Alexandra Quick and the Deathly Regiment

The Ghost Writer

Alexandra spent the rest of lunch listening to Angelique and David argue.

"I can't believe you think it's funny!" David was full of indignation. "She called us 'colored'!"

Angelique rested her chin on one hand, smiling. "I'll bet she's jealous."

"It wasn't a compliment!"

"You're getting awfully upset at a silly little sixth grader."

"Maybe Constance and Forbearance think of us as 'colored,' too!"

"I don't understand why that word bothers you so much."

David's Muggle sensibilities were clashing with Angelique's pureblood upbringing. Alexandra wasn't sure what to think -- she knew you didn't call people 'colored,' but she was pretty sure Innocence hadn't known it was offensive. She glanced occasionally at the Pritchards' table, where the Ozarker girls were now surrounded by the Rashes, and Larry and his Old Colonial friends. Forbearance looked up for a moment, and from beneath her bonnet gave Alexandra a small smile. Alexandra smiled back at her, then caught Larry looking at her, and turned her smile into a sneer. He sneered back.

"Well, that's silly," Angelique was saying. "Wizarding society just doesn't care about such things -- it has nothing to do with how magical you are."

"Right," David grumbled. "Wizards only care about whether you're pureblood or not."

"Or have a Dark wizard for a father," Alexandra muttered.

Angelique looked taken aback, and then she put her hands on her hips. "You know, I don't think I like boys with no sense of humor."

While David stammered, Marguerite walked over to their table, and announced that they would be going to Boxley's to pick up their textbooks.

Constance and Forbearance rejoined them, still looking at Angelique resentfully.

"David," said Constance, "Innocence didn't mean --"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Forget it," David said brusquely.

Oblivious to the tensions among her charges, Marguerite led them back upstairs and out of Grundy's, and down the street to Boxley's Books. There was still quite a large crowd there. Alexandra saw a poster in the window that said, 'Book signing today by Simon 'Ghastly' Grayson.' The moving wizard photograph below the banner seemed to be in black and white. It showed a long-haired man wearing a black shirt and matching pants -- unusual for wizards -- fading in and out of sight.

Inside the store, Marguerite handed them all slips of paper. "Here are your required books for this year. I looked up each of your class schedules before leaving Charmbridge, so everything each of you needs should be here. Alexandra, remember your scholarship only covers required textbooks."

Alexandra nodded. She was grudgingly impressed by Marguerite's efficiency. Magical Beasts of North America, for her Magizoology elective, was listed along with the usual required textbooks for eighth grade.

Half of the store was filled with witches and wizards waiting in line for the book signing. Most of them were middle-aged or older, and Alexandra saw many wearing tie-dyed t-shirts or fluorescent sneakers beneath their robes. Witches and wizards alike were wearing long hair and beaded headbands, along with more bizarre accessories, like a clanging cowbell dangling from one woman's long, gray, braided ponytail. Alexandra did a double-take at the sight of a fat, grizzled old wizard wearing a kilt and a t-shirt that said: "Dead Not Gone: Ghastly World Tour '99." Next to him was a tall, skinny witch wearing a plain white gown with white lacy gloves and the oddest earrings -- Alexandra blinked, because for a moment she thought they looked like radishes, before the line moved and the radish-adorned witch disappeared behind a bookshelf.

Radicalists, Alexandra thought. She knew there were a few children of Radicalists at Charmbridge; they were very fond of Muggles, and emulated them in a comical, clueless sort of way.

Although she was curious about this Ghastly person, she was more interested in exploring the store. At Charmbridge Academy, much of the school library was off-limits to her. Age restrictions kept some of the most interesting magical texts out of her hands. She was hoping she might be able to find the knowledge she was looking for on the bookstore's shelves.

She wasn't surprised that there was no section labeled 'Dark Arts' or 'Necromancy.' Nor did browsing the Spirit Matters section turn up any books about raising the dead. However, as she edged her way past some of the customers crowding that end of the store, she saw a sign pointing towards one corner: 'Very Special Interests (Adults Only).'

That sounded promising. She followed the arrow and found a door made of black oak, almost invisible until she was standing in front of it. The same sign she had just seen was hanging on the door, in much smaller print.

She checked right and left and over her shoulder; no one was looking in her direction. She reached a hand out, and froze when a high, nasal voice demanded: "Can you read?"

She looked up, and saw a small portrait hanging over the door. It was a painting of one 'Justice Boxley,' a surprisingly young-looking wizard despite his long beard. He was scowling at her disapprovingly.

"Can you read?" Justice Boxley repeated.

"Yes," Alexandra replied sullenly.

"Then are you simple?" the portrait asked. "Empty up here, or just addlepated?" He pointed a finger at his ear and made a twirling motion.

She glared at him. "Is that how you're supposed to talk to customers?"

He snorted. "Little girl, there is an Age Line past this door. You'll never get upstairs."

"Do you keep books about advanced magic up there?" she asked. "Magic to do with... the dead?"

Boxley studied her suspiciously. "Among other things. None of which are appropriate for a witch your age. Even if you did somehow get your hands on one of our Special Interest volumes, they're all jinxed to turn your hair white." He ran a hand over his beard. "Come back when you're old enough for the counter-jinx."

Angrily, she turned away. Sometimes it seemed the entire wizarding world was set against her learning what she really wanted to know.

As she headed back towards the textbook section, however, she found her way blocked by the crowd that had gathered for the book signing, so instead, she was gradually squeezed towards the back of the store, where a banner hung from the wall with a more detailed announcement: "Book Signing Here! Simon 'Ghastly' Grayson: Musician/Ghost Writer/Posthumous Rights Activist!"

Against the wall was a table piled high with books, and hovering over it, sitting in a cross-legged position in mid-air, was the man on the poster outside; or rather, the ghost.

Simon Grayson looked exactly like his photograph, right down to the colorless translucent image that Alexandra had assumed was an artistic effect. His black pants and shirt resembled a pair of pajamas, and matched his long, dark hair. He was quite unremarkable in appearance, aside from being a ghost, and seemed to be speaking continuously as an assistant held up one book after another in front of him.

"Haunting is a phasmophobic word,'" he admonished a plump, rosy-cheeked witch, as he held a quill over the book that the assistant had opened. The quill appeared to be solid enough, and Alexandra heard it scratching on the pages of the book as Grayson continued to speak. "It presumes that the world exists primarily for living people to reside in, and that posthumous residents haunting it are an aberration."

The witch looked chastened as she slunk away, clutching her book.

"I was in Rome for your deathly world tour," said the next wizard in line. "You sounded even better than you did when you were alive."

The ghost's expression was odd, for a moment, before he smiled thinly. "The Italian Ministry of Magic was quite accommodating; more accommodating than our own Bureau of Hauntings has been, I might add. But even two-thousand-year-old Roman ghosts are still oppressed by their prejudiced living descendants."

Grayson continued to lecture his mostly sympathetic audience; the Radicalists, in particular, were all nodding as the ghostly writer/musician pontificated about haunting restrictions and 'corporeal privilege.' Alexandra's eyes were fixed on the ghost, but her thoughts were elsewhere as she proceeded through the line. It was only when she finally reached the head of the line that she saw the title of the book: Deathly Society.

"Well," Simon Grayson said, raising his eyebrows as he regarded Alexandra from above. "A young witch who appreciates classic wrock!" He smiled -- the first time Alexandra had seen him displaying anything other than a stern, admonishing expression. "I assume that's the case, anyway, since you're a little too young to have heard me perform before I transitioned."

The assistant, a young witch in plain blue robes with a Boxley's Books pin on her collar, looked tired as she picked up another book off the table. She offered Alexandra a forced smile.

"Actually, I've never heard of you," Alexandra said. "But I saw that you were a ghost, and --"

Grayson's smile faded, while the store assistant made a coughing sound in the back of her throat.

"Oh, I see!" Grayson sneered. The table beneath him trembled suddenly, and the assistant grabbed at a pile of books threatening to spill off of it. The ghost abruptly descended, until he was nose-to-nose with Alexandra in the blink of an eye, and she was staring him in the face. His eyes were now glowing a pearlescent white, and she could feel a chill radiating from him as he spoke. "What are you, Muggle-born? Never seen a real, unliving ghost before? Go ahead, little girl, take a good, long look at the spook! Shall I say 'boo' and rattle some chains for you?"

"I've met ghosts before," she said. "I just wanted to know... how you became a ghost."

The ghost stared at her, and though she wasn't intimidated by his gaze, the cold that poured off of him gave her goosebumps.

"How did I become a ghost?" His tone was mocking. "Are you seriously asking me that? Are you asking me how I became a ghost?"

Abruptly, he rose high overhead, darting through the air like a fish, as books flew from the table, accompanied by a little cry from the witch trying to keep them in place. "What is this? I have twelve-year-old girls asking me questions like --"

"I'm thirteen," Alexandra said.

"-- 'How did I become a ghost,' as if I'm her personal spirit guide to the afterlife!"

More books flew off of nearby shelves, as Grayson's voice rose to a screech. "This, this is corporeal privilege! You don't give us the most basic courtesy of educating children about the posthumous population so that we aren't obligated to answer questions about our personal transitions --"

"I'm sor--" Alexandra started to say, and then the ghost was looming over her again, enveloping her in his chilly aura.

"-- just to satisfy some morbid, trivializing, adolescent fascination with death!" he bellowed. "You children who are so desperate to shock the grown-ups by playing at darkness! Where's your black makeup and your little green skulls and your silver mask to appall Mummy and Daddy with?"

Alexandra's eyes narrowed, and she resisted shivering. "I'm not fascinated by death, jerk!"

The angry ghost pulled back at that, and glowered at her.

"My brother died, and I thought maybe you could tell me why he didn't come back," she said, in a quieter voice. Her words caught in her throat; until that moment, she hadn't actually been certain why she wanted to talk to the ghost writer. Angrily, she turned away. "Sorry I bothered you. You know, if you don't like people asking you questions about being a ghost, maybe you shouldn't go around trying to sell books about being a ghost."

She was probably going to get in trouble for that, she thought. The older wizards and witches around her were staring at her, and she saw Marguerite in the back of the crowd, looking horrified and dismayed.

She started to make her way towards the senior, expecting a scolding, and then Grayson said, "Wait."

The other bookstore patrons backed away from him as he descended to float next to Alexandra once more. She paused, but didn't look at him.

The ghost made a sound like a groan echoing from inside an empty cupboard. "We get asked that all the time, you know," he said. "Everyone has loved ones who have passed on, and they all want to know what happened to them, and why they can't talk to them."

His tone was less angry now. He just sounded exasperated. Alexandra looked up at him with a frown.

"What do you expect?" she asked.

The ghost regarded her for a moment, then let out a long, whispery sigh. "I can't give you the answers you're looking for. No ghost can. But I can give you a complimentary copy of my book." He snapped his fingers. His quill floated towards him, and the bookstore employee, who was still trying to restack the books he had sent flying, hurried over with a copy of Deathly Society.

"What was your brother's name?" he asked, a little more gently.

"Maximilian," Alexandra murmured.

The ghost nodded, and scribbled something on the title page. The assistant witch snapped the book shut and handed it to Alexandra.

"If your brother has passed beyond, then he no longer needs your help," the ghost said. "Death has claimed him. Save your concern for those who are still with you, the corporeal and the posthumous."

"Thanks," Alexandra mumbled, and pushed through the crowd, clutching the book to her chest. Everyone parted before her.

"Have you got all your schoolbooks, Alexandra?" Marguerite asked. Alexandra had to admit that she hadn't actually done any of her school shopping yet. The chaperone tapped her foot impatiently, while Alexandra hurriedly gathered the textbooks on her list.

Outside, everyone was waiting for her, but while Marguerite looked irritated, her friends offered sympathetic smiles.

With their school shopping done, they had nearly an hour before the rest of the Charmbridge students would be gathering to reboard the bus. Marguerite gave the eighth graders permission to walk around the plaza at the center of the Goblin Market.

"Can we go to Goody Pruett's?" David asked, pointing at the ice cream shop on the corner. He glanced at Angelique, who smiled coyly.

Marguerite eyed the two younger students. "All right, but don't go anywhere else."

"They are sweet!" Constance sounded mildly scandalized, as David and Angelique walked across the plaza together, and into Goody Pruett's Witch-Made Pies, Cakes, and Other Confections.

"They're still too young for courtin'," said Forbearance.

"Who's courtin'?" demanded Benjamin, as he and his brother joined them. Alexandra realized the Rash twins must have followed them yet again from Boxley's Books.

Constance gave him a forced smile. "No one, Benjamin."

"We weren't talking to you," Alexandra said.

Benjamin glowered at her, while Mordecai looked on, stone-faced, but Marguerite was standing only a few feet away, watching all of them. Alexandra realized the Rashes weren't going to go away, and she didn't feel like standing there exchanging glares.

"I want to go to the Owl Post," she said to Marguerite, pointing across the street.

Marguerite looked doubtful.

"You let them go!" Alexandra gestured at the Goody Pruett's shop where Angelique and David had gone. "I just want to send an owl!"

"Oh, all right. But straight there and straight back and don't cause any trouble."

Alexandra bit her tongue, and nodded. She walked across the plaza, pausing as a shiny brass Clockwork golem cut across her path, oblivious, scooping up litter from the street.

The Owl Post was a small, round tower with large, open gaps in the walls, high above the surrounding buildings. A steady stream of owls was flying in and out through the gaps, and Alexandra noticed several Clockworks diligently scraping droppings and feathers off the ground. Suddenly those wide-brimmed hats so many witches and wizards wore made more sense -- she looked up warily as she darted through the door into the tower.

There were a fair number of customers waiting in line; Alexandra was surprised to see that one of the Owl Post employees behind the counter was a goblin, looking just as surly as the ones she'd seen at Gringotts the previous year.

She purchased two small mailing scrolls, and went over to the table set up to one side to hastily pen letters to Anna and Julia.

She had written to Julia a few days earlier, so she mentioned only that she was in Chicago now, and asked Julia to continue writing to her from Salem, where her sister would be starting tenth grade. They had talked often during the summer of Alexandra coming to visit again, but the Department of Magical Transportation's travel restrictions had quashed those plans. Julia had suggested perhaps a Christmas or Easter visit, and Alexandra hoped that would be possible, though returning to Croatoa also filled her with an uneasy, hollow feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that she refused to think about.

Her letter to Anna was briefer, saying only that she was worried, and asking the other girl to write back, or better yet, call her.

Of course she's okay, she thought. Anna's family had probably just gone on vacation or something. Or maybe her father was bringing her to Charmbridge personally. On a flying carpet, perhaps.

Then came the undesired thought: Maybe he decided not to send Anna back to Charmbridge at all. Alexandra tried to practice her Occlumency, pushing that thought down deep where it wouldn't bother her, and got back in line to mail her scrolls.

"But doesn't it concern you, when Governors have been given the power to declare virtually anyone a Dark Wizard?" asked a man with mutton-chops and a stovepipe hat standing in line ahead of her, wearing the breeches and overcoat of one of the Old Colonial communities. He had apparently been arguing with a taller, plumper wizard, who looked grandfatherly with his long white beard flowing down the front of his blue robe.

"I think it's about time the Wizards' Congress realized we're at war!" the bearded wizard said, in a deep, booming voice.

"They should have shut down the Automagicka while they're at it," grumbled a witch wearing traditional black robes and a tall, pointed hat.

"I don't like the Automagicka or any of these other newfangled contrivances, Clockworks and flying carpets and other foreign fancies, but I don't like this WODAMND Act either," said the Old Colonial wizard, shaking his head.

"Well, I think the WODAMND Act doesn't go far enough," the tall, grandfatherly wizard said. "You know that the Enemy has a daughter going to Charmbridge Academy, don't you?"

"I've heard," said the witch, as Alexandra stood very still. "So?"

"So, why haven't they interrogated her?" The blue-robed wizard leaned forward, and whispered conspiratorially, though still loudly enough to be heard throughout the post office. "I've heard two of the Enemy's children went through the Veil to treat with Dark Powers -- and it was only the girl who came back!"

Alexandra looked straight ahead, with her teeth clenched together so tightly her head started to hurt.

"Not sure I believe such tales," the Old Colonial said, his brow wrinkling beneath the brim of his hat.

"Why hasn't the little sorceress been chained up?" demanded the first man, brushing aside the other wizard's skepticism. "It might bring her father out of hiding!"

The witch in black frowned, and glanced at Alexandra. Alexandra was forcing her expression to be neutral, while in her pocket, her hand was gripping her wand tightly, and she prayed that she wouldn't suddenly produce another burst of 'spontaneous magic.'

"You're talking about a little girl," commented another man standing in line. "We don't punish children for the sins of their fathers."

"How many people died on the Roanoke Underhill?" The wizard with the long white beard was sounding less grandfatherly all the time. "And how many will die when the Enemy strikes again? If Cruciating one sorceress will save hundreds of lives..."

"Now, you can't be serious," said the witch.

"Of course I'm serious! We're dealing with the Dark Convention! As far as I'm concerned, they should bring back Dementors!"

There were a few gasps from the other people in line. Alexandra didn't know what Dementors were, but she was grateful when one of the Owl Post clerks called the elderly wizard to the counter next, and his rants were cut off as he began arguing about the rising cost of pigeon-rate postage.

Alexandra took slow, deep breaths and practiced pushing away her thoughts again, until it was her turn. The goblin hardly looked at her as he made change for the golden eagle she handed him with her letters, shoving a few pigeons back across the counter at her. Alexandra pocketed the change and hurried out of the Owl Post, before the adults resumed their conversation.

Agitated, she walked back across the plaza, and saw David and Angelique headed in the same direction. The two of them were both holding cones of Wyland West's 99-Flavored Ice Cream.

David nodded at her, then gagged as he licked his ice cream. "Eww! Tastes like... wet dog! Who'd make an ice cream flavor out of that?"

Angelique giggled, as she licked her scoop. "I got peppermint."

And then she almost dropped her cone. "Darla!" she squealed.

Alexandra froze. So did David.

In front of the Colonial Bank of the New World, a girl in frilly pink and gold robes, with her hair falling around her shoulders in tight black ringlets, turned and stared at them. Her hand was resting on the shoulder of a younger girl, who was also wearing a soft pink robe; Alexandra thought she looked about Bonnie Seabury's age. But it was the older girl on whom Alexandra's attention was fixed.

Darla Dearborn looked almost blank for a moment, as her eyes quickly scanned the crowded plaza -- and then her gaze settled on Angelique, and her face broke into a smile. "Angelique!"

She leaned over and whispered something in the ear of the dark-haired younger girl, while Angelique hurried across the plaza, leaving David behind, standing there dumbfounded. Darla came down the stone steps in front of the CBNW building, and the two girls embraced, with Angelique carefully holding her ice cream cone away from Darla. From across the plaza, Alexandra could hear them speaking excitedly to one another.

She slowly walked over to join David.

"What the hell?" David muttered.

The last Alexandra had seen of Darla Dearborn had been during a furious magical duel -- Darla and John Manuelito, the leader of the Mors Mortis Society, had tried to prevent Alexandra and her brother from opening the gate to the Lands Below. Alexandra and Maximilian had left the two Mors Mortis Society members battered and unconscious on the floor of the cavern beneath Charmbridge Academy, and when Alexandra had returned, she learned that Darla and John, along with nearly a dozen other MMS members, had been expelled for practicing Dark Arts.

Now, she wondered if it wouldn't have been better if Darla and John had won that fight.

Darla and Angelique looked just like their old selves, laughing and giggling and admiring one another's hair and robes, until a well-dressed man and a woman emerged from the CBNW branch, followed by a half-naked house-elf carrying a large purse. Darla looked up at them, and back at Angelique. She said something and leaned forward to kiss her friend on the cheek, and then glanced in Alexandra's direction.

Their eyes met for a moment, but Alexandra could read nothing in the other girl's expression. She kept her own face impassive. Then Darla and the younger girl hurried up the steps to join the two adults.

"What was she doing here?" David demanded, when they all rejoined the group of students at the edge of the plaza.

Angelique frowned at his tone. "Shopping with her parents. Her father was just made President of CBNW in Central Territory, you know."

David looked angry. "Crazy bitch should be locked up."

Angelique gasped. Marguerite heard him, too, and her mouth dropped open. "David Washington! Shame on you! That sort of language is completely unacceptable!"

"You got a dirty mouth," Benjamin said, from where he stood with his brother and the Pritchards. "Dirty like mud."

David growled, and Alexandra reached for her wand, but Marguerite stepped in front of them. "Don't you dare start a fight!"

"Oughter be limbed for cursin' 'round respectable girls!" Benjamin said.

Angelique looked quite offended; Constance and Forbearance looked appalled also, though it wasn't clear whether it was by David or the Rashes.

"You two mind your own business!" Marguerite said to Benjamin and Mordecai. She turned back to David, whose smirk faded when she glared at him. "I should tell Mrs. Speaks!"

"That girl cursed me!" David said.

"Well." Marguerite pursed her lips. "That's no excuse. If she hadn't been expelled, I'd make you apologize to her..."

"I'll apologize when she apologizes for cursing me! I had these huge mega-zits for weeks!"

"How about apologizing for cursing in front of me?" Angelique demanded.

David gaped at her.

"I don't like boys who use bad words, either," Angelique said, and with her nose in the air, she walked over to join a couple of ninth grade girls who were returning from a trip to a robe shop. David looked at Alexandra helplessly, but all she could do was shrug.

They waited for all the other Charmbridge students to return. When Innocence arrived with the sixth graders, she ran up to her sisters to show them what she had bought at The Familiar Corner: a large, squirming green toad.

Constance looked appalled. "Girl, why in heaven's name did you spend money on that?"

"We got plenty of toads back home," Forbearance said.

"But Mr. Jolly said this hain't just a toad, it's a familiar!" Innocence hugged the poor creature to her as its legs kicked frantically.

The ride home was even less fun than the ride to Chicago had been. Constance, Forbearance, and Innocence once more sat with Benjamin and Mordecai, and Angelique sat with the older girls, laughing a little too hard at their jokes. David sat with Alexandra, looking unhappy and confused.

Eventually, they started a game of wizard chess to relieve the boredom. Alexandra was rather glad when they reached David's house in Detroit before they could finish the game, as she was losing.

"Lucky," he said, packing up the pieces. "I'll totally own you next time."

"Yeah, whatever." Her retort lacked conviction, and he paused for a moment, before shouldering his bag of school supplies.

"Hey, don't worry about Anna," he said. "I'm sure she'll be there when school starts."

"Sure." She nodded. "See you next week."

He glanced at Angelique, and cleared his throat. "Bye, Angelique."

The other girl paused -- when David had gotten up, Angelique had suddenly become very animated in expressing her opinion of whether shimmering or iridescent trim was this year's fashion in dress robes -- and she turned her head to look at him as if only now noticing he was leaving.

"Good-bye, David," she said, rather coolly.

David unhappily trudged down the aisle to the front of the bus, and Alexandra noticed Angelique watching him, once his back was turned.

"Bye, David!" piped up Innocence, as he passed their booth.

"Hush, girl!" Benjamin and Mordecai both said at once, but then Constance and Forbearance both said, "Good-bye, David!" as well. He turned to look at them, and gave them a wan smile and a wave, before exiting the bus. Alexandra saw his parents waiting outside the large house he lived in, in what was obviously one of the nicer parts of Detroit.

With David dropped off, Alexandra was alone for the rest of the trip back to Larkin Mills. Angelique was not quite so active in her conversation at the next table over, and Alexandra didn't hear much conversation from the Ozarkers' table at all.

As the bus sped along the Automagicka, Alexandra took out her signed copy of Deathly Society. Simon 'Ghastly' Grayson's ghostly countenance leered at her from the black cover, as he faded in and out of view, with his arms crossed over his chest. She could see a few other ghostly figures who seemed to be appearing and disappearing just out of view behind him. She flipped the book over, to read a rather uninteresting biography of the former wrock star-turned-posthumous rights activist, and then opened it at last, to look at what he had inscribed in feathery handwriting on the inside cover of the book:

"For Maximilian and those who remember him.
Death only wins
when you have been forgotten.

Simon Grayson"