Haunted

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Alex disappeared again sometime after sixth period. It happened without me even noticing and I wondered whether he’d been able to conceal it from others. When by the end of the day he hadn’t resurfaced I wasn’t so concerned as we’d already discussed what to do in such a situation. I agreed to check the theatre every morning until I found him waiting there for me. Neither of us wanted to address the bigger question hanging in the air: what if he didn’t come back at all? I didn’t want to think about that.

  After school, I met up with Zac in the parking lot. I needed to collect my car from his house so I could go home. I couldn’t stay away forever and I’d realised that if things were happening in my family before I was ready for them, there wasn’t much I could do about it. I just had to accept it.

  Except by the time we pulled into Zac’s driveway, the last thing I felt like was braving the peak-hour traffic back to the valley.

  “I’m so sore from track practice,” Zac groaned as we walked into the pool house. “I gotta get in the hot tub pronto.” He tossed his backpack aside and went to grab some towels. “How about you?”

  “I’m not in the mood, but thanks anyway.”

  “Are you sure? It’s a great way to unwind and, no offence, you look a little tense.”

  “I’m always tense.” I gave a faint smile. “Alright, what’s half an hour?”

  Half an hour quickly turned into two. Before I knew it, I was looking up at an outline of the moon growing steadily bolder against the canvas of sky. Zac was so easy to talk to I’d lost track of time.

  “Believe it or not, I can see why you like that new guy,” he said out of the blue.

  “You’re talking about Alex, right?”

  “Yeah. He’s mysterious, just like you.”

  “Don’t be silly, I’m not mysterious,” I replied dismissively.

  “Are you kidding?” Zac made a face. “Girl, you’re a closed book!”

  “Did you just call me girl?”

  He nodded. “I did, and I enjoyed it a little too much.”

  We talked some more, ordered take-out, and laughed until it was too late for me to think about driving home. But the moment I climbed into the sofa bed, I knew I wouldn’t be getting a wink of sleep. I’d been distracting myself all afternoon but now, without Zac to keep me occupied, my last conversation with Alex kept replaying in my head. It was like someone had mixed up the pieces of different puzzles and none of them seemed to connect. Thinking about it was making me crazy. Sleep was what I needed most, but when I glanced at the clock I saw it was almost two in the morning. Dammit! How long had I been lying here obsessing? There was nothing I could do right now anyway, so why couldn’t my mind just settle and leave me in peace? Instead, I was stuck in an endless loop of thoughts with no exit sign in sight.

  An idea hit me and I reached to grab Grandma Fee’s brooch from the coffee table where I’d left it. I lay down again, clutching the cool silver to my chest, for the first time inviting it to work its magic. I had spent so much time thinking about Alex and his world that I thought I may as well travel back there. Besides, there had to be a reason Becky was so determined to share her story with me.

  In what seemed less than a minute my mood changed. My mind actually emptied without any effort on my part. It was like someone had just thrown a blanket over all the spinning wheels in there. When the heaviness descended I embraced it willingly.

  My mother could not afford the luxury of retreating from the world just because she was expecting. She worked until the very day both I and my younger sisters were born. But things are very different for the upper classes. The moment Mrs Reade’s condition is announced, she gives up all activity and keeps to the confines of her room. It seems out of character for a woman who was always hankering to be out of doors. On occasion the warm weather draws her out to sit in the garden for a short time or to take a brief walk about the grounds, but she soon hurries inside again, as if worried too much fresh air might have some adverse effect.

  Mr Reade, when he is home, is more attentive to his wife, as if she is a priceless ornament that requires special handling.

  “It troubles me to be away at such a time,” I overhear him say to Mr Alexander one morning before climbing into his carriage for yet another trip to London. “Isobel has such a delicate constitution and you know how she misses me when I am absent.”

  The mistress might look as delicate as a dandelion, but I am sure she has the constitution of an ox.

  “I know, dear brother,” Mr Alexander replies. “But she has a surprising strength. Do not weigh yourself down with troubles at such a joyous time.”

  “I am sure you are right,” the master declares. “I fret over nothing. Just promise me she will be given the utmost care in my absence. I entrust her wellbeing to you.”

  “And I shall endeavour to ensure her every need is met.”

  The master looks relieved and, in a rare display of affection, gives his brother a hearty embrace before bidding him farewell.

  I note that throughout the exchange Mr Alexander looks composed, but the minute the carriage is out of sight his face darkens and he seems to sag a little.

  He stays true to his word and, like a devoted brother, does not leave Mrs Reade’s side. Attending to her every whim and fancy becomes his primary focus. She often complains of being bored and bedridden and he will attempt to lift her spirits with card games or by reading to her from her favourite books. I am relieved to see no return of their former intimacy, which would be most inappropriate in the mistress’s condition, and feel confident that this new life on the way has put an end to their folly.

  On 22 April I am woken well before dawn by the sound of running feet and people shouting orders in the hallway below and I know the birthing has begun. I dress quickly and descend the stairs. Other housemaids come flying past me carrying armfuls of linen and pitchers of steaming water to Mrs Reade’s chamber.

  I reach the foyer to find Mrs Baxter with her cap askew. She is wringing her hands as she shouts directives to nobody in particular. “Becky!” she exclaims upon seeing me. “Cook needs you in the kitchen. Make haste!”

  For what seems like hours muffled moans and cries drift down to us from upstairs. Everyone in the household is anxious for the wellbeing of the mistress, except for me. Having been present at the birthing of both my sisters I recognise the sound of pain that has a purpose. Mrs Reade is not as breakable as others seem to think.

  Cook sends me to wait on the master, who is pacing in the drawing room and sipping whisky to steady his nerves. Every so often he throws a helpless look at the staircase but does not ascend. I look around for Mr Alexander, but he is nowhere to be found.

  The doctor finally emerges, his brow glistening and his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He comes jovially into the drawing room and Mr Reade jumps to attention. Even the servants cluster at the door, anxious to hear the news. I can tell from their faces that they are as anticipatory of the announcement as if awaiting a new addition to their own families.

  “Congratulations, Reade,” the doctor says and touches him on the shoulder. “You have a son. Eight pounds and bouncing with life.”

  “A son?” the master repeats before breaking into a beaming smile. “I have a son!”

  After she has rested and her husband has been allowed up to visit, the mistress asks after Mr Alexander. I am delegated the task of finding him, which proves difficult until I eventually catch sight of him in the garden. He is leaning against the old willow tree, his features plagued with worry, the locks of his hair damp with the early morning dew. (Still morning, just hours after dawn?)

  He looks up when he hears me approach. “How is she?” are the first words out of his mouth.

  “All is well with Mrs Reade,” I assure him. “The doctor said there were no complications and he will have trouble keeping her abed.”

  “And the child?”

  I am excited to be the bearer of such good tidings. “Grang
e Hall has an heir and you have a nephew, sir. The bonniest babe by all accounts, although I have yet to lay eyes on him. Will you come inside, sir? The mistress is asking for you.”

  Strangely, my joyous news seems to cause Mr Alexander consternation rather than delight.

  “I will come in presently,” he murmurs.

  His lack of enthusiasm surprises me, but it cannot deflate my own spirits. I hurry back to the house to let my mistress know he will come soon.

  You would never guess there is a newborn in the house. Baby James is a quiet and well-behaved infant who sleeps and eats at designated times without complaint. Mostly he is kept isolated in the nursery for fear of infection. This manner of bringing up a child seems rather unnatural to me, raised as I was in such close proximity to my family and sharing everything with them.

  A prune-faced nanny named Mrs Everest has been brought on staff and guards the baby with the fierceness of a dragon. We are lucky to catch a brief glimpse of him. Mrs Everest may possess years of experience in child-rearing, but I cannot help thinking how discomfiting it must be to wake each day to that dour face.

  I seek out opportunities to lay eyes on the child, and on Sunday I am rewarded when Mrs Everest unexpectedly takes to her bed to nurse a slight cold. This means I am excused from attending church to watch over James for a few hours.

  When I reach the nursery, I am immediately entranced. No expense has been spared here. There is a frieze of dancing bears around the walls, several newly upholstered chairs for nursing, and a mahogany rocking horse with a saddle and bridle of real leather. On a table are the gifts that keep arriving from well-wishers. The villagers send whatever they can afford — a basket of oranges, a seed cake or a homespun blanket — but the gifts that arrive daily by post are lavish: silk pantalettes and embroidered smocks, engraved silver mugs and rattles, and wind-up toys in velvet-lined boxes.

  I approach the sleeping babe, who casts a spell on me the moment I set eyes on him. He looks so peaceful in his frothy crib and I wish he could stay that way forever, unaware of the cares of the world. Careful not to wake him, I reach down to stroke his hair, dark like his mother’s but as soft as duck down. He responds by making a gentle snuffling sound in his sleep. His hands lie open like tiny flowers, but when I trace across one wrinkled palm his fist closes tightly around my finger. He is the prettiest child I have ever seen and I wonder how the mistress can bear to be away from him for even a moment. I know that if he were mine I should not entrust his care to anyone.

  Suddenly the infant opens his eyes and the world is awash with blue. They are a crystal-clear blue, like sapphires.

  I start, not because the child is awake and looking right at me, but because I know those eyes. I have seen them at close quarters in the face of another.

  Zac offered to drive us both to school and, as I wasn’t up to a long drive, I accepted. I planned to drive myself home later in the afternoon when I was hopefully feeling more alert. From the moment we pulled into the school’s parking lot I had a feeling Alex was around. Luckily I had a free period first thing, so I parted ways with Zac and went straight to the theatre. Nothing in my life felt stable these days so I liked the way the theatre remained a fixed point, unchanged each time I visited. The light never seemed to change in here and the air always smelled the same.

  My intuition turned out to be right. Alex was in his customary seat on the balcony, staring attentively at the dimly lit stage as if it were swarming with actors in lavish costumes. I wondered if a performance was unfolding in his head.

  “We have a lot to talk about,” I said when I reached him.

  “I know.” He stood to stretch his legs. “I have been sitting here since daybreak. I am beginning to miss the sun.”

  “Come on then,” I said. “Let’s get you some vitamin D.”

  “I’m afraid I do not follow your meaning.” I had to stop doing that — putting him on the spot by making references to things outside his realm of experience. It was easy to forget how many scientific advancements had occurred since 1853.

  “It means let’s go enjoy the sunshine.”

  We headed to my locker so I could put my stuff away, then went into the quad and tucked ourselves away on a stone bench, hidden from prying eyes.

  “I feel like things are about to get weird around here,” I told him. “Like something’s building. Something bad.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “There’s something I haven’t told you yet.” I paused briefly; there was a part of me that wanted to shield Alex from more bad news. I thought he’d had more than his fair share over the last few days. But there was no point hiding anything from him now, not if we were really a team. “The other day I opened my locker and found my gym bag full of this foul-smelling muck. When I went back to clean it up at the end of the day it was gone.”

  Alex’s face reflected his horror. “Why haven’t you told me this?”

  “I was waiting for an opportunity.”

  “It can only mean one thing.”

  “I know. Isobel must be back too. We just haven’t seen her yet.” Alex looked defeated for a moment, then his eyes found mine.

  “There is not much we can do while we lack a vital piece of information. If there is a necromancer at large, and there seems little doubt of that now, we need to find him.”

  “If that’s really what brought you back. We can’t be sure.”

  “You do not believe me?”

  “It’s not that,” I said. “Deep down I know you must be right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept. It’s a terrifying thought. I mean, this person could literally have this whole place overrun by the walking dead at any time.”

  “That will not happen.” Alex adjusted his stance like a warrior steeling himself for battle. But his confidence didn’t convince me.

  “How do you know that? I don’t imagine necromancers are the most stable people in the world.”

  “Whoever is doing this has a clear plan,” Alex replied. “And time is his or her ally.”

  “It would help if we knew what that plan was.”

  “Of course, but we know that nothing has happened without reason. Everything is being carefully calculated. The last thing this sorcerer will want is to draw unnecessary attention that may hamper them.”

  I groaned. “That makes me even more nervous. Are we any closer to knowing who this person might be?”

  Alex thought for a minute. “Perhaps it could be the school headmistress? She looks rather witch-like.”

  “Mrs Kaplan?” I said dubiously. “She might not have the best fashion sense and she needs a new hairstylist, but why would she want to let a bunch of ghosts loose in her own school?”

  “You raise a valid point.”

  “And wouldn’t this necromancer have to have a connection to you?”

  “We can make no assumptions. Besides, the only person at this school with any connection to me is you —”

  “Are you suggesting I’m the necromancer?”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “No. I am saying that none of this makes sense yet. The necromancer must know about me and Isobel, our history. Have you ever spoken to anyone here about us?”

  “Not that I can remember,” I said, racking my brains in case there was an instance I’d forgotten about. “I mean, Sam and Natalie bugged me for information when I got back from England, but I never told them much. How could I? They would have had me committed.”

  Alex’s brows knitted together as he thought. “Is it possible your friends could be craftier than they look?”

  “I highly doubt that. And we’d better head inside — my next class starts soon.”

  We were almost at the library when a reedy voice cut through our conversation. “Excuse me, might I have a word?”

  We looked across to see Doctor Ritter standing in the doorway of his empty classroom. He invited us in with a wave of his hand. Alex and I flashed each other a look before following him inside.

  Doctor
Ritter shut the door and settled against his desk, hands folded in his lap. “I think we can all agree that there has been some tension between us lately, correct?”

  “That’s fair to say,” I replied, wondering where he was going with this.

  “You can relax, Miss Kennedy, you’re not in any trouble.”

  “I’m not?”

  He shook his head. “I actually wanted to say that I understand senior year is a stressful time for students and teachers alike, and animosity in the classroom will not benefit anyone. So I would like for us to put aside our differences and start afresh. What do you say?”

  “That’s a very generous offer, sir.”

  Truthfully, I thought his proposal a little strange after our last interaction. Why the change of tune?

  “Very good.” He rubbed his hands together. “Before you go, Mr Reade, I was wondering if we have met before? There’s something very familiar about your face.”

  Alex frowned. “I do not think so.”

  “Ah, my mistake.” Doctor Ritter smiled, picked up his briefcase and strolled out of the room whistling.

  “What was that about?” I asked as soon as he was out of earshot.

  “I have no idea,” Alex replied. “Let us find somewhere more private to talk.”

  “If I cut any more classes, I’ll be in big trouble.”

  He gave me a funny look and I immediately got the irony. If we didn’t get to the bottom of what was happening, cutting class would be the least of my worries.

  “Sorry, priorities,” I said.

  We were scouring the library for an empty aisle when Alex started to lag behind me. I was so busy looking for a spot to ensconce ourselves that I didn’t pay attention at first.

  “Chloe,” he said, but I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy thinking about the fact that there might be a necromancer on the loose at Sycamore High. Not just teenagers messing around with stuff they didn’t understand, but a person with a lot of experience and power. The idea was hard to process, but I knew Alex was right. This situation we found ourselves in was no accident, which meant someone had deliberately brought him back from the afterlife for a reason currently unknown. Sure, there was a slight, maybe two per cent chance this was a friendly necromancer who just wanted to give Alex a new lease of life, but somehow I doubted that. There weren’t many altruistic reasons for raising the dead that I could think of.