Copyright © 2014 Cassandra Page
All rights reserved.
First published in the United States of America 2014 by Turquoise Morning Press
This edition published in Australia 2015 by Cassandra Page
The right of Cassandra Page to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Cassandra Page
www.cassandrapage.com
Cataloguing-in-Publication data available from
the National Library of Australia www.nla.gov.au
ISBN: 978-0-9944459-4-0
Formatting and cover design by KILA Designs
www.kiladesigns.com.au
Cover images: ©Shutterstock
Also by Cassandra Page
The Isla’s Inheritance trilogy
Isla’s Inheritance
Isla’s Oath
Melpomene’s Daughter
Lucid Dreaming
To my son, Nathaniel, who makes me laugh every day. This is why Mummy wanted you to have long naps.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Acknowledgements
About the author
Chapter One
“Nice veil,” the ghost commented as I entered the room. He was sprawled on a vinyl beanbag, a pair of black-and-white Chucks peeking out from under the hem of his sheet.
The ghost’s voice sounded familiar, with the faintest hint of an English accent, but I couldn’t place it.
“Thanks. Nice sheet, Casper.” The living room was overflowing with weathered lounges and an abundance of beanbags. It was also overflowing with people, but, miraculously, one of the two-seater sofas was empty. I sat with a sigh. My boots were cute, but they weren’t designed for dancing marathons.
“Don’t you recognise me, Isla?” The ghost sounded hurt.
“Ah, no.” That was a little unfair. All I could see of him was his eyes, which were brown, like those of most other people. Including me.
Although his were a lovely milk chocolate brown.
“It’s me. Dominic.”
“Dommie?” I sat up straight.
“If you must,” he said, his voice dry.
“I didn’t know you were back!” Dominic had been a year above me at school, in the same year as my oldest cousin, Ryan. I’d had such a crush on him when I was in year eight; the memory of my terrible love poetry made me squirm with embarrassment.
“I got back a few days ago. Been catching up with the folks,” Dominic said.
“How was your grand backpacking adventure?”
“Grand,” he said, a laugh in his voice. “Anyway, that’s the reason for the lack of effort.” He indicated his Halloween costume with a wave of his sheet.
“It could have been embarrassing. I almost wore the same thing.” Uncomfortable in the short skirt Sarah had chosen for me, part of me wished I had.
“That would’ve been awkward. Lucky for me you decided to come as a … goth bride?” He eyed the cheap veil that fluffed around my head.
“Close.” I grinned. “I’m the Bride of Dracula. It was Sarah’s idea. She got to be Dracula. We tried wearing plastic fangs as well, but those things are so uncomfortable.” Plus when we tried to talk we’d spat everywhere. Ugh.
“Sarah’s here too? Where is she?”
“Where do you think?” I nodded towards the other room, where a band was playing. Sarah, my other cousin, was drawn to live music like a moth to a streetlight, no matter how dreadful or, in this case, obnoxiously loud. “She’ll find us when she’s ready.”
“Fascist!” a female goth sitting on the other couch shrieked, her voice cutting across our conversation.
“Communist!” the male goth beside her screeched back.
“Oh dear,” I murmured as the girl fled, tears threatening her kohl. Her boyfriend appeared equally upset as he stormed out in the other direction, bat earrings trembling.
Conversation stopped for a moment. A ballerina and pirate emerged from their heated embrace and stared around.
“Well. That was rude.” A wart-nosed witch scowled, adjusting the wire rim of her pointy hat. “I’m Emma, by the way.” She gave me a little wave.
“Isla. And this is Dominic.”
“We met briefly. So. You guys want to do something more exciting?” Her gesture took in the over-furnished room. The pirate and ballerina hadn’t returned to their make-out session, although the ballerina seemed a little put out about it, one pink lip protruding in a pout.
“Like what?” Dominic asked.
“I don’t drink,” I added. Sarah and I were seventeen, although my birthday was next week and hers was in December.
“Nothing like that,” Emma said, rolling her eyes. “Something more Halloween-y. I brought the fixings for an ouija board with me. Let’s have a séance.”
“No thanks,” I said … at the same time Dominic said, “Sure!” He looked up. “Why not?”
“It’s not really my thing.”
“Scared? Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Dominic assured me, reaching from beneath the sheet to take my hand.
His fingers were warm, and my resistance thawed. I hadn’t seen him in almost a year; it would be churlish of me not to go along with them. Wouldn’t it?
The sudden flutter of my heart in the back of my throat had nothing to do with it.
I took my hand away but smiled. “Well, okay. But don’t expect me to, you know, believe any of it or anything.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t dare.”
“Maybe we’ll surprise you.” Emma hefted a black shopping bag hand-painted with a Jack-o’-lantern design. She turned to the couple on the couch. “Did you guys want to join in?”
“Arr, we can, to be sure,” the pirate enthused. The ballerina’s pout grew fiercer; I worried she might trip over it if she stood up too quickly.
“Cool. Let’s see if we can find somewhere quieter.”
I waved to Sarah from the lounge room doorway and pointed upstairs to let her know where I was going. She waved back but kept dancing. If she was hot in the pantsuit and top hat, you couldn’t tell.
Her Dracula costume was a lot more conservative than my Bride of Dracula costume. I sighed.
“What’s the matter?” Dominic asked as we climbed the stairs. He held his ghost sheet up around his knees like an old-fashioned noblewoman so he wouldn’t trip.
“Nothing.” I tugged at the hemline of my skirt, concerned I was flashing people down the bottom of the stairs. It wouldn’t go any lower.
The first room we tried was occupied—furtive movements from the bed sent us scurrying—but the second was empt
y. It was probably meant to be a bedroom, but the tenants had converted it to a small, cluttered games room. A low table surrounded by cushions was in the centre, a stack of board games underneath it. A folded ping-pong table leaned against the wall next to a hanging dartboard. A single bare bulb cast a dusty yellow light.
“This will do nicely.” Emma sat on a cushion along one of the broad edges of the table.
“Do you mind if I de-sheet?” Dominic asked of no one in particular. “It’s fine for swanning around and going ‘ooh’ in, but I can’t see.”
“Be my guest,” Emma nodded, hat teetering.
Dominic’s medium-brown hair was longer on top than I remembered, though still short at the sides. The longer hair was flattened by the sheet. I suppressed a smirk. “Nice to finally see you.”
“Nice to see you, too.” He waggled his eyebrows.
The pirate and ballerina arrived a few minutes later, each bearing a full glass of beer. “We needed a refill,” the former said, plopping himself down at one end of the table. Then he remembered his pirate accent. “I be Kurt and this be me wench, Tamara.”
His girlfriend sat opposite him, arms folded, leaving the long edge opposite Emma for Dominic and me. I sat, trying not to kick the battered Monopoly box under the table or flash my underwear at Emma. “So, how does this work?”
“First I have to draw up the board,” Emma pulled a spiral-bound sketchbook and felt pen from her bag. She tore a blank page from the back of the book with a popping sound.
“I thought you said you had one?”
“No, I said I had the fixings for one.” She started writing on the paper in a neat hand, the tip of the pen squeaking, audible over the muffled din from downstairs. “I can’t afford one of those expensive wooden things. And I’ve always thought it would be better to have a board I didn’t mind getting rid of. You know, in case something went wrong.”
Tamara put her glass down on the table, her eyes widening. From the look on her face, she was regretting not sitting next to Kurt the Pirate. “What do you mean, wrong?”
“Don’t worry, nothing ever has. I’m very careful.”
“So what are you drawing?” Dominic asked, trying to read the paper upside down.
“We do the alphabet, numbers, some basic punctuation, and the most common words a spirit would want to use. ‘Yes’, ‘No’, that sort of thing. And a starting place.”
“What sort of things could go wrong? Hypothetically?” Tamara wasn’t letting Emma’s comment go, whereas being a sceptic made me supremely confident in the face of the “supernatural”.
“The books I’ve read talk about evil spirits, but I’ve only ever dealt with spirit guides.”
“How new age,” I murmured. Dominic patted my knee, and I caught my breath.
“No, it really works.” Emma glanced up. “Wait and see.”
“I don’t think I want to wait and see,” Tamara said.
“You could always sit and watch,” Kurt pointed out. It sounded reasonable, but there was a challenge in his voice. “You don’t have to join in.”
Tamara straightened her shoulders and scowled.
By now, Emma had drawn the board in a neat hand. Letters from A to Z were in rows across the middle with the numbers 0 through 9 beneath them. Below were several words in boxes: space, hello, goodbye. A full stop, exclamation mark—in case of punctuation emergencies, I supposed—and a question mark were down the side. Yes and no she wrote in two corners each, at diagonals to one another. Finally, she drew a pentagram in the top centre.
“Isn’t that evil?” Dominic asked.
“That’s a common misconception,” Emma said, ignoring Tamara’s nervous laugh. The witch removed a couple of fat white candles and a small, cloth-wrapped bundle from her bag. “No, it’s a symbol of protection from evil. That’s why you see it in all the movies where people are summoning demons and stuff. It’s to protect them.”
“It never works.”
“Not in the movies, no. That’s Hollywood for you.” Emma unwrapped her bundle and placed the contents on the table with a clatter. A plain scotch glass sat there, upside down.
“We’re going to do shots before we start?” I raised an eyebrow.
“That’s our focus point. Where we put our fingers.”
Kurt snickered; Tamara gave him a dark look.
Standing, Emma put one of the candles on top of a short bookcase and the other on the windowsill. She rummaged around in her bag for a moment before pulling a face. “Anyone got matches?”
“Yarr!” Kurt the Pirate offered her a black lighter.
Once the candles were lit, Emma closed the door to the hall and turned off the overhead light. Darkness swam in and, for a few seconds, I couldn’t see anything except the tiny flames. When my eyes adjusted the room seemed larger somehow, filled with deep shadows that trembled and danced in time with the flickering candle flames. The dartboard resembled a shadowy face. Emma swept around the table and resumed her seat. I glanced at Dominic, who remained perched on his cushion, eyes bright with curiosity.
He was good-looking—the candlelight leant his straight nose and perfectly formed lips an air of mystery—but not so good-looking I didn’t wonder what I was doing there.
It was quieter with the door closed, but I felt the music throb through the floorboards and my thin cushion. If we were there too long I was going to get a numb butt.
“Okay.” Emma rolled up her sleeves so they wouldn’t trail on the table. She slid the upturned scotch glass across the paper until the pentagram was centred within it. “Everyone put a finger on top of the glass.” We did. “Ready?” Without waiting for a response, Emma tilted her face towards the ceiling. “Is anyone there?”
Nothing happened.
“Is anyone there?” Emma asked again. She didn’t seem worried. I glanced at Dominic, whose face had fallen.
“Is anyone there?”
The glass began to inch along the surface of the paper, picking up speed as it slid towards the yes. Tamara gasped, going white under the makeup. She looked like a porcelain doll. Or a ghost. Emma smiled, enjoying her moment. The guys watched with wide eyes.
“Welcome.” Emma smiled. “What’s your name?”
I studied the glass in its nest of fingers as it spelled out d-a-n-i-e-l. My eyes narrowed, searching for the whitening around the fingertips that would indicate someone was pushing the glass. Was that why Emma had turned off the light—to hide the tells?
“Hello, Daniel.” Emma’s smile broadened. “Daniel’s my spirit guide,” she added in an aside to the rest of us as the glass slid across to hello.
I watched with a frown as the others asked questions of “Daniel”: where he was born, how he’d died, that sort of thing. I didn’t pay much attention, too busy trying to see how the trick was being performed. It was a normal scotch glass and, if anyone was pushing it, they were being discreet. Emma was good.
Finally, she looked around the table at us. “Daniel can act as our intermediary to the afterlife, protecting us from evil spirits. Do any of you have relatives who’ve passed over that you’d like to contact? A grandparent or anything?”
“My grandpop’s dead, but he was an old bastard.” Kurt laughed. “I don’t want to talk to him. Besides, your Daniel won’t let him through if he don’t like evil spirits.”
Tamara shook her head, but Dominic turned to me. “Isn’t your mother dead?” he asked softly.
“Yes.” I looked away. I’d never known my mother. She’d died giving birth to me. But I didn’t like the idea of turning her into a parlour trick.
Dominic saw my hesitation and winced, sheepish. Emma brightened, though. “What was her name?” she asked.
“Melanie,” I said reluctantly. “Melanie Blackman.”
“Hey, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Dominic said.
“It’s all right,” I said. It wasn’t real. It didn’t matter.
“Melanie Blackman, are you there?” Three times Emma
repeated the call, and, as before, the glass didn’t move until the third time.
No.
“No?” Emma looked surprised—which was itself surprising, given she was the one moving the glass. “Melanie Blackman, are you there?”
The glass circled away from the word and back again, rattling across the paper.
No.
Obviously that wasn’t meant to happen. “Daniel, are you there?”
There was a long delay while I imagined a sheet-covered ghost handing over the receiver of a telephone. Yes.
“Why isn’t Melanie Blackman there?”
It wasn’t real. It didn’t matter. But I still held my breath as I watched the glass spell out the reply.
S-h-e [space] i-s [space] n-o-t [space] d-e-a-d.
There was a long pause. Then I stood, jerking my hand away from the glass.
“This is stupid.”
I heard Emma, flustered, dismissing Daniel as I fled down into the hubbub of the party.
Dominic found me on the front lawn, taking deep breaths of the cool spring air as I tried to slow my racing heart. Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
The party hosts had only made a token effort to decorate. A rubber bat hung over the front door like deranged mistletoe, and Christmas fairy lights blinked cheerfully in the ground-floor windows and throughout the lower branches of the towering eucalypt on the front lawn, casting strange shadows on the grass. The night smelled of the sweet wisteria flowers engulfing a trellis on the neighbour’s lawn.
“I’m sorry,” Dominic said, hesitating a few feet away. He’d left his ghost sheet upstairs. “I shouldn’t have mentioned your mother. It was stupid. And rude.”
I glanced at him sideways, embarrassed I’d let Emma’s game upset me, and even more embarrassed that anyone else had seen me let it upset me. I was the sensible, calm one in my family, like my dad. It was my cousins who were given to emotional displays and make believe. They were the artists. “Don’t worry about it,” I mumbled. I could feel my cheeks burning.
He stepped closer and hugged me. I hesitated before sliding my trapped arms around his midsection. He smelled delicious, of aftershave and soap. I hadn’t hugged many men other than Dad. It was sort of nice. Dominic was taller than me—most people were—and his arms went easily around my shoulders.
I stepped back first and leaned against the tree. “I feel like a bit of an idiot, to be honest,” I confessed, gazing up at the Christmas lights. Blink. Blink. “It’s not like it was real.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Of course not. Ghosts aren’t real. And my mother died when I was born. So if ghosts were real, she’d have been able to contact me.” I realised I was attempting to make a rational argument based on superstition and closed my mouth before something even stupider fell out.
Dominic joined me against the smooth grey trunk, his shoulder touching mine as he gazed up at the lights. “I believe in ghosts.”
I gaped.
“I do,” he said. “When I was a kid, some mates and I used to play in the yard of an abandoned house where an old lady had died. We saw some pretty strange stuff there.”
“I’m sure it all had a rational explanation though.”
“Well, sure, if you want to be all Sherlock about it.” He grinned.
“What I don’t understand is why, if Emma was going to make something up, she’d make up something so hurtful and bizarre,” I admitted after a moment. “It’s not like she knows me, to have a grudge or anything.”
“That does seem odd. I mean, it’s easily disproved, right? That your mum’s not alive, I mean?”
“Yeah.”
We fell silent for a few moments as three Disney princesses rustled up the footpath to the house. They were holding each other’s arms and giggling.
Once they disappeared through the door—there was a brief blast of music and laughter—Dominic said, “It must be hard, not knowing your mother.”
“Yeah,” I said again, softly.
“Crap, I’m being rude again. Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s not like I’m not used to her being gone. It was always just me and Dad.”
“I thought you lived with Sarah and Ryan? And their mum?”
“I do now. But I lived with Dad till I was twelve. He has a place out in the bush, a small farm. Sheep, mostly, but chickens too. And a bad-tempered goat.” A smile tugged my lips. “I moved to Canberra for school. Dad’s hoping I’ll get the grades to go to uni.”
There was a lull inside the house; someone spoke into a microphone, distorted by bad wiring and distance, and another song began.
“It’s funny,” Dominic said, regarding me with a thoughtful expression.
“What is?”
“Well, Sarah’s got red hair, and Ryan does too, under the dye. You can tell from the eyebrows. And they’re both tall. You don’t look much like them.” He brushed a lock of my dark hair away from my face.
My breath caught at the gesture, sliding out of me in a sigh when his hand dropped away. I swallowed before speaking. “I know.” When I was younger I was teased at school about how I must be adopted. Dad and Aunt Elizabeth were both tall with red hair, though Dad’s was going strawberry blond, the colour fading with age. My aunt’s probably was too, but her hairdresser was helping her with that. “Those genes run strongly in the rest of my family—apparently the rellies in England are almost all ginger too, and tall. Mum must have been a brunette shortarse like me.”
“You don’t know?”
I shook my head. I’d never even seen a photo of her.
“What about her family?”
“Never met them. Dad left England after I was born. He told me once he couldn’t bear to stay in the place where he’d lost her.” I stared at my hands. “He doesn’t talk about her much.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Dominic said.
“It’s okay. I don’t want to hurt him.” But Dominic’s words reflected what was in my heart. Life wasn’t fair, after all. And what good would dragging up the past do?
“Hey.” Dominic’s fingers were warm under my chin, tipping my face up to his. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologising!” I told him. Or started to tell him … only my sentence was cut short because suddenly he was kissing me. His hands cupped my hair through the cheap veil, drawing me into him. His lips were warm and tasted sweetly of soft drink, melting me to my toes. When I didn’t pull away, he wrapped his arms around me; my head whirled.
I heard the screen door to the house slam and another brief burst of music, followed by footsteps on the grass. “Isla, are you—oops.”
My face burned and I stepped to the side, out of Dominic’s arms. “Hi, Sarah.”
Her top hat was askew, strands of hair hanging down around her freckled face. “Um. I heard about the séance thing and came to see if you were all right. But you clearly are.” Her eyes sparkled. “I’ll go.”
“Is everyone talking about me storming off?” The embarrassment was back.
“Well, not everyone…”
“Oh.” I didn’t want to walk back into the house. I could easily imagine the stares and sniggers of the other girls. I didn’t have Sarah’s blithe self-confidence. “I might head off. I’m pretty tired.”
“Okay. I’ll get my stuff.” Sarah didn’t hesitate, even though I knew she’d be disappointed to leave. I loved her so much for that, even as I wished I had my own car so I didn’t have to drag her away.
“I can give you a ride home,” Dominic volunteered before she darted off.
She turned back, clearly delighted, and not because she wouldn’t have to leave. The matchmaking minx. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I’ll just get my sheet from upstairs and we can go. You okay with that, Isla?”
“Sure.” I tried not to gush, but as soon as he was inside, Sarah gushed for me.
“Oh my god.” She gave me a hug and pulled me into a little dance. “First ki
ss, first kiss!” she crowed.
“Shh, Sarah. Not so loud!”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not true?”
“Pecks on the playground don’t count. This is great news!”
“But not that I’m seventeen and had never properly kissed a guy before,” I hissed. “That’s humiliating!”
“Pfft,” Sarah said, but lowered her voice when I continued to glare. “You should invite him in when you get home.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Sarah! I’ve had enough firsts for one day, thank you very much.”
She laughed.
Chapter Two