Ominous (12 page)

He gave Noelle a look I couldn’t read, and I closed my eyes as a tear slipped down my cheek. Just then, the double doors behind us closed quietly and I heard footsteps hurrying down the center aisle.
I didn’t have to open my eyes to know it was Headmaster Hathaway and a troupe of police. The din in the room momentarily grew to a fevered pitch, then quieted to a lull, indicating that the headmaster had reached the podium. There was a slam, and I forced myself to look up. The headmaster, wearing a full suit but no tie, with a good growth of stubble on his usually razor-scoured chin, cleared his throat.

“Students and faculty, I’m afraid I have a grave announcement,” he said.

Josh’s arm tightened around me. I felt Noelle stiffen in her seat. Whispers whisked around the room.

“Despite our efforts to increase security, and despite the police presence on campus—”

I heard the sarcasm in his voice as he looked over at my old pal Detective Hauer, who stood in the corner in his usual uniform—rumpled blazer, creased shirt, cotton tie.
This is your fault
, the headmaster was saying silently.
I have to do this because you refused to take Astrid Chou’s disappearance seriously
.

“Another student, Lorna Gross, has gone missing.”

The collective gasp in the room was so predictable it was almost funny. But all I heard were the words
gone missing
. Not
been killed
. Not
died
. I felt an odd sensation that was somewhat akin to hope.

Meanwhile, both Josh and Noelle were staring at me. Josh because, I suppose, he was starting to believe that I was actually psychic. Noelle, I’m sure, wondering how I knew it was Lorna. I touched the locket around my neck and breathed in and out.

“The police have now launched a full investigation into both these disappearances,” the headmaster continued, raising his voice to be heard over the whispered questions and quiet sobs. “In the meantime, the board of directors has decided that, for your safety, Easton Academy will close its doors until further notice.”

Now the noise was uncontrollable. Several students stood up. Some even made for the door. There were shouts and slams and, somewhere, an out-of-place laugh.

The headmaster picked up a gavel and brought it down several times on the top of the podium.

“Silence! Silence, please!” he shouted. Everyone quieted immediately. “Just give me two more minutes of your time.” His voice was uncharacteristically plaintive. Like he was begging for our patience, our sympathy, our help. He pressed both hands to the sides of the podium and bent at the waist, bringing his face close to its surface for a moment as he gathered himself. Double H was hanging on by a thread. For the first time since I’d known him, my heart went out to him. He took a deep breath and straightened up.

“Your parents and guardians have all been informed of the situation,” he said, looking across the large, airy room. “Several students already have cars waiting for them on the circle, but please, before you leave campus, sign out with a member of the security personnel. There will be a guard stationed at the door of each dorm. I understand that the instinct is to flee, but we want to make sure each and every one of you is accounted for.”

The students around me nodded, clutching hands, hanging on
his words as if he could somehow save them from whatever fate had befallen my friends.

“Before I let you go, I just want to say … we’re going to do everything we can to locate your classmates and to ensure that Easton Academy’s campus is secure going forward,” he said. “In the meantime … please be safe.” There was a long, suspended silence. The headmaster’s eyes shone. “You are dismissed.”

What followed was like a video I’d once seen of the running of the bulls in Pamplona, Spain. The guards at the doors barely had time to get them open before a burst of humanity spewed forth. Everyone was on his or her cell phone, frantically making travel arrangements or calling parents to see if arrangements had already been made. The sophomore guy who’d been sitting next to Josh vaulted over the back of the pew when he realized that Noelle, Josh, and I weren’t moving.

“Reed. What happened?” Noelle asked slowly. “How did you know it was Lorna?”

“She had another dream,” Josh answered.

“Lorna was … she was murdered,” I said slowly. I looked up into Noelle’s eyes. “By Sabine.”

Noelle pressed her lips together and stared straight ahead. Sawyer walked by with his brother, Graham. He shot me a sympathetic look but didn’t stop. Behind him were Rose and Kiki. They paused at the end of our pew, letting the other students filter out around them. Then Ivy was there. And Tiffany. Vienna and London appeared, clutching each other, which was interesting considering I was pretty sure
they hadn’t spoken in weeks. Portia and Amberly arrived together. Everyone looked grim as they gathered.

“Where’s Constance?” I said.

“I saw the police bringing her into Hull Hall on my way over here,” Ivy replied. “She was a wreck, but physically she looked okay.”

“What the hell is going on?” Tiffany said, hugging herself as some of the faculty skirted by us. “First Astrid and now Lorna. This has something to do with us, doesn’t it?”

I couldn’t answer. How was I supposed to tell them about my dream? They’d all laughed at me just yesterday. And besides, even with all the evidence, I was having a hard time believing any of it myself. Because how could I suddenly be psychic? I wasn’t even sure I
believed
in psychics. I touched the locket with the tips of my fingers and avoided eye contact.

“It looks that way,” Noelle said. Her phone beeped and she took it out to check the screen.

“Reed, did you have another dream?” Kiki asked.

Noelle stood up and the other girls took a step back, as if she was radiating fire. “Let’s not even go there,” she said. “Right now we just need to concentrate on getting out of here and making sure everyone’s safe.”

Kiki glanced at me past Noelle’s shoulder. “But what if—?”

“Reed,” Noelle said, staring Kiki down. “Daddy’s got a car waiting for us. Let’s go.”

I wasn’t going to argue with that. I wanted out of there more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. I looked shakily at Josh and he
lifted a hand to my face. “Don’t go home,” he whispered. “If you can, go to New York with Noelle. I’ll go crash at Lynn’s apartment there. I’ll be five blocks away.”

I nodded wordlessly, tears slipping from my eyes. Then he kissed me and I got up and took Noelle’s hand.

“We’ll call you guys later,” Noelle said, her voice slightly less forbidding than it had been a moment ago. “All of you just … go straight home.”

The other Billings Girls parted to let us through, unwilling to mess with Noelle, and she hustled me toward the door like a girl dragging her little sister clear of danger.

“I know, Mom. I know. But I’ll still see you on Friday for the party,” I said as I threw my favorite sweaters and jeans into my duffel bag. If there was a party, of course. I held the phone between my ear and my shoulder, my neck straining as I flitted around my room, grabbing a lip gloss here, a notebook there, trying to figure out whether I’d really need my history text and how long we’d be gone. “It would be stupid for me to fly out there and then turn around and fly right back. Hopefully by then Astrid and Lorna will be found and everything will be okay.”

“I just … I would feel a lot more comfortable if you were here,” my mother said. “With us.”

I paused, a T-shirt balled up in my hand.

“I know,” I said softly. “But being in New York …”

I’ll be with Noelle. And, more important, with Josh
, I thought.

“I’ll be closer to school if it reopens and we have to come right
back,” I said. “And Mr. Lange …” I paused, swallowing hard as I recalled how intimately my mother once knew Mr. Lange—how intimately we were all connected. “I’m sure he’ll have some serious security set up for us.”

I shoved the T-shirt into my bag, then quickly added the framed photograph of me and my father—my real father—that sat atop my desk. Then I zipped up the duffel and tossed it toward the door.

“Okay. If that’s what you really want to do,” my mother said sadly. “Just call me when you get there. In fact, call me every hour.”

I exhaled a laugh, my heart squeezing into a tight ball inside my chest. “All right. I will.”

“Love you, Reed,” she said.

My throat closed. I hadn’t told my mother I loved her many times in my life. She’d spent most of my childhood on her back in bed, hopped up on prescription drugs and blaming my entire family for her sucky situation. Since she’d gotten sober last year, the words had been uttered between us more frequently, but now I was finding them harder than ever to say. Now that I knew she’d been lying to me about who my father was my entire life.

But then, I could be the next to go missing. If I didn’t say it now, when would I have the chance again?

“Love you too, Mom. And Dad,” I added quickly, clutching the phone so tightly it almost slipped out of my grasp like a greased pig.

“We’ll see you at the big party,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “Be safe.”

“I will.”

I hung up the phone, shoved it in the back pocket of my jeans, and grabbed my pillow. Outside the open door of my room, girls rushed past with their backpacks and laundry bags, their teddy bears under their arms, their cell phones pinned to their ears. As I tossed my pillow toward my packed bag, I noticed the long, dingy laces of my favorite sneakers sticking out from under my bed and dropped to my knees to fish them out.

I pulled out the first shoe but had to flatten myself on the floor to dig for the other. As I grabbed it, my fingers grazed the edges of some folded papers. Grasping them between my thumb and forefinger, I tugged them out. As soon as I saw what they were, I sat back hard on my butt. The pages were thick and yellowed, frayed along one edge as if they’d been torn from a book. I unfolded them in my lap, and one hand fluttered to my mouth.

It was Eliza’s handwriting, though slightly more haphazard and seemingly rushed than usual. From the size and the texture, I could tell that these were the pages that were missing from the BLS book. Suddenly I recalled the fluttering noise of falling papers the other night, when I’d woken from one of my nightmares. These must have been tucked somewhere inside the book of spells and tumbled out that night.

There was a commotion out in the hallway as someone dropped their suitcase and it burst open all over the floor. I got up shakily and closed the door, then sat down on my bed. Breathlessly, I began to read the pages.

I gulped in a breath. Eliza’s terror poured off the pages. Pressing my lips together, I read on. Each line was like a fresh knife to my heart. Painstakingly, Eliza told the story of Caroline Westwick, a girl who had attended Billings a few years before Eliza had gone there, and about the coven Caroline’s sister Lucille had started. She told of how Lucille wouldn’t let Caroline in, and how Caroline had taken it personally, stolen the books, and cast spells on herself until she’d gone mad. She wrote that Caroline had committed suicide, throwing herself off the roof of the Easton chapel, and that her final words were “I don’t belong.”