Wuthering high: a bard academy novel (16 page)

Why is she talking about books? I look at Hana and Samir and they’re both equally confused.

“Coach,” calls one of the Guardians, “we found it.” They hold up my backpack and Kate Shaw’s ripped-out page of
Wuthering Heights
that I found in my closet. I’d been using it as a bookmark for one of my other books.

Ms. W and Coach rush over. Coach carefully takes the page from the Guardian’s hands, as if it were a delicate treasure. He inspects it.

Coach turns to me and shouts, “Where did you get this?” His face is red and he’s angry. Very angry. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? You could’ve been killed. You could’ve killed someone else. You could’ve destroyed everything…” he thunders at me.

Destroyed everything? How? It’s just a piece of paper. The most serious threat it poses, as far as I can tell, is the possibility of a paper cut.

Ms. W puts her hand on Coach’s arm, as if to warn him he’s about to reveal too much.

“Coach H doesn’t like vandalism of books,” Ms. W says, smoothly interrupting Coach’s rant. “And this comes from a very rare first edition. It’s irreplaceable.”

Don’t ask me why, but I think she’s lying, or at least leaving something out. Coach is acting like this page is a weapon of mass destruction. There’s something they’re not telling us.

“Now, this is very important. Tell us how you came into possession of this page.”

“My closet,” I say, which has them both puzzled. That’s when I tell them about Kate Shaw’s ghost.

I expect them to laugh at me. I mean, you don’t normally expect a pair of adults to take a ghost story seriously. But, like Headmaster B, they listen to every word, not once telling me I’m being silly or imagining things.

I get to the part about the key and pull it from my pocket, then tell them about the séance and Kate telling us the key goes to the greenhouse.

“The greenhouse,” Ms. W says to Coach.

“That’s where she is,” Coach says, grabbing the key from my hand.

“Where who is? Kate?” I ask, confused.

They ignore me. They both stand up, as if they have to leave. And I haven’t even finished the story.

“You have to stay here,” Ms. W says. “We have some business to take care of. Samir and Hana, look after Miranda, all right?”

“Virginia, you’re wasting time we don’t have,” Coach H thunders at her by the door. “Come on.”

“The three of you stay together,” Ms. W says. “If you see Heathcliff,
do not approach him.
He is very dangerous. If you see him, hide.”

“Why?” I ask. “Is he the Bard arsonist?”

“No time to explain,” she says. “The three of you stay together, and stay here. Whatever you do, don’t go outside. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“But why?”

Ms. W doesn’t answer us. She runs after Coach and the two of them head out of the infirmary in a rush. In fact, they leave in such a hurry that Coach H unknowingly drops Kate’s key, the one to the greenhouse.

“What the hell was all that about?” Samir asks.

“I have no idea,” Hana says.

“We should follow them,” I say.

“Why?”

“For one thing, they forgot the key,” I say, pointing to the key on the floor. “What do you say? You guys feel like taking a little trip?”

“But they told us to stay put,” Hana says.

“Since when do we follow the rules? We’re delinquents,” I say, quoting Samir.

As we start to get up, one of the private exam doors open. I look up, expecting (and hoping) to see Ryan Kent. Instead, Blade walks out.

“I heard everything,” she says. “And you’re not going without me.”

“Blade! What are you doing here?”

“Dracula,” she said, pointing to a bandage on her neck. “The jerk managed to get me tonight. I’d probably be the undead by now, except that Ms. W saved me and brought me here.”

“Dracula? Are you serious?” Hana sounds very skeptical.

“What? You believe in ghosts, but not in vampires? Please,” Blade says. “And anyway, here’s proof.” She pulls off the bandage and shows us two red fang holes. They are still fresh and bleeding.

“Ouch,” Samir says.

“FYI,” Blade adds, “garlic and protection spells don’t work worth a crap against vampires. I’m going to have to petition the Wiccan counsel on that one.”

Hana and I stare at each other. Dracula? Why not? Add it to the mix of the bizarre around here.

“So are we going to go to this greenhouse or what?” Blade asks us, as she puts her neck bandage back in place.

Twenty-one

“Whose idea was this again?”
Samir asks us, as the four of us stand in front of the greenhouse on the edge of campus. He’s clearly a little nervous. It’s probably the fact that we’re so far away from the other school buildings that we’re practically in the woods.

In the distance, a wolf howls.

It’s the middle of the night. Hana rubs her arms to ward off the chill and looks anxiously around us. The campus greenhouse is an old, wrought-iron building the size of most gymnasiums. It’s covered in fog and has a dim light coming from the inside. On the outside door, the sign reads
DANGER
—
DO NOT ENTER
.

Blade tries the door. “It’s locked,” she says.

“Really? That’s too bad,” Samir says, turning around. “I guess we’ll have to go.”

“Not so fast,” I say, putting my hand on Samir’s chest and pushing him back a little. “I have a key, remember?”

I take Kate’s key out of my pocket and slide it into the lock. It turns and the door creaks open.

“You were saying?” I say. I make a move to go in and Samir grabs my arm.

“You’re not seriously going in there?” Samir asks us, looking a bit hesitant. “I mean, this building looks like it’s going to fall down. I bet it’s condemned.”

As we’re standing there, in fact, one of the hinges to the door falls off, causing the door to hit the ground with a thud. We all jump back a little.

“See?” Samir says.

“I’m going in anyway,” I say. I feel like I owe it to Kate.

Inside, a wall of humid heat and the almost-too-sweet smell of orchids washes over us. The glass walls are covered in thick condensation and it’s hard to see.

There are shelves inside, lined with plants.

“It’s in use; it’s not deserted,” I say to them. “You guys coming or not?”

Hana steps in after me.

“Come on, you chicken,” Blade says, grabbing Samir’s hand and pulling him inside the greenhouse. I can tell Samir is torn — his hormones are in overdrive since Blade is holding his hand, but he’s also really scared of the dark. His hormones eventually win and he follows us in.

The dim lights we saw from the outside are coming from rows of long, skinny lamps up over the plants themselves, as a kind of twenty-four-hour sunshine. There isn’t any sign of Coach H or Ms. W. They must be at some other part of the greenhouse, or maybe still looking for a way in.

I glance over at the stone statues of children beside me. Something about their blank-faced expressions make me think of ghosts. I shiver. Something about this place isn’t right. It definitely isn’t right.

“See? I told you. Nobody is here. Why don’t we leave now?” Samir asks us.

“Shhhh,” Blade says.

“This would make a perfect make-out spot for you and one of your freshmen,” Hana says.

“Freshmen?” Blade asks.

“Oh yeah, I have at least three or four of them who are after me,” Samir says.

“Yeah, they’re after you to do their homework,” Hana says.

The greenhouse is huge. The rows go on for what seems like miles. There’s no sign of Coach H or Ms. W. As far as I can tell, the only living things in the greenhouse are plants and us.

“What are we looking for?” Hana asks.

“I think we’ll know it when we find it,” I say.

We start walking along a line of rosebushes, their thorns nearly as big as the flowers. Farther down in the row, I start to see plants I’ve never seen before. The flowers are bright magenta, deep blue, neon green. There’s one flower that looks like a snake rearing its head.

“Wow. Cool,” exclaims Blade, picking it up.

It’s green and red and has a little red slit that looks like a mouth. And it might be my imagination, but it seems like it might be, well,
moving.

“I don’t think you should pick that up,” Hana cautions. I have to agree. It’s not the sort of thing I want to see close-up.

Blade reaches out with her other hand to touch the green petals. Then, in a blink of an eye, the bud snaps shut on her finger.

“Ow,” she cries, dropping the flowerpot to the ground. It breaks with a clatter, sending dirt flying in all directions. On the ground, the plant is definitely squirming, as if it’s alive, its roots and petals whipping about. “It
bit
me,” Blade exclaims, showing us her finger. There’s a little red ring there and a tiny drop of blood.

“Weird,” Samir says. Blade isn’t going to let the attack slide. She slams her foot down on the squirming plant, flattening it underneath her Doc Martens lace-up boot. It makes a sickening, squishing sound, sending green-and-black goo in all directions.

“Gross,” Hana says.

Blade scrapes her boot against the ground, leaving a trail of black-and-green plant guts. I just stare at her. I still can’t quite believe she killed it.

“What?” she asks me. “I’m tired of being on the freakin’ menu.”

“Come on, let’s keep going.”

In the distance we hear voices, and then something that sounds like a crash. It sounds like Ms. W and Coach H for sure, and then someone else I don’t recognize. The four of us sneak down the aisle and then hide behind a row of ferns to try to get a better look.

There’s a sitting room and Ms. W and Coach H are there. They’re talking to another woman. She’s dressed in all black.

“Emily, you know this is forbidden,” Ms. W says. “These characters do not belong in this dimension. They have to go back.”

“They are not characters, they are
people,
and I am freeing them,” Emily says.

“You’re attaching them to
students,
Emily, and you know the dangers of this,” Coach H says. “You have to stop it at once. You have to come with us.”

“I am not going anywhere but home,” Emily says. “I’m not going anywhere but the Moors.”

And as we watch, Emily reaches into her pocket and pulls out two books. They are old, with tattered covers, and writing that’s so worn on the outsides I can’t quite tell what they are.

“How did you get those? That’s impossible…” I hear Ms. W shout, but it’s the last thing she says coherently. Emily opens one of the books and, as we watch, Ms. W is sucked into it, like it’s a black hole. Literally —
sucked in. Slurp.
Gone.

“Cool,” whispers Blade, not at all scared — naturally. Anything occult she’s all over.

“What the…” Samir shouts, giving away our position and temporarily drawing the attention of Coach H and the woman called Emily.

Emily uses the distraction to open the other book and suck in Coach H, as well, like he was a piece of dust being picked up by a Hoover.
Pffffffffft.
Gone.

“Children,” Emily says to us. “Come in. I’ve been expecting you.” Emily seems to be struggling to hold on to the books, as if they are fighting against her hands, trying to open themselves. Every so often, I see a handprint come out from a side of one of the books, as if Ms. W or Coach H are fighting to be free. Eventually, she puts them on the ground and puts a heavy terracotta pot on top of them. It seems to take care of the squirming books, which are pinned fast to the ground.

“What is going on?” I ask Emily. “Who are you? And what did you do to our teachers?”

“Why, dear girl, you don’t recognize me? Not from the Bard yearbook you’ve been carrying around?”

I shake my head.

“Well, I am disappointed,” Emily says. “I thought you were a bit smarter, Ms. Tate. I’m Emily Brontë.”

“The Emily Brontë who wrote
Wuthering Heights
?” I echo, not sure I’m understanding what’s going on. “The Emily Brontë who died in 1848?”

“The same,” she says, and takes a little bow.

“But that’s…”

“Impossible?” Emily says. “Impossible like imprisoning your teachers in books is impossible?”

“You’re a ghost!” exclaims Blade. “Wow, this is, like,
totally awesome.
” Naturally, she isn’t the least bit scared. I’m sure meeting dead people is Blade’s dream come true. She’ll have to add it to her MySpace list of “turn-ons.”

“Is she a ghost? Because if she is, I’m going to have a freak-out moment,” Samir says.

“You’re not a ghost,” Hana says. “You’re just some crazy woman. I don’t believe a word of it.”

Emily Brontë shakes her head sadly. “You children today are so very skeptical. It’s no wonder there’s such a dearth of good fiction writers.” As we watch, Emily walks over to Samir, or, should I say
floats,
because that’s more like it, as her feet barely touching the ground. And when she gets in front of Samir, she plunges her hand right through his stomach, wiggling her fingers on the other side.

“Ack!” Samir sputters. “You
are
a g-g-g-…” He doesn’t finish. Instead, his eyes roll back in his head and he faints. Hana catches him. Emily Brontë withdraws her hand, showing that Samir wasn’t harmed.

“Okay, I stand corrected,” Hana says, stooping and slapping Samir on the face. He comes to sounding groggy and out of it.

“Oh, do me next! Do me!” Blade says, gleefully clapping her hands together. She’s in Goth heaven at the moment.

While I’m having a hard time processing this, I do know one thing: I don’t like Emily. I don’t like the fact that she scared Samir, and I don’t like that’s she’s trapped Ms. W in a book, either.

“Did you have something to do with Kate Shaw’s disappearance?” I ask her, suddenly wary. “Do you know where she is?”

“Why, look for yourself,” she says, and she tosses me a copy of
Wuthering Heights.
It’s old, and the cover is tattered, and when I open it up the title page has a handprint pressing out of it. It looks like someone trying to get out.

“Aaaah,” I say, and drop the book.