Guess it won’t surprise any of you that, once again, I was the lone man out.
You’d think someone whose power was rooted in death—who’d seen as much of it as I had even at that age—would be the first to recover. Normally, you might even have been right.
But what the fuck did normal ever have to do with my life?
I don’t talk much about Mom’s ghost. After nine years, she sometimes just felt like part of the fucked-up scenery of my life; a faded, silent, specter that floated through each day without affecting it or being affected by it. When she first came back, I’d thought I was going nuts, but the revelation of my powers had ended up hitting me way harder than Mom’s ghostly presence. By then, I’d had years to get over her dying. I’d done my grieving, such as it was. I’d taken my bruises and shed my tears, and there was a part of me that her ghost no longer knew and couldn’t reach.
It was different with Shane. I’d barely begun to mourn my friend when his ghost showed up. How was I supposed to move on, to find my center as the still-absent Ms. Stein had called it, when Shane was always there, always angry, always prowling about the confines of my perspective like some kind of pale predator?
Gingers weren’t even supposed to have souls. How was I being haunted by one? More importantly, why was he mad at me and how the fuck was I supposed to get him to go away?
I’d tried talking to the dead Healer, but that was one of the few things his ghost and Mom’s had in common; neither made a sound or reacted to my voice. Each seemed content to remain isolated in their own private dramas.
Even Shane’s unwanted addition might have been something I adjusted to… the same way I’d adjusted to the Academy’s hellish schedule or the unspoken rules at Mama Rawlins’ house. Maybe Shane would’ve faded into the background like Mom, and I’d have found a way to move on through my life with two ghosts trailing behind me instead of just one.
But as you already know, it wasn’t just two ghosts.
Every day, another few specters appeared, like I had become one of those giant whirlpools Tempest had created in the Pacific, except pulling in spirits instead of boats. Three weeks in and there were dozens of them; sitting in my bed when I woke up, huddled in the communal showers, even spread through the common room. They were young and old, tall and small, some with features so faded that their faces were barely hints of a nose and eyes or the downturned corner of a mouth, others as sharply defined as the first-years that walked through them unknowingly.
Like Shane, like Mom, the ghosts didn’t make any noise—even the ones whose mouths were perpetually open, screaming or shouting—but I felt them, like a silent breeze on the back of my neck, or the sort of prickling you get across your skin when your mind conjures up visions of insects, creeping and crawling on your exposed flesh. I felt them when my eyes were closed, when I slept or tried to meditate, even on the rare occasions when I snuck away to the bathroom for a quick and unsatisfying date with my hand.
A month after Shane’s death and the other first-years were healing, just like that old adage had predicted they would.
But me? I was heading full-speed in the opposite fucking direction.
•—•—•
“Where’s Wormhole?”
Silt shrugged as she dropped down onto the bench. “No clue. I’m sure she’ll be along soon.”
“I hope she hurries. Our presentation is next week and we still have a ton of work to do.” Vibe turned to me. “What do you think, Damian? Should we get started now or wait for Evelyn?”
The clearing should have seemed empty without Shane and Wormhole, but the dozens of ghosts ringing us had me feeling claustrophobic instead. Four ghosts crowded onto the bench, and it had taken every shred of control I had left not to react when Silt sat directly on top of one of them.
“Damian?” Kayleigh prompted again.
“Sorry, Vibe,” I finally managed. “What was the question?”
“What’s up with you lately, Skeletor? You’ve been spacier than Prince after a hit of stim-weed.”
I looked at Silt, trying not to let my eyes slide to the ghostly head that was sprouting out of her left shoulder. This ghost was one of the less faded ones; with a beak of a nose that put mine and Winter’s to shame, and a few strands of hair clinging to an otherwise bald and spotted skull. His mouth was opening and closing, again and again, but I couldn’t tell if he was trying to speak or thought he was in mid-meal. Every time his mouth contracted, ghostly teeth cut down and through Silt’s bare flesh.
“She’s right,” agreed Vibe. “Are you feeling okay?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, just… you know. Tired. And sore.”
“Maybe you should stop sparring with Nadia, just for a bit?” said Kayleigh.
“I’ll second that. I don’t think this strategy of letting her beat you up is working out quite like you wanted.”
“I don’t have a strategy…”
“Really? You’re sparring twice as often as the rest of us, Boneboy. Seems like every time I see you, someone’s just scraped you off the floor with a spatula.”
“A what?”
“Fucking shit. Do they seriously not have spatulas over here?”
“Of course we do,” answered Vibe. “We’re not barbarians.”
“Oh. Good. Anyway, I don’t think pity’s the way to Orca’s heart,” said Silt. “Although you’re doing a good job of convincing the rest of the class that you’re borderline harmless.” Her voice trailed off. “If that was your plan, you might be more subtle than I gave you credit for.”
The truth was, I didn’t have a
