“Phew!” Greg stretched his arms up behind his head. “I haven’t had such a good time in ages.”
Harriet was surprised – the fifteen minutes had gone by in a dreamy energy high, as she tried to spot the spider among the petrified insect cocoons. It was like the energy had done something to her brain, sending her thoughts slow and stretchy like toffee.
Harriet smiled affectionately at him. He was a funny one. Good old Greg. Why had she ever thought he was strange? He felt like a long-lost brother now, familiar and comforting. She found herself telling him the truth: “I was trying to manifest my power with the mouse, but it didn’t work.”
“Oh, yeah?” said Greg, eyebrow raised. “I might know some people who can help with that. You’d need to have something to trade, though. They run a black market where people swap … particular favours and information.”
That sounded perfect. Anyone Greg recommended would be able to help her, she was sure of it. Harriet beamed at him.
“Can you take me to see them?”
“Stoker, it would be my pleasure.”
Oh dear. I was hoping it would be a while before you had to meet the Tricksters. They’re tangled up in everything – past, present and future – so you’re going to have to face them eventually. It might as well be now.
You see, ghosts have lived here for a long time. Not just since the halls of residence was built in the seventies, but long before that, in a series of cottages and barns and huts and camps throughout history. In all that time, people have died, like they do.
Gather enough people together, whether they’re dead or alive, and they’ll make some ground rules, put laws in place and develop some kind of society. There are lawmakers and lawbreakers here, just like anywhere else. Sometimes the lawbreakers are the more interesting ones.
Look at Greg – his power makes anyone trust him, utterly, after skin-to-skin contact. That’s allowed him to get away with a lot.
It’s a power that makes him valuable to people like the Tricksters. He’s an enforcer; an inside man. Harriet hasn’t been here long enough to know who she should avoid and who she should trust.
If she’d asked Rima before talking to Greg, she would have been warned to never, ever, shake Greg’s hand. But it’s too late for that now. She’s already made a big mistake – one that it’s going to be hard to recover from. But her next mistake will be even worse.
HARRIET
Greg led her down to the basement floor, through a doorway marked “Recreation Room”. As he stepped through the wooden door, the entrance lit up in bright white light, and then dropped back into darkness. Harriet was worried it would burn her, but she trusted Greg, so she stepped through. The glowing light was painless.
The floor of the basement room was covered in a black, gunky damp from flooding, and it was full of junk – broken tables and chairs, old suitcases and crates. Ghosts were crammed into every centimetre of space.
“What was that light thing on the door?” she asked Greg.
“It’s the lock,” he said, scanning the room. “People get sent to the basement for breaking the rules. That girl there, in the orange nightgown, used to go around starting fires a couple of years ago. The boy with the Mohican stalked one of the third-floorers before the millennium. Once you’re sent here, you don’t get out again. Qi Pang’s lightning fries any of them who try to cross the doorway.”
He gestured back towards the bright light that had flashed when they’d entered. Harriet shivered, remembering the feeling of Qi’s lightning wrapped around her arm. She could imagine what would happen if one of the imprisoned ghosts tried to pass through it.
Greg walked over to where a group of ghosts were crowded around a pool table. One of the balls on it was skittering around, rolling over to hit a second one and sending it flying. The crowd let out a roaring cheer, and one of the ghosts patted a short, grinning girl on the arm.
From the other side of the table, a boy stared at another ball. It tilted to the side, then back. The guy frowned, staring unblinkingly at it until it started rolling.
The ball missed the pocket, and the crowd let out a long groan as the girl did a little happy dance.
They must be using telekinesis. Harriet was impressed. Was there no end to the potential powers ghosts could have?
“Are they the ones who run the black market?” Harriet asked Greg.
He shook his head. Suddenly mute, he pointed to two men she hadn’t noticed, standing alone on the far side of the room. They weren’t paying any attention to the pool game, but just watched everyone, completely motionless. The sight of them ignited some long-lost instinct inside Harriet’s spine that told her to run.
“Those are the Tricksters,” Greg said. “It’s their market.”
They looked like old-fashioned movie stars; all smoothed-back hair and artistic stubble. Their hair was completely white – a shockingly bright white. But there was something unnatural about their disproportionate handsomeness. It felt artificial, like a neon poisonous frog.
The urge to flee gripped the back of Harriet’s neck, seizing up her muscles. They couldn’t notice her, her hindbrain was telling her body. She had to hide.
“The Tricksters?” Harriet said, her voice a little shaky. One of them turned his head, his eyes landing on hers. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“I promise.” Greg pressed one hand to her elbow.
She breathed out. If he thought this was safe, then she was going to be all right. “What’s that feeling, then? It tickles.”
“Tricksters collect energy from fear,” Greg said, under his breath. “That feeling is their power feeling you out, that’s all. It’s harmless.”
“I’m not sure about this…” Harriet looked back at the doorway. “I think I should go.”
“You don’t want to waste your time with that lot upstairs.” His hand touched her forearm. “If you want to get things done, the basement is the place to be.”
“Maybe I should go and talk to Rima first…”
Greg squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, his fingers touching her neck. Harriet went dizzy, her thoughts going cloudy. When she could focus again, Harriet couldn’t remember what she’d been so worried about.
“Let’s just go and say hey,” Greg suggested. “They’ll be able to help, I promise. You trust me, don’t you?”
He was right. These were exactly the kind of people she had wanted to find – the real people in charge. It was good that she was afraid – a sign that she was pushing herself as far as she could go. Her gran would never run away from anything. She was stronger than that, and so was Harriet.
She let Greg lead her over to the Tricksters, where he made a tinny cough to get their attention, hovering in front of them.
Eventually, the taller Trickster deigned to look at him. “Yes?”
“Hi, Rufus. Vini.”
The second Trickster didn’t look at them but inclined his head slightly.
All of Greg’s confidence seemed to have dried up now. “This is, er, Harriet Stoker. She’s new, she fell—”
“We know,” Rufus said, sounding bored.