Sometimes By Moonlight

by Heather Davis

  We all glanced over to a small table right next to mine and Marie-Rose’s, where a cow skull, a vase of flowers, a pile of bricks, and a small metal dagger were placed at odd angles to each other. A sheet served as a simple backdrop.

  Miss Kovac walked over and clicked a switch, flooding the table with light. “You may begin.”

  “Why do the still life objects never have anything to do with each other?” I whispered. “I mean, a cow skull and a vase? Really?”

  Marie-Rose shrugged. “I’ll get our papers,” she said.

  Miss Kovac insisted on using thick, textured paper instead of newsprint for sketching. She claimed that you never knew when true greatness would strike. I was surprised Steinfelder let her buy the more expensive paper, considering the lack of other luxuries. Then again, our parents wanted to believe we were getting some culture here and frame-worthy art was proof of that.

  “Up, up, girls!” commanded Miss Kovac. “Out from behind the tables. Move about the room. One must observe closely to really see.”

  Small groups of students drifted over to check out the still life arrangement. I decided to avoid the crowd and check out the sketches pinned up on the corkboards at the front of the room. There were pictures of trees, buildings, and even flowers.

  “Representing dimension is an important skill,” said Miss Kovac, suddenly at my elbow. “The shadow and the light must work together to help us see the truth.” She smiled, showcasing rows of tiny teeth that looked like they belonged in a doll’s mouth. “Do you understand?”

  “I think so,” I said, feeling uncomfortable with the way she was smiling at me. I mean, it wasn’t like shading was brain surgery. “If I need any help, I’ll let you know.”

  Miss Kovac’s smile faded. “Very well.” She walked toward a group of students inspecting the still life objects. “No touching,” she rasped. “Those are delicate items.”

  As I was about to return to my table, something familiar feeling caught my eye. A sketch hanging from a pin in the middle of the corkboard.

  “Let’s get to work, class,” Miss Kovac said.

  I took a closer look at the sketch. It was a pen and ink picture of the Dobermans from the guardhouse. But that wasn’t what made it seem familiar. The cross-hatching and zigzagging fill-in strokes were almost exactly like the kind Austin used. I knew his drawing style well from looking at his sketchbook last summer, and I’d seen the new portrait of me the other night in the well house. This looked just like those. Had he been here posting pictures? Was there a hidden message in this drawing? Did he want me to go to the guardhouse? I searched the margins of the picture for a message, a signature, something…

  “Is there a problem?” Miss Kovac sidled up next to me again.

  I turned to see the rest of the class had taken their seats. “Who did this? I mean, who drew these pictures?”

  Miss Kovac cleared her throat. “Several people. It is a community art board. Some I have posted myself, some are from you students. Now, if you are through observing, perhaps you could begin working?”

  “Sure.” Back at our table, I got out my charcoal pencils.

  “Are you all right?” Marie-Rose frowned at me.

  I tried to keep my expression normal. “Yeah, thanks.”

  “Here.” As Marie-Rose went to hand me my thick drawing paper, its corner clipped my face.

  “Ow!” I jumped back, my hand covering my eyelid where I felt the paper cut. At the same instant, my backside crashed into the still life table, sending the whole scene clattering down onto the floor.

  “Crap!” I got down on my knees and, using one hand since the other was still covering my eyelid, tried to pick up the stuff. “Sorry about that.”

  The room erupted with complaints from the girls who already had a good start on their still life drawing and now might have to start over. Working beside me, Marie-Rose got the table back up on its feet and fitted it with the tablecloth.

  “So clumsy!” Scowling, Miss Kovac accepted the cow skull and the crumbly bricks I held out to her.

  Marie-Rose bent to collect the flowers and vase, which my one good eye judged to be intact. We almost had everything back in its place. And then, my fingers closed around the handle of the dagger.

  My legs wobbled and I felt woozy all of a sudden. As I rose with the knife in my hand, I pitched forward on to our table. It felt like the thing was radiating heat in my grasp, but I couldn’t let it go.

  Miss Kovac’s eyes widened. “Release it!” she growled.

  “I’m trying,” I said, using my left hand to pry my fingers from the handle of the knife.

  It clanked down on to the table. The art teacher walked over and picked it up, hugging it to her chest like it was a precious artifact. “I can’t imagine what you were thinking,” she said, glaring at me. “Playing with the duke’s dagger.”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything. I definitely wasn’t playing.” I flexed my right hand’s fingers one by one. They still felt weirdly hot and they were reddening. I met Miss Kovac’s glare. “I’m not sure our parents would like to know that you’re using actual weaponry in your still life arrangement. I think they’d put that in the not-so-safe category.”

  Miss Kovac looked about ready to slap me. “Are you questioning my teaching methods?”

  “No, I just think maybe a sharp dagger would be on the no-no list,” I replied, squinting at her with my uncovered eye.

  “Shelby is not feeling well,” Marie-Rose said, guiding me by the elbow to the door. “I will take her to lie down.”

  “Take her to Madame LaCroix’s office,” Miss Kovac said. “That dagger is no plaything.”

  “I wasn’t play—”

  “Thank you, Miss Kovac,” Marie-Rose said, dragging me out into the hallway before I could say anything else. “Oh, la la. You know how to find trouble.” She pulled my hand away, uncovering my eye. “I did cut you. I’m very sorry.”

  I’d almost forgotten about the paper cut on my eyelid since my dagger hand was still throbbing. I looked at the red spreading across my palm like an angry stain.

  “What is that?” Marie-Rose’s face had gone pale. “What’s happened to your hand?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe some kind of rash or something?”

  “From the dagger?”

  “I know, right?” It felt weird for us both to be staring at my hand, so I slid it into my pocket. “You don’t have to walk me down to Madame’s office.”

  “Okay,” she said. “But make sure you go there.”

  I nodded, but I realized there was a better way to use my time. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Austin had something to do with that dog drawing. If he was trying to signal me, there was only one way to find out.

  ***

  “I still don’t understand what you were doing at the guard station!” Madame LaCroix leered at me across the desk, her eyes narrowing. “Let’s start from the beginning again. There is a disturbance in class. You make some dangerous motions with a school artifact. Your teacher sends you to my office. Yet, you end up outside in the snow. Explain, Miss Locke.”

  “I was, you know, seeing if you were out there,” I said quickly.

  Okay, so my little trip to the guardhouse had been a bust. Instead of Austin waiting for me near the dog kennels as I’d hoped, I’d found Hans, the guard in the dumb fur hat, who was now surveilling me from a chair near the door.

  Madame LaCroix leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “You realize that this is an institution of learning, do you not?”

  “Um, yeah. Of course I realize that.”

  Her smile was not a friendly one. “So you must be aware if you don’t meet our expectations, eventually you won’t graduate on time. At that point, your parents have the option of asking us to retain you another year.”

  “Wait. I’m a junior now and I’m seventeen. I’ll be eighteen next year and can do what I want. You can’t keep me here against my will.”

  Madame’s eyes flashed with amusemen
t. “True enough. With your substantial savings, I’m sure you’ll be able to take care of yourself without your parents’ money if you should leave our school on your own.”

  My stomach dropped. Without your parents’ money? “No one ever said anything about cutting me off.”

  Madame tilted her head to one side as a smile spread across her lips. “Oh, believe me,” she said slowly, “parents, especially ones like your stepmother, take recommendations made by headmistresses like me very seriously.”

  My mouth dropped open. “So you’re saying—”

  “It’s my intention to keep you here as long as possible. Every student is very important to me at Steinfelder.” She reached across the desk to a jar of candies. As she unwrapped one, I could see the diamond and emerald bracelet hidden beneath the cuff of one of her long black sleeves.

  I didn’t have to be a genius to understand that the longer she kept students the more money she could gouge from the parents’ bank accounts. “Oh, I get it. You’re doing it for the kids. You care so much about your students you can’t stand to see them go.” I shook my head.

  Madame LaCroix let out a throaty laugh. “Yes. Especially ones like you. It’s up to me to shape you into responsible young ladies. No matter how long it takes.” She popped the candy into her mouth and sucked on it for a few seconds, regarding me with those cold eyes of hers.

  “Am I dismissed?”

  She crunched down hard on the candy. “I’m through with you for the moment. The next time, and I certainly hope there won’t be a next time, I will ring your parents.”

  “Right,” I said. The threat of her calling home didn’t really mean anything to me, but not having any money unless I stuck it out at Steinfelder for an additional year after this one sounded horrible. I’d only been there three months and already I wanted to throw myself off a parapet.

  “Why are you dawdling? You are dismissed,” she said, waving the back of her hand at me. “Out.”

  I rose from the ornate chair, not saying another word. As I closed the door, though, I heard the guard, Hans, speak for the first time, in broken English.

  “The dogs no bark,” he said. “Something wrong.”

  “That is not my concern,” Madame said. “You are the trainer.”

  I left the door slightly ajar and pretended to tie my shoes, listening.

  “Something is wrong,” Hans insisted. “The dogs—”

  “Do you think I have time to handle your job as well as my own? Your training methods are not my problem. I need to make a phone call. You are excused, Hans.”

  I zipped quickly around the corner as Hans marched out of the room, still grumbling. I’d been lucky that Hans had nice Dobies up at the guardhouse. The last thing I’d needed was a dog bite to match my paper cut and rashy hand.

  As Han’s footsteps faded in the distance, I slowly opened my fingers again to examine the redness. It was clearly the shape of the knife’s handle now. There was some kind of bad juju on that dagger, all right. I mean, I’d had skin reactions to things like insect repellant and cleaning chemicals before, but they’d never looked like this.

  I heard a phone slam down in Madame’s office. Not wanting her to find me loitering outside her door, I hurried down the hallway, passing the glass cases that housed the duke’s collection of antiquities. The cootie-covered dagger, I noted, had been put back in its display area, atop a red velvet cloth. Its blade gleamed under the case’s display lights.

  “Don’t even think about it.” Miss Kovac’s rasp seemed to be right in my ear.

  “Think about what? As if I’d want to steal some old guy’s knife.”

  “It’s very valuable,” she said, swooshing down the hall past me.

  “Valuable?” I repeated. “It’s not like it’s made of gold.”

  “No,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s solid silver.”

  Chapter Five

  You know how, in those scary movies, the wind is always blowing and the tree branches are always brushing up against the window? That could never happen at Steinfelder. The duke had planted poplar trees around the perimeter of the chateau grounds, but had wanted the interior grounds bare. In keeping with that tradition, later generations had added shrubbery and the formal gardens, but there were no trees near the building.

  So believe me when I say I couldn’t have heard any branches doing their thing against our dorm room window that night, but I had heard something. I got out of bed, careful not to make any noise that would wake Marie-Rose, who was sleeping soundly, a frown worrying her forehead. I pulled back the sheer curtain a little, letting in the glow of the moonlight.

  I listened for the scratching sound I’d heard a minute before, but it was gone. Maybe I’d just imagined it, or maybe it was one of the noises from the forest that had seemed to become louder over the last few weeks. The Alps really were coming alive with the sound of…something. I let the curtain fall back into place, and then I slid my legs back inside my covers and willed my eyes to close.

  Instead, I lay there, blinking at the ceiling. And then my stomach started to growl. All I could think about were the forbidden gingersnaps. I’d barely touched the mushy spaetzle and boiled cabbage dinner they’d tried to feed us that evening. And, down in the kitchen, the cookies were just hanging out, waiting to be consumed by our privileged teachers whenever they wanted. It was so unfair.

  With a guilty glance toward Marie-Rose, I slipped out of bed again. Quietly, I threw on yoga pants and pulled a hoodie on over my sleep shirt. The only socks in reach were my fuzzy microfiber ones, but they’d do for Operation: Covert Cookie. My gurgling stomach was totally overruling Madame LaCroix and her threats. I couldn’t see her calling anyone’s parents over a stolen cookie or two, even if I got caught. Anyway, Madame and the other staff occupied the east wing of the building, leaving Lemmon the only teacher monitoring this floor of the dorm. No video chat sounds were coming from her room. I hovered near the door, hearing only her snoring. It reminded me of my dad’s. It was totally the kind of heavy-duty snoring you could ease out of the house to.

  As I tiptoed past her door, that old feeling of sneakily won freedom coursed through my veins. Back at my house in Beverly Hills, I had found it pretty easy to slip outside without anyone knowing. It had been especially sweet when Honeybun had been the only one home. In a way, maybe I had been trying to underscore to my dad that she was never going to be a suitable parent. Or maybe I’d just liked the challenge of trying to get away with something, at least for a little while.

  In my slippery socks I zipped toward the front stairs, almost crashing into the balustrade. Must calm down. I used the hand railing and forced myself to go step by step, Duke Steinfelder gazing sternly down at me the whole way. I was sure no one ever kept cookies from him when this had been his castle.

  I covered the short distance to the kitchen in a few long glides on my microfiber socks, skating across the worn wooden floor. As I rounded the corner to the kitchen, the scent of the gingersnaps seemed to be wafting in the air, calling me. That was the extent of my hunger, that it could smell cookies at one hundred paces.

  I eased through the swinging doors ahead of me. Except for the sound of a fan on somewhere, the kitchen was silent. Metal counters that looked more like fixtures from a morgue ran the length of the room and an enormous blackened stove dominated the back wall. Over by the sink area, long windows overlooked the poorly lit side yard of the chateau. The pungent smell of cooked cabbage hung in the air, but underneath I still got the hint of ginger. The cookies were nearby.

  I ducked into the pantry and hit the jackpot. On a rolling rack filled with metal trays, gingersnaps rested alongside fresh bread loaves. My stomach growled, claiming victory. I shoved two cookies into the pocket of my hoodie, and then carefully fanned out the rest of the cookies on the tray, hiding the empty spot I’d created.

  Out in the kitchen, I leaned against a counter and took a bite of one of the gingersnaps. It was slightly chewy, with just t
he hint of a crunch on the edges, and it had a little bit of sugar sprinkled over the top. I devoured it in three big bites. Then, as I sat there pondering whether to go for the other cookie in my pocket or to grab another one from the tray, a shadow moved across windows.

  I froze.

  So did the shadow.

  I ducked down next to the sink and crawled over to the Dutch door to take a peek outside. I figured it was probably Hans on patrol, now that he couldn’t trust his Dobermans. I didn’t think he could be bribed with cookies. I was probably busted. Slowly, I rose to peek out the glass half of the door and meet my fate.