“So, what do we do?” I ask. “If the Giselle I keep seeing is a demon, how do we get rid of her?”
“I’ll do some research,” Ivy says. “This is some advanced stuff we are dealing with.”
“We should probably bring Jaxon in on it,” Krista adds.
I rub my lips together as I try to formulate the best path forward. Since my experience seems to defy everything my friends have been taught, I’m not sure what that path forward is. “Ms. Brewster mentioned in the meeting about the potion that if we were doing anything dangerous, we should let her know,” I say. “I know this doesn’t have to do with the potion, but messing with demons sounds dangerous. Should we talk to her about it?”
Ivy grimaces, her jaw tensing as her teeth press together before she speaks. “For your sake, I think we better keep this between us for now,” she says as she moves to the door. “She wouldn’t take a demon infestation lightly. If she thought you had anything to do with it, she’d probably even banish you from the school.”
“Maybe that’s for the best,” I mumble. When Krista and Ivy’s eyes both go wide, I add, “I mean, is it even safe for me here? The demon’s not going to throw me from a window or something, is it?”
“No,” Ivy says, motioning to the sage. “It will be weaker for a while. It takes a lot of time and energy for a demon to manifest. And the smoke will make the room inhospitable for it. It won’t be back for a while.”
I’m still not convinced, but I’m too tired to argue. I open the door for them to leave, since that seems to be what they’re inching toward doing anyway.
“Thanks for helping me.”
Krista spins back to face me after crossing through the doorway. “If you want,” she says, “you could stay in my room.”
I guess I should look more afraid than I do. Be more worried about the “demon.” But Ivy just said it wouldn’t be back. At least, it shouldn’t be if it’s a demon, which I’m still not sure I believe it is. And for some reason, this talk with my friends just has me feeling protective of the ghost, even if it is Giselle.
It’s Giselle. I just know it. And she’s trying to tell me something. I just don’t know what.
Maybe she’s just being a bitch and haunting me for no reason other than she hates me, but that seems like a waste of time for someone who could be exploring all of time and space or whatever people do when they pass on.
Regardless, whatever is in my room, I’m not afraid of it. I’m going to find out what it really is and how to help it.
“I might just take you up on that,” I say to throw them off of my plan. “But I’ll need to get my stuff together and take a shower and get my books…”
Ivy joins Krista in the hall. “I’ll need to be discreet about the research,” she says, “but if you need anything, just let me know.”
“And I’ll make sure my bed has clean sheets,” Krista says.
I thank them and then linger in the hallway as they leave, hoping they think that the demon is giving me the heebie-jeebies. After they’re out of sight, I go back into the room and lock the door behind me. I grab the sage stick and run it under the faucet in the bathroom to kill the last of the smoke, then turn on the ceiling fan to clear the sage scent from the room.
I don’t know if sage repels ghosts like it does demons, but I don’t want to choke Giselle out.
“I’m sorry I screamed,” I say when the air clears. “I was just...caught up in the moment. All that demon talk. You’re not a demon, are you?”
No response.
Either Giselle has left, or she doesn’t feel like talking right now.
“I don’t blame you,” I say. “It must be hard to find someone to trust in your...condition.” I spin in a slow circle, looking for signs. Then I laugh. “Look at me, talking to myself once again. First a statue, now a ghost. What’s wrong with me?”
Help them, a voice whispers.
I turn in a circle again, faster this time, trying to figure out where it came from.
A breeze blows in through the open window, fluttering the curtains. I rush over and look out, but I don’t see anyone.
“Help who?” I ask when I pull my head back into the room.
Again there’s no response. Only the wind.
A rustling noise draws my attention to a paper on my desk. It lifts in the air, then floats over to land on Giselle’s desk.
“O...kay,” I say. “That was weird, right?”
I wait for any more signs or weirdness before walking over to Giselle’s desk. There’s nothing there except my paper.
I pick it up, but it’s just notes from one of my classes I took earlier. Ever since our screaming match, Giselle didn’t leave anything out on her desk for me to see. After her death, I kind of forgot I had been snooping around to see what she was working on. I suppose it didn’t seem important anymore. But now, I wonder...
A tug on the drawer to the desk reveals it’s locked. I look around as if to check to make sure no one is watching me. Habit, I guess. Then, I kneel down and look at the lock. It seems to be super simple and old. These desks are probably from the 70s. I bet I could smash it with a hammer or something. But I don’t really want to do that. It seems disrespectful. Plus, I don’t want to get fined or kicked out for destroying school property or something.
I pull out my phone and Google “how to pick a desk lock” and find a video showing how to unlock and lock a desk with a lock very similar to the one here. Unfortunately, the guy uses paperclips to do it. I open the drawer to my own desk and don’t see any paperclips. I can’t even remember the last time I bought paperclips. Who uses that much paper nowadays?
Still, I pick up the mechanics of the lock easy enough. I just have to use some sort of force to line up the pins and then turn the lock.
I bend down in front of the desk again and visualize what I want to do. I picture a gentle wind pushing each pin up, and then the lock turning to the left. I exhale. The inside of the lock rattles. I breathe a little harder. Click, click, click, click.
“Yes!” I whisper-shout to myself. But I’m not done yet. The lock still has to turn.
I take another breath and try again. At first, nothing happens. I breathe harder and harder, and then I see the lock turning. Slowly, slowly, I’m running out of air, but I can’t stop the momentum. I puff my cheeks and strain my lungs, forcing out every last drop of air...
Click!
I gasp and fall to my backside, taking in as deep a breath as I can. But then I pump my fist in triumph. I stand and slide the drawer open. As I suspected, it’s full of papers, among other things. Makeup, hairpins, tissue, bandaids, receipts, gum wrappers. I guess we all have that same junk drawer. Her parents must have thought there wouldn’t be anything important in here, or when they checked, saw it was just junk.
As I rummage around, I find the papers I’m looking for, along with a notebook. There is no particular order to the notes. Mainly sketches and what look like random thoughts. As if she just wrote down whatever she was thinking at the time. At a glance, it does look like unimportant junk. Upon closer inspection, however, the notebook seems far more organized. She probably jotted down her notes whenever and then organized them into her notebook later.
The first few dozen pages of the notebook are sketches of the statues around campus along with their names and a description. I have to wonder why she didn’t just take photos, but she was an excellent artist. I could be looking at nothing more than a project for her art class. But after the section with the statues, things get weird.
The pages are filled with the rune writing I saw before on the sketch of the mystery statue I like to visit in the grotto. I can’t make any sense of it. I flip through the book, and there are pages and pages of the odd writing. I pick up the sketch of the grotto statue again, wondering if she had a name for him. But instead, there is only the runic writing and a big question mark.
“Looks like you had at least one of the same questions I did,” I tell Giselle. “Too bad you
didn’t leave your work in a language I could read.”
I flip through the book some more, until a knock on the door startles me into dropping the notebook back into the drawer.
“Madison?”
It’s Ms. Brewster!
I quickly shove the drawer shut as fast as I can. “Yeah?”
“I need to come in for a moment, if you don’t mind,” she says.
“Hold on!” I say. “I...I’m not decent!”
“Very well.”
I try to make sure everything looks the way it did before, then I blow into the lock.
“Madison?” she says again. “Madison, is everything okay in there?”
The lock clicks, but only once.
“I’m coming in,” Ms. Brewster warns.
The doorknob rattles, and I jump to my feet. That will have to be good enough.
“Coming!” I jump up to go to the door, but the sketch of the man in the grotto flutters to the ground. I cuss and pick it up, but I don’t have time to pick the lock again and put it back.
The door cracks open. Ms. Brewster must have used magic to unlock it. Thankfully, she must think I really am indecent, as she seems to hesitate to come in.
“Really, dear, we are both women,” she says through the cracked opening, her voice carrying louder now. “It won’t take a minute.”
I shove the sketch under my mattress and fluff the comforter. Then I run to the door and pull it open a little too forcefully. I should probably do my best to act casual, so I stretch.
“Sorry, I was just taking a rest,” I say, rubbing my eyes.
“Why was the door locked?” she asked.
“Oh? It was, wasn’t it,” I say and shake my head like I’m confused. “That’s strange.”
Ms. Brewster breezes into the room, a small key clutched in her hand. “Really, Madison, you know the rules. What if you fell injured and I needed to come in and help you?”
“Then why do we even have locks?” I ask in annoyance.
“If it were up to me, we wouldn’t,” she says as she goes over to Giselle’s desk. “But those are the original doors and hardware. All of it is warded. Removing all the wards to remove all the locks would be nearly impossible. And a waste of time.” She gives me a pointed look. “Since all one needs to do is follow the rules and keep the locks open.”
“I guess it’s a good thing you can just use magic to unlock them,” I add, already regretting challenging her as the words leave my mouth.
“Hmm,” she says, her lips pressed together as she crosses the room to Giselle’s desk. She easily unlocks the drawer and pulls out Giselle’s papers and the notebook.
“What’s that?” I ask. “I thought Giselle’s parents already collected her things.”
“They noticed some of her papers were missing and were wondering if they had been left in her desk,” she says as she flips through them.
So her parents hadn’t checked her desk.
A little smile pricks the corner of Ms. Brewster’s cheek.
“They must have been important for her to lock them up,” I say as I cross the room, acting curious about the papers. “What class are they for?”
Ms. Brewster quickly folds the papers so I can’t see them and puts the closed notebook on top. “Nothing of value,” she says. “Purely sentimental. I’ll make sure they are sent to her parents straight away.”
Help them.
My face goes hot, and I’m afraid Ms. Brewster might have heard the voice as well. But as she continues her determined stride toward the door, I don’t think she did. Giselle must be talking about something in the notes.
“Wait!” I blurt out.
Ms. Brewster stops and looks at me, and I realize I have no idea what I want to say.
“I...just wanted...to say...that I feel really sorry for Giselle...and her parents.”
“That’s kind of you,” Ms. Brewster says.
I nod and chew my lower lip. “Yeah. I actually miss her. It’s been kind of lonely here without her snoring all night.”
“Hopefully, if you are here next semester, we can find you a new roommate,” she says.
“I was wondering if maybe I could have one of her drawings?” I ask. “Just...something to remember her by?”
“How do you know they are drawings?” Ms. Brewster asks, and little pricks of warning rush up the back of my neck again.
“She was always sketching something,” I say. “There, at her desk. But she was pretty private about it, and we weren’t friends, so she never shared them. But now that she’s gone...you know...just seems weird that there is nothing of her left. Maybe I could frame one and put it up on the wall. Kind of like a little memorial to her.”
“You are a sentimental soul,” Ms. Brewster says. “But her parents will be wanting them. I’ll tell them you asked for one, though. Maybe they will send you one.”
“Great… Thanks.”
She nods and steps out into the hall, but as she closes the door, she adds, “And don’t lock the door again, Ms. Whitaker.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
She shuts the door, and I immediately feel the room darken. I know it’s Giselle. She’s mad. Or disappointed. Or sad.
Whatever it is, there’s a strong negative energy, but it’s not evil or dangerous. I don’t feel scared. I just know that Giselle wanted me to do something, and I failed her.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll get them back.”
Though I have no idea how.
Chapter 15
I lie on my bed, waiting for the sounds of the school to die down. It’s already dark, but I can still hear people laughing and talking until well past midnight. We’re supposed to be in our rooms by ten p.m., but we don’t have a “bedtime.” As long as people are quiet, students are free to stay up all night talking, reading, or watching TV on their phones or laptops if they want.
I was able to get out of staying in Krista’s room tonight. I told her that while I was straightening up, I didn’t hear or feel anything else, so I was probably safe for now. She still seemed a little worried, but she didn’t press back. I mean, I’d have to be crazy to want to stay in a demon-infested room, right?
Though I don’t doubt the going crazy part. If anyone knew what I’d been doing, what I’m thinking, they’d surely doubt my sanity. It was bad enough when I was just talking to the statue. That was actually rather therapeutic. I had to talk to someone. But actively tempting a ghost—or demon? I suppose it’s possible that Ivy and Krista are right and there is a demon in my room. Maybe a very clever demon. One that’s playing on my sympathies.
After the halls quiet down, I slip across the room, lock my door, and pull out Giselle’s sketch of the man in the grotto. After the way Ms. Brewster took away all of Giselle’s other things, I can’t help but worry what she would do if she catches me with this one. She would certainly be angry I have it, but why? What was Giselle working on that Ms. Brewster is so protective of?
I run my finger over the cheek and jawline of the man’s face. Giselle had done a little more than draw the statue. She gave a dark brown color to his hair and colored in his eyes. She used shading on his jaw, forehead, and lips. He’s incredibly handsome. His head is cocked the wrong way, though. It’s tilted far more to the right than it is in real life.
How many other liberties had Giselle taken with the sketch? With all of them? And why? Was this some bizarre art project?
That doesn’t feel like the case. Something else is going on here. The runes she had drawn...or written? Runes are a language, right? Anyway, the runes she had written have to mean something as well. Why didn’t she just write her notes in English?
It’s interesting she didn’t know this man’s name, either. From what I remember from the notebook, each statue has a name and some biographical information. So why hadn’t she been able to find out this man’s name? True, it isn’t on the statue base. But where did she get the information about the other statues?
I thud the palm
of my hand against my forehead. Duh! Why didn’t I think of it sooner? The statues must be based on real people! Probably historical figures from witch history or something.
There must be information about them in the school’s history books. Giselle must have been gathering biographical information from various sources and compiling them in her notebook. Perhaps there’s no definitive text on the statues, so she was writing one. How fascinating!
Why did she have to be so mean to me? I love history. I would have found her project so interesting. We could have even worked on it together. But no. She just completely discounted me as a witch. As a person. Shut me down at every turn. Why?
I’ll probably never know. And now she’s asking me for help. Help them, she had said. But help who? And help them do what? And how am I supposed to do whatever it is for whoever it is?
I sigh and hold the sketch to my chest. There are so many possibilities. So many weird things going on. How would I even get started?
But what was it Ivy said? Chip at the work piece by piece, day by day. If I want to know what the sketches and runes are about, what is the first thing I need to do?
I need that notebook.
That’s where all of Giselle’s research had been compiled in some sort of order. If I can get my hands on the whole thing, instead of just random pieces like I hold in my hand right now, I might be able to make some sort of sense of it.
Four of us are sitting on a blanket on the lawn, well away from the house and any other listening ears. I created an air bubble around us that would prevent the wind from carrying our voices to any savvy air witch who might want to eavesdrop on our conversation.
“A demon?” Jaxon says, his mouth hanging open. “Are you joking?”
“We’re dead serious,” Krista says.
“You’re going to be dead if you don’t tell Ms. Brewster,” Jaxon says.
“Believe me,” says Ivy, “I know the seriousness of keeping something like this from my elder.”
Curse of Stone (Academy of the Damned Book 1) Page 14
