Who the hell are you?” 

To say that the dead boy looked surprised to be addressed in this manner would’ve been a massive understatement.  He didn’t just look surprised. He actually looked over his shoulder—presumably to see if someone else had wandered into the room unnoticed—but the only thing behind him was the window, and through it, the distant setting sun. He whirled around, opening his mouth, closing it, and then opening it once more. “Y–you can see me?” 

“Obviously,” Jesper said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Now that his father had left the room, he could finally look at the intruder. If his outfit was any indication, he had been haunting this bedroom for quite some time. His square-cut dress shirt had been unbuttoned around his neck, revealing the barest sliver of pale skin, and his linen trousers were long and loose. In fact, he looked like he belonged in a Ken Burns documentary, though he might have been a little too young to have been a soldier. “How long has it been for you? Has it really been a century since you bit the dust?” 

The boy stared back at him, his eyes as blue as the wildflowers in the garden. “Wh—what do you mean?” he asked, his voice cracking on the first word. 

Jesper rolled his eyes. “Bought the big farm?” he translated. “Kicked the bucket? Rode into the sunset?” 

The boy wrinkled his nose. “Do you think I’m some sort of cowboy?” 

“Died,” Jesper said, throwing his arms into the air. “How long has it been since you died?” 

“Oh,” he said. “Died.” But instead of answering the question, he shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he said, his eyes still as round as marbles. “I don’t understand how you can see me. All these years, no one has ever—” 

“Yeah,” Jesper said, interrupting him with a dismissive wave. “I guess it is your lucky day. So what’s your deal?” 

The boy blinked several times with those big blue eyes. In his flowing white shirt, he looked like a prince who had fallen into the wrong story. His tangle of red-gold curls caught the light of the fading sunlight, gleaming like a crown. He had started twisting the leather strap of his satchel between his pale fingers, seeming to consider the question. 

“Deal?” he echoed. 

Jesper heaved a sigh. “What is your problem?” he elaborated. “It looks like you’ve been here long enough to belong in a museum. Why haven’t you passed on to the other side?”

The boy tilted his head to one side like a silk-eared puppy. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Jesper ran one hand slowly down his face. “You’re dead,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don’t belong here. In case you haven’t noticed, most people choose to move on after they’ve breathed their last. Do you really want to spend your afterlife haunting this bedroom instead of, I dunno, joining the angelic choir?”

“But what if I like haunting this bedroom?” the boy asked, his chin jutting out stubbornly as he crossed his arms. 

Jesper almost laughed at the sight.  “Look,” he said, drumming his fingers along the bed frame. “You can do all the haunting you want, kid. Rattle some chains. Stomp around the attic at midnight. I don’t really care. Just stay away from here.” 

“Wylan,” the boy said, unmoving. 

Jesper blinked. “What?” 

“You called me kid,” the boy said with a grimace. “I thought you might like to know that I have a name. It’s Wylan.” 

“Fine,” Jesper groaned. “Wylan, then. I don’t care how long you’ve been haunting this room, Wylan, you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“And you?” Wylan was watching him with his eyes narrowed. 

Jesper lifted an eyebrow. “And me what?” 

“I told you my name,” Wylan insisted, his nostrils flaring as the lights in the room started to flicker. “It would be polite to tell me your name in return. Or were you raised in a barn?”

Jesper eyed the flickering light fixture above his head. “And that would explain the faulty electrical wiring on the second floor,” he muttered. “Listen, I know this must be upsetting but—”

“That man, your father, he called you Jes, didn’t he?” Wylan interrupted. “Is it short for something? My father used to have a horse named Jessup, but he was an absolute nightmare.”

“The horse or your father?” 

“Both.”  

Jesper let out a snort. “It is short for Jesper, actually.” 

The light fixture above their head had stopped flickering, but the boy had yet to uncross his arms. “Well, Jesper, I regret to inform you that this has been my home for quite some time. Why should I leave when you’re the one intruding?”

Okay, ghost boy,  Jesper thought. You really wanna play that game? 

It was time to change strategies. 

So, Jesper ignored the question. Instead, he heaved his suitcase onto his bed, unzipping it and dumping the contents onto his bedspread. He had thrown his dirty laundry directly into the suitcase when he packed, so he would have to rummage around to find clean underwear. He started tossing laundry backwards over his shoulder, searching for the boxer shorts he wore to bed during the summer. 

“What are you doing?” Wylan asked, his tone alarmed. 

“What does it look like?” Jesper snapped. “I am getting ready for bed. Since it is our first night as roommates, I can wear boxers, as a courtesy. But I prefer to sleep in the nude. That won’t be a problem for you will it?” He glanced back over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow.

Wylan had turned the same color as a vine-ripened tomato.  “Um—I—”

“On second thought, it is pretty warm tonight,” Jesper said with a smirk. “I mean, you know how it is in old houses. It is always hotter on the second floor.” He waggled his eyebrows for good measure. 

Wylan wet his lips nervously. “I—I suppose I can give you space to settle in tonight. But—” 

“Excellent,” Jesper interrupted. “Tomorrow we can renegotiate this whole roommate business. I’ll give you some time to think about it. But when I get back here, Wylan, I want you gone.” 

Then he turned around and left. 

There was, indeed, a new toothbrush awaiting him in the bathroom. His father had even bought him his favorite toothpaste, the kind that tasted like bubblegum. He brushed his teeth with a bit more force than strictly necessarily before spitting in the sink. 

God, Jesper thought, watching the water swirl down the drain. What am I going to do if he doesn’t get the hint and leave? 

But he found his room empty when he returned. 

And if he felt disappointed? Well, he would never admit it. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

East Stave Academy had been made coeducational in the 1980s, and had—much to Jesper’s relief—recently dropped its strict uniform policy. He wanted to make a good impression at his new school, but he had never been particularly fond of khakis pants, thank you very much. Instead, he had thrown on a brightly patterned silk shirt and dark-washed jeans, adding his signature rings and earring. He loved the vibrant colors, studying himself in the mirror that morning as his music thumped through the floorboards. 

He had known that he would stand out like a tropical bird, and that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To be seen.  

But now that he was sitting in the waiting room outside the principal’s office, he wondered whether or not he had made a serious miscalculation. 

It had started that morning when he heard distant, impatient honking. Jesper had ignored it at first, turning up his music even louder. The honking continued. Eventually, he had looked out his bedroom window, wondering if his father had forgotten something when he left for work that morning. But then he spotted the bright yellow school bus, growing smaller and smaller in the distance. 

It would seem that somewhere in his morning routine, he had lost track of time… again. 

Jesper couldn’t even blame the supernatural this time. Ever since that first night, Wylan had kept his distance. Jesper had wondered briefly if his resident ghost had taken the hint to hit the road. But on his second night in the house, he had heard someone practicing arpeggios in the attic, then again on the third. Unless his father had taken up a sudden interest in the flute—an unlikely, though amusing prospect—the-boy-haunting-his-bedroom was now, officially, the-boy-haunting-his-attic. 

Staring at the vanishing tail lights, he briefly considered skipping school entirely, but he knew that his father would be disappointed. So he grabbed his backpack instead, resigned to the long walk into town to his new school. 

East Stave Academy was impossible to miss, its large red dome visible from the main street that cut through downtown. His father had pointed towards the glimmering dome on their trip into town that weekend. “The school was built shortly after the town was founded,” Colm explained. “It’s been renovated over the years, but it has an excellent library that dates back to the original building, as I understand it.” 

Jesper had never been particularly interested in libraries. In fact, the last library he had stepped foot in had caught fire. It turns out that performing exorcisms around highly flammable objects had its drawbacks. 

But thanks to that conversation, he knew the path down towards the school. It should have been easy enough to reach on foot. But it had taken him much longer than he expected. Before long, he realized that his new sneakers were pinching his toes, and his silk shirt was patched with sweat. By the time he reached the school’s wide front archway, it was already second period. He had wandered aimlessly around the central courtyard until another bell rang, and a security guard pointed him towards the administrative office. 

When he entered, the receptionist had looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on his single earring, before pointing at one of the wooden chairs in the corner. 

“You must be the new kid,” she said brusquely. She nodded at the door labeled Principal’s Office. “Haskell wants to see you before you start classes, but he’s on his smoke break at the moment.”

So, Jesper tossed his backpack to the ground, slumping into the wooden chair to wait. His shirt was sticking to his chest. He tugged at his collar self-consciously, glancing around the room. The waiting area abutted a narrow hallway, lined with wooden doors with brass nameplates, presumably belonging to various academic deans. In addition to the wooden doors, several windows overlooked the courtyard along the interior wall. But at the center of the room, behind the receptionist's desk, was an oil painting in a gilded gold leaf frame. The man staring out from that frame was dressed in a perfectly cut frock coat with an enormous ruby pin. He stared down into the waiting room, his expression pinched. 

Jesper avoided his gaze, glancing at the lone clock in the waiting room instead. At first, he was optimistic. How long could one smoke break last? But as the second hand continued to tick, tick, tick around the clock face, it became apparent that the principal was perfectly content to keep him waiting. Jesper fiddled with his rings, twisting them as the minute hand crept past the quarter hour. Shortly thereafter, he started tapping his toes against the hardwood floor, keeping time with the second hand. The receptionist was typing loudly, her acrylic nails clattering against the keyboard. The click-clacking nails rattled in his skull. 

He felt the sudden urge to throw the whole damn computer out the nearest window. 

Before he could ruin his chances at another fresh start, the courtyard door swung open as a teenage girl walked into the office. She tossed her backpack onto the ground, collapsing into an open chair with a dramatic groan. “I need to speak to the nurse,” she declared to the room at large. “It’s an emergency.” 

The click-clacking fingernails abruptly stopped as the receptionist heaved a weary sigh. “Nina, you know that the nurse is at the lower school during third period,” she said.

Nina shrugged her broad shoulders. “I know that she takes her break during third period,” she said. “But my aching body doesn’t exactly follow her schedule, now does it?” She caught Jesper’s eyes across the office and mouthed, “Cramps.”

The receptionist glanced at the clock.  “I suppose you can wait,” she said reluctantly. “Do you have a pass?” 

Nina patted her ample chest, reaching into her bra to produce a post-it note with a hastily scrawled signature. “Brum was more than happy to have me out of his hair—well, what’s left of it, at least,” she said, holding out the damp paper. “Do you want to check?” 

The receptionist massaged her temples. “I will take your word for it,” she muttered, returning to her computer. 

Jesper winced as the click-clacking of her nails against the keyboard recommenced. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, until he heard his new companion clear her throat. 

“So, you must be Jesper Fahey.” Nina was staring at him openly, her bright green eyes appraising. 

Jesper frowned.  “How do you know my name?” 

“It’s a small town,” she said, tucking the post-it note back into her bra. She leaned forward to rest her chin on one hand, tapping her lips with her index finger. Her nails were clipped short, but had been painted ruby-red. “Besides, it’s been awhile since we’ve had fresh blood in the upper school, especially not someone as interesting as you. ” 

So much for the fresh start, Jesper thought glumly. It would seem that his reputation preceded him. 

Jesper drummed his fingers on the seat. “What are people saying about me?” 

“Well, there are the rumors that you burned your last school to the ground,” Nina said brightly. “But that seems to be an exaggeration according to the news reports. It would seem you only burnt the library to the ground.”

“I didn’t mean to burn anything to the ground.”

Nina nodded sympathetically. “But books are rather flammable, aren’t they? To tell the truth, the other rumors are far more intriguing.” 

Jesper abruptly stopped drumming his fingers. “What other rumors?” 

Nina leaned forward eagerly. “For starters, I heard from Anika—who heard from Pim, who heard from Muzzen, who heard from Dirix—that your dad is an absolute DILF.”

“Language,” the receptionist admonished, glancing up from her computer screen. 

“You know what? I have to agree with the receptionist on this one,” Jesper said with a grimace. “My therapy bills are already through the roof. The last thing I need is to learn that people are lusting after my father behind his back.”

Nina grinned. “It’s a compliment you know,” she said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, now does it? Anyway, you’re lucky your dad is an absolute fox. Not everyone is blessed with a full head of hair in their forties. I mean, just look at that poor bastard.”

She jerked her head towards the oil painting at the center of the room. The receptionist heaved an audible sigh.

Jesper looked at the painting once again, really looking this time. The man in the portrait seemed to sneer down from his frame, his pale blue eyes glinting like shards of glacial ice. Jesper found himself staring into those eyes, struck by a sudden jolt of recognition. “Who’s that? The man in the painting?” he asked. 

Nina followed his gaze. “You really don’t know?” she asked, incredulous. “You really are new, aren’t you? His face is plastered all over Main Street downtown. Hell, the school even has—”

“Language,” the receptionist repeated, peering over her desktop computer. “You already have two demerits going into the semester thanks to the Helvar incident. Need I remind you of what happens if you get another demerit before fall break, Ms. Zenik?” 

“I still maintain my innocence,” Nina said breezily. “It was just a little… peck on the cheek beneath the bleachers. If you ask me, everyone is overreacting.”

The receptionist arched an eyebrow. “The security cameras beg to differ.” 

Nina shrugged, her expression almost smug. “Now where was I?” she said, turning her attention back to the painting. “That’s right. The school has his statue in the courtyard, as well. I’m surprised you missed it. The seniors even get to decorate it during spirit week. This year, we’re going full drag race—”

“But who is he?” Jesper repeated, leaning forward in his chair. 

Nina mirrored his body language, her long brown hair falling over her shoulders. 

“That is the honorable Judge Van Eck,” she said. “His family built the original town from the ground up back before the Civil War. Anyway, he founded the school in the memory of his son.” 

Jesper felt his heart stutter. “What happened to his son?” 

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Nina said, lowering her voice in an excited hush. “His disappearance is a mystery. Everyone agrees that he boarded a ship heading to the music conservatory up the coast, but he never made it. Eventually, his father had him declared dead, but the body was never found.” 

Jesper fidgeted nervously with his rings, studying those pale blue eyes once more. He didn’t know where to find the body, but he suspected he knew who to ask to find the answer. 

Nina was watching him with narrowed eyes. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but she was interrupted when the heavy wooden door in the corner opened in a cloud of cigarette smoke. 

The principal stepped out into the waiting room. He was an older man, his gray hair thinning at the temples. He stroked his grizzled chin, peering around the waiting room with jaundiced eyes. “Fahey?” 

Jesper rocked forward onto his feet, raising his hand. “Right here.” 

Haskell looked him up and down, taking in his wardrobe. His lips curled with poorly disguised disgust. “Kids these days,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Come on, then. I was expecting you over an hour ago, but it would seem that punctuality is not your strong suit.” 

Jesper felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. He knew punctuality had never been his strong suit—it never would be. “I didn’t mean to miss the—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Haskell said with a dismissive wave. “Does it look like I care why you were late? The only thing that matters is that you have already managed to miss your first two… three classes. Consider this your only warning. Truancy will not be tolerated at East Stave Academy. Do you understand?” 

Jesper gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.” 

The old man barked an irritated laugh. “Yes, sir. No, sir,” Haskell mocked. “Those pretty manners don’t change the fact that you were well over an hour late to school. You want to be polite? You can start by not wasting my time.” 

Haskell withdrew into his office, leaving the door open behind him. Jesper knew he was meant to follow. He groaned, running his hand along the back of his neck. Nina was still watching him, her green eyes bright with mirth. “How cooked am I?” he asked. 

“Ranging from rare to well-done? I would say that you are at least medium-well,” she said with a wink. “But don’t worry. It means you are going to fit right in.” 

* * *

Jesper realized two things the moment he stepped into the principal’s office. 

The first thing was that his new principal was, in all likelihood, suffering from some sort of severe nicotine addiction. Though there wasn’t an ashtray in sight, the stench of cigarette smoke clung to the furniture, settling heavily over the carpet like fog over the harbor. The window had been cracked to let in the breeze, but the haze had yet to fully dissipate.  

The second thing he realized was that the principal was clearly obsessed with miniature ships. 

The office was packed from floor to ceiling with flotsam and jetsam. His bookshelves—devoid of any actual books—were instead crammed with a fleet of miniature barques and brigantines with rigging as delicate as spider silk. His desk resembled the deep-sea treasure trove of a particularly eclectic sea creature, littered with spools of twine and wooden matchsticks amidst the delicate tweezers and modeling glue.

Haskell ushered him towards an open chair, closing the office door behind him.

“Sit,” Haskell commanded. He settled into his own leather chair, reaching into his desk drawer to retrieve a thick manilla folder. He slammed it onto his desk with a dull thwump, before starting to thumb through the pages. “Do you know what this is?”

Jesper leaned forward to squint at the paperwork. He could see that the pages had been filled with cramped handwriting. He shook his head, although he had a sneaking suspicion. “Fond remembrances from my old teachers?” 

Haskell let out a harsh laugh. “Hardly. These are the permanent records from your most recent educational institution: transcripts, behavior referrals, psychiatric evaluations—” He leered over the manilla folder “—you’ve certainly had your fair share of troubles, haven’t you, Mr. Fahey?” 

Jesper shrugged his shoulders with a shit-eating grin. “I am criminally misunderstood.” 

“Criminal. It’s funny that you should choose that particular word,” Haskell said, leaning back in his chair. “It is a lucky thing that your last school didn’t choose to press criminal charges. Otherwise, I doubt we would be having this conversation, now would we?” 

Jesper’s grin slipped away. “But we are having this conversation,” he said impatiently. “I suspect this is where you remind me that this is my last chance? That most schools wouldn’t take me? I hate to break it to you. I already know. ” He jerked his head towards the manilla folder. “I’ve had my fair share of similar lectures. In fact, I suspect most of them are documented in that file folder.” 

Haskell lifted an eyebrow.

“Sir,” Jesper added sheepishly. 

Silence stretched between them. The principal studied his face for a long moment. Then, he closed the folder. “It would seem that you are perfectly clear about the gravity of your situation,” he said, his voice deliberately slow as though speaking to a small child. “So, let me be perfectly clear as well. East Stave Academy is offering you a second chance, but you will not get a third. Do you understand?” 

Jesper felt as though his clothing was crawling with lice. “I understand.” 

“Good,” Haskell said, pushing a single sheet of paper across his desk. “I have drawn up your schedule for the fall semester. I have assigned you a locker, as well. I trust you don’t need me to hold your hand to find your next class?” 

Jesper gritted his teeth as he grabbed the schedule. “I think I can manage,” he said, grabbing his backpack as he stood.  

“Good,” Haskell repeated as he reached for a pair of tweezers. “Be sure to close the door behind you. Oh, and Mr. Fahey?” 

Jesper paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Yes, sir?” 

Haskell bared his teeth in a mocking smile. “Welcome to East Stave Academy.” 

* * *

Nina bounded to her feet the moment Jesper closed the office door behind him. She plucked the paper from his hands, her eyes darting down the page. “Nice! We both have precalculus with Droessen,” she said brightly. “I can walk you. The bell is about to ring anyway.” 

She slapped the paper against his chest, turning to grab her backpack. 

The receptionist abruptly stopped typing. “I thought you were waiting to see the nurse,” she remarked, her hazel eyes narrowed. “I seem to remember that it was an emergency. ” 

“Oh, but it was an emergency,” Nina said, her expression earnest. “Menstrual cramps are no laughing matter. I know you hit menopause—what? five? ten years ago?—but surely you remember?” 

The receptionist started to sputter as she turned a nasty shade of puce. “Well—I never—”

Nina gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay. It is common to start forgetting things at your age,” she said innocently. “It is sweet of you to worry, but I’m feeling much better now! In fact, I can make sure that our newest student makes it to his next class on time.” 

The receptionist continued gaping like a fish. 

“You know what?” Nina said. “I am so glad we had this talk. We should do it again sometime!” Jesper blinked as she tugged on his shirt collar, standing on her tip-toes to whisper in his ear. “Come on!” 

Jesper didn’t need to be asked twice. He let her drag him into the courtyard, sprinting across the lawn into the nearest classroom building. Nina only stopped once they reached an empty classroom. She tugged him inside the room, doubling over to catch her breath. Her thick hair fell into her eyes, disheveled from their mad dash through the courtyard. She took several deep breaths before bursting into laughter. 

“Did you see her face?” she giggled. “I just know she is going to call home, but it was worth it.” 

Jesper shook his head, but he was grinning. “I take it you have a history with—” 

“Van Houden,” Nina said, her voice taking on an almost savage quality. “She is the absolute worst. She used to teach in the foreign language department, but she was demoted last year. It was quite the scandal.” 

“What happened?” Jesper asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. 

Nina shook her head, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “I am afraid that we don’t have time for that particular story at the moment. What was your locker number again? I can take you there before precalculus.” 

Jesper tried to smooth out his crumpled schedule. “273.” 

For a moment, he was certain that her eyes had widened in anticipation, but then he thought he must have imagined it. “It’s your lucky day. I know exactly where that locker is.” 

He followed her into the hallway once more, but this time she fell into step beside him. Her breathing was still heavy, but she was tall enough to easily match his pace. She led him down the hall, before pausing at the restroom. “Your locker is just around the corner,” she said. “I need to pop in here before class to fix my hair, but I can meet you in a moment to walk you to class. I am sure you can find the locker without my help?”

Jesper nodded. “I managed to find the school this morning, didn’t I?”

“Two hours late,” Nina said, spinning to walk backwards into the restroom. “But I suppose I can give you some credit. You did make it here eventually.” 

Jesper felt strangely nervous as he turned the corner alone. He glanced at the paper, then back at the nearest locker. 

268, 269, 270. He wandered down the hallway, keeping track of the numbers in his head. He was surprised to see that the metal doors were dented and plastered with stickers from punk rock bands. He supposed he expected them to be like the lockers at his old school—shiny and new. 

271, 272. Jesper stumbled to a halt. 

In front of locker number 273 stood a ghost. 

It wasn’t the ghost haunting his house, either. No, Wylan looked like a fairytale prince, trapped in time like an insect preserved in amber. Instead, this ghost looked like she had been caught cutting class to smoke in the bathroom. She had pale skin and brown eyes as round as tea saucers. She looked him square in the face, her hands balling into fists as she stepped forward. 

“What are you looking at?” Then, speaking to someone behind him, she grumbled, “This is who they let in to take my place? Really? Is this some kind of joke?” 

Jesper spun around, his jaw dropping. 

Nina, it seemed, had turned the corner. She was leaning against lockers behind him, watching him curiously. She burst into a dazzling grin the moment she saw his face. 

“I knew it!” she said. “I totally knew it!” 

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

Jesper looked from Nina to the ghost girl, and back again. Finally, he managed to blurt out, “You can see her?” 

Nina nodded. “Yes. I suspected you could see ghosts when I first heard the rumors about your… problems at your old school. But I couldn’t be sure, of course, so I didn’t say anything. Heaven knows you wouldn’t be the first troubled teen to land at East Stave. Brekker has a rap sheet a mile long—”

Jesper barely heard her. He couldn’t get over the fact that finally, after all these years, he had met another person who could see ghosts. He slapped his palm to his forehead as he had another sudden realization. 

“So that’s why there aren’t as many spirits around here as there should be!” Jesper exclaimed.“You took care of them. Saints, I was wondering what happened to them all. I expected to find hundreds!”

Nina shrugged, casually inspecting her nails. “Well, there weren’t hundreds, exactly, but when I first got out of the hospital, there were quite a few. It was a bit of a shock, naturally, but—”

“Out of the hospital?” Jesper interrupted, shaking his head in confusion. 

Nina looked surprised. “I had a near death experience, though near death is putting it mildly. I flatlined after popping one too many pills at a house party. It took the paramedics a few tries to resuscitate me.” She grimaced. “My dearly departed granddad was holding my hand when I woke up in the hospital. I helped him pass on once everything was said and done. What about you?” She looked him up and down. “Was it a car wreck? Accidental drowning? Congenital heart defect?”

“Um?” Jesper raised his eyebrows. “None of the above.” 

Nina made a face. “Don’t tell me it was autoerotic asphyxiation?” 

“No!” Jesper glanced nervously over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “Nothing like that! I’ve always been able to see ghosts.” 

“Really?” Nina asked, her eyebrows shooting up. “Huh, I guess it makes sense that there would be some people who come by their gifts naturally. It sure beats having your stomach pumped.” 

“Just how many people have you met who can see ghosts?” Jesper asked. 

Nina tilted her head to one side. “Including you? Two. I just assumed—” 

“Excuse me,” the ghost girl interrupted. “But would you mind telling me what's going on here? Who the hell is this loser? Is he the one who is getting my locker?” 

“I am standing right here, you know,” Jesper grumbled, shooting her a dirty look. 

Nina put her hands on her hips. “Look, I know how much this sucks, but you have to move on. Haunting your old locker? Anya, it isn’t a good look.”

Anya clenched her fists. “I am not going to stand back and let everyone forget me!”

“Maybe introductions are in order?” Jesper suggested.

Nina looked embarrassed. “Well, you see, Anya has been having a hard time accepting that she is… well, you know? Dead.” 

The electricity surged in the light fixture overhead. The locker, too, had started to rattle. “It isn’t fair!” Anya whined, stomping one foot. “None of this is—”

Brrrrrrrrring!

Several doors slammed open as students spilled into the hallway. The locker stopped rattling. Anya shook her head angrily, her mouth snapping shut. She gave them one last withering look before disappearing with a gentle pop. Jesper was left staring at locker number 273. The dented metal door had been decorated with pink, water-colored flower stickers. He felt his chest clench, wondering what he would find when he entered the combination. Had the school even bothered to clean it out before reassigning it? 

He felt the sudden urge to slam his fist into the metal door. 

Nina grabbed him by the elbow. “Come on,” she said, giving his arm a gentle tug. “We only have three minutes between bells, so we need to get moving unless you want to earn your first demerit.” 

Jesper took a deep breath. “What happened to her?” 

Nina glanced pointedly at the students streaming past them. “How about this?” she said, holding out her pinkie. “I promise to answer your questions as soon as possible… ideally when we are less likely to be overheard.” 

The moment she glanced over her shoulders, he remembered the thick manilla folder in the admin office. He needed to be more careful. Otherwise, there would be new notes in his file before the end of the day. He could picture them now: Student is convinced his locker is haunted; please refer for further psychiatric evaluation. 

He hooked their pinkies together. “Deal.” 

“Good,” Nina said, kissing his ring to seal the promise. She unhooked her pinkie, pulling him through the crowd by his backpack strap. “Now, let’s go. I really, really can’t afford another demerit before fall break.” 

* * *

Nina dragged him into the math classroom with seconds to spare. The bell rang overhead as she tossed her bag on the ground, collapsing into a chair next to a blond boy built like a linebacker. Jesper stood awkwardly in the doorway until he spotted their teacher seated at his desk. Droessen, it seemed, was an elderly man with an absurd handlebar mustache. Jesper approached the desk, attempting to hand him the paper schedule, but was waved away. 

“Don’t bother. I know exactly who you are.” Droessen jerked his head towards an empty seat at the back of the classroom. “Hurry up and take a seat.”

Jesper hitched his backpack higher on his shoulders, turning towards the desk. He froze in his tracks. The only empty seat in the room was occupied by the ghost of a middle school boy with dark brown hair. Jesper felt his stomach twist. However, the ghost simply winked at him before vanishing with a gentle pop. Jesper shuffled towards the empty seat, struggling to keep his face blank. Nevertheless, the pale boy in the row next to him gave him an appraising look, his gloved hand tightening around the cane propped next to his desk.

“Interesting,” he rasped, his dark eyes narrowed.

Jesper let out a nervous laugh. “What’s interesting?” 

The boy didn’t respond. Instead, the teacher inconveniently chose that moment to start lecturing. Jesper reached into his backpack, hurriedly grabbing a notebook and pencil. He opened it to a blank page, his knee bouncing beneath his desk as he struggled to focus on polynomial equations. He attempted to keep up with the lecture, his pencil poised over the paper. Next to him, the boy with the cane never bothered to get out his notebook. He simply sat there, drumming his fingers on his desk, his expression bored. Meanwhile, the teacher droned on and on, scribbling equations on the chalkboard. Jesper managed to work out the first equation without much trouble, but the second equation proved to be much more challenging. By the third equation, he felt his focus slipping away. 

He turned his attention to his classmates instead. Droessen would call on students at random, prompting them to show their work on the board. Jesper slowly started to put faces with names. Matthias Helvar, the boy built like a linebacker, had broad-shoulders and short-cropped hair. He worked out the first equation on the board. Inej Ghafa wore her long, black hair in a braid that snaked down her back. She worked out the second. 

Droessen stroked his mustache as she returned to her desk, his lip curling into a cruel smile. “I am afraid that is incorrect, Miss Ghafa. If you had been paying attention, you would know that the solution x = 0 doesn’t make sense here—”

“Excuse me, sir.” The boy with the gloves had raised his hand high in the air. 

The classroom went unnaturally still. 

“Ah, yes. What is it this time, Mr. Brekker?” Droessen asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Inej was shaking her head in warning. “Kaz…” 

The boy with the gloves ignored her, pointing at the board with his cane. “With all due respect, I think you’re the one who is mistaken. In a theoretical context, there is no legitimate reason to exclude zero from the solution set.”  

“No, no,” Droessen said, tapping his ruler against the chalkboard. “If x = 0, then you end up dividing by zero in the process of solving the equation. It is an invalid solution.” 

Kaz arched an eyebrow. “The answer is just as valid as √2 or -√2 because division by zero is undefined. I would have thought someone with a mathematics degree would understand the roots of a polynomial expression, but I can see that I was sorely mistaken.” 

Inej had buried her face in her hands at her desk. 

Kaz grabbed his cane, leaning on it as he made his way towards the door. “You know what? I’ve had enough pretending to respect someone who bears a striking resemblance to an overgrown walrus.” 

The room let out a collective gasp.

“Get out of my classroom this instant,” Droessen said, his mustache quivering. “I will not have some… some juvenile delinquent usurping my authority!” 

Kaz glanced over his shoulder, one hand resting on the doorknob. “Then might I suggest actually learning the subject you are paid to teach?”

He slammed the door shut behind him. 

Droessen had turned a nasty shade of puce, his mustache trembling as he breathed in and out. Jesper glanced around the room, eager to see what would happen next. There was a long beat of silence as the teacher smoothed his mustache back into place. His lips curled into another smile. “Clear your desks for a pop quiz.” 

“But, sir!” Nina protested. 

Droessen had grabbed a stack of papers from his desk. He held them above his head triumphantly. “There should be nothing on your desk except for a pencil… unless you want a demerit for cheating.”

Nina grumbled as she cleared her desk. There was an undercurrent of mutinous mumbling, but the power had shifted back to the teacher. Once the desks were cleared, he walked up and down the rows, passing out the quizzes. Jesper scrawled his name at the top when he received it, skipping the directions to read the first question:

x5−3x4+6x3−2x2+4x−1 = 0 

He groaned, letting his forehead hit his desk with a dull thunk. With the exception of the tick, tick, tick of the clock, the rest of the class passed in miserable silence.

* * *

Jesper had answered a grand total of three questions when the bell rang for lunch, and he was reasonably certain that his calculations were wrong on all three. He scribbled random numbers beneath the remaining questions as the classroom emptied. Finally, the teacher cleared his throat. Jesper added his quiz to the top of the stack, confident it would be the last time he made top of the class. 

Nina was waiting in the hallway. Jesper had been hoping to continue their conversation from earlier, but she had company. Matthias had his arms wrapped around her shoulders, resting his chin on her head. Inej was leaning against the locker next to them, her eyes closed as she massaged her temples. 

“There you are!” Nina looked relieved. “I wanted to make proper introductions, but we’re going to have to do it on the move at this point.” 

Inej opened her eyes. “The cafeteria runs out of hot food when you wait too long.”

Jesper let them lead him through the hallways. Nina talked the entire time. He learned that, despite his broad shoulders, Matthias was not, in fact, on the football team. He did, however, lift weights, which explained his impressive biceps. In addition to having strong opinions on protein powders, he had been dating Nina since an ill-fated field trip their junior year, the details of which remained murky. Nina and Inej, on the other hand, had been as thick as thieves since homeroom their freshman year. Inej seemed more soft-spoken than her friend, but it quickly became apparent that she was incredibly observant. It came as no surprise when he learned that she was the editor of the school newspaper. 

Kaz Brekker, it seemed, was the fourth member of their group. However, it was unlikely that he would be in school for the rest of the week. 

“Haskell has been out to get him lately,” Inej said, heaving a long-suffering sigh. “I guarantee he'll be suspended for a few days at least… if not longer.” 

“Is he always that… bold?” Jesper asked. 

Matthias shook his head solemnly. “Brekker was in rare form today.” 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” said Inej. 

“You don’t?” Nina said, raising her eyebrows. 

Inej seemed to deliberately ignore that particular comment. 

Their group joined the lunch line in the cafeteria. Jesper had read in the school pamphlets that the school was a small one. There were only seventy seniors. But he soon realized that the cafeteria still couldn’t hold the entire senior class. Inej explained that most upperclassmen chose to eat lunch on the picnic tables in the exterior courtyard, which overlooked the sea. He made it through the lunch line first and stepped into the courtyard alone, staring out at the distant waves. The water shimmered in the sunlight, white caps crashing against the sand. He was so distracted that he didn’t spot the seagull circling overhead until it was too late. It swooped down, snatching up a chicken tender in a flurry of feathers. 

“Not cool!” he shouted, clutching his tray closer to his chest. 

The seagull let out a shriek that sounded like laughter. 

“Don’t worry. It’s a rite of passage.” Inej had appeared at his side, carrying her own lunch tray. She nodded towards a picnic table beneath an oak tree. “Our lunch table is over there.” 

Following her through the courtyard, he studied the upperclassmen. The cheerleaders seemed to have flocked together in the center of the courtyard. He recognized a girl from their math class picking at her salad with a flimsy plastic fork, stealing glances at the football players huddled together at the neighboring table. He spotted another group with students gathered around a chess board. Jesper found it strangely reassuring to see the same social divisions he had grown to expect in high school. 

But then he spotted something unexpected. There was a teenager with a peach-fuzz mustache sitting on the table neighboring theirs, his elbows on his knees, staring out at the ocean. Occasionally, people would glance in his direction, giving him dirty looks, before whispering to their neighbors. He was completely and utterly alone. 

Jesper nodded in his direction. “What’s going on with that guy?” 

Inej followed his gaze. “Oh, that's Joost Van Poel,” she said as she sat down. “He’s just sad, you know, because his girlfriend died over summer break.” 

“Really?” Jesper asked, setting his lunch tray on the table. He tried, and failed, to keep his next question nonchalant. “What happened to her?” 

“She overdosed on a party drug at some party in the valley.” Nina had joined them with her lunch. She sat across from him, meeting his gaze over her paper tray of cheese fries. “The local news reported it was laced with fentanyl.” She glanced pointedly at Joost. “He is the one who found her unresponsive.” 

Matthias sat down next to her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. “I wouldn’t pity him though, not when he’s the reason she is dead.” 

Inej frowned as she opened her milk carton. “I’m not sure it is as simple as that.” 

“Really? It seems quite simple to me,” Matthias said. “The party was at his house. He’s the one who purchased the drugs. He’s the one who found her unresponsive. He’s the one who refused to call the paramedics until it was too late… all because he didn’t want to get in trouble.” 

Nina stabbed a cheese fry with her fork. “He didn’t know that the pills had been cut with fentanyl.” 

“His ignorance does not absolve him of his guilt,” Matthias insisted. 

Jesper looked back and forth between them, certain that there was more to the story. Nina had been flippant, earlier, when she mentioned her own close call with death, but now she seemed sullen. She was staring straight ahead, chewing her food in stubborn silence. 

Inej took up the narrative at this point. “The paramedics did everything they could, but it was too late to save her. She was dead. Meanwhile, her boyfriend walked away with a slap on the wrist. The Van Poel family owns half the valley. Rumor has it that his dad paid off the police chief, but people talk. Matthias isn’t the only one who blames him.” 

“But where did he get the drugs?” Jesper asked. 

He regretted the question moments later. 

Inej shrugged. “People are saying that he bought it from someone who knew someone, but no one really knows who the supplier was.” 

“But it isn’t the first time someone decided to sell a bunch of kids something deadly,” Matthias muttered darkly. 

Nina pushed away her cheese fries, standing up abruptly. “Sorry. My—my stomach is acting up. I—I’m going to see the nurse before our next class.” 

“I thought you went to see the nurse earlier?” Matthias asked, his eyebrows knitting together. 

Nina refused to look him in the eyes. “I–I–I think I’m going to be sick.” 

It didn’t take a liar to realize she was lying. 

“I can walk you to the nurse,” Matthias said, standing up. “Just… slow down.”

But she had already grabbed her lunch tray, tossing it into the garbage. The seagulls converged on the trashcan as she hurried towards the building, her long, brown hair billowing behind her. 

Inej shook her head. “Let her go.”  

Matthias was still standing. “I need to check that she’s okay.”  

“Let her go,” Inej repeated. “I think… I think the subject is… a little hard for her sometimes.” 

Matthias shut his eyes, sitting down with a loud thump. “I’m an absolute idiot,” he groaned.

“Yes, but at least you’re self-aware.” Inej gave him a sympathetic smile. 

Matthias spent the remainder of the lunch period brooding. 

Inej, seemingly determined to maintain some pleasantries, asked Jesper several polite questions about how he was settling in at his new house. Since he wanted to avoid mentioning the attractive boy haunting his attic, he talked about the ocean view instead. However, it was too much to hope that the peace would last.

Jesper spotted her the moment the bell rang to end lunch. Anya was standing, frozen in the crowd, as students streamed toward the school building. Ghosts have a sort of glow about them that sets them apart from the living. Thank the Saints, too. Otherwise, he might have never known the difference. 

Anyway, there she was, staring daggers at Joost Van Poel like the creepy kid in The Omen. People, not knowing she was there, kept walking straight through her. Jesper sort of envied them. He wished ghosts were invisible to him like they were to everyone else. He knew it meant he would not have been able to talk to his mom one last time, but, hey, it also would have meant he wouldn’t be standing there knowing Anya was about to do something horrible.  

Not that he knew what it was she planned on doing. Ghosts could get pretty rough sometimes. Wylan’s trick with the flickering lightbulb was tame, in the grand scheme of things. Jesper had had objects thrown at him with enough force that, if he hadn’t ducked, he would have certainly been one with the spirit world as well. He followed the direction of her gaze, and saw that it wasn’t Joost, exactly, that she was staring at, but one of the heavy branches in the oak tree above his head. And, as he sat there, Jesper saw the timber start to shake. Not the whole tree. Just one single, heavy branch. The branch directly over Joost’s head. 

Jesper acted without thought. He dropped his empty lunch tray, throwing himself as hard as he could at Joost. They both went flying. And good thing, too. Because as they were rolling he heard an enormous crash. Jesper ducked his head to shield his eyes, so he didn’t actually see the branch explode. But he heard it. And he felt it, too. Tiny splinters of wood pelted him like shrapnel. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he realized that his brand new silk shirt was ruined. 

Joost was laying so still beneath him that Jesper thought maybe he had hit his head against a root, or something. But when Jesper lifted his head, he saw that the other boy was okay. He was staring, horrified, at the massive branch that lay a few feet away, surrounded by scattered shards of wood. Jesper guessed he was realizing that if that branch had hit him, there would have been little pieces of his skull scattered in the grass, too. 

“Holy shit,” Joost gasped. “Dude, I think you just saved my life.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Four 

The next hour passed in a blur. As it turned out, Joost had hit his head when he fell. At the very least, he had blood trickling down his left temple. The first teacher to arrive on the scene sent him straight to the nurse. He hobbled into the building, leaning on another student. Next, she rounded on Jesper, who insisted that he was fine—his silk shirt was the real victim—but no one listened. Instead, he was herded into the school clinic, where his cuts were poked and prodded with cotton balls covered in rubbing alcohol until his father burst into the room, still wearing his mud-encrusted work boots. 

It quickly became apparent that the school had called home and been quite vague about the details of the incident. Colm was under the impression that his son had been, rather unfortunately, squished like a bug. He pushed past the school nurse, who was offering an ice pack to her other patient. Jesper spent the next several minutes trying to convince his father that he was, in fact, perfectly fine, though he would love the opportunity to change his clothes. Colm remained unconvinced, signing him out early as a precaution. However, as soon as it became clear that his son was in no immediate danger, he scolded him for being late to school. Then he spent the rest of the drive home speculating about the fallen tree branch. 

“It sounds like it might have been a pest problem,” he said when the car turned into their neighborhood. “Did you happen to see any frass? It would look like a fine white powder.” 

“Not that I remember,” Jesper answered. 

Colm seemed surprised. “Really? What about beetles? Most oak borers have metallic green wings. Hard to miss.”

Jesper shrugged. “I don’t think so? I was a little distracted at the time, to be perfectly honest.”

Colm hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose it could’ve been oak wilt. It can be easy to miss, especially in drought conditions.” 

“That makes sense,” Jesper said, humoring him. After all, his father would never believe what really happened. He tried to imagine how that particular conversation would unfold. It was a ghost hellbent on revenge, actually. I think an exorcism might be the best course of action. He suspected his father would be on the phone with his psychiatrist the moment they stepped foot in the house. It was a scenario that he would prefer to avoid, thank you very much. 

Colm pulled into the driveway, glancing towards the passenger seat as he put the car in park. “Sorry for blathering on and on. I feel bad that you had such a rotten introduction to your new school.” 

“It wasn’t all bad,” Jesper reassured him, unbuckling his seatbelt.

It surprised him to realize that he was telling the truth. 

Since he had been signed out so early, he spent the rest of the afternoon helping his father in the garden. Jesper watered the wildflowers while his father planted sweet pea seeds in the shade, nicking each seed to aid in germination. Colm, thankfully, knew better than to ask him too many questions about his day. Instead, they worked side-by-side in silence, falling into a natural rhythm as the bees buzzed amidst the flowering shrubs. 

Once he finished watering the flowers, Jesper paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. He let his eyes slip shut. With the sunlight warming his skin, it should have been easy to forget the paranormal, but when he opened his eyes once more, he saw a metallic green beetle crawling across a damaged rose petal. He knew he probably ought to kill it, but he poked it with a stick instead. He watched the beetle take flight, disappearing beyond the garden. Then he pruned the damaged flower. His fingers were unsteady as he plucked each petal, picturing the splintered tree branch in his mind. 

Jesper wished his problems were as simple as invasive beetles. His dad might have rationalized the fallen tree branch with an insect infestation, but he knew the truth. His new school had a poltergeist problem. 

He wanted to do something about it as soon as possible. 

Jesper spent the next several hours pretending that he was perfectly fine. He threw himself into his chores with an almost manic energy. Once he was done in the garden, he took out the trash. He dusted the ceiling fans. He even folded his socks. Colm eventually forced him to sit down to eat dinner. But even then, Jesper pushed his food around his plate with his fork, his knee bouncing beneath the table. He tried helping with the dishes, but his father batted him away with a soapy scrub brush. 

“Sit down. I can do the washing up tonight,” he said firmly. 

Colm pointed towards the living room with the scrub brush, water dripping onto the kitchen mat. Jesper had no other choice. He collapsed on the couch with a dull thwump. However, the landline rang moments later. His father shouted over the running water in the kitchen. “Can you answer the phone? It’s probably just a telemarketer.”

Jesper hurried into the hallway between the two rooms, where the phone was hanging from the wall. He picked it up, cradling the receiver to his ear. “Hello?” 

There was a beat of silence, and then Nina’s voice came on. “Oh my god! I can’t believe that I left you alone for fifteen minutes and you were nearly flattened like a pancake. I got back to class, and everyone was talking about it. I heard you were signed out with like… a concussion or something. Anya was gloating about it afterwards.  I’m so, so, so sorry. Honestly, I feel so bad for leaving you to deal with her on your own.” 

Jesper glanced down the hall where his father was watching him from the kitchen sink, his arms elbows-deep in suds. 

“Who is it?” Colm mouthed. 

Jesper covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Just a friend from school.” He turned back around, lowering his voice into the mouthpiece. He wanted to tell her about his, quite frankly, impulsive plan to rectify the problem, but he couldn’t do it with his father listening in. “Uh, listen. I can’t really talk right now, but I’ll be at school tomor—wait a minute! How did you get this phone number anyway?” 

“I called in a favor,” Nina said cryptically. 

“You do realize that raises even more questions, right?”

“Look, I have to protect my sources—”

The call-waiting alert beeped in his ear. “Damn, hang on a sec. There’s another call on the line.”

Nina groaned. “Tell them to call back! I have a pinkie promise to uphold.”

“I’ll do my best.” Jesper hit the hook to transfer lines. “Fahey residence.” 

“Jesper?” The voice on the other line sounded like it belonged to a chainsmoker.  

Jesper frowned into the phone. “Who… who is this?”

“It’s Kaz Brekker.”

Jesper blinked several times in confusion. “How did you even… you know what? Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. “What do you want?” 

“I understand that you had an interesting run-in earlier today with Joost Van Poel,” Kaz said. “Rumor has it that you may have even saved his life. In light of this information, I want to strike a deal with you. I can assure you that the terms are favorable.” 

Jesper stared at the phone in disbelief. Kaz didn’t sound like a teenage boy. Instead, he sounded like he was auditioning as a mob boss on The Sopranos. It was unsettling, to say the least. 

Jesper glanced at his father, who was still rinsing dishes in the kitchen sink. “Um,” he said. “Can I give you a call back some other time? I’ve got someone waiting on the other—” 

“Nina will just have to learn a little patience, now won’t she?” Kaz interrupted. “Besides, I think you’ll appreciate my offer. I saw your notebook in class today. You clearly have no idea what you’re doing. It’s a bit sad, really. But if you do exactly as you’re told, I can personally ensure that you pass precalculus.”

Jesper was so startled he forgot to lower his voice. “Are you… are you offering to tutor me?”

Kaz let out a rough bark of laughter. “I never said anything about tutoring, but I can make sure your transcript shows… let’s say a C+. We don’t want the grade to be too suspicious, now do we? I prefer to keep my methods confidential.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “The only thing I want in return is information.”

The call waiting started beeping again. Jesper ignored it, nervously twisting the phone cord as he asked, “What information?”

“Joost Van Poel has been remarkably reticent since his daddy bribed the local law enforcement,” Kaz said, “but now he owes you his life. I want you to befriend him. I want you to earn his trust. But most importantly, I want to know who supplied the drugs that killed his girlfriend.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Jesper deadpanned. “I don’t suppose you want me to infiltrate the cartel while I’m at it—” 

There was a sudden click, followed by the dial tone. 

The bastard had hung up the phone. 

Jesper hit the hook to transfer to the other line. “Nina? It’s me again.”

“Finally!” Nina exclaimed. “What took so long? I was beginning to fear that you had tragically succumbed to your injuries.”

“Kaz Brekker was on the other line.”

Nina let out a low, humorless laugh. “I had a feeling he’d be giving you a call as soon as he heard what happened. Let me guess, he wants you to cozy up with Van Poel for information?”

“More or less,” Jesper admitted, but then the water stopped running in the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder to see his father placing the last of the dishes on the drying rack. Jesper lowered his voice once more. “But listen, I really can’t talk about this kind of thing right now.”

“Huh, I didn’t realize you were keeping your powers secret from dear old dad. Remind me that we need to unpack that later,” Nina said cheerfully. “How does this sound? I can plan to meet you before school in the courtyard. Let’s say at… I don’t know… 7:30? I have some rosemary and lavender we can burn to cleanse your locker during homeroom. People smoke in the bathroom all the time, so it shouldn’t be a problem—”

Colm stepped in the hallway, his dishtowel slung over his shoulder. 

“Sounds good!” Jesper said. “Talk to you tomorrow!” In his haste to end the call, he accidentally slammed the phone into its cradle, leaving the cord swinging like a pendulum. 

Colm was watching him closely, his eyebrows knitted together. “Who were you talking to?”

“It was just a girl from school,” Jesper said hastily. 

Colm let out a sudden laugh. “Ah, it was just a girl from school.” He nodded at the swinging phone cord with a small smile. “I suppose that explains why you were so nervous to talk to her with me in the room?” 

“It really isn’t like that,” Jesper said, shaking his head.  

Colm winked at him. “Sure, it isn’t. That’s why you gave her your number.”

Jesper opened his mouth to argue that he hadn’t given anyone his number, but then he thought better of it. It was easier for his father to believe that he had a crush on his classmate than the truth. After all, he wasn’t nervous about impressing a girl. 

He was nervous about sending a different girl to the great beyond. 

Colm fell asleep on the couch during the evening news, his chest rising and falling as he snored. His baseball cap was pulled low, covering his face. It was a familiar sight. When he was younger, his mother would drape a blanket over his father, letting him sleep until she finished the evening chores. Jesper only let him sleep until the final news segment ended, when he gently shook his father awake. “Wake up, Da.”

“Don’t mind me, I’m just resting my eyes,” Colm mumbled, letting out an unconvincing yawn. He blinked several times before running his hand down his face. “I wasn’t snoring too loud, was I?”

“Not at all,” Jesper lied. 

Colm glanced down at his watch, before shaking his head. “I ought to turn in,” he said, heaving himself to his feet. “I have to leave early again tomorrow morning. Is there anything you need before I hit the sack? I don’t want to leave you to fend for yourself.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Jesper said with an exaggerated yawn. “I was thinking about heading to bed early too.” 

It was another lie, of course. 

The truth was that he had an exorcism to perform, and he had a bit of preparation to do for it. He suspected that Nina would be annoyed that he left her out of the action. However, he needed a fresh start, and he couldn’t have that fresh start when ghosts were attempting to kill his classmates during lunch. No, he needed to get rid of Anya as soon as possible, preferably before homeroom. Of course, if he wanted to perform a proper exorcism, he was poorly prepared. It would be hard to find a butcher shop open at this hour, so he would have to do without the chicken blood. He didn’t have time to break into a church to steal holy water, either. Those bells and whistles weren’t strictly necessary anyway. He had learned that most ghosts could be compelled to leave simply with the proper… persuasive techniques. He could be very persuasive, but his fists would do in a pinch. 

The breaking and entering would be the challenging part. 

He waited until he could hear his father snoring through the walls before he crept around the house gathering supplies. He grabbed the flashlight from beneath the kitchen sink, and snuck some screwdrivers and pliers from the garage, before making his way back to his bedroom. The clock struck midnight around the time he finished cramming his backpack with supplies. He changed into dark skinny jeans and sneakers, licking his thumb to rub a smudge from the white rubber toe cap. Under normal circumstances, his wardrobe didn’t exactly scream cat burglar, but he had a few clothing items that were specifically reserved for breaking and entering. 

He had just shrugged into an old hoodie when he got a visit from the annoyance in the attic. 

Wylan appeared over his shoulder in the mirror. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Saints,” Jesper gasped, pressing one hand to his chest as he spun around. He was annoyed not so much that Wylan was there, but that he had managed to catch him so unaware. “Why are you still hanging around? I thought I told you to get lost.” 

Wylan was leaning against his bed post. His pale blue eyes traveled from the top of Jesper’s hooded head to the toes of his black hightops. “It is a little late to be going out, don’t you think?” 

“Uh,” Jesper said, pulling his hood up around his ears. “Look, no offense, Wylan, but this is my room. How about you try getting out of it? And my business, too, please?” 

Wylan didn’t move. “Your father won’t like you going out so late at night.” 

“My father.” Jesper glared at him. “What would you know about my father?” 

“I like your father very much,” Wylan said stubbornly. “He’s a good man. You’re lucky to have a father who clearly loves you. It would upset him, I think, to see you putting yourself in the path of danger.” 

“I suppose you would know all about that,” Jesper mocked.  

Wylan crossed his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Don’t you know?” Jesper asked. “I find it hard to believe that you don’t know that your dear ol’ dad built an entire school in your honor. What was his name again?” He snapped his fingers. “Jan Van Eck, that’s right! Saints, you’re a spitting image. I saw his portrait at school this morning. I should’ve known you were some rich kid before you croaked. It explains the infuriating entitlement.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” Wylan’s voice was as cold as ice. 

“Maybe not.” Jesper threw his backpack over his shoulder. “But don’t pretend that you know anything about me either. I know my own father far better than you ever will, but that is besides the point. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much.” 

“Are you?” Wylan lifted an eyebrow dubiously.

“I don’t have time for this,” Jesper muttered, heading towards the bedroom door. “You don’t even know where I’m going, so I suggest you get off my back.” 

“But I do know where you’re going, Jesper,” Wylan insisted. “You’re going to the school to talk to the girl who’s trying to kill that boy. But I am telling you, she’s too much for you to handle alone. If you must go, take your new friend with you… the loud one.” 

Jesper froze with his hand on the doorknob. “How could you know all that?” He whirled around. “Are you… are you stalking me?” 

Wylan was avoiding his eyes, his fingers twisting in the leather straps of his stupid satchel. “I… I can’t let you leave this room.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Jesper laughed. “Try and stop me, cadaver breath.” 

Wylan gave it his best effort. Jesper’s hand was on the doorknob when the deadbolt slid into place. He hadn’t even realized that there was a deadbolt on the door. It must have been an ancient one, since the handle to it was long gone. He suspected that the key had been lost to time as well. Jesper stood there for about a minute, tugging on the knob without success. The door refused to budge. Then he shook his head, letting out a low, humorless laugh. 

“Okay,” he said, turning around. “You know this is way uncool, right?” 

Wylan, at least, had the decency to look uncomfortable. His hands were clenched so tightly around his satchel that his knuckles had become white stars. He stuttered when he opened his mouth again. 

“Th–this girl?” he said. “It–It’s been a long time since I’ve encountered an angry spirit this hellbent on revenge. Today, she learned that she can wield that anger as a weapon. She will try to kill anyone who gets in her way… including you.”

Jesper gave his most charming smile. “Then it’s up to me to get rid of her, right? Come on. Unlock the door.” 

Wylan hesitated. For a second, Jesper thought he was going to do it. But he didn’t, in the end. He just stood there, looking uncomfortable but determined. 

“Suit yourself,” Jesper said, walking straight across the room towards the window. He put his foot on the windowsill, popping the screen loose. He knew that he could climb down from the porch roof without a problem. He had both legs over the sill before he felt a slender hand grab his wrist, its grip as cold as the grave. 

Wylan was staring down at him, close enough that their faces were inches apart, close enough that he could count the freckles on his nose. 

“Jesper.”

That was all he said. Just one word. 

Jesper felt his breath catch in this throat, his heart stuttering in his chest. He felt the sudden insane urge to close the distance between them. 

Instead, he tugged his hand free, dropping from the window onto the porch roof with a soft thud. The shingles were slanted at a steep angle, forcing him to hug the wooden panels until he reached the garden. From there, it was an unpleasant climb down the rose trellis into the shadows. He winced as sharp thorns cut into his palms, but he stubbornly ignored the pain until he dropped into the flower bed, narrowly avoiding the watering can, which had been forgotten amidst the wildflowers. He refused to look up until he reached the driveway, when he glanced over his shoulder one last time.

But his bedroom window was empty. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

Jesper was surprised to discover that breaking onto school property after dark was remarkably easy. It seemed the school had little concern about security measures. He simply hopped the wrought-iron fence enclosing the courtyard, dropping into the rhododendron bushes on the other side. He didn’t even have to break into the classroom buildings, risking the security cameras monitoring the hallways. Anya had kindly spared him the inconvenience. She was waiting near the bronze statue in the courtyard, her arms crossed as she watched him march across the lawn. Her hands were balled into tight fists, but it was clear that she had been crying. Dark mascara was dripping down her pale cheeks, and her nose was red and blotchy. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her blouse as he approached. 

“I was wondering when you would come back,” she sniffled. 

Jesper held his arms wide like the ringmaster in a circus. “What can I say? It is going to take more than a heavy tree branch to kill me.” He winked. “Though I have to admit that it was an impressive trick. I think you even managed to give your old boyfriend a splinter.” 

Anya scowled. “It serves him right. Do you know what he did to me?”

“I know about the overdose,” Jesper said with as much sympathy as he could muster. “I know that he bought the pills. But you don’t really believe that he knew about the fentanyl, do you? That would be murder.”

Her pretty face contorted with rage. “It doesn’t matter whether he knew. He should have called for help when he found me. But what did he do instead? He left me on the goddamn floor to die!” 

Jesper winced. “I know it isn’t fair, but—”

“But what?” Anya interrupted. “I have to accept the fact that he gets to move on with his life? No, I refuse to accept that he gets to pretend that nothing happened.” 

Jesper crossed his arms, leaning against the statue. “It doesn’t change the fact that you died.” 

“Shut up,” Anya whispered. 

Jesper shrugged his shoulders. “What? I really, really hate to break it to you, I really do. But it’s the truth. Joost has to live with what happened. And you? Well, you died.”

“Shut up,” Anya wailed, pressing her hands to her ears.  “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” 

She started weeping again, snot dripping from her nose. She drew several shuddering breaths, her dark hair falling into her eyes as her shoulders shook. Jesper heaved an uncomfortable sigh, lowering his gaze. He was used to distraught spirits at this point, but it didn’t make it any less awkward. He used to crack jokes when he was younger, but he had long since learned that most ghosts did not appreciate his sense of humor. No, it was better to let her cry. 

He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, kicking a pebble across the courtyard. It skittered into the distant shadows. It was then that he noticed the plaque on the granite pedestal beneath the statue. His curiosity piqued, he knelt down to read the inscription: 

THE HONORABLE JUDGE JAN VAN ECK, 1809-1877.
HIS VIRTUOUS DEEDS AND MUNIFICENCE WERE A LESSON TO ALL WHO KNEW HIM AND RECEIVED HIS BLESSINGS. 

Huh, Jesper thought. The Honorable Judge Van Eck in his full munificent glory... whatever that means. He rose to his feet, circling the statue so he could examine it more carefully. Jan Van Eck had been thinner than his son, but the resemblance was unmistakable. He had the same handsome face, although his hairline seemed to be making a determined retreat from his rather impressive forehead. Wylan must have inherited his thick golden curls from his mother. His kindness, too. The statue seemed to be smirking at him, its lips curled into a sanctimonious smile that failed to meet its eyes, although that might have been a flaw in the craftsmanship. It was hard to get the eyes right in metal. Nevertheless, the statue was dressed in the same square cut frock coat as the portrait in the office, its ruby tie pin cast in burnished bronze. 

Anya cleared her throat loudly behind him. “Why are you even here?” She was lowering her hands from her head, watching him with her eyes narrowed. Her mascara had left dark streaks down her cheeks, and her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. 

Jesper dragged his gaze away from the bronze tie pin. “I want to help you, believe it or not,” he said. “It wasn’t fair, what happened to you. It isn’t fair that you’re stuck here, watching the world move on without you. But it doesn’t have to be this way.”

She blinked at him, her eyes shining with sudden hope. “It doesn’t?”

“No. It doesn’t,” Jesper said, taking an eager step forward. “You can start over.”

“You promise?” Anya sniffled. 

“I promise,” Jesper smiled encouragingly. “The only thing you need to do is make up your mind to do it.”

The light dimmed in her eyes. “But I already made up my mind. I made up my mind weeks ago. I want to go back to that night. I want to change what happened!”

Jesper shook his head, realizing his mistake. “No, Anya,” he said. “You have it all wrong. You can never have your life—your old life—back. But you can start a new one. Doesn’t that sound better than haunting your high school locker? There has to be more than…”

The words died in his throat when he saw a flicker of light in his peripheral vision. He turned his head, realizing with no small measure of alarm that the bronze statue had started to glow. Jesper whirled around, nearly tripping over his shoelaces in his haste. His hair stood on end as the air crackled with electricity. Heat was radiating from the metal like a furnace. He glanced back at Anya. 

She had raised her hands, red sleeves spread wide. “You promised you would help me!” 

“Anya,” Jesper said, holding up his hands as though calming a spooked horse. “Anya, listen to me. You need to calm down. I can’t help you when you’re—”

“You lied to me,” Anya snarled. “You said that I could start over!” 

Jesper watched in horror as the statue started to melt, the metal gleaming brighter than the moon. Its jaw seemed to unhinge, stretching and stretching in a silent scream. He had dealt with vengeful spirits before, but he had never seen anything like this. This was beyond his wildest imagination. He knew he should do something to stop her, but his brain refused to cooperate with his limbs. He remained frozen in place as the statue teetered on its pedestal, buckling at the base as it toppled forward. 

This is how I'm going to die, he thought with sudden clarity. I’m going to be crushed like an insect in the school courtyard. 

But then something slammed into his side, knocking him into the grass. At the same moment, the statue toppled to the ground behind him with a deafening boom. He came to his senses when heat started licking the soles of his shoes. He scrambled on his hands and knees away from the molten metal, his heart thudding in his chest. He struggled to find his footing, sneakers sliding in the grass. But then someone hooked their arm beneath his armpit, heaving him to his feet. He blinked in confusion when he recognized who had saved him from certain doom. “You?” 

Wylan Van Eck was staring past him, his pale blue eyes as wide as saucers. “Me.”

Jesper turned to stare at the ruined statue. Its hideous grin had contorted into an unnatural grimace, the molten bronze seeping into the soil. The ruby tie pin was melting into the sludge. It was otherwise unrecognizable. Anya stood amidst its smoldering remains, peering down at her outstretched hands. Her fingertips crackled with electricity. She tilted her head to one side, her expression thoughtful. She stomped her foot. The granite pedestal splintered with a thunderous crack beneath her feet. Slowly, she started to grin, her teeth gleaming white in the darkness. 

Wylan wet his lips nervously. “Um… might I make a suggestion?”

“What?” Jesper asked, staring at the shattered stone.

Wylan shoved him towards the wrought-iron fence. “Run.”

Jesper didn’t need to be asked twice. He sprinted across the courtyard, his sneakers smacking the ground. Goosebumps erupted over his skin as the energy surged once more. The lights lining the courtyard pop, pop, popped, exploding like in rapid succession like firecrackers. He covered his head as the glass rained down, shimmering in the moonlight. Once he reached the wrought-iron fence, he vaulted over the trampled rhododendron bushes, gripping the iron rail. He heaved himself over the ornate finials, the metal digging into his palms. He toppled forward, hands slapping the ground on the other side. He stared down at the grass, momentarily dazed, before someone grabbed his wrist. 

Wylan was dragging him towards the road. “I thought I told you to run.”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Jesper gasped, clutching the stitch in his side. 

Wylan dropped his wrist. “It looks like you need to exercise more.” 

“I will… keep that… in mind… the next time… I skip... leg day,” Jesper panted.  

He sprinted down the road, his muscles burning as the large red dome grew smaller and smaller behind them. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back, his hoodie sticking to his damp skin. His chest was on fire, but he was grinning like a madman. He laughed. Perhaps the psychiatrists had been right, and he had lost his mind. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he felt more alive than he had in weeks.

He ran until his lungs threatened to burst. Only then did he stop, resting his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. Wylan skidded to a stop next to him, clutching his leather satchel to his chest. His pale white dress shirt had come untucked, billowing behind him like smoke. The houses lining the street remained silent, their occupants asleep in their beds. 

“Did… she… follow… us?” Jesper asked between breaths.

Wylan shook his head. “She doesn’t know she can. Not yet.” 

“That isn’t… exactly comforting… you know.”

Wylan laughed without humor. “It’s a good thing then that you’re… what was it, again? Oh yes, more than capable of taking care of yourself.”

Jesper’s grin slipped from his lips. “I am more than capable… in normal circumstances!” He swung his arms wide, pointing towards the distant red dome. “Whatever that was? That wasn’t normal!” He started pacing back and forth along the asphalt. “We need to warn someone. Oh my god, she’s going to murder her idiot boyfriend the moment he steps on campus tomorrow, isn’t she?”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Wylan said, his eyebrows furrowed. “The trick she pulled tonight? It takes an extraordinary amount of power. It should take her some time to build up that much energy again.” 

“Should?” Jesper repeated, feeling slightly hysterical. “Oh, that’s reassuring! Do you happen to have any other brilliant insights?”

Wylan stiffened at the sarcasm in his tone. “I tried to warn you that you would only make her even more angry. But did you listen?” 

Jesper stopped in his tracks. “Give me one good reason why I should listen to some dead rich kid!”

“I don’t know!” Wylan took a step towards him, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Maybe because I know how it feels to end up in an early grave! But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Jesper swatted the hand away from his chest. In a breathless rush, he realized that their faces were inches apart. Wylan was staring up at him with pupils that had blown wide. Beneath his constellation of freckles, his cheeks had flushed a rosy pink, and his lips were slightly parted. Jesper felt his breathing hitch as his gaze dipped lower, staring at the unbuttoned collar where Wylan's shirt fell open to reveal his pale chest. He reached down, his fingers trailing along the abalone buttons.  

His eyes widened when he saw the dark splotches spilling across Wylan’s shirt like watercolors across a blank white canvas. 

“Um… what happened to your shirt?” he blurted. 

Wylan took a step backwards, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “It looks like… it looks like blood?”

Jesper's stomach churned. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize that you could get hurt.” 

“I can’t get hurt,” Wylan said, his voice rising in pitch. “You’re the one bleeding!” 

Jesper looked down, startled to see dark liquid drip, drip, dripping onto the sidewalk like inkblots. He held out both hands, inspecting them in the moonlight. His right hand was slick with blood. He winced, remembering how the iron fence post had cut into his palm. The sharp edges must have slashed his skin when he vaulted the fence, leaving behind a deep gash that ran from the base of his thumb to his pinkie finger. It looked like it might need stitches, or at the very least, several strategically placed butterfly bandages. 

“Oh,” Jesper said, watching the blood ooze from the cut. He couldn’t think of anything else to say but, “What a mess. I’m sorry about your shirt.” 

“It’s fine.” Wylan sighed as he reached into his satchel, pulling out an embroidered handkerchief. Jesper held out his injured hand. The handkerchief seemed to glow in the moonlight as Wylan wrapped it around and around the open wound. Jesper shivered as the material brushed against his skin, shimmering as though woven from spider-webs. It should have been impossible. Indeed, he suspected that in the morning, it would vanish with the rising sun. But for now, it held firm. Wylan tugged it tightly, knotting the ends with his clever fingers.  

“There,” he said when he was finished. “Does that hurt?” 

“No,” Jesper said, surprised to find that he was telling the truth. It must have been the adrenaline. He flexed his fingers, feeling the handkerchief dig into his palm. His chest tightened with sudden emotion. He drew his hand back, clearing his throat. “Thank you.”

Wylan ducked his head, his cheeks growing even pinker. “It’s fine.”

“No really,” Jesper insisted, his voice cracking. “Thank you. I know you tried to warn me, but I didn’t… I didn’t expect her to literally melt bronze. I think… I think you might have saved my life. And when I saw the bloodstains. I thought… I thought…” He shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know what I thought.” 

Wylan tilted his head to one side, his expression inscrutable. Slowly, his lips curled into a smile. “Jesper Fahey, were you worried about me?” 

“I saw your face when she cracked the pedestal,” Jesper said, feeling sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck with his uninjured hand. “I’m sorry about the statue, by the way.” 

“To be frank, the statue is the least of my worries,” Wylan said with a dismissive wave. “In fact, it might have been the highlight of my evening. The courtyard looked much better without it, don’t you think?”

Jesper eyed him curiously. “Huh. You really didn’t get along with your old man, did you?” 

Wylan let out a sudden laugh. “Honestly? That would be putting it mildly.”

He started to walk down the road towards home, his pale skin glowing in the darkness. 

Jesper fell into step beside him. “What was the old bastard like then? He doesn’t happen to haunt the local courthouse, does he? I can arrange an exorcism.”

Wylan continued smiling, shaking his head. “The old courthouse was destroyed in an earthquake… not that it matters much. I doubt he would have lingered. My father went to great lengths to leave his mark on this town. He died an old man, certain that he succeeded. I suspect he was at peace in the end.”

“But you weren’t,” Jesper said. “You aren’t. At peace, I mean. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here to save my sorry ass.”

Wylan hummed under his breath. “Don’t worry about me. I made peace with what happened to me long before you were born.”

But something was keeping him tethered to the house, whether or not he realized it. Jesper glanced sidelong at his companion, remembering what his father had told him the evening he arrived home from the airport. The historical society seemed convinced that the second homeowner had lost her son at sea. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Nina had hinted at something similar earlier that morning. His disappearance is a mystery, she had explained. Everyone agrees that he boarded a ship heading to the music conservatory up the coast, but he never made it. 

His body had never been found. 

Jesper swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. He fell silent, remembering the ghost stories that had haunted him as a child—ghost stories about spirits who had been denied a proper burial, leaving them trapped between the realms of the living and the dead. He kept stealing glances as the moon grew higher and higher in the sky, his curiosity growing and growing. Jan Van Eck had resembled a cruel monarch, cast in gleaming bronze. Wylan Van Eck walked with his shoulders slightly hunched, his head bowed like a wilting flower in a vase. He had taken to gnawing on his thumbnail, his forehead furrowed as though deep in thought. He seemed comfortable with the silence, as though he had grown accustomed to solitude. 

The silence that stretched between them splintered once they reached the house. Wylan led them to the front porch. Jesper dragged his feet as he climbed the steps, the wooden slats sagging beneath his weight. The top stair creaked. Wylan glanced behind him, his eyes lingering on the horizon where the ocean caressed the shoreline. Jesper seized the opportunity to stare, his breath catching beneath his ribcage. 

Wylan resembled a fallen angel, the moonlight gleaming in his golden crown of curls. His skin was as smooth as alabaster. Even in the darkness, his eyes were a clear, unspoiled blue, the same color as the sky on a bright summer morning. 

He’s beautiful, Jesper thought in alarm. He’s the most beautiful boy I have ever seen.  

Wylan turned back towards the house, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening when he noticed that he was being watched. “What is it?” he asked. 

Jesper was so unsettled that he blurted the first question that came to mind. 

“How’d you die, anyway?” 

He realized it was probably a rude question the moment the words left his lips. Ghosts didn’t really like talking about how they died. In fact, he had encountered countless ghosts who had bought the farm without even realizing it. Sudden deaths were the worst. He had encountered bewildered car crash victims hitchhiking along the highway, broken glass glittering in their hair. Wylan might not even know how he had kicked the bucket in the first place. It was entirely possible that he had simply awoken one morning to find that the world had moved on without him.

Wylan seemed to consider the question, the expression in his clear blue eyes unreadable. His grip on his leather satchel tightened as the clouds obscured the moon. 

“Um,” Jesper said. “You know what? Never mind. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to—”

“No,” Wylan said, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “It’s alright.” 

“I was just kinda curious, that’s all,” Jesper said. “But if it’s too personal…”

“It isn’t too personal.” Wylan leaned against the wooden railing that enclosed the front porch, glancing at the stained glass windows above the front door. “You know, this house wasn’t always a family home.” 

“Oh, really?” Jesper said as though this was the first he had heard of it. 

“Yes. It used to be a hotel,” Wylan said. “Well, more like a boarding house, really, than a hotel. The expensive furnishings? The stained glass windows? None of that was here back then.” He shook his head, before turning to point towards the tree line. “You see that spot there? That was where the stables used to stand, but the building burned down a long, long time ago.” 

Jesper took an eager step forward, ignoring the shiver that ran down his spine as their shoulders brushed. “And you were staying here as a guest?” 

Wylan seemed to consider this question for a long moment. “Of a sort.”

“And?” Jesper prompted him, nudging his shoulder. “Something happened while you were staying here?” 

Wylan tapped his fingers along the bannister, his head tilted to one side as though listening to some unheard melody. He continued to stare at the patch of land where the barn had once stood. There were fireflies flickering amidst the wildflowers. Jesper strained his ears, but all he could hear were the crickets singing in the shadows. He wondered what the landscape must have sounded like all those years ago. Had the house guests awoken each morning to the clop of horses’ hooves? The creak of wagon-wheels? He had trouble imagining it. He was too used to the distant hum of traffic from the highway. 

“Yes,” Wylan said at long last, tugging at his collar with one hand. He cleared his throat, shaking his head as though awakening from a dream. “But it’s a long story, and it’s very late. I can unlock the door to help you sneak back into the house. I doubt you want to climb the rose trellis with that cut,” he said, nodding at Jesper’s bandaged hand. “In the morning, we can figure out what to do about Anya.” 

Jesper blinked in surprise. “Now, wait a damn minute. I’m not going anywhere until you finish that story.” 

“No,” Wylan insisted. “It’s too late. I’ll have to tell you some other time.” 

“You can’t just start a story and then not finish it. You have to—”

The front door popped open with a gentle gust of wind. 

Wylan pointed to the open door. “Go to bed, Jesper.” 

“But you—”

Wylan simply smiled. “Goodnight.”

Then, without another word, he vanished with a gentle pop.

Jesper threw his hands up in frustration. It seemed to him that vanishing into thin air should be against the rules. He grumbled under his breath as he crept into the house, pulling the front door shut behind him. The house was just as he had left it. He managed to avoid the loose floorboard on the second floor landing, sneaking past the room where his father was snoring like a hibernating grizzly bear. When he gave his bedroom door a tentative tug, he was relieved to find that the deadbolt had been released. He slipped into his bedroom, changing into fresh pajamas before tiptoeing down the hall to the bathroom to clean the cut on his hand properly. 

He opened the medicine cabinet, rummaging around until he found what he needed. Before reaching for the battered box of band-aids, he untied the spectral handkerchief tied around his palm, leaving it crumpled on the bathroom counter. He cleaned the cut with the hydrogen peroxide he had found at the back of the medicine cabinet, watching his blood swirl down the drain, before stretching several thin band-aids along his palm. 

Once he was satisfied that he would survive the night, he glanced back at the crumpled handkerchief. It was already beginning to fade, but he could see now that it had been embroidered along the edges with delicate laurel leaves. There were initials stitched in one corner in flowery script: MVE. He frowned. It was an M, not a W. It must have belonged to his mother, he thought. Or perhaps a sister? He knew next to nothing about the boy who had saved his life. He reached out, tracing the needlework beneath his fingertips.

But then he drew backwards, feeling a little foolish. 

It was a bad idea to grow too attached to the dead. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

The school bus was honking outside again. Jesper squeezed his eyes shut, burrowing deeper beneath the covers. The morning light was streaming through his bedroom window, the sunbeams flickering beneath his eyelids. It was too damn bright, even with his eyes closed. The bus driver laid on the horn again and again. Jesper groaned, pressing his pillow over his ears to muffle the sound. Eventually, the bus driver seemed to admit defeat. The engine roared to life, before growing fainter and fainter. Jesper loosened his grip on the pillow, then let out a sudden yelp as someone snatched it from his grip. 

“You missed the bus,” Wylan said, smacking him with the pillow. “Again.” 

Jesper squinted in the sunlight, his bedsheets clutched to his chest with his bandaged hand. Wylan was peering down at him, his forehead furrowed with concern. In the morning light, he seemed fainter around the edges, his clear blue eyes nearly transparent. His gaze lingered on the butterfly bandages. He stared at the bandages for a long moment before the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. He let the pillow hit the ground with a dull thump.

Jesper blinked in confusion, dragging his uninjured hand down his face. “Good morning to you too, Wylan Van Sunshine,” he muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was hardly the first time he had slept through his alarm clock, but the paranormal wake-up call was new. He froze as an unsettling thought occurred to him. “Wait… were you watching me sleep?” 

Wylan took a step backwards, his cheeks pinkening. “I–I was checking to make sure that you were still breathing.”  

His slender hands were twisting around the leather straps of his satchel again. It seemed to be a nervous habit. 

“It’s okay,” Jesper reassured him, letting his blankets drop to his waist. He swung his long legs out of bed, wincing as his bare feet touched the cold floorboards. The open window had let in the chill. He crossed the room to slam it shut, then beelined to the closet. He flung open the door, glancing back over his shoulder with a flirtatious wink. “You can admit that you were watching me sleep.”

Wylan crossed his arms. “I was worried that you were going to bleed to death in the night,” he insisted. “I know you seem to place shockingly little value on your life, but I doubt your father wants to find your rotting corpse when he gets home from work.”

“Don’t worry,” Jesper said, rummaging through his silk shirts. “I would rather not haunt this bedroom in the afterlife… no offense.” 

“None taken,” Wylan said dryly.

“Besides,” Jesper continued. “It’s going to take more than a little scratch to put me out to pasture. What do you think?” He held a floral-patterned shirt up to his chest. “Is it too understated?” 

Wylan lifted an eyebrow. “Understated?” 

“Ugh,” Jesper groaned. “You’re absolutely right. I need something bright, something bold, something… heroic.” He snapped his fingers, shoving the shirt back into the closet. He grabbed an electric yellow button-down instead. “This feels more appropriate for my triumphant return, don’t you think?”

Wylan looked unimpressed. “It seems that I need to remind you that your attempted exorcism last night led to the destruction of a beloved local landmark.”

Jesper shook his head as he slipped the button-down from the hanger. “That isn’t fair! I distinctly remember you saying that you weren’t upset about the stupid statue. No takesies-backsies.”

Wylan rolled his eyes heavenwards. “I’m not upset about the stupid statue. I’m worried that a vengeful spirit is going to murder you the next time you step foot on school grounds.”

Jesper frowned, lowering the button-down. “But you said it would take her time to build up enough energy to attack again.”  

“I did,” Wylan said. “It should take her at least another week, maybe even longer, before she can attack again. But that doesn’t mean you should let down your guard. Anya is dangerous. The power she demonstrated last night? I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

A sudden shiver traveled down Jesper's spine as he remembered how the statue had melted like molten glass. “What am I supposed to do then? Drop out of school because it’s haunted?” he asked, hating the tinge of hysteria that had crept into his voice. “I hate to break it to you, but my father would send me straight back to the loony bin.” 

Wylan shook his head stubbornly. “I wish you wouldn’t call it that.” 

Jesper let out a bitter laugh. “What? Too much for your delicate sensibilities?” 

Wylan simply let out a sigh. “I've seen quite a bit in the last hundred years. The last thing you need to worry about are my delicate sensibilities. What you need to worry about is what you are going to do when you get to school.” 

Jesper eyed him curiously. “I take it you have a plan.” 

“We need more information,” Wylan said. “There’s… there’s something different about this girl, something unnatural. The drugs that killed her… there must have been something unusual about them. The sooner we can find out what really happened to her, the sooner we can—”

“Send her packing to the afterlife?” Jesper offered hopefully.

Wylan glared at him. “The sooner we can sort out her unfinished business.” 

Jesper shook his head. “I appreciate your optimism, but I am pretty sure her unfinished business could be best summed up as murder.” He emphasized the last word with a sweeping hand gesture. 

Wylan took a step forward, a determined glint in his eyes. “I think we both know that it is never that simple, and I think we both know that there is more to her death than meets the eye.” 

Jesper held his gaze for a long moment before clearing his throat. 

“Fine, I can ask around,” he said, turning to rummage through his sock drawer until he found a matching pair. “But is this really how this is going to go?” He plucked two dark green socks out of the drawer before turning around again, gesturing back and forth between them. “You and me? I never really imagined teaming up with the dead to solve supernatural mysteries, you know. Nancy Drew was never really my cup of tea.”

Wylan scrunched his nose. “Nancy who?” 

“Not a fan, huh?” Jesper hesitated before throwing caution to the wind. “I expect the Hardy Boys were more your speed.” 

Wylan looked even more confused. “I… I am afraid that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” Jesper said with a small sigh. 

He knew that flirting with the dead was a bad idea. Wylan was beautiful, of course. There was no doubt about that. But he had been haunting this bedroom for over a hundred years, suspended in time like an insect trapped in amber. The world had changed since his death. He had died before the Mattachine Society, the Stonewall Riots, the National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights. Hell, the poor kid might not even know that it was normal for boys to kiss other boys. Then there was the not-so-small fact that he had been born before the Emancipation Proclamation. His father had been a wealthy man, and that kind of wealth was almost always built on the backs of slaves. 

No. There was no scenario where flirting ended in anything other than disaster.

Wylan had the decency to vanish once Jesper opened his underwear drawer. Jesper laughed at his sudden disappearance, but he was grateful for the privacy to finish getting dressed. He pulled on the electric yellow button-down, pairing it with a pair of plaid trousers. Then he dragged himself to the bathroom to change his bandages. He cleaned his cut, rinsing the dried blood down the drain. When he finished, he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He frowned, wondering what it would feel like to kiss a ghost. He tried to reason that it would be like pressing his lips to a frozen lamp post, frigid and unpleasant. The undead were notoriously cold to the touch, after all. 

It was a pity he would never have the opportunity to test the hypothesis. 

* * *

The walk to school felt even longer than it had the day before, but it was hard to feel dread on such a beautiful morning. The sky was a clear blue that stretched over the distant hills. The sunlight filtered through the trees overhead, dappling the sidewalk with shifting golden shadows. He decided not to rush, letting the sunlight warm his skin. Maybe today would be quiet, he thought. Maybe, just for a little while, he could pretend to be normal. 

But the moment he saw the flashing lights in the school parking lot, he realized how severely he had miscalculated. 

The entire student body had gathered in the parking lot, watching curiously as men in police uniforms moved back and forth beneath fluttering yellow caution tape. The central courtyard had been cordoned off, including the melted statue. The bronze had congealed into a puddle on the ground, gleaming in the morning light. But it wasn’t the caution tape that made his breath catch. It was the sight of the ambulances. Two ambulances, to be exact. One was already pulling away, its lights flashing, while another sat with its rear doors flung open. Paramedics were wheeling a gurney toward it at a near-run. Jesper pushed forward, trying to get a better look, but several teachers blocked his view. 

He tapped the nearest onlooker on the shoulder. “What happened?” 

The boy turned around, his gold-flecked eyes widening appreciatively. “You’re the new kid.”

“Right,” Jesper said dismissively. “That’s me. Jesper Fahey, at your service. Listen, I was a little late to school, so I would really, really like to know what happened.” 

“Oh,” the boy said. “There was an explosion in the science wing, apparently. It happened before school. People are saying that there must have been a gas leak. The bunsen burners use gas to ignite, you know. The moment some unlucky bastard lights a cigarette in the bathroom?” He snapped his fingers. “Whoosh.”  

Jesper felt his stomach sink, certain that it had not, in fact, been a gas explosion. “I saw someone being loaded into the ambulance,” he said. “Who was hurt?” 

“Joost Van Poel,” the boy said matter-of-factly. “Everyone knows he deals drugs in the bathroom before school… or he used to before his girlfriend overdosed last summer. I suppose killing your girlfriend is bad for business—” 

“Was there anyone else?” Jesper interrupted. 

“Um, I think one of the senior girls might have been hurt too,” the boy said. “What’s her name? The girl who was caught beneath the bleachers with Helvar last summer.” 

Jesper groaned. “Nina.” 

“That’s right!” the boy said, snapping his fingers. “Nina Zenik.” 

Jesper felt like he was going to throw up. He had forgotten her phone call. How had he forgotten her stupid phone call? Nina had been waiting for him in the courtyard that morning, planning to cleanse his locker. He imagined the look on her face when she arrived at school early. The melted statue would have been alarming, to say the least. He wondered how long she had waited for him before venturing into the building, armed with a pitiful bundle of rosemary and lavender. 

Bang!

The doors on the second ambulance slammed shut. Its sirens wailed as it accelerated onto the main road, lights flashing as it raced towards the hospital. 

The boy, for his part, went on talking as though nothing had happened. “By the way, I meant to introduce myself yesterday,” he shouted over the sirens, “but then you were almost flattened during lunch. It didn’t seem like the right time then, but here you are now! My name is Ku—”

“Jesper! Over here!”

Jesper whipped around. Inej was leaning out of the passenger window of a run-down sedan. Matthias sat rigid behind the steering wheel, his expression grim. 

“We're heading to the hospital!” Inej shouted. “You should come with us! I mean, I know we just met, but Nina—” 

“I’m coming!” Jesper shouted, shoving through the sea of students towards the sedan. The boy he had been talking to was shouting after him, but the sound was muffled the moment he climbed into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind him. He leaned forward between the seats, resting his elbows on his knees. “What do you know?”

Matthias shook his head, meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Buckle your seat belt first.” 

Jesper fought the urge to roll his eyes, buckling his seat belt with a click. “There. Buckled.” 

Matthias let out a quiet grunt, checking his rearview mirror again. Then he pulled out of the parking lot onto the main road, his sedan shuddering as it picked up speed. 

Inej turned to face the backseat, her seat belt cutting into her shoulder. “Honestly, I was hoping you might know something,” she said, her gaze dropping to his bandaged hand. “Nina called me last night, said she was going to show you around campus before school. We thought you might have been caught in the explosion too until we saw you in the parking lot—” 

“I overslept,” Jesper admitted. 

“You overslept,” Inej repeated, her expression doubtful. She stared at his bandages a moment longer, her brow furrowed, before turning back to face the road. In the rearview mirror, Jesper could see her tugging at the prayer necklace around her neck. She traced the silver medallion at the end between her fingertips. “You were lucky, I suppose.” 

Silence settled over them. The car seemed to crawl toward the hospital. Matthias was clearly shaken, but he seemed inclined to obey every traffic law as a matter of principle. He slowed down at yellow lights and stopped fully at every stop sign. In the front seat, Inej was quiet, clutching her prayer necklace. Jesper could see her lips moving silently, but couldn’t tell if she was praying or simply retreating inward. There was nothing to break the monotony except the rattle of the engine. Jesper felt his knee start to bounce as he watched the hills blur into color outside the window. It should have distracted him. It didn't. Instead, the backseat seemed to get smaller and smaller with each passing second. By the time they pulled into the hospital parking lot, he found himself fumbling for the door handle, too restless to spend another second in the backseat. 

The hospital surprised him. The rest of the town seemed to take pride in its historic coastal charm, but the hospital was a new construction, all glass panels and steel columns with a corporate logo etched into the sliding glass doors. It looked less like a place for healing and more like a business complex, complete with an overpriced gift shop near the entrance. Jesper was momentarily distracted by the expensive flower arrangements in the shop window, wondering who had the privilege of pocketing the profits while people struggled to pay their medical bills. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. His mother had died years ago, but he knew his father still received invoices in the mail. It was part of the reason he had sold the farm.

Matthias, to his credit, ignored the gift shop entirely, heading straight to the information desk. “We’re here to visit Nina Zenik.” 

The hospital attendant checked the computer system before shaking her head. “I’m afraid that she hasn’t been cleared for visitors yet.”

“What about Joost? Joost Van Poel?” Inej asked. 

The attendant typed his name into the system before shaking her head again. “The doctors haven’t cleared him either,” she said apologetically, “but you’re more than welcome to check back in later. The waiting room is just past the gift shop.” 

She pointed down the hall. 

The waiting room, it turned out, was crammed with uncomfortable plastic chairs. Matthias took the chair closest to the door, his back ramrod straight. Jesper slumped into the chair across from him. His knee started bouncing again, seemingly of its own accord. He had forgotten how much he hated hospital waiting rooms: the stacks of old magazines, the sterile scent of antiseptic, the low hum of the fluorescent lights. 

But he thought he might hate the stupid clock mounted on the wall the most. 

The second hand was slowly tick, tick, ticking around the clock face. It was too damn loud. The longer he sat there, the more he had to fight the urge to jam his fingers in his ears. It reminded him of the steady drip of the IV line in the weeks before his mother died. Drip. Drip. Drip. The clock continued ticking as one hour passed, then another, without any updates.

Eventually, Inej rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to get some fresh air? I can come find you when we hear news.”

Jesper shrugged her hand loose. “I’m good.”

Inej frowned, her expression doubtful. “Are you sure?” 

“I said I’m good,” Jesper snapped. 

Matthias lifted his head, looking faintly murderous. 

Jesper winced. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, running one hand down his face. “I just really, really don’t like hospitals.” 

Inej simply hummed. “There’s no need to apologize,” she said with a small shrug. “Nina hates them too. But you know what I just remembered? She loves flowers. I bet she would like some for her hospital room.” Inej plucked a crisp twenty dollar bill from her pocket, holding it out like a peace offering. “Your father's a gardener, isn’t he? I bet you could pick out some lovely flowers from the gift shop.”   

Jesper knew exactly what she was doing, but grabbed the money anyway. He felt strangely relieved as he heaved himself to his feet. “Do you know her favori—” 

Matthias interrupted him. “Peonies. She loves red peonies.” 

Jesper swallowed, shoving the twenty dollars into his pocket. “Red peonies, it is.” 

The hospital gift shop did not, in fact, have red peonies. There were roses and carnations, lilies and tulips, but no red peonies. He bought a bouquet of carnations bundled in paper with a rubber band. The matching vase had been too expensive. The carnations might be a little limp by the time they made it upstairs, but it was the thought that counted. He paid the cashier, pocketing the change. 

To his surprise, the hospital attendant waved him over when he stepped into the lobby. 

“Joost Van Poel has been cleared for visitors,” she said, typing something into the computer system. “It looks like he’s in… Room 408.” 

Jesper tried to sneak a peek at the screen. “What about Nina Zenik?” 

The attendant shook her head. “Still no visitors, I’m afraid.” 

Jesper returned to the waiting room, handing over the bouquet. “There weren’t any red peonies,” he said apologetically. “But I have news from the information desk. Joost has been cleared for visitors.” 

“What about Nina?” Matthias asked.  

Jesper shook his head. “No word yet.” 

Matthias slumped in his seat, burying his face in his hands. 

Inej patted his broad shoulder sympathetically, before glancing up at Jesper. “Why don’t you see what you can learn?” she suggested. “Joost was there. He might know more about what happened.” She jerked her head towards Matthias. “I'll stay here to keep him company.” 

Jesper nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Okay,” he agreed. “But if you hear anything, anything, promise to come find me in Room 408.” 

She gave her solemn promise. 

He followed the signs to the elevator. The moment the doors closed behind him, he closed his eyes, letting his head thump against the back wall. He took a deep breath as the elevator started to move. He knew what he needed to do. Wylan had wanted him to gather more information, but this morning had changed everything, hadn't it? It was past time to gather information.

Anya needed to be stopped.

By the time the elevator doors opened with a cheerful ding, he had a plan. He was going to perform another exorcism tonight, and he was going to be prepared this time. He could gather most of what he needed from the garden, and he could source chicken blood from the local butcher on the way home. The only other thing he needed was something that had belonged to Anya before she died, and he knew exactly where to find it. 

* * *

Joost was sitting up in his hospital bed, his head swaddled in gauze. One leg had been wrapped in a soft cast, propped up on a stack of pillows. The other was hidden beneath thin hospital sheets. Otherwise, he appeared unharmed, though his pitiful mustache had been badly singed in the explosion. Jesper was surprised to see that his parents were nowhere in sight. In fact, Joost seemed to be utterly alone. Perhaps that explained why his face lit up the moment he realized that he had a visitor. 

“It’s you!” he said brightly. “You saved my life!” 

Jesper shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning against the door frame. “Yesterday, maybe. I'm sorry that I wasn't there to help today, though it seems like you managed to survive without my assistance.” 

“Today?” Joost blinked at him like an owl. “What happened today?” 

Jesper let out a low whistle, eyeing the IV bag hanging next to the bed. “You don’t remember? They must have you on the good stuff.”

Joost beamed, holding up a palm-sized instrument with a button on top of it. “I am! I have my own painkiller pump. I just hit this button, and it releases codeine right into my bloodstream. Cool, huh?” 

He was slurring his words like a wine mom on her third bottle of sauvignon blanc. Suddenly, Jesper realized that his reconnaissance mission might be even easier than he had imagined. He sauntered into the hospital room, pulling the door shut behind him. He very much doubted that the nurses would appreciate him interrogating their patient. 

“Totally cool,” Jesper confirmed, nodding his encouragement. “But listen, Joost. I know you're recovering, but I need to ask you a favor... I know you used to date the girl who died this summer. Anya, right?” 

Joost seemed to deflate. “Everyone knows what happened," he said morosely. "Everyone."

“I know, buddy,” Jesper said with a sympathetic smile. “But I know it wasn't your fault. Look, I know this is going to sound weird, but I was wondering whether back when you were dating… did she ever, um, give you anything?” 

“Give me anything?” Joost asked, his frown deepening. “You mean like a present?” 

“Yes.” 

“Um… she bought me a new surfboard?” 

Jesper shook his head. He needed something smaller. “Okay. Anything else? Maybe… a lock of hair? Or a picture of herself?” 

“Oh,” Joost said, his expression brightening. “Sure, sure. She gave me her school picture.” 

“She did?” Jesper tried not to look too excited. “Any chance you’ve got it on you? In your wallet, maybe?” 

Joost screwed up his face as though deep in thought. “Suuuure,” he slurred, stretching out the syllables. “My wallet’s in the drawer there.”

Jesper opened the drawer to the table beside the bed, rummaging through it until he found a slender leather wallet. He opened it, thumbing through credit cards and ski lift tickets until he found the photograph. Anya was smiling at the camera, her long dark hair falling around her shoulders in gentle waves. She had a tiny gap between her front teeth that he had never noticed before. She looked happy. 

“Can I borrow this?” Jesper asked, holding it up. “I just need it for a little while… I'll give it right back.” 

“Sure, sure,” Joost said, waving his hand. “Anything for you, man.” 

“Thanks.” Jesper slipped the photograph into his pocket. 

He almost turned towards the door then. But then he hesitated, remembering the other strange phone call he had received the night before. Kaz had offered to help him in exchange for information, more specifically, information about who supplied the deadly party drugs that night in the valley. Jesper froze as several puzzle pieces suddenly clicked into place. He stared at poor, pathetic Joost Van Poel.

Could a drug deal gone wrong be the key to everything?  

Wylan had certainly seemed to think the drug overdose might be important. Maybe he was onto something? 

Jesper cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone casual. “Actually,” he said, rocking backwards onto his heels. “I do have another question.” 

Joost grinned at him, his eyes unfocused. “Anything, man. Anything.” 

Jesper hesitated for a moment, glancing at the door, before lowering his voice. “Word is that you have a connection to the party scene in the valley. I figured… you might know someone who could… you know, hook me up?” 

Joost stared at him for a long moment in silence, the color draining from his skin. “You don’t want to go through him.” 

Jesper raised an eyebrow. “Don’t want to go through who?” 

"You gotta believe me, man," Joost said, shaking his head. "He can't be trusted. He knew. He knew." 

Jesper glanced nervously over his shoulder, checking that the door was still closed. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said, his voice hushed. “Who can't be trusted? I need you to tell me. I can honestly say that the last thing I want is trouble.” 

“Do you promise you won’t go looking for him?” Joost asked, his pupils blown wide. The machine monitoring his heart rate had started beeping faster and faster, increasing in tempo at an alarming rate. “Do you promise to never ask me again?” 

“I promise,” Jesper lied. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” 

Joost had started trembling, sweat beading across his forehead. He struggled to sit up, his hands twisting in the bedsheets. The pain pump slipped from his fingertips, clattering to the ground out of reach. Moments later, there was a sudden click as the IV released another dose of codeine. The effect was instantaneous. Joost slumped against his pillows, letting out a contented sigh as his eyes drifted shut. The heart monitor next to his bed gradually slowed to a steady tempo. But he kept muttering under his breath, the same words, over and over again. 

“Hertzoon,” he slurred. “Don't trust Jakob Hertzoon.”