Sword Play Read online

  Woodbury, Minnesota

  Sword Play © 2006 by Linda Joy Singleton.

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  First e-book edition © 2010

  E-book ISBN: 9780738716930

  Cover design and illustration by Lisa Novak

  Editing by Rhiannon Ross

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  Flux

  Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

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  Manufactured in the United States of America

  To PF Garrett Loethe

  A fellow series book enthusiast, smooth dancer,

  and treasured friend.

  Also, thanks to my instructor Paul at the

  Sacramento Fencing Club, who patiently

  answered my questions and taught me

  the basics of fencing.

  Waking up to find a cute guy sitting on your bed might be a dream come true for some girls.

  But not me.

  Especially when the guy was dead—and some people think I killed him.

  Normally ghosts didn’t scare me. Coming from a long line of psychics, I’d been weaned on Ghosts, Spirits, and Angels 101. I’d had visions of the future and long chatty conversations with my spirit guide. But this was different. This was Kip.

  Seeing him so alive and real—six months after his death—was beyond freaky. Terror sliced through me like a sharp blade.

  “Go away!” I shouted, then ducked underneath my pillow, my eyes shut tightly and my heart pounding furiously.

  Please let this be a bad dream. Yeah, that must be it. I was having a nightmare or maybe a reaction to the pain medication. I remembered falling asleep, relieved to be out of the hospital and back in my own familiar quilted bed. After surviving a deadly road accident, it was logical that I’d dream about car crashes—including the tragedy that would always haunt me. But that was all in the past. I mean, this could not be happening. No way was Kip Hurst in my room.

  But when I peeked out, there he was, decked out in his #17 football jersey (which was odd since he’d died in a formal prom tux). Energy flickered around him, making his face seem unnaturally pale while his legs were so transparent that when he stood it looked like he was floating over my bed. A football appeared in his hand and he spun it on his fingertip, grinning at me in that arrogant way I always detested.

  “Go away!” I tried again.

  With a tilt of his head, he regarded me with wry curiosity.

  “Get out of here!”

  He tossed the ball so high it disappeared in my dark ceiling.

  I stared up, waiting for the football—and my own sanity—to return. Long moments stretched on in eerie silence, then the ball slowly sailed into his hand. Only his energy flickered and his hand wasn’t there. The football balanced on its pointy end in empty air. I pinched myself, just to check if I was in fact dreaming. Definitely not a dream.

  Kip’s hand may have vanished and his legs were see-through, but his grin flashed with a cocky attitude. Clearly he was not going away.

  Gathering my blankets around me, I scooted upright in bed and faced this ghost from my past. Kip had been a star football player with major league expectations and a gorgeous homecoming king. At my old school, Arcadia High, where sports ruled and had more funding than any other department, Kip was truly royalty.

  I wasn’t one of Kip’s fans. It just seemed to me that jocks were overrated. I mean, what was so great about pummeling players on a field? I hadn’t even known Kip, except by reputation … until The Vision.

  Then why was he here so many months later?

  Unless he blamed me …

  I swallowed hard, then forced out the question I knew I had to ask. “What do you want?”

  I barely made out his shadowy hand pointing directly at me.

  “Me?” I clawed my blankets. “But it wasn’t my fault … I tried to warn you.”

  He moved his mouth, only nothing came out.

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but you don’t belong here. You died six months ago. You have to let go and move on.”

  He gave a firm shake of his head, and that’s when I realized he wasn’t a ghost. Not in the sense of someone who has died but is stuck on earth due to fear or confusion. He had already moved on to the other side. His essence glowed with the warm energy of a spirit. He had come a long way because he’d chosen to visit. But why visit me—the girl who predicted his death, but failed to prevent it?

  “What can I do for you?” I spoke softly. “Pass on a message to someone?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then why are you here?”

  He tucked the football under one arm and moved closer in a sweeping glide. No longer did he bulldoze through life, taking up more than his share of space and swaggering with an overblown pride. As a dead guy, he was almost human.

  When he opened his mouth, I concentrated on all my senses, especially the sixth one, to listen.

  “Sah … beeen.”

  I shivered at the eerie sound of my own name. “I’m listening. What do you want?”

  “Help,” he whispered.

  “You need help?”

  “Not … me.”

  “But that’s what you just asked.”

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t understand.” I bit my lip, confused. “I can’t help you unless you tell me more. I don’t know why you’re here … what you want from me.”

  Again, he shook his head. His lips pursed and I sensed frustration.

  “Help … her.”

  “Who?”

  If he answered, I was unable to hear him. Energy flicked like a short-circuited bulb, then there was a crackling sound. Silence and empty darkness. The only light in my room came from my wall where a clown-face night-light glowed.

  Kip was gone, yet the whisper of his last words lingered, echoing in my mind, “Help her, help her … ”

  But I had no idea who “her” was …

  I awoke from a deep sleep to a rumbling purr and soft fur rubbing against my cheek.

  “Huh?” I murmured groggily. I peeked out to see white fur and mismatched blue-and-green eyes regarding me impatiently.

  Living in the country, I never knew what I’d wake up to. A crowing rooster, mooing cows, bleating goats, or my cat Lilybelle. Sometimes I awoke ea
rly simply because great smells like wild flowers and freshly cut hay drifted in through my window. Then there were the not-so-great smells like fresh manure or ripe skunk.

  You’d think I’d be used to country smells and sounds after living with my grandmother for half a year. But memories have a way of time traveling so that one moment you’re in the here and now, then zap! A thought jumps you back to another time, as if you were in two places at the same time. Like two different people.

  If only there were two of me, I thought as I cradled Lilybelle in my arms and hugged her close. Then one of me could stay here like I want and the other could do what my mother wants.

  In a rush, anxiety struck and I felt as sick inside as I had when Mom had come to visit me in the hospital and told me I had to move back to San Jose.

  My first impulse was to argue, “No way! Are you nuts? Leave Nona and all my friends? Forget it.”

  That’s what I wanted to say, but not what happened. Emotions twisted inside me. I was scared of hurting people I cared about yet grateful for this crumb of attention from my mother. So I just nodded.

  Mom thought she was doing me a favor, welcoming the “disgraced daughter” back home. There had even been tears in her eyes when she’d hugged me goodbye, which was so not like her. I knew she meant well, but she totally did not get me. She treated me like I was six, rather than sixteen, speaking at me rather than to me in her queen-addressing-subject tone. I could imagine her wearing a crown and declaring her royal proclamation, “Despite the supreme shame you have brought upon your respectable family, you are now forgiven. You have served out your banishment, and may return to dwell in our home.”

  Only I didn’t want to return.

  San Jose wasn’t my home anymore. Home was with Nona on her ten-acre farm in Sheridan Valley. My grandmother’s farmhouse wasn’t spacious like my parents’ tri-level stucco home in San Jose, and I’ll admit it could use some paint and new carpeting. But this cozy home welcomed me with open doors; the oaks and pines hugging the farmhouse, offering shade when it was too hot and holding off chilling winds in storms. And I didn’t want to leave, especially now.

  Shadows shifted across my bedroom walls, and instinctively I looked over for reassurance at the cheerful clown night-light. The night-light had been a “get well” gift from my boyfriend Josh when he’d visited me in the hospital. He said to think of him whenever I looked at the big clown smile because he clowned around in a fuzzy wig and floppy shoes when he performed magic tricks for sick kids. It was the perfect gift since I collected night-lights. I displayed this collection (unicorns, angels, cats, angels, dragons, and more) in a glass case. Each night I plugged in a different night-light, the luminous light warding off night visitors.

  Night visitors …

  These two words shivered through me like a shock wave. Something about last night flickered in my mind … a bad dream or memory. Not a solid thought but more of a pit-in-my-gut scared feeling. Goose bumps prickled on my arms and I heard a whisper of a male voice telling me to … to what?

  I tried hard to give the vague feeling shape, but my thoughts were whiffs of smoke playing tag through my mind. I couldn’t bring forth the memory. Whatever happened during the night eluded me. A nightmare, I finally decided. Nothing to worry about—especially when I had more urgent worries.

  The biggest, most heart-stabbing worry was my grandmother’s failing health. Recently I’d found out Nona had a hereditary disease which stole her memories, and if not treated, she’d lapse into a coma and never wake up. There was a cure, but it had been lost to our family over a hundred years ago. I had been tracking down this remedy (it involved finding four silver charms) with Dominic, the handyman/apprentice who worked for my grandmother. We were close to finding the final charm.

  We’d also been getting close in another way, which was totally wrong. I hated myself, I hated him, and it had to stop. I mean, I already had a boyfriend. Josh was great—sweet, honest, with a fun sense of humor. Dominic was night-and-day different. More sour than sweet and deep with disturbing secrets I’d only started to uncover. He was so not my type. Yet thinking about him gave me crazy anxiety—heart palpitations, hot flashes, and nausea—like coming down with the flu.

  Another thing to worry about …

  Lilybelle meowed and slapped her tail against my arm. Her way of saying, “I want breakfast. Now.”

  “Message received,” I said with a smile.

  But my smile changed to a wince of pain when I pushed the covers off my battered body. I glanced down ruefully at the bandage on my left thigh and the purple-yellow bruises on my arms. Tentatively I ran my fingers over the bandage, bitter reminders of my accident. Dominic had been driving me back from the bus station and swerved his truck to avoid crashing into a wayward cow. He’d missed the cow, but totaled his truck and suffered minor cuts. My injuries were much worse, bringing me way too close to death. I was lucky to be alive.

  Lilybelle meowed again, then gracefully sprung off my bed.

  “Easy for you to move,” I grumbled as I carefully eased my bandaged leg to the floor. “You didn’t almost get creamed by a cow.”

  My cat paused by the door and flicked her tail impatiently, obviously not impressed by my pun or sympathetic to my injuries. Food was her only concern, and now that I thought about it, she had a point. A glance at my silver moon watch and I gasped. I was seriously running late. I’d have to rush breakfast or get a tardy my first day back at school.

  Slowly, I hobbled across the room. The meds eased the pain, but left me weak and light-headed. If I wasn’t so sick of staying in bed, I might have put off returning to school. But I’d had enough rest in the hospital to last several decades. Besides, staying alone made me think too much, and worry even more. I would rather do ordinary stuff like getting dressed and hanging out with my friends. Anything to avoid dealing with my last conversation with Mom. I kept what she’d said to myself, dreading the awful thing I had to do. But I couldn’t put it off any longer.

  I had to tell Nona the bad news.

  That I was moving out.

  On Friday.

  Telling Nona turned out to be easy. I was surprised to discover she had been worrying about breaking the news to me. I should have realized my mother would have already talked to her. Nona said she was sad to lose me but understood I belonged with my family.

  “You are my family,” I told her. Tearfully we hugged, and she assured me I was always welcome here.

  Unfortunately telling my friends wasn’t as easy.

  My best friend Penelope Lovell (nicknamed Penny-Love) totally freaked. Usually we walked to school, but she’d borrowed her brother’s beat-up station wagon to make my first day back at school easier. Her color theme today was gold—gold eye shadow, gold mesh earrings, gold lycra top with low-rider jeans.

  “NO! You can’t do this to me!” Penny-Love smacked her palm against the steering wheel, her freckled cheeks flaming as red as her curly hair.

  I almost laughed at how everything was always about her. She was such a diva, and somehow that made her even dearer to me. Hanging out together was always a blast. She was like a queen bee at school, privy to the latest buzz sometimes before it even happened. When I’d arrived at school as a new kid, uncertain and uneasy, she’d opened her circle of friends and generously drew me inside. Something clicked and just like that we bonded. As her best friend I could skim the edges of popularity with no personal risk.

  But not much longer …

  Morosely, I stared out the window at country homes and grassy fields where spindly oak branches reached into wide gray-blue skies. No high rises or crowded urban apartments. I’d stretched and spread my wings here, not confined by concrete expectations. I would miss it all so much.

  “I forbid you to leave,” Penny-Love was saying. “It’s completely unacceptable.”

  “Tell that to my mother.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “No!” I shook my head firmly. “Believe me, it’s no use. My
dad’s a lawyer, yet he can’t even win an argument with my mom.”

  Penny-Love slowed for an intersection where kids hurried across a crosswalk. “But making you leave is just wrong. You’ll miss out on everything. What about your grandmother’s All Hallows party? It’s Friday night.”

  “I already talked about it with Nona. She wanted to change the date so I could make it, but I wouldn’t let her. Why ruin everyone else’s fun?”

  “Hello? What about your fun?” She cupped her ear like she didn’t believe what she was hearing. “It’s your party, too. You have to be there.”

  “I can’t help it. The party goes on as planned and I’ll expect you to tell me all about it afterwards. I feel better knowing you’re there to help Nona.”

  “Helping her is now my official job. After school, I’ll start working as her assistant for Soul-Mate Matches. How’s this sound for my official job title: Assistant Love Doctor?”

  “Penny-Love, Assistant Love Doctor.” I smiled. “Perfect.”

  “I’m thinking of having a badge made. Won’t that look cool?”

  “Definitely. You’re a natural for the romance biz.”

  “Thanks, Sabine. See, that’s another reason why you can’t leave. No one gets me like you do, and you have a real talent for listening. I don’t have time to break in a new best friend. There has to be some way to make you stay.”

  She kept at me like this until we reached school. It was a relief when she spotted some other friends who waved her over and I was left alone. But I wasn’t alone long. At my locker, I found Josh. We had this routine of meeting by my locker before school; something else I’d miss when I moved away.

  He looked so happy to see me that I felt a stab of guilt. Before he could say anything, I sucked in a deep breath, then I blurted out everything; how my mom was making me leave even though I’d rather stay here, and how miserable I was. When I’d finished explaining, I braced myself for his reaction.

  But Josh just frowned.

  “Well say something,” I told him. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No way. It’s not your fault.”

  “I could have argued and told my mother forget it.”

  “You’re too sweet to disrespect your mother.”