Haunting the Deep

I sip my hot cocoa, not the powdered kind that comes out of a packet, but the shaved-chocolate kind made from scratch. Mrs. Meriwether places a plate of steaming croissants in the middle of my dining room table. They smell like warm butter.

Jaxon grins, poised to take a bite of French toast. You’ve got that morning punk-rock thing going on again.

I touch my hair and discover that I do in fact have a cowlick. I smile. At least I don’t have toothpaste on my face.

Jaxon makes no attempt to check if I’m right; he just chews away.

Sam and Jax—Monday-morning match: round one, my dad says, pouring a second cup of coffee into his #1 DAD mug and looking at Mrs. Meriwether. I think there’s a frightening possibility that our children take after us, Mae. Neighbors, best friends, surly dispositions.

Mrs. Meriwether pats the corners of her mouth with a white cloth napkin. "The way I remember it, I was mostly an angel. It was your mother who had to threaten you with weeding the garden for a month just to keep your slingshot on your lap and off her table," she says.

My dad smiles at her, and I stop chewing. His time in a coma felt like an endless walk down a dark tunnel. I’m sure I’ll eventually get used to him just sitting here drinking coffee and smiling. But for these past six months, every minute I’ve spent with him still feels like borrowed time.

My dad’s eyes twinkle with mischief. Now, we all know it was your slingshot. You’re too young for your memory to be slipping. Maybe you should do more crossword puzzles.

Mrs. Meriwether raises her eyebrows. Be very careful, Charlie, or I’ll tell them about the time you tried to prank Ms. Walters. Emphasis on the word ‘tried.’ She looks at me and Jaxon. I believe you know her as Mrs. Hoxley.

Wait, you pranked my homeroom teacher? I ask. No wonder she’s always eyeing me like I’m about to do something wrong.

My dad shakes his head. He’s got that dignified and refined thing about him—gray at his temples, big brown eyes, confident. When he wants to, he can shut the world out behind his stoicism and clean button-downs. But right now he’s bright and alive, enjoying himself.

I definitely want to hear this story, Jaxon says.

My dad checks his watch. Don’t you two need to get ready for school?

That bad, huh? I say, and pick up a forkful of blueberries and whipped cream.

Why are you wearing boys’ clothes? asks a little girl’s voice just behind me. My fork drops with a clang, and a blueberry goes flying, hitting Jaxon smack in the face. I whip around in my chair.

A girl about ten years old stands a couple of feet away from me in an old-fashioned pink dress. Her brown hair is braided and tied with ribbons. She giggles, scrunching her dark eyes and small nose together as the blueberry sticks to Jaxon’s cheek. No one else is laughing but her.

Jaxon wipes his face and stares at me without looking in the girl’s direction. My skin goes cold. He doesn’t see her. I shut my eyes for a long second and take a breath, turning back to the table and away from the girl.

Jaxon, Mrs. Meriwether, and my dad all watch me with matching worried expressions.

Is everything okay? Mrs. Meriwether asks.

My hands shake, and I put them under the table. Um, yeah.

Are you sure, Sam? You look spooked, my dad says, all his good humor replaced with concern.

I glance behind me; the girl’s gone. My shoulders drop an inch. I thought I heard something.

My dad frowns. What? We’ve only talked once about what happened while he was in a coma. And I only told him selective pieces. How Vivian sold our New York City apartment and lied about his medical bills. How when I found out she was lying, she threatened my friends to manipulate me. How when she realized I wouldn’t do what she wanted, she tried to kill us with spells. And how those spells backfired on her. Mostly, he just listened with his eyebrows pushed forcefully together. When I finished, he had tears in his eyes. He told me to get some sleep, and he kissed me on the forehead. He doesn’t know how many people she killed. And I left out all the magical elements I could. Every time I said spell, he flinched like someone had burned him. There was so much guilt on his face that I hated telling him even the pared-down version. He hasn’t brought it up since. And I’m grateful, because I can’t stand being reminded that I lied to him. That was the first time I ever did.

Just a noise, I say, and look down at my plate. A second lie.

A ghost noise or a people noise? Mrs. Meriwether asks.

My dad stiffens at the word ghost. Mrs. Meriwether and Jaxon know I saw Elijah, but he’s one of those details I never mentioned to my dad. How would I even start? Hey, Dad. I fell in love with this dead guy from the sixteen hundreds who was stubborn and beautiful. And then he disappeared and I had a crap time getting over him.

I don’t know, I say. Maybe I imagined it.

Mrs. Meriwether turns to my dad. I really think she needs some training, Charlie. Otherwise, it’s just a loosey-goosey free-for-all. What happens when she learns to drive? What if a ghost appears in the seat next to her?

I sit straight up, every muscle in my body ready to run away from this conversation. Did Mrs. Meriwether tell my dad about me seeing Elijah? Or did he hear the rumors in town? How could I be so stupid to think this would all just go away?

My dad stares at me with such seriousness that everyone gets quiet, waiting on his reaction. Sam, did you see something just now?

No, I say, doing my best to keep my anxiety out of my voice.

My dad’s home from the hospital, the kids in school don’t hate me, and with Vivian gone, my bad luck has basically vanished. Vivian. My stomach tenses. All I want is for things to stay normal; I’m happy for the first time in a long time.

My dad looks from Mrs. Meriwether to me. Then why is Mae worried about a ghost appearing in your passenger seat?

I push my plate away, avoiding the matching sympathetic looks from the Meriwethers. The words don’t want to leave my mouth. I saw a spirit during the whole thing that happened last fall. My cheeks redden. But I haven’t seen one since. I’m not seeing spirits again. I won’t. Elijah was different. He…he was just different.

The corners of my dad’s eyes wrinkle as he narrows them.

Be sure to let us know if you do, Mrs. Meriwether says. The last time you saw a ghost, a whole set of unfortunate circumstances followed.

My eyes meet hers. Is she saying that seeing a spirit is a bad omen?

No more talk of…no more talk of training, Mae. She’s fine, my dad says with such finality that Mrs. Meriwether raises a questioning eyebrow.

I’m gonna go get dressed, Jaxon says, sounding almost as uncomfortable as I feel and sliding his chair away from the table.

Me too, I say with a grumble.

My dad leans back in his chair, and the tension rolls off him. Aaah. Now, there’s the cranky morning Sam I know and love.

I pause, soaking up his dad humor. He’s said some version of this to me since I was little. Don’t do that. I can’t make anyone believe I’m angsty if I’m smiling.

We share a smile, and I can tell he’s relieved to have changed the subject.

I push back my chair, but what I really want to push away is Mrs. Meriwether’s comment about the last time a spirit showed up.

I ’m the last one into homeroom. I slide into my desk beside Susannah just as the bell rings. Susannah, Mary, and Alice sit in a row, all wearing their trademark gothic-chic clothes. I wear black, too, but more torn and casual than their high fashion. Plus, they have that whole powerful, mysterious vibe that makes you want to compulsively steal glances at them. Maybe it’s because they’re descended from the accused Salem witches and I’m descended from the stodgy Puritan minister, Cotton Mather, who hanged them.

Susannah flashes me a smile and places her slender, black-nail-polished fingers over mine. When she pulls her hand away, there’s a small note tucked under my palm. I don’t know where this girl gets her stealth, but I’m definitely jealous.

Mrs. Hoxley clears her throat. Quiet for the morning announcement, please. She pauses until everyone settles. It’s April fourth and two weeks until the Spring Fling. The student council has tallied the votes for this year’s theme and is ready to officially announce it. She squints at one of the well-manicured girls in the back of the room. Blair, if you’ll do the honors.

Excited whispers fill the room. I’ve never seen people campaign as viciously as they did for the themes of this dance. For the past week the Borgias Masquerade Ball and the Enchanted Forest supporters have been practically fist-fighting in the halls. But then again, costume parties are to Salem what Christmas is to the North Pole. I’m desperately hoping the Enchanted Forest doesn’t win, though. The attention I got right after the whole hanging-in-the-woods ordeal was overwhelming. I’m pretty sure a forest theme would only bring up the topic again.

The Descendants haven’t really said anything specific about what happened, claiming shock and confusion. But the basic details about a mysterious woman trying to kill us all spread through the town faster than I could have imagined. And the only thing that doesn’t seem to die in Salem is gossip. The police are still searching for her; little do they know the crow woman was my stepmother, and she’s dead.

Everyone turns to look at Blair, who’s taking her sweet time sauntering to the front of the class. She leaves a scent trail of vanilla and hair spray, and her outfit suggests she just stepped out of the pages of a Ralph Lauren catalog.

I’m thrilled to share this with you all. Blair flicks her blown-out waves over her shoulder and scans the room. "While there were very strong themes this year, one stood out above the rest and got an almost unanimous vote."

It was yours, wasn’t it? Alice says. The idea that won.

Blair’s smile grows and she looks coy. "We’re not supposed to reveal who came up with what theme, Alice. Buuut, I wasn’t opposed to the idea."

Uh-huh, Alice says. Well, good thing you’re so subtle, then.

I cough out a laugh, and Mrs. Hoxley gives Alice a warning look. Now that I’m not fighting with the Descendants, I can appreciate Alice’s dry humor. No one’s exempt from her scorn.

Let’s just say I’m excited to announce that the theme of this year’s dance will be… Blair pauses for dramatic effect. "The Titanic!"

The room explodes with objections. Everyone starts yelling at once. The tension leaves my shoulders. Phew.

You’re joking, Mary says. "The Titanic wasn’t even in the running."

Democracy’s dead, Alice says. The dictatorship of Blair and the fluff-ettes is now a disturbing reality.

Shush, Mrs. Hoxley says to the class. We’ll have none of that. Absolutely none.

Blair doesn’t react. In fact, she looks increasingly smug. "There’s more. Since the dance committee supervisor is also the head of the history department, the other history teachers have agreed to rearrange their lesson plans and teach a Titanic curriculum for the next two weeks. Plus, the dresses are gonna be amazing."

Blair squeals with excitement and heads toward her desk. She stops dramatically in front of Matt, Salem High’s new British exchange student, who’s leaning into the aisle going through his backpack and blocking her way.

"Um…hellooo?" Blair says.

He makes no effort to move. You know you can fit past me, right? Or were you just sayin’ ’ello? Matt says in his Cockney accent.

Blair’s jaw tenses. So much for being a dance committee member, Matt. You’re not even paying attention!

He pulls out the pen he was looking for from his backpack and peers up at her. Sorry, what’d ya say?

Ugh. Forget it. Blair walks past him, and he smiles to himself.

I smile, too. I have to admit, I’ve enjoyed watching the drama between him, Blair, and Niki these past few months. Not only because the rumors that Niki mail-ordered herself a boyfriend have taken attention away from my situation, but because Matt’s living with Blair, and their bizarre trio has spawned soap-opera-style fights in the middle of the hallway. I’ve never seen anything like it. He looks up and catches me staring at him, and I immediately turn back to the front of the class.

"Okay, enough. The theme is the Titanic and that’s it. Stop chattering and get to work," Mrs. Hoxley says.

I open Susannah’s note under my desk and discover it isn’t from Susannah at all.

Meet us by the bleachers after school. We need to talk. Don’t even think about saying no.

Alice

I knew they would want to talk at some point; I just wasn’t expecting it to be today. I haven’t spent time with the Descendants since everything happened. I was in bed for a few weeks recovering. After that, my dad was my priority. But to be honest, I’m not ready to talk about the woods. I actually hope to never discuss what happened. Thinking about Vivian hurts in ways I haven’t sorted out yet.

I look past Susannah to Alice, and her black-outlined blue eyes challenge me. Sometimes I wonder if they’re made of ice instead of normal eyeball material. I lean toward her. And as I do, the young girl from this morning appears in front of me. My face almost collides with her dress.

What the…? I jerk backward, and my reaction is so sudden that I half slide off my seat and have to grab my desk to keep from landing on the floor. She disappears.

I pull myself back into my chair. The entire class, including Mrs. Hoxley, watches me. It doesn’t mean anything. Nothing. Nada. It’s a fluke.

Spider, I say, and Mrs. Hoxley’s face wrinkles up. A big hairy one, I add.

Mary looks suspiciously at the ground. "So not a spider fan."

The other students look, too, lifting their feet and backpacks. Everyone except Susannah, who stares pointedly at me. I avoid her eyes.

The bell rings.

I can’t meet today, I say to the Descendants.

Susannah frowns. Can’t or won’t? She pulls on a black Victorian jacket over her floor-length black dress.

I have to go home after school.

Then we’ll walk you to your house, says Alice, pushing her straight blond hair away from her face like it was intentionally bothering her.

I press my lips together and exhale. Fine, I’ll meet you. But I can’t talk for more than ten minutes.

Mary stands up. Are you mad at us?

No. Not at all. I stand up, too. I’m just, well…I don’t want to talk about what happened.

Well, good, ’cause neither do I, Alice says. These two won’t shut up about it, and I need a break.

I can’t help it that I get nightmares, says Mary, and crosses her arms. Her dark curls bounce lightly with the motion.

Oh. Maybe this isn’t about the woods after all? What’s this about, then?

Just…trust us, Susannah says. She looks at the straggler students who haven’t made their way out of the classroom. They grab their bags and head for the door.

How much do you want to bet the history department finagled the dance theme decision? Mary says to Alice as they exit.

I pick up my black bag and shove my notebook in it. Something shiny inside reflects the overhead light. In the bottom of my bag is a strange metal rod with a hooked end, like some kind of old-fashioned crochet needle. I’ve never seen it before. I scan the room. Nothing’s amiss. Maybe it belongs to Mrs. Meriwether? Could I have accidentally put it in here when I packed my books up this morning?

I slap my bag closed and head into the hallway. I’m still amazed that people aren’t recoiling from me. They’re not exactly talking to me, either, but it’s a definite improvement.

A shoulder collides with mine. I jump.

Jaxon laughs and hooks his callused thumb under his backpack strap. His sandy hair is slightly messy, and his demeanor exudes its usual enviable confidence. His blue eyes dance with mischief. Daydreaming about me?

I laugh, too. You wish.

He opens the door to Mr. Wardwell’s AP History class for me. I do wish.

I look at him for a second. Was he joking or flirting? These past six months Jaxon and I have just been friends—best friends, really. He gave me my space when I asked for it after the woods and after Elijah left. He even accepted my story that Vivian was after my dad’s money and that’s why she ran off when my dad woke up from his coma.

I take my usual seat next to him in the back. Truth? I was just thinking about how glad I am that I’m no longer the cursed girl. Now I’m just the weirdo everyone thinks sees dead people. Yay, me.

For Salem you’re actually doing some fast social climbing. I’m pretty sure clairvoyant is only a couple of positions below mayor.

I smile. Oh yeah? Well then, give me a few years and I’ll be running this town.

You’re telling me. I’ve already started making my list of requests for when you take office. He pauses. Speaking of weirdness, what was that this morning at breakfast, anyway?

I shrug like it was nothing, trying to convince myself as much as him. Is it cool if we don’t talk about it? People only recently stopped staring at me with that concerned look.

Jaxon hesitates like he wants to say something, then shakes his head and smiles instead. As long as you don’t start flying around on a broom, I’m good.

Mr. Wardwell lays a few papers on my desk. He’s sporting one of his usual tweed blazers. Some of your makeup work. I still have a few items to grade, and then we can decide what to do about those two missed exams.

I nod.

The bell rings.

Mr. Wardwell makes his way to his desk and turns toward the class. Monday really is the best day, isn’t it? A full week of history to explore before the weekend.

There are a few grumbles. I look at Lizzie’s empty seat and sigh. I can’t help but feel partly responsible that she’s gone. She was the fourth Descendant, and she had a harder time dealing with what happened than any of us did. She left right after the hanging, and I heard she goes to a boarding school in upstate New York now.

"As you all learned in homeroom this morning, we history teachers are making room in our lesson plans to include the Titanic. As head of the history department, I’m also working with the dance committee and the faculty to make the next two weeks immersive and fun. You’re all in for a real treat. It’s a fascinating moment in history, ladies and gents. One where approximately fifteen hundred women, children, and men died in an avoidable tragedy." He talks about mass death the same way some people say they won the lotto.

"When the Titanic set sail from England on her maiden voyage in April of 1912, she was the biggest and the most opulent passenger steamship in the world. She was eight hundred eighty-three feet long and was described as a floating city of lights. From the first heated swimming pool to the inlaid mother-of-pearl paneling, the Titanic offered passengers every luxury they could dream of…except enough lifeboats to save them."

I click my locker shut and check my phone. I already have a text from Jaxon.

Jaxon: With Dillon. Be there in a min.

Me: I’ve actually got some things to take care of. Don’t wait for me to drive home.

I shove my phone into my pocket and head down the hall toward the sports fields. I push the back door of the school open and almost walk into Niki.

Hey, Sam. She readjusts her navy purse on her cashmere-covered shoulder.

I stop short. She never talks to me.

Sorry I almost hit you with the door, I say.

Niki waves off my apology. Actually, I wanted to ask you something….Do you know if Jaxon is dating anyone?

I blink at her. ’Scuse me?

"It’s just you’re always with him, she says, like it’s a bad thing. I figured you would know."

I honestly have no idea how to respond to her. Is she asking me to not hang out with my best friend so she can flirt with him or something? I decide to shift the focus back to her. What about you and Matt?

Over it. Niki twirls a gold bracelet around her wrist. So if you could just—

Piss off, Niki, Alice says from behind me. Sam isn’t going to do jack for you.

Niki narrows her eyes.

Alice grabs my arm and pulls me into the field. The chilly breeze carries the scent of freshly cut grass and the promise of spring.

I look at Alice as we walk. So you and Niki are close, huh?

Alice shrugs. Yeah, we have that thing going where we spend so much time together that we’ve started to look alike.

I laugh.

Susannah and Mary stand behind the bleachers, black gothic silhouettes against the tree line. Susannah smiles, and her delicate face lights up.

So what’s all the mystery about? I ask as we approach them. My words sound disjointed. The only times we’ve spoken, we’ve had the type of conversation where one person starts to talk, then realizes they don’t know what to say, and the whole conversation dissolves.

For a second everyone is still; even the breeze stops blowing.

Mary breaks the silence. We need you to talk to the dead.

I frown.

Mary! Susannah says, and Alice gives Mary the stinkeye. We’re not asking you to come see if our attic is haunted. Mary spoke too soon. The thing is, Alice read her bones yesterday for the first time since V—

I put my hand up before she can finish Vivian’s name. Don’t. You said you wouldn’t. And truthfully, I just want to forget all about magic.

Well, tough, Alice says. Because you were in my reading, and so you’re part of the message I got, whether you like it or not. Chin up, chest out. It’s time.

Is she criticizing me for not bouncing back fast enough from almost being hanged by my stepmother? It’s not time. I’m absolutely fine living the rest of my life never being in a situation like that again. I back away from them by two steps.

So you’re saying you won’t listen to what we have to say, even if we need you to help prevent something bad from happening? Alice asks.

I hesitate for a half second and then shake my head.

Wait, Samantha, Susannah says. We know this is hard for you, but none of us are having an easy time recovering from what your stepmother did. We were right there with you through that whole awful thing, and we almost died, too.

There it is. The truth. You said we weren’t going to talk about V… Her name sticks in my throat.

Mary tugs at her curls. Guys, she’s not ready yet.

Seriously, Mare? Alice says, like she can’t believe Mary is still talking.

Susannah closes the space between us with a few graceful steps, blocking my view of Mary and Alice. She’s so gentle and confident that it makes it impossible to brush her off without feeling guilty.

Susannah looks at me now like she just wants me to understand her. "There isn’t a morning I wake up and look in the mirror that I don’t still see the faint red mark from the rope on my neck. We all think about it. We all have nightmares. Her voice is calm. We don’t need to talk about that night specifically. But we need to talk to you about this because it’s important. You trusted me once; trust me again."

I want to walk away, but I can’t seem to break eye contact with her. I exhale audibly. Please don’t let me regret this. Okay, Alice. I’m listening.

Alice gestures toward the woods. After you.

We walk through the trees until we’re hidden from any stragglers hanging out in the back fields. Mary pulls out a black wool blanket and spreads it on the ground.

I reluctantly sit down next to them. The blanket looks like the same one we used when I did the clarity spell with them.

Alice pulls her hair into a ponytail. Despite what you may think, Sam, none of us are ready to deal with the outside world right now. Personally, I’d like to spend the rest of the year with nothing more serious to think about than what I’m going to wear to the Spring Fling. And if I never hear the dopes in our school gossiping about the shreds of misinformation they have from that night, it will be too soon. She twirls a leaf between her fingers. "We haven’t even attempted magic. The only reason I read my bones yesterday was to convince Mary that all threats had passed. You have no idea how many times in a row she can ask the same damn question."

Mary rests her head theatrically on Alice’s shoulder. You would be lost without me and you know it.

Anyway, Alice says, pushing Mary off her shoulder. My reading told me exactly nothing about our previous situation. Instead, I—

Found out something bizarre, Mary says. Susannah and Alice both look at her. "What? We don’t know for sure that it’s something bad."

The bones said you need to join our circle, Alice says. "And don’t get your back up thinking