Body & Soul полностью

And there went that moment.…“Don't answer it,” I warned. “She's probably—”

He ignored me, clicking the speakerphone button. “Mom?”

“—talked to Mrs. Turner,” I said with a sigh.

“Will, where are you?” Will's mom sounded like she was in full panic mode, in a way I hadn't heard since first meeting — well, seeing — her a few months ago.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“Is Lily Turner with you?” Her voice was tight with worry.

“I told you,” I said in a singsong voice.

He glared at me.

I shrugged.

“No,” he said to his mom.

“Do you know where she is? Corine Taylor seems to think you do.” I heard her breath catch, as if she were close to tears. “William, she's talking about trying to get the police to issue an AMBER Alert. Lily's underage, and with her medical issues…”

Will shot me an alarmed look. “Mom, she's not with me. I did give her a ride this morning, but she asked to be let out about a block away from Misty Evans's house. I have no idea where she is now.” A succinct description of our problem, if nothing else.

Will's mom took a deep breath. “Okay, I knew there had to be an explanation. Just come home and we'll talk to Corine.”

Oh. In spite of myself, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of intrigue. I turned to face Will. Now, this is going to be interesting. Not just in an academic sense but also in a making-the-wrong-choice-here-could-really-screw-us kind of way. Will rarely, if ever, defied his mother. He dodged, he avoided, he fibbed — but out-and-out refused? No way. Back when I first started talking to him, a few days after I'd died, he'd almost let himself end up in a mental institution because he wanted to avoid outing himself as a ghost-talker to his mother and upsetting her.

Which, in my opinion, was crazier than talking to dead people ever could be.

So which would win out? His super-over-the-top loyalty to his mother or his responsibility as a ghost-talker?

I resisted the urge to hum the theme from Jeopardy! A) because it wasn't really appropriate, and B) because I already knew the answer. His mom always came first. I couldn't blame him, no matter how much it frustrated me at times. After his dad killed himself, they'd had only each other.

Will's head sagged for a second before he straightened up and took a deep breath. “Mom, I'm sorry. I can't.”

My mouth fell open, and I swear, I got chills. He'd actually done it. He'd told his mom no. Somewhere along the line, Will Killian had grown a mother-proof spine.

“I'm in the middle of something important right now,” he continued, “and I can't walk away.” The determined set of his jaw spoke volumes. He wasn't backing down on this one. Color me stunned.

On the other end of the phone, his mother seemed as flabbergasted as I was. “Will… I don't… You need to understand. This is serious.”

“I know. And I do understand,” he said. “But I have to do this.”

“Honey—” she began.

“Tell Mrs. Turner to call the police. That's fine. Lily is not with me, and they should be looking for her.” He looked to me for confirmation, and I shrugged. At least if they caught her and brought her home, we would eventually find out about it and be able to try to fix this. Maybe. Of course, in the meantime, Erin would wreak havoc within the Turner household, the very idea of which made me flinch. Blah. There was no good solution here.

“I love you, and I'll be home as soon as I can,” Will said, and hung up before his mom had a chance to respond.

“She's just going to call back,” I pointed out, unable to resist.

He pushed the button to turn the ringer off and held the phone up to show me the volume symbol with the line through it. “Satisfied?”

“Yeah, actually,” I said, seeing him through new eyes. Who was this guy, this new assertive version of Will? And why did he have to show up just as I was leaving?

Edmund Harris's parents lived on a quiet street in a middle-class neighborhood on the north side of Peoria. At seven thirty, the sun was setting, but kids were still out playing in the yards, occasionally chasing balls, dogs, and one another into the street. I slowed down, ignoring the urge to hurry to the Harris driveway. If we were this close, a few more seconds weren't going to matter.

At least, I hoped not.

I glanced out the window to check house numbers again — we were looking for 1414 and were currently passing 1398—and noticed Alona watching me again. She had her head tipped to one side, blond hair tumbling down over her arm, and she was studying me.

“What?” I asked, resisting the urge to wipe my face.

She shook her head, as if waking herself from a zone-out. “Nothing,” she said quickly, but her cheeks were pinker than normal.

I frowned. “Uh-huh.”

She lifted her chin with a haughty sniff. “I was trying to figure out why my presence hasn't influenced you more, particularly your wardrobe.”

In spite of myself, I looked down at my dark jeans and T-shirt. “My shirt is gray,” I pointed out. “You've expanded my fashion horizons dramatically. I wear three colors now.”