Chloe,

We need to talk. Meet me in the laundry room at 7:15.

Simon

I folded the note into quarters. Had Derek put Simon up to this when I didn't freak out over him calling me a necromancer? Did he hope I might give a more gratifying response to his brother?

Or did Simon want to resume our discussion from the kitchen, when they'd asked about Liz? Maybe I wasn't the only one worried about her.

I went downstairs just past seven, and used the extra time to ghost hunt, prowling the laundry room, listening and looking. The one time I wanted to see or hear a ghost, I didn't.

Could I contact it? Or was it a one-way street, and did I have to wait until one chose to speak to me? I wanted to test that by calling out, but Derek had already caught me talking to myself. I wasn't taking that risk with Simon.

So I just wandered, my mind automatically sliding behind a camera lens.

". . . here . . ." a voice whispered, so soft and dry it sounded like the wind through long grass. ". . . talk to . . ."

A shadow loomed over my shoulder. I braced myself to see a vision of horror as I looked up into . . . Derek's face.

"You always this jumpy?" he said.

"Wh-where did you come from?"

"Upstairs."

"I'm waiting for some —" I stopped and studied his expression. "It's you, isn't it? You had Simon send—"

"Simon didn't send anything. I knew you wouldn't come for me. But Simon?" He glanced at his watch. "For Simon, you're early. So did you look it up?"

So that's what this was about. "You mean that word? Nec —" I pursed my lips, testing it. "Necromancer? Is that how you say it?"

He waved the pronunciation off. Unimportant. He leaned against the wall, trying for casual, uninterested maybe. His flexing fingers betrayed his eagerness to hear my answer. To see my reaction.

"Did you look it up?" he asked again.

"I did. And, well, I don't quite know what to say."

He rubbed his hands against his jeans, as if drying them. "Okay. So, you searched for it and . . ."

"It wasn't what I expected."

He brushed his jeans again, then closed his hands. Crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. I looked around, drawing it out, making him rock forward, almost bouncing with impatience.

"So . . ." he said.

"Well, I have to admit . . ." I took a deep breath. "I'm not really into computer games."

His eyes closed to slits, face screwed up. "Computer games?"

"Video games? RPGs? I've played some, but not the kind you're talking about."

He looked at me, wary, as if suspecting I really did belong in a home for crazy kids.

"But if you guys are into them?" I flashed a bright smile. "Then I'm certainly willing to give them a shot."

"Them?"

"The games. Role playing, right? But I don't think the necromancer is for me, though I do appreciate the suggestion."

"Suggestion . . ." he said slowly.

'That I play a necromancer? That's why you had me look it up, right?"

His lips parted, eyes rounding as he understood. "No, I didn't mean —"

"I suppose it could be cool, playing a character who can raise the dead, but it's just, you know, not really me. A little too dark. Too emo, you know? I'd rather play a magician."

"I wasn't —"

"So I don't have to be a necromancer? Thanks. I really do appreciate you taking the time to make me feel welcome. It's so sweet."

As I fixed him with a sugary smile, he finally realized I was having him on. His face darkened. "I wasn't inviting you to a game, Chloe."

"No?" I widened my eyes. "Then why would you send me to those sites about necromancers? Show me pictures of madmen raising armies of rotting zombies? Is that how you get your kicks, Derek? Scaring the new kids? Well, you've had your fun, and if you corner me again or lure me into the basement —"

"Lure you? I was trying to talk to you."

"No." I lifted my gaze to his. "You were trying to scare me. Do it again and I'll tell the nurses."

When I scripted the lines in my head, they'd been strong and defiant —the new girl standing up to the bully. But when I said them, I sounded like a spoiled brat threatening to tattle.

Derek's eyes hardened into shards of green glass and his face twisted into something not quite human, filling with a rage that made me stumble back out of its path and bolt for the stairs.

He grabbed for me, fingers clamping around my forearm. He yanked so hard I yelped, shoulder wrenching as I sailed off my feet. He let go and I crashed to the floor.

For a moment, I just lay there, crumpled in a heap, cradling my arm and blinking hard, unable to believe what had just happened. Then his shadow fell across me, and I scrambled to my feet.

He reached for me. "Chloe, I —"

I staggered back before he could touch me. He said something. I didn't hear it. Didn't look at him. Just ran for the stairs.

I didn't stop until I was in my room. Then I sat cross-legged on my bed, gulping oxygen. My shoulder burned. When I rolled up my sleeve, I saw a red mark for each of his lingers.

I stared at them. No one had ever hurt me before. My parents had never struck me. Never spanked me or even threatened to. I wasn't the kind of girl who got into fistfights in catfights. Sure, I'd been pushed, jostled, elbowed . . . but grabbed and thrown across a room?

I yanked down my sleeve. Was 1 surprised? Derek had made me nervous from that first encounter in the pantry. When I realized he'd sent the note, I should have gone upstairs. If he'd tried to stop me, I should have screamed. But no, I had to be cool. Be clever. Bait him.

Yet I had no proof except marks on my arm that were already fading. Even if I still had them when I showed the nurses, Derek could say I'd lured him into the basement and flipped out, and he'd had to grab my arm to restrain me. After all, I was a diagnosed schizophrenic. Hallucinations and paranoia went with the territory.

I had to handle this myself.

I should handle this myself.

I'd led the proverbial sheltered life. I'd always known that meant I lacked the life experience I'd need to be a screenwriter. Here was my chance to start getting it.

I'd handle this. But to handle it, I needed to know exactly what I was up against.

I took Rae aside.

"Do you still want to see Simon and Derek's files?" I asked.

She nodded.

'Then I'll help you get them. Tonight."

WE FOUND MRS. TALBOT setting out the evening snack. Carrot sticks and dip. Yum. Whatever complaints I had about Annette, at least I could always count on brownies at home.

"Hungry, girls? I'm not surprised. No one ate very much at dinner."

She held out the plate. We each took a stick and dipped it.

"Chloe and I were thinking, Mrs. T," Rae said. "About Tori."

She set the plate on the table, eyes downcast as she nodded. "I know, dear. She's taking Liz's leaving very hard. They were close. I'm sure she'll feel better once they can talk, but until then she may feel a little down while we get her . . . medication adjusted. We'll need you girls to be extra nice to her."

"Sure." Rae licked dip off her finger. "We were wondering, though, whether it might be easier for her if she had the room to herself. I could sleep in Chloe's."

Mrs. Talbot handed Rae a napkin. "I don't want to isolate her too much but, yes, she'd probably be happier alone for now."

"Just for now?"

The nurse smiled. "No, you can move in with Chloe permanently, if that's what you'd both like."

While Tori was downstairs watching television, Rae started to move, as if afraid Miss Van Dop or Dr. Gill would veto the change.