Spirits of Ash and Foam Page 5

  Then she had an idea. She was still holding her armband. She placed it in the first slot, hoping for another message of flame to appear on the wall, as it had the night before. No dice. She twisted it like a key. Nothing. Oh, well. Worth a try. She sighed again, but she didn’t really feel defeated. She felt … at home, strangely at home.

  It was still a few hours until sunset. She had time to kill, and she didn’t really feel like going back to the Nitaino just yet. She glanced down at her backpack and shrugged. Might as well. She opened it up, pulled out To Kill a Mockingbird and took a seat on the largest and most central of the stone thrones. It wasn’t immediately comfortable, but she found that if she leaned against one of the arms and swung her legs over the other, it fit her just fine. She cracked the book and started to read. “When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow…”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  GOOD TALK

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 8

  Rain had lost track of the time. When she returned to the Inn—at a few minutes to seven and less than an hour before sundown—her parents already had dinner on the table. There were three place settings now. Iris and Alonso stared at the empty seat, which only four nights ago had been filled by the warm old man with the kind gray eyes that neither of them would ever see again. Rain saw her mother on the verge of tears again, and even her father was forced to shove his tongue into his cheek and draw a deep breath to keep from choking up. They were still grieving ’Bastian in a way Rain herself was not. She knew that at sunset he’d emerge from the zemi and be with her once more. She wanted to reassure them, to tell them. He’s not really gone! Instead, she spontaneously reached out with both hands and touched theirs.

  And it happened again! Just as with Charlie’s foot, the eyeless snake on her charm flashed gold. The warm light—light only she could see—split in two, running down her left arm and also across her chest to her right, before leaping from Rain’s outstretched hands to Alonso and Iris.

  Rain’s eyes went wide, and she froze.

  But immediately, she could see the positive effect. Glancing from mother to father and back again, she saw them both smile. These were bittersweet smiles—brought on by fond memories of Sebastian Bohique—and hardly negated their grief. For a time, however, the sadness was chased away. Iris straightened in her chair, and Alonso said, “Dig in!”

  Raising an eyebrow for her own benefit, Rain withdrew her hands and picked up her fork. Chalk up another win for the Healer, she smirked. She twirled some pasta and shoved it in her mouth.

  It was simple fare, Alonso’s bachelor recipe, made with sautéed onions and mushrooms and half a pound of Malas Almas ground beef, which, along with garlic salt, garlic powder, onion powder and a hefty amount of Parmesan cheese, was stirred into mainland tomato sauce (that is, from a can). This concoction was allowed to simmer on low for a long time before being poured over and tossed with al dente spaghettini and then doused with still more Parmesan. Plus there was garlic toast. The meal wasn’t going to win any prizes, but it was a family favorite.

  Alonso, mouth half full, asked about Rain’s first day of school. Just to give him a hard time, Rain said, “I’m sorry, what was that? I know there are words coming out of your mouth, but all I see is bits of cheese and sauce.

  Alonso shut his mouth, smiled wryly, and swallowed. “Sorry. How was school?”

  “Okay, I guess. Mrs. Beachum still hates me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you, Rain,” Iris admonished. “She’d just like to see you put more effort into your work.”

  “You say tomato; I say tomahto.”

  Alonso squinted at her. “Do you? Do you really say tomahto?”

  Rain shrugged. Her parental units spent the next fifteen minutes eking out the tiniest slivers of information about each of her classes.

  Then, giving up, Alonso changed the subject. “The Kims have chartered the boat for all day Saturday. They’re bringing all three kids, so I’ll need you to work.”

  Rain rolled her eyes, practically an involuntary response.

  “We know how you feel about babysitting tourist kids…” her mother started.

  “But we don’t want any arguments,” her father finished.

  Rain wasn’t arguing. She was resigned to it. For a day, the Searcher would be the Babysitter. Her cross to bear. Still … “Three kids are a lot. I mean, safety-wise. Even if I grab hold of one with each hand, the third could still jump off the boat and tragically drown.”

  Both Alonso and Iris knew what she was getting at. Iris, the family bookkeeper, was more inclined to hold the line, but Alonso relented quickly. “Fine. Tell Charlie I’ll pay the usual.”

  Rain grinned. “Great. He’ll be here any minute. I’ll ask him.”

  Iris shook her head, astonished—though she knew she shouldn’t be. “He’s coming over tonight? Didn’t you spend the whole afternoon with him? You only just got home. And don’t you have any homework?”

  “I wasn’t with Charlie, and I did all my homework already.”

  Rain’s parents stared at her. Talk about astonished. Even Rain was a little surprised. “I know, I know. But I found a quiet place, um, near the N.T.Z. And I just started reading my English assignment. The book’s not bad, and it was only the first three chapters, so I finished pretty quick. So then I moved on to my math worksheet and my Spanish worksheet, and then I did the history reading, and then I was done. I mean, it’s the first day back; they didn’t assign that much.”

  Alonso’s jaw hung open, despite a mouthful of spaghettini. Iris was more demure but no less stunned. Rain almost never did her homework voluntarily. Getting her to buckle down often involved hours of procrastination, whining and wheedling. Of course, it was only the first day. Plenty of time for Rain to revert. Even so, this was a good sign, and the Caciques would take it.

  Alonso shut his mouth, swallowed and shook off his disbelief the way I’d shake off a light drizzle. Then he reached into his pocket and slid a key over to Rain. It was her copy of the Nitaino Inn’s master key, the one he had taken away from her only the day before as “punishment” for ransacking the contents of Callahan’s guest room. He said, “Well, if you’ve suddenly matured into a responsible individual, I think you can have this back.”

  “You mean you realized that without it, I can’t make the beds or clean the toilets.”

  “Yeah, well, that too.”

  “But,” her mother said, “this key does represent real responsibility and trust.”

  Keys are like that, Rain thought, smiling. “Don’t worry. I’ll be good. No repeats of the other night. I swear.”

  There was a pause, as Iris seemed to consider her next words: not what she was going to say, but whether or not she was going to say anything at all. Finally, she spoke, more haltingly than Rain was accustomed to hear from her normally decisive mother. “There’s one more … thing. You mentioned … Well, yesterday, you said…”

  Iris paused again. Rain couldn’t imagine what her mom was getting at. What did I say yesterday?

  Alonso rescued his wife. “Your mom and I talked it over, and if you’d still like to move into ’Bastian’s old room, we think it’s okay.”

  Iris more or less found her voice. “It’s bigger, and it’s not on the guest floor, which is probably a good thing. You’d definitely have more privacy, which is probably a very good thing. So … do you still want to change rooms?”

  Rain had completely forgotten that on impulse she had asked for ’Bastian’s room. The very moment it had come out of her mouth, it had seemed wildly disrespectful to his memory. Of course, that was before she knew Papa ’Bastian would be hanging around as a ghost. She wondered whether or not he’d approve—then decided he’d prefer to have the room go to her than to an unending chain of tourists. Besides, ’Bastian was stuck with the armband, and the armband was sticking with Rain, so this was more or less a way for him to keep his room. Tentatively, she said, “I think I do. If it’s okay with you.”


  Iris nodded. Even smiled a little. “It is. I think he’d like that.”

  I’ll double-check at sundown, Rain thought.

  Alonso was already moving on to logistics. “We don’t want the move to cause a lot of disruption for the guests. Mrs. Sawyer’s checking out Wednesday morning, and that’ll just leave Ms. Vendaval and the Kims. We’ve got another couple checking in Thursday afternoon, the Bernstein-Shores. So that really makes Wednesday after school the best time for the move.”

  “O-okay,” Rain said. This is happening fast.

  “So I want you to have your stuff packed up and ready to move before then.”

  “Right. Got it.” She was beginning to get a little excited about it.

  “Hi,” Charlie said, entering through the swinging door from the dining room. “It’s almost sunset.”

  While Iris and Alonso thought about the seeming non sequitur, Rain whipped around in her seat to look at Charlie, then whipped back to look out the window at the fading light of the day. Then she shoved another huge forkful of pasta into her mouth—she was, after all, her father’s daughter—swallowed hard, and leapt to her feet.

  She grabbed Charlie’s hand, saying, “Let’s go to my room.”

  Charlie inhaled sharply, feeling that wonderful, horrible electric rush. Though his mouth was pasta-free, he swallowed hard too and glanced, terrified, at Rain’s parents.

  In fact, Alonso and Iris were not blind to Charlie’s crush on their daughter. They gave each other a silent look that spoke volumes. These kids are getting older. When do the new rules start?

  Rain remained oblivious, asking to be excused without waiting for an answer and tugging Charlie toward the Inn’s back stairs.

  Iris said, “Rain, wait. Maybe Charlie would like to sit down? Have some pasta? Or dessert?”

  Charlie appeared on the verge of accepting the latter invitation. “What do you have—”But Rain caught his eye and nodded toward her armband. “Um, never mind, Mrs. Cacique. I already ate.”

  With that, the two teens raced upstairs.

  CHAPTER NINE

  GHOST RULES

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 8

  Rain didn’t release Charlie’s hand until they were standing in front of her door and she was pulling out her room key. She slipped it into the lock, but what they were about to do seemed clandestine enough that she found herself looking back over her shoulder toward the guest room across the hall—the room Callahan had stayed in, as if the big Aussie might still be there, watching her every move. Of course, no one was staying in Room Six now. She chided herself and opened her bedroom door.

  She let Charlie in and then plopped down on her unmade bed. (Rain rarely made her own bed, feeling she made more than her fair share at the Nitaino. Her mother attributed this to laziness, but Rain just called it logic.) She had left enough space for Charlie to sit beside her. He hesitated. Then crossed the room and sat at her desk chair.

  They waited in tense silence for the sun to set.

  Then Rain said, “Oh!” and slipped the snake charm off her arm, setting it carefully on her nightstand. They both stared at it as it did absolutely nothing. Seconds ticked by.

  Charlie suddenly remembered, “Oh, I warned Miranda about Renée.”

  “Oh, good.” Then, “How’d she take it?”

  “I think she felt pretty bad.”

  “Yeah.”

  More silence. Rain felt like she was in Mrs. Beachum’s class at the end of the day, waiting for that last bell to ring, when the minute hand on the clock over the chalkboard moved so slowly, it sometimes felt like it was about to click backward.

  Rain said, “I’m moving up to ’Bastian’s old room on Wednesday. Um, assuming he doesn’t mind.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “Yeah.”

  Daylight was fading in the room. Then, just as Rain was about to stand and hit the light switch, she saw it: a soft white glow emanating from the zemi on the nightstand. Of course, only she could see it, and an unaware Charlie clicked on her desk lamp.

  Like a genie from a very different kind of lamp, the late Sebastian Bohique emerged in all his translucent glory. He wasn’t exactly a dead ringer for the grandfather who’d been part of Rain’s life for the past thirteen years, an old man of way past eighty with long gray hair and soft gray eyes. No, that octogenarian look just didn’t fit ’Bastian’s self-image. Instead, this was the ghost Rain had dubbed the Dark Man: twenty-one years old and in his prime, neat as a pin in his World War II Army Air Forces uniform and bomber jacket. His black hair was cut short in back, while in front it swooped up like hawk feathers. His eyes were two orbs of polished onyx. That’s how ’Bastian Bohique saw himself, how perhaps he had always seen himself. And now, now that he was dead and “living” by his own personal definition, this was ’Bastian Bohique once more.

  He spoke. That is, his lips moved. But the words were indistinct, impossible to grasp, fleeing from Rain like smoke or the tide. She couldn’t hear him.

  Mentally, she kicked herself. She had thought it would be awkward for ’Bastian to emerge while the zemi was on her arm, but she had forgotten she needed to be holding or wearing it in order to hear him clearly.

  Charlie, watching her carefully, said, “Is he here? What’s he saying?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, snatching the snake charm off the nightstand. “I took the armband off.”

  “Well, why’d you do that?”

  She rolled her eyes at him, and he rolled his right back.

  ’Bastian watched all this with some amusement. It was somewhat reassuring that even after his death, so little had changed in the world he hadn’t quite left behind. He spoke again. “Can you hear me now?”

  Rain beamed. “Yes! Loud and clear. I mean, roger that, Captain Bohique!” She saluted.

  He saluted back. “Acknowledged, Lieutenant Raindrop.”

  Grandfather and granddaughter fought the impulse to hug. Both wanted it badly but knew it to be impossible. ’Bastian had no substance, and their arms would simply pass right through each other. They had quickly learned that the failed attempt was sadder and more frustrating than not trying to hug at all.

  Charlie saw his friend’s bittersweet smile. Concentrating, even squinting, he tried to perceive ’Bastian in the space in front of her. He could imagine the same sad smile on the old man’s face. Rain’s smile—all sixteen varieties by Charlie’s count—had skipped Iris’ generation, but everyone who knew them agreed Rain had inherited hers from her grandfather. Try as he might, though, Charlie just couldn’t see the ghost, let alone read his expression. Giving up, he said, “He’s here, right?”

  “Yep. Right in front of me.” Her eyes never left her Papa ’Bastian.

  “Okay, great,” Charlie said. “So now what?”

  That stumped all three of them. The ghost was in the house. Now what?

  Rain raised a questioning eyebrow at ’Bastian. Dead or alive, he was still the only adult in the room.

  He shook his head. “Don’t look at me. You’re the Searcher, kiddo.”

  Rain growled under her breath but ultimately nodded. She said, “Fine. Let’s review what we know. See if we can figure out how this works and what we should do next.”

  “Sounds good,” Charlie said, simultaneously with ’Bastian’s “Makes sense.”

  “I never saw any ghosts during the day,” Rain continued. “You, your bomber crew—none of you ever showed up until after sundown or later, and you always disappeared at sunrise.”

  “That’s right,”’Bastian said. “Honestly, I’m not even sure I exist during the day. I have no memory of anything in between sunrise and sunset.”

  “What’s he saying?” Charlie asked.

  Rain held him off with a slight wave while speaking to ’Bastian. “I thought you slept in the zemi during the day?”

  “It’s more like I’m stored in there. It doesn’t feel like sleep. And if I’ve had any dreams, I sure don’t remember them.”

 
; “Maybe ghosts don’t dream.”

  “You got me. There’s no owner’s manual for being dead. Although I’m not sure why I’m surprised. There’s no owner’s manual for being alive, either.”

  “Rain,” Charlie grumbled. It had only been two days, and already he was way tired of constantly being left out of her spirit-talk.

  “Sorry, sorry. He’s been saying he doesn’t have any memories of the daytime. Not even dreams. And he doesn’t know how being a ghost works.”

  “So try some stuff,” Charlie suggested. “Can he walk through walls?”

  Rain looked at ’Bastian, who nodded. “Well, I did some of this yesterday, but I guess a little experimentation couldn’t hurt.”

  He crossed to her door and hesitated. “I feel a little silly.” Then, out of habit, he took a deep airless breath and stuck his head through the door.

  Rain narrated: “He just stuck his head through the door. Now he’s walking all the way through it. I can’t see him. Now he’s back.” She turned to ’Bastian. “How’d that feel? Does it hurt? Is it weird?”

  “Doesn’t hurt. It’s a little weird. It’s like … It’s like … humidity. You know when you walk outside on the stickiest day of the year…”

  “And you feel like you’re walking into a wall of yuck,” she said, nodding again.

  “Something like that.”

  “Okay,” Charlie said, mostly to prove he was getting the gist of things. “So the wooden door feels like a wall of yuck. What does a wall feel like?”

  ’Bastian shrugged and crossed to the outer wall of Rain’s room, beside the window looking out on Goodfellow Lane. Rain watched him, and Charlie used the movement of her head to follow the action.

  ’Bastian felt a little like a trained seal, doing tricks on command. On the other hand, I probably should learn my limits. He stuck his head and upper body through the wall. Hanging out over the second story, he felt a sudden, discomforting rush of vertigo. He was afraid of losing his balance and tumbling forward. He grabbed for the edge of the wall, but his hand passed through; there was no way to anchor himself. He caught a glimpse of the streetlamp clicking on below before yanking himself back inside—mostly through sheer force of will. “Okay, I didn’t like that!”