by E. G. Foley
Jake was already nodding eagerly. “We’d love to come,” he blurted out, unaware of Miss Helena’s faint wince.
“Excellent! Oh, we’re so truly honored! This will be a fine chance for you to meet the better sort of neighbors. I will send an invitation up to the cottage at once,” the grateful matron gushed. “Now I’m even more excited! Aren’t you, Petunia?”
Petunia rolled her eyes.
Mrs. Harris cupped her mouth with one hand to offer a loud stage whisper: “She doesn’t know the theme of her party yet. It’s going to be a surprise!”
“Thank you for inviting us,” Miss Helena said with a gracious nod as the female Harrises went on their way.
“Little monster, that one,” Derek muttered as he put the last of the bags into the carriage.
“Hey, that’s my future wife you’re talking about,” Jake taunted.
Derek snorted. “You do know you’re twelve?”
Jake laughed. “Well! Our social calendar is filling up nicely,” he drawled, feeling terribly popular as they all gathered around to file back into the carriage. “Now we’ve got two parties to go to on this trip. Waterfall Village with the dwarves tonight, and Miss Harris’s party this weekend.”
Archie shook his head with a troubled look. “I’m not sure we should’ve agreed to go.”
“Why not?” Jake asked in surprise.
“It’s ghastly bad manners.”
“Huh?”
“They shouldn’t be having a party just days after four men got killed in their mine! It’s not decent,” he huffed.
“Aw, come on, that wasn’t Petunia’s fault,” Jake said. “Besides, I’m sure her parents were planning the party for months before the mine thing happened. Were they supposed to call it off and disappoint their daughter?”
“As if she’d let them,” Dani said under her breath, but Archie just shrugged.
“He’s right about one thing,” said Isabelle. “This is going to look terrible in the eyes of the townspeople.”
Jake furrowed his brow, then glanced at the governess. “Should we cancel?”
“You can’t now,” Miss Helena said with a shrug. “You’ve already accepted. They’d take it as a snub, and we can’t have you offending the great merchant family who owns half the town.”
“Good point,” Derek said. “You don’t need to be making enemies of the neighbors around Plas-y-Fforest before you’ve even met them.”
Miss Helena nodded. “We’ll have to attend now.”
Jake smiled wryly. “If we must.” Then he cast Derek a roguish glance. “You see that? It would be rude not to go.”
Derek arched a knowing eyebrow. “And that’s the only reason you want to be there?”
“Hardly,” Jake shot back with a grin. “I’m in love.”
“If I thought you really meant that, I would kick you in the shins,” Dani said.
Jake laughed. “Just get in the carriage, you lot. Let’s go deliver these gifts and get back to the cottage for supper. I’m already half starved.”
They all agreed it was time to go.
Derek handed Miss Helena back up onto the driver’s seat to ride beside Nimbus Fingle, then swung up onto his horse, while the kids filed back into the carriage.
As Jake took his seat, he leaned his head on the window, rather worn out from shopping.
It was then that a peculiar shop captured his attention—one they had missed before.
On the pavement in front of it sat a wooden folding sign, painted dark blue with small stars. In dramatic gold letters, it advertised:
MESSAGES FROM BEYOND!
ATTEND A SÉANCE with Madam Sylvia
psychic Medium and Spiritualist
He squinted and read it again, drawing in his breath. Suddenly, he shot up out of his seat. “Don’t go yet! I have to see something.” He stepped over the others’ feet and, without warning, leaped out of the carriage.
His greatcoat flapping behind him in the wind, Jake ran across the street to find out if there really was somebody else in this town besides him who could talk to the dead.
The possibility of meeting a fellow psychic took his breath away far more than Petunia Harris’s midnight eyes. Having only received his magical abilities about six months ago on his twelfth birthday, Jake had not yet met a single soul who could also see ghosts.
Not even Great-Great Aunt Ramona could do that.
Oh, it would be wonderful to have the chance to talk to a seasoned psychic! Somebody who knew what he went through and how it was, feeling like a supernatural freak all the time.
Maybe this Madam Sylvia lady could even tell him something about the black fog that had killed the goblins, or what sort of creature had eaten the men in the mine.
Unless, of course, she was a fraud.
Unfortunately, he’d have to find out later. The shop was closed.
“What are you doing?” Dani hollered out the open carriage door while Jake stepped up to Madam Sylvia’s shop window and cupped his hands around his eyes, staring inside.
The shelves were stocked with crystals and candles, charms, tarot cards, and herbal potions, and the doorway to the backroom of the shop was veiled with red curtains and long strings of beads. I’ll bet that’s where she holds the séance.
Abandoning the window, he strode back over to the sign for more details and learned that the weekly séance would be held tomorrow night at nine o’clock.
Perfect. He was definitely going to this.
It could be a first-rate opportunity to get some guidance from somebody who, unlike him, actually knew what they were doing when it came to ghosts. Usually, he just made it up as he went along.
Meanwhile, everyone was calling him.
“Jake! Let’s go!”
“Coming!” He jogged back to the carriage, then they went on their way.
“There you are! Late as usual,” Garnock said as Mischief came bounding out of the woods.
The little imp-gargoyle scampered over to the narrow, cave-like opening in the rocky hillside where he and Mayhem had been waiting. “Where have you been?”
Mischief chirped out some typical excuse; the larger, muscled Mayhem snarled in disapproval, baring his fangs.
“Ah, scrounging up some food in town, eh? Find anything good there?” Garnock asked indulgently.
“Meow!” Mischief imitated.
“You ate somebody’s cat? Well, I see at least you haven’t changed after all this time.”
Mischief snickered and rubbed his belly as his way of saying it had been a good meal.
Mayhem—a more serious sort of gargoyle—let out a snuffle and hung his horned head in exasperation.
Garnock leaned closer to Mischief. “You had better not have let any of the townsfolk see you.”
Mischief shook his head and turned himself to stone for a second to demonstrate how he had blended in. Then he came back to normal.
“Just be careful with that trick. We don’t want any undue attention, at least until I’ve got my body back. Now then.” Garnock began floating back and forth as he prepared to address his two troops.
In truth, he was doing much better now that he’d fed on dozens of the Harris School’s students. Rather than simply a black fog, he had more of a shape developing.
He was very excited about his progress. Of course, he did not look quite human yet, more Grim Reaper-ish, which rather amused him. But at least it was a start.
He now had wraith-like black robes that billowed in wispy tatters; he had a ghostly skull for a head and skeletal hands, though only in spirit form.
He could not pick anything up, but that would come. And besides, there were certain advantages to being a dark spirit. He could, for example, go through walls.
His gargoyles waited expectantly, hanging on his every word, and thankfully, he could at least communicate with them. “My friends,” he began, “we have been through so much together. You have endured a terrible imprisonment with me, and for this, you will be justly rewa
rded in due time.
“I know how upsetting it must be for you to see your master in such a state. But don’t worry. Soon I’ll be back to my old self. Until then, the reason I called you here is that I would feel much better about all that lies before me if I had my ring of power back.
“So!” Garnock declared. “Both of you, go back down to my workshop at once and fetch it for me. I’ll wait here.”
The two gargoyles stared at him and then looked at each other. Apparently, they did not like the prospect of going back into their underground prison any more than he did.
Garnock did not care. He ignored their reluctance. “Mayhem, you handle any miners that might cross your path, and remember, no mercy. Mischief, you’ll have to pry the ring off my skeleton’s hand with your little fingers. Mayhem’s claws are too large for such dexterous work. Be careful handling it,” he added. “A sorcerer’s ring is no ordinary trinket. Very well, that is all. Off you go.”
Mischief chattered in a questioning tone.
“No, I am not coming with you! You can do this yourselves.”
The little imp whined.
“Nonsense, you’re not going to get trapped in there again. Yes, I know the Lightriders sealed the door once, but that was centuries ago. They are long gone. No, no, stop that crying! I don’t care if you’re frightened!”
Mischief whimpered, doing his best to play for pity in the hope of getting out of his assignment, until Mayhem couldn’t take it anymore. The larger gargoyle grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and gave him a hard shake, then tossed him several yards.
Mischief sailed through the air, landed with a thud, then jumped up, furious. All tears vanished, he leaped on Mayhem’s back in a counterattack and grabbed the larger gargoyle by his horns, wrenching his head this way and that.
Mayhem yowled in protest.
“Stop fooling around, you two! I want my ring!” Garnock bellowed.
They stopped.
He glided over to them with a dire stare. “I may seem less to you than I once was, but when I give you an order, I still expect to be obeyed! Now, go!” he thundered.
The imp-gargoyle slunk toward the opening, his black, bat-like wings drooping. He cast Garnock a sulky glance over his shoulder before diving into the crack between the boulders.
The fissure in the hillside went just deep enough to give access to an upper tunnel of the mine. Mayhem had a harder time squeezing through, large as he was.
“Don’t come back without it, Mayhem,” Garnock said sternly. “At least I know I can rely on you.”
“Rrrrurrr!” Mayhem answered in an obedient growl. Then the big, fierce gargoyle rammed himself through the opening and disappeared into the hole.
Garnock glimpsed the shine of their eyes in the darkness before his familiars hurried off on their mission.
Daft little monsters! He could not believe they had actually expected him to join them down there.
Go back into that tomb? Garnock gave a ghostly shudder at the thought. No, thank you.
He had spent five hundred years locked up in the chamber that had once been his secret lair. He had no desire to face it ever again.
Not that he could avoid the place forever. Certain debts would have to be paid eventually. Sooner or later, he would have to go back down there—not just into the underground chamber, but even through the mighty Portal.
Even in spirit form, the thought of that skull-shaped doorway—and what waited for him beyond it—was enough to give him the cold sweats.
No. Not yet. Must wait until I’m stronger. He resolved to put it off for as long as possible. At least until he had his body back.
Then perhaps it would not seem so final to step through the Portal—and face the terrifying ally he had once betrayed.
CHAPTER NINE
The Haunted School
Beyond the tall wrought-iron gates of the Harris Mine School, the windswept hilltop with a view of the cemetery across from it was every bit as bleak as Jake remembered.
Dead leaves blew across their path as the carriage rolled up the long drive. Ahead, the large redbrick building loomed, jail-like, its shadowed front porch deserted, its pointed turrets scraping the undersides of the gray marble clouds.
At last, they stopped before the entrance.
Derek got out and went to let the school staff know they had arrived for their scheduled appointment; Miss Helena had set it up this morning.
Restless over his upcoming speech, Jake couldn’t sit still any longer and jumped out of the carriage, following Derek up to the door. He hoped some inspiration came soon, otherwise, he was going to stand there stammering like an idiot in front of the whole school.
At the same time, he had not forgotten about the ghost he had spotted floating around here dressed in a black scholar’s cap and gown.
Wondering if he’d have another sighting, he jogged up the few steps onto the porch, while Derek knocked on the double front doors.
The warrior looked askance at Jake. “Cheerful place, eh?” he muttered while they waited for someone to answer.
Jake snorted. “Haunted, too. They’ve got a ghost,” he added. “Dead teacher or something, I think.”
“Nice,” Derek breathed. A pause, still waiting. “Think it’s a threat to the students?”
“Doubt it. He probably thinks he still works here.”
At that moment, the door opened and a thin, pinched-lipped schoolmarm with her hair in a tight bun appeared. “May I help you?”
Derek explained who they were, and the woman admitted them into a gloomy foyer with dark oak paneling.
“I am Miss Tutbury,” the teacher said with a harried glance over her shoulder at the classroom she had left. “If you’ll wait here for a moment, I’ll go fetch Dr. Winston, our headmaster.”
“No, need, Tutbury! I saw their coach arriving.” A tall, gray-haired man came marching down the staircase, his long black scholar’s robes and the tassel on his cap swinging in time with his jaunty strides. “Hullo, hullo! Welcome to our school! I am Dr. Winston. It is so good to meet you. Jolly good, please come in!”
“I-I should get back to my classroom, sir—”
“Yes, yes, run along before a riot breaks out in there, Miss Tutbury. I can manage splendidly from here, I assure you.”
“Thank you, sir!” Miss Tutbury raced back to her waiting students, but when the door opened, Jake caught a glimpse of the class and immediately saw that these kids hadn’t the slightest interest in rioting.
Even with their teacher absent from the room, there was not so much as a wad of paper thrown.
The children slumped in their chairs, listless and drained, dressed in drab-colored clothes as weary and gray as the autumn colors of the overcast afternoon.
They perked up a little with curiosity when they saw the visitors waiting in the foyer. Still, as their faces turned to him, Jake was taken aback by how tired and pensive they all looked. Pale and thin, dark circles under their eyes.
Blimey, aren’t they feeding them? he wondered.
Miss Tutbury closed her classroom door.
“Well then!” Dr. Winston turned to them, clapping his hands together with a jovial air. “Where do we begin?”
Derek introduced them, then Jake told Dr. Winston about the presents.
“Exceedingly thoughtful of you, m’boy!” he fairly shouted with a toothy grin.
Indeed, he was a loud and happy-seeming man, but judging by his glazy eyes, Jake suspected the headmaster had been having a nip of the bottle up in his office.
At least he was a happy drunk. But somehow his false cheer made the school seem all the more depressing.
“Well, er, we can start bringing in the presents,” Jake suggested. “Where would you like us to put them?”
“Hmm, yes, dining hall, I should think. That is where we’ll have the assembly. It is our largest room. Right through there.” Dr. Winston pointed to the central hallway that opened off the foyer and led farther back into the building. “
Shall I summon a few of the older boys to help you carry your packages?”
Jake agreed that would be helpful. While Dr. Winston popped his head into another classroom to recruit a few helpers, Jake went outside and beckoned the others in.
They came, each bringing an armload of presents.
“Here are your helpers,” Dr. Winston announced as four large boys rushed out of their classroom. A voice droned on about the rules of grammar. They looked relieved to have escaped it.
Miss Helena showed them outside and pointed toward the carriage, where more bags waited. The three older schoolboys hurried out to help bring in more bags and boxes, and Jake went after them.
He soon returned with his arms full and traipsed into the corridor Dr. Winston had pointed to. It led to the students’ dining hall at the back of the building.
As he passed the school’s sprawling kitchen, he heard two people arguing in hushed tones. Their voices echoed off the metal work counters more than they probably realized.
What he heard made him pause.
“Are you sure you have been giving the students their full rations?”
“Of course I have!”
“Then, honestly, are you using tainted ingredients?”
“Never! Are you trying to insult me, Nurse DeWitt?”
“Of course not, Cook. I’m only trying to figure out what’s wrong with all the children.”
Jake couldn’t resist. He leaned discreetly in the doorway and saw—judging by their uniforms—the school nurse questioning the large, sweaty cook, who was stirring a huge pot atop the enormous black stove.
The nurse rubbed her forehead, looking distressed and confused. “Has anything new been added to the menu? Maybe they’re allergic—”
“No, and no,” the cook said indignantly. “There’s been no change in their food. Three squares a day, snack at tea, same as always. It isn’t my fault they’re so tired! You ask me, they’re not getting enough sleep. The little stinkers are probably staying up past lights out, playing games and misbehaving with their friends up in the dormitory.”
