Ghost Academy: Book One Read online

  Ghost Academy: Book One

  E.C. Farrell

  Copyright © 2020 by E.C. Farrell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Also by E.C. Farrell

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Dying feels like waking up.

  I blink my eyes open and push myself off the ground, all the solidness and weight of a physical body simply gone. No longer held down by blood and bones and skin, I hover in midair, like when you’re completely submerged under water. All the heavy is gone.

  Every movement feels oddly fluid. Cold and confusion send me spinning. Literally. I don’t recognize this field with its tall grass and fallen fence lit by a fat yellow moon. I don’t recognize the mountains surrounding me. I don’t remember why I’m here. I don’t remember where here is.

  And, most terrifying of all, I don’t remember who I am.

  One piece of information settles in my brain. A single name. My name. Billie.

  Billie who? I can’t even remember what I look like, much less how I died.

  This lack of memory is almost as jarring as the fact that I’m dead in the first place. Kind of a dumb point to get hung up on all things considered.

  I press my palms to the sides of my head and try to think. Strands of long, blond hair brush my knuckles, floating around me as if lifted by the wind. That aspect of my appearance I remember. Maybe. It’s hard to tell if this is information I’ve retained or if I only think I knew it before. I definitely don’t remember anything else about how I look.

  I sweep my gaze down and take in my battered jeans, hiking boots, and teal jean jacket. They all shine with a faint light, and I can see straight through all of this, right to the grass beneath me. With a shiver I squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus on the next thing.

  Maybe...maybe the body I left behind is close by?

  With a wince and a healthy load of dread, I scan the field, but see nothing. I’m only half relieved. This doesn’t make any sense. Then again, I don’t know much about death. I don’t think. Did I have beliefs about the afterlife when I was alive? I can’t remember that either. This confusion only intensifies the feeling that at any minute I might get sucked away by some unseen force.

  It’s a little like shooting down a slide, gravity pulling you toward the pebbles at the bottom. I chuckle at the thought. Hopefully I won’t be headed in that direction. At least not if “down” means the bad place. Then again, I don’t remember what kind of person I was when I was alive, so I guess it’s possible I shouldn’t expect any rewards.

  A roar splinters the quiet around me. I cover my ears. It’s a combination of sorrow and rage all twisted together like a horrible, mournful tornado. Something about it sounds familiar, but again I can’t remember why. I sink under the weight of its despair, cringing as a thick shadow tumbles across the field. Its presence saps all life out of the air. A super weird thought considering I’m dead. It swirls around me and I’m terrified it will drag me into its orbit.

  Is this death? Like, capital “D” death? Because if it is, I am so not following it to any kind of white light or shining doorway. I’ll go haunt some old mansion before I let this thing take me with it.

  In a moment of blind panic, I uncurl and dig my voice out of the bottom of my gut. “Back off!”

  It’s an insanely stupid thing to say, but it’s apparently effective because the whirlwind screams again, then twists up toward the stars overhead. Still spinning and crying out, it dissipates over the tree line and into the darkness beyond.

  I drop my hands and stare after it. There’s a tug at my stomach, like a magnet pulling me in its direction. Though it terrified me before, now I choke on sadness. Tears cold as frost drift down my cheeks. I cross my arms over my middle. Confused. Untethered. Lost. Maybe I should have followed it. Fear tells you a lot, but sometimes it is irrational.

  Now that I’m completely alone I struggle to catch my breath. How I can possibly do this without a body, I have no clue, but either way it has the same effect as hyperventilating would on a living person. My head spins.

  I’m dead.

  I’m alone.

  I don’t know who I am.

  A soft voice from behind cuts off my thoughts. “Billie Jean Martin?”

  With a gasp, I spin around to face two men, both slightly translucent and shining, both in their upper teens like me. The older of the pair, a black-haired dude wearing a sweater vest, is smiling at me. It’s the kind of look you give someone you know will run if you make a sudden movement.

  The other guy doesn’t look at me at all. He jiggles his hands in the pockets of his jeans, staring after that tornado thing. He’s a total boy next door type. Wispy strands of dark hair fall over his brows and the collar of his flannel shirt is popped up to his chin. A flush of red stains his cheeks, almost like he’s been standing out in the cold for far too long.

  I may be dead, but apparently my metaphorical heart still works, because I’m definitely feeling something fluttering in my chest. That something twists at the sight of the faint red lines spreading out around his eyes, though. They stand out in sharp contrast to his bronze skin.

  Neither are familiar, but then again, not much else is either. Except for that last name. Martin. Like my first name, it feels right, familiar, but why does this dude know it?

  I wrinkle my brow at them. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Kazuya,” the older boy says. “But you can call me Kaz. I’m your Ghost Guide to help you figure out the afterlife. And this is Rafe. Also new to the realm of the dead. I just picked him up from Blakemore Academy.”

  Blakemore is another term I recognize. Information about the school solidifies in my head. Generally known as Supernatural Reform School, every young supe is terrified of never powering up or losing their power and getting sent there. Though it’s meant to help, I know I’ve never heard of it fixing any broken supes. Why do I remember this piddling factoid, but nothing specific about my life? It’s obnoxious and infuriating.

  No point in dwelling on that at the moment though, so I frown at Rafe as Kaz grips his shoulder.

  This doesn’t jar Rafe out of his trance. He’s still staring over my shoulder at the forest. I glance again in that direction, a prickle along my neck, but there’s no sign of whatever the heck that entity was. Its screams echo in my head, and I shiver. I swallow a sob I can’t explain, then turn back to the guys.

  “Well that’s a relief. I thought that freaky thing was my guide and I was so not on board.” I jerk my thumb at the tree line.

  Kaz frow
ns. “I don’t blame you.”

  “What was it?” Rafe asks.

  I point at him. “I’m glad I’m not the only one with this question, because I have an overabundance of them.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Kaz says. “Death’s a jarring thing and running into one of the Twisted doesn’t help. I can explain more when we get inside Locklear Academy.”

  “Yay more words I don’t understand.” I grin. “I figured dying would be a pretty good excused absence for school. Now you’re telling me I have to go to an academy? What does that even mean? Is that like a boarding school? Will I have to wear one of those little plaid skirts?”

  I throw a glance down at my jeans and hiking boots. These strike me as much more comfortable than one of those stiff short things that show off way more of my legs than I want anyone to see. Maybe as a ghost I won’t be able to change clothes at all. Which I guess would be kind of like having a uniform anyway.

  A dimple dents Rafe’s right cheek as he laughs. The warm, full sound fills the air and chases away some of the fear in my chest. He finally looks at me, face lit with that brilliant smile. It’s a little distracting in a very, very good way.

  “She’s got a good point. Didn’t think I’d have to take any more tests after I died.”

  Kaz rolls his eyes. “Ah cool, so you two would rather wander around aimlessly out here? Outside the school’s protective wards, you’re easier fodder for X-ers.”

  There’s another word I recognize. The definition doesn’t come to me, though. It’s kind of like trying to remember a super visceral dream. It leaves you with a particular feeling — in this case fear and worry tangled with anger — but none of the details. Apparently, Rafe knows even less than I do, because he lifts his brows at Kaz.

  “The who-da-what now?”

  “X-ers,” Kaz says. “A group of extremist supes who believe all ghosts are unnatural and should be forcibly sent to the beyond. Locklear Academy exists to protect those of us still stuck on this side and help us move on without getting twisted. Unfinished business, final steps, that kind of thing.”

  I wince. “How do they forcibly send a ghost to the beyond?”

  Kaz grimaces. “Like I said, I can explain more when we get to Locklear. Xers are also pretty good at tracking ghosts outside of academy grounds. So, unless we want to end up twisted too, we need to get going. We’ll be safe once we’re inside the wards.”

  Shivering slightly, I scan the field, looking for attackers hiding in bushes or trees. As if running into that Twisted Ghost thing didn’t freak me out enough, now I have to worry about a bunch of supes trying to decide my fate for me. Lovely. Guess there won’t be any resting in peace for a while.

  Kaz looks around the field as well, then frowns. “Now I know this is a hard question, but do you know where your body is?”

  I tug the sides of my jacket further over my chest and try to think. My thoughts ram into the barrier between me and my memories. Gritting my teeth, I close my eyes, straining until my temples and the back of my neck pulse with pain.

  Finally, I sigh and squint at the two boys. “No, I seem to have misplaced it.”

  “I do that all the time,” Rafe says, shifting between his feet. “It’s a real problem.”

  A laugh lifts some of the weight off my shoulders. Whatever I believed about ghosts before I became one, I’m pretty sure I didn’t expect there to be so much humor. Maybe some harps and wings or something. The dark look on Kaz’s face, however, makes my already floaty stomach bob like a balloon.

  I twist one of the buttons on my jacket. “Don’t make me panic or anything, Kaz…”

  His brow buckles. “Sorry. It’s really not that unusual, we don’t know exactly where Rafe’s body is either. We’ll find it. Don’t worry. But for now, we need to get to Locklear.”

  Chapter Two

  Traveling as a ghost is a combination of awesome and horrible wrapped in an insanity burrito.

  It sure does work fast, though I’m not sure yet if it’s just because we don’t have very far to go. Kaz grabs Rafe’s hand, then mine. His touch feels a bit like scooping up a palm-full of snow, cold and light but still oddly solid. I’m mildly surprised we can touch at all considering our current state of transparency. But then again, if we’re on the same plane this does make sense. It also makes me wonder what other things we can still do in spite of the fact that we no longer have bodies per say.

  I don’t have much time to consider this question though, because without any kind of polite warning, we’re smearing through the air, thinned out even more than our fragile forms already are. Every color blends together into this crazy beautiful mess I never want to look away from. It sparkles and shifts and then breaks apart all at once.

  We halt in midair, settling onto the grass in front of a cluster of massive buildings. Against a background of stars on a dark sky, the silver-white walls glow, almost like they’re emitting their own light. Pine trees scrape the bricks as the wind shoves them back and forth. For a ghost academy, it’s seriously lacking spookiness.

  Kaz waves at the buildings like a tour guide. “Welcome to Locklear Academy for The Life Deprived.”

  A laugh busts out straight through my nose. It’s rude, and loud, and makes Kaz jump a little. But Rafe joins me, snickering into a fist. “I’m sorry,” I say, when I catch my breath. “Was not expecting that.”

  Kaz grins. “No worries, that usually gets a good laugh from new students, just not quite so exuberantly. Ready for the grand tour?”

  I tap my chin with a finger. “Well, my schedule’s pretty jam packed, but I think I can make time.”

  Kaz floats to the front. “To the living world, Locklear looks like a group of abandoned cabins in the middle of the Colorado mountains. But with a little bit of magic, we have a perfect school for those of us not ready to pass on. Most everything inside is spelled in such a way that we can interact with our environment like we used to. But you’ll learn pretty fast how to touch objects not on our plane. There are two other schools like Locklear in the U.S., one for younger ghosts and one for older ones, but we keep all three campuses secret for safety purposes.”

  “Does everyone who dies become a ghost?” Rafe asks. “Sounds like the schools would get pretty crowded.”

  Kaz shakes his head. “Only those with unfinished business. This typically means people who die young, or are called to assist other ghosts in the afterlife. Like me.” His eyes drop a moment, but he drags them back up quickly and speaks fast as if trying to distract us from this reaction. “Ghost Guides are usually supes who can sense the spirits of the dead, otherwise known as mediums. We can feel when someone dies and needs our help. It’s a little hard to explain, but essentially, we receive visions of those we’re called to guide. Which is why I was able to find you and Rafe.”

  “Like a bloodhound for the dead.” I snicker.

  A real smile takes over Kaz’s face. “Not a bad comparison.” He chuckles. “Anyone who dies naturally will most likely just pass on, unless they get lost.”

  Rafe’s eyes bug. “Is that a thing?”

  “Happens more often than you’d think.”

  We follow our Ghost Guide through the main door of the center building— as in, literally through it. On the other side, I sneeze, almost like we’d phased through a cloud of sawdust. Maybe I won’t make a habit of doing that. Inside, the spook factor is even lower. None of the shiny wood floors creek, no lights flicker, and soft classical music fills the lobby. No skips or scratches included.

  “All of the teachers are adult ghosts whose bodies are protected on school grounds,” Kaz continues. “We have Healers — many of whom are trained counselors — teachers, coaches, and of course, a headmaster.”

  As if on cue, a man in an immaculate suit glides through a door to our left, a smile on his freckled face, gray speckling his temples. “Kazuya, I see you’ve finally found our missing students.” He spreads his hands in a sort of welcoming gesture. “Mr. Warren and Ms. Martin, we are
so glad to finally have you at Locklear. I’m Mr. Qureshi, the headmaster.”

  I frown. “Missing?” This shouldn’t be my immediate greeting to someone in authority, but at the moment, the sheer number of questions in my head outweighs all my Southern politeness.

  Oh. There’s a fact I remember about myself. Hopefully, some more memory nuggets will keep dropping as I go. Maybe it’s totally normal to lose your memory after dying. It is kind of jarring after all.

  Mr. Qureshi steeples his hands under his chin. “Yes. We’ve actually been looking for you for some time. It’s not unheard of, but Kaz usually doesn’t have so much trouble finding the newly deceased.”

  Rafe’s brow lifts. “How long have you been looking for us?”

  Kaz rubs his jaw. “Well, you weren’t technically missing, Rafe. We knew you were still locked into the first part of your unfinished business since you were physically tied to Blakemore. That took priority, so we had to wait until that was done.”

  Rafe’s sunny expression drops for a moment, but he throws it back on fast as Kaz continues. It’s so distracting that I almost miss what our Ghost Guide says next.

  “Billie, though? We’ve been looking for you about a week. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t pin down your location until tonight.”

  A half cough, half gasp comes out of my throat. “What? I’ve been dead a full week?”

  Where the flip have I been for seven days? Unconscious somehow? I thought coming here might give me some answers, but my list of questions is steadily growing. The wails of that shadow from the field grind through my head again. Maybe it had answers. I try not to snort out loud. Right. Like a screaming, writhing shadow would be able to give me any insight into my current situation.