I looked from Father Dominic to the ghost girl, and back again. Finally, I managed to blurt out, "You can see her?"
He nodded. "Yes. I suspected when I first heard your mother speak about you – and your … problems at your old school – that you might be one of us, Susannah. But I couldn't be sure, of course, so I didn't say anything. Although the name Simon, I'm sure you're aware, is from the Hebrew word meaning "intent listener," which, as a fellow mediator, you of course would be...."
I barely heard him. I couldn't get over the fact that finally, after all these years, I'd met another mediator.
"So that's why there aren't any Indian spirits around here!" I practically yelled. "You took care of them. Jeez, I was wondering what happened to them all. I expected to find hundreds – "
Father Dominic bowed his head modestly, and said, "Well, there weren't hundreds, exactly, but when I first arrived, there were quite a few. But it was nothing, really. I was only doing my duty, after all, making use of the heavenly gift I received from God."
I made a face. "Is that who's responsible for it?"
"But of course ours is a gift from God." Father Dominic looked down at me with that special kind of pity the faithful always bestow upon us poor, pathetic creatures who have doubts. "Where else do you think it could come from?"
"I don't know. I've always kind of wanted to have a word with the guy in charge, you know? Because, given a choice, I'd much rather not have been blessed with this particular gift."
Father Dominic looked surprised. "But why ever not, Susannah?"
"All it does is get me into trouble. Do you have any idea how many hours I've spent in psychiatrists' offices? My mom's convinced I'm a complete schizo."
"Yes." Father Dominic nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I could see how a miraculous gift like ours might be considered by a layperson as – well, unusual."
"Unusual? Are you kidding me?"
"I suppose I have been rather sheltered here in the Mission," Father Dominic admitted. "It never occurred to me that it must be extremely difficult for those of you out in the, er, trenches, so to speak, with no real ecclesiastical support – "
"Those of us?" I raised my eyebrows. "You mean there's more than just you and me?"
He looked surprised. "Well, I just assumed … surely there must be. We can't be the last of our kind. No, no, surely there are others."
"Excuse me." The ghost looked at us very sarcastically. "But would you mind telling me what's going on here? Who is this bitch? Is she the one taking my place?"
"Hey! Watch your mouth." I shot her a dirty look. "This guy's a priest, you know."
She sneered at me. "Uh, duh. I know he's a priest. He's only been trying to get rid of me all week."
I glanced at Father Dominic in surprise, and he said, looking embarrassed, "Well, you see, Heather's being a bit obstinate – "
"If you think," Heather said, in her snotty little voice, "that I'm going to just stand back and let you assign my locker to this bitch – "
"Call me a bitch one more time, missy," I said, "and I'll make sure you spend the rest of eternity inside this locker of yours."
Heather looked at me without the slightest trace of fear. "Bitch," she said, stretching the word out so it contained multiple syllables.
I hit her so fast she never saw my fist coming. I hit her hard, hard enough to send her reeling into the line of lockers and leave a long, body-shaped dent in them. She landed hard, too, on the stone floor, but was on her feet again a second later. I expected her to strike back at me, but instead, Heather got up and, with a whimper, ran for all she was worth down the corridor.
"Huh," I said, mostly to myself. "Chicken."
She'd be back, of course. I'd only startled her. She'd be back. But hopefully when I saw her again, she'd have a slightly improved attitude.
Heather gone, I blew lightly on my knuckles. Ghosts have surprisingly bony jaws.
"So," I said. "What were you saying, Father?"