“Mom, I’m scared,” Coco said. She didn’t want to admit it to Ollie or Brian. She wanted to be brave for them, because they were being brave for her. They were joking with Ollie’s dad and keeping an eye on the staircase without saying anything about being afraid. But she could admit it to her mother.
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” said her mom, smoothing the corner of a blanket. “It might not be the most fun because it’s so chilly in here and we’re kind of stuck. But there’s nothing to be scared of.”
“We saw a ghost in the hallway upstairs,” Coco said in a small voice.
Her mother pressed her lips together. “The imagination is a very powerful thing, sweetheart,” she said. She shot Mr. Voland an annoyed look. “It might have been a mistake to let you go ghost hunting.”
“But—why is it so cold, and why is everything breaking?” Coco demanded. “We did see a ghost. I—I think all this is the ghost’s fault.”
“Things are breaking because of the snowstorm,” said her mom more gently, putting aside the last blanket. “And you are safe. Roger and I—we won’t let anything happen to you.”
Coco felt better. But only a little.
“Like Roger said,” Coco’s mom went on, “we have plenty of supplies. We’ll be okay until the storm stops.”
Coco wanted to believe it. They were all together. Five grown-ups. It wasn’t like the last time, when she and Ollie and Brian had been all alone, and lost and running.
But she was still afraid.
* * *
—
The second-to-last battery-powered lamp went out, and Ollie’s dad said, still with his determined cheerfulness, “Well, I think that’s probably our signal to go to bed.”
Despite the fire, it was so cold in the dining hall that they all breathed out plumes like dragons in the frosty air.
Mr. Voland said, “I think I will sit up awhile longer.”
“Suit yourself,” said Ollie’s dad.
They went to the downstairs bathroom to brush their teeth. On their way back, Ollie murmured to Mr. Voland, “What happens now?”
“Try and get some rest,” he said. “Don’t sleep—stay alert. I’ll get you when it’s time.”
Ollie nodded. The shadows pressed in while they settled under their covers. The fire threw flickering shadows across the walls and ceiling of the dining room.
Ollie, Brian, and Coco settled in side by side, wrapped tightly in blankets. When they were settled, Brian said, whispering, “Ollie, I still don’t think this talking-to-ghosts thing is a good idea.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Ollie asked. “We can trust Mr. Voland. He broke the mirror for me, and he’s been keeping watch all day. I think we’d be in real trouble if it weren’t for him!”
“Maybe so,” conceded Brian. “But still. It doesn’t feel right. Dead people—they’re gone. We aren’t meant to talk to them.”
Brian, Coco remembered, was Catholic. It came out at odd moments.
Ollie rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling, jaw set. “Stay in bed if you don’t want to help,” she said.
“I never said—” Brian began.
“Cut it out,” whispered Coco. “We’re about to have a pretty darn rough night, it seems like. It won’t help if you two are arguing over this. We have to watch each other’s backs. And, Brian, I don’t really like this either, but I can’t think of a better way. Ollie, Brian is trying to help us. Even if he doesn’t agree with you, that’s no reason to be mean.”
There was a small silence. Then, “Sorry,” Brian whispered.
“I’m sorry too,” said Ollie.
No one said anything else. Somewhere out of sight, the bird clock whistled the hour. Side by side, they lay on their backs and watched the firelight fade from gold to red as the fire burned low.
9