I turned my attention to the trestle table, laden with party food, and began to grab great handfuls of it, a vague plan of smearing it in Drixie’s hair formulating in my head. I’d just grabbed some squidgy chocolate cake when my anger disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, replaced instead by a small, sad realisation.
The life I could have had, I thought abruptly. Who would I have been, had I not died? I felt the cold, dead weight of all those days I wouldn’t know, like damp logs that would never burn.
Somewhere in the room, although it might as well have been a million miles away, a boy was saying a name over and over but it meant nothing to me. My brain felt as if someone had thrown a huge towel over it. I peered around the room but all I could see were thick white snowflakes falling, coating the world around me until there was no one there but me. Had it started snowing inside the ballroom?
Or was there something else going on? I felt so blank all of a sudden, tired and drained.
The cake slipped out of my hand and on to the floor.
‘Okay, I’m done,’ I said. ‘Can we go home now?’
There was a muffled sound of crying, and broken china being swept away. Then slow, wary footsteps. Through the white fog stealing over my vision I saw Scanlon and Crawler appear. While Scanlon looked pale and shocked, Crawler was beaming in delight.
In a quiet, discreet whisper, he uttered: ‘That was the best show yet.’
‘Dad, she destroyed millions of pounds’ worth of serve-tech. Those waiters on wheels cost a bomb. Lady Craven is demanding a refund. There is wee all over the floor,’ said Scanlon. ‘And she – it – the poltergeist looks one udder. I mean, worse than usual. Sorry. It was a disaster.’
Crawler waved his words away with a flap of a hand. ‘It was ten udder. The publicity from this alone will keep us sold out for years.’
‘Dad, look around you. We’re going to be in so much trouble—’
But Crawler merely rolled his eyes. ‘Our contracts are watertight. When Lady Craven booked us, she knew there was a risk of harm, pain and damage. That’s why she booked us, even though she won’t admit to it.’
Scanlon and I looked at each other uncertainly. But Crawler was delirious with confidence. As the guests continued to limp out of the ballroom, shocked and crying softly, he spoke feverishly, as if to himself.
‘There’s nothing more on-brand than an unpredictable poltergeist. Wish I’d thought of it myself. If they know you’re going to explode like that, they’ll want you even more. I mean, people like running with bulls, even though they might get gored to death.’
The truth, at last, dawned on me. If I did what I was told, that was good. But if I broke the rules, that was even better. Everything I did, everything I thought, belonged to Crawler. And the more I struggled, the more I was caught in his binds.
I gave one last look at the cherubs above us. Finally I realised what they reminded me of, stuck up there in that plaster. Like little golden flies, trapped in honey. Their helpless heads seemed to swivel in my direction as we left. And by the time we’d got outside, that white snow blizzard inside my head was falling thick and fast.
I BLINKED.
I was back at the party. Had they asked for an encore? After everything I’d done? Looked like Crawler was right; they had loved it.
But the crowd seemed quieter, and the walls and ceiling had shrunk. The cherubs had vanished – maybe they freed themselves, after all – I thought feverishly. Bright balloons hung from the ceiling instead.
‘They must have redecorated,’ I said through a mouth that was thick and slow.
Scanlon looked at me strangely. ‘Huh?’
‘The ballroom. Redecorated. Right?’
He gave me some serious side-eye. ‘Er, Frankie … we’re here for Nate?’
‘You what?’ My words sounded like they’d been stuck together with toffee.
‘Nate,’ he repeated.
I checked in with my brain. Meant nothing.
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
Scanlon looked over his shoulder. Standing there shyly, like an overwhelmed toddler meeting Father Christmas for the first time, was a small thin boy with sticky-out ears.
His T-shirt read:
I GOT FEISTY WITH
THE POLTERGEISTY!
The boy looked not much older than nine or ten, and his skin had that grey-purplish tinge I had come to know so well.
‘Nate. Our client? He’s still waiting,’ said Scanlon softly. ‘I don’t think he has long left with the poison. So can you get on with it?’
Oh. We weren’t in the ballroom. We were in a cramped, stuffy lounge, with quite a lot of things competing for space within it. Two large sofas, one cat hissing in my direction, this mysterious Nate – whoever he was – two grown-ups, one whimpering baby and at least six other boys.
I felt strangely jagged, bright and brittle, a broken bauble strung up on a tree.
‘Right. Course. Nate,’ I said.
Scanlon turned to the boy. ‘So then, birthday boy. What do you fancy doing first?’
‘I dunno,’ said the small boy to the carpet.
‘We paid for Package D,’ said the scrawny-looking man nearby, in a tight, strained voice.
The woman next to him shifted the snivelling baby on her hips absent-mindedly. ‘No high prem extras,’ she added.
Scanlon nodded discreetly. ‘She – it – knows. It’s been briefed. Haven’t you, Poltergeist?’ Those green eyes of his bore into mine. ‘Package D?’ he said through faintly gritted teeth.
For a moment, I had a sensation I was spinning wildly on a small planet, only big enough for me.
‘Sure,’ I said automatically. ‘Package D. Gotcha. Say no more.’
What was Package D?
I glanced at Scanlon’s face for clues. He looked different, I thought distractedly. His body, once so slight, had filled out, but not with softness. It was like he was carved from slate.
Nate and his friends looked as if they
