Eternal (18 page)

I had no choice but to leave, but at least we had done what we could.

Evie and I went to get our books ready for class, though I didn’t know how I could possibly concentrate on Latin verbs that morning. When we got to our classroom, Velvet was showing off to a crowd of girls in the few minutes of freedom before the mistress arrived. Sophie wasn’t there, but the others were hanging on to her every word.

Velvet saw me and turned on her most charming smile.

“Hey, Sarah, look at this.” She ignored Evie. They hadn’t got on since their first meeting. “It’s so funny!”

I wasn’t in the mood to humor Velvet. Al I wanted was to ask her what she had been doing near Helen when she’d had her accident, but there were too many people around.

“What is it?” I replied curtly.

“We’re just looking at these latest photos.” Velvet held out a garishly colored magazine. It was crammed ful of glossy photographs of vacant celebrities and wannabes.

Velvet held up the center spread. The headline read Rick Romaine’s Rebel Daughter! She thrust it under my nose, and I saw the first few lines of the article.

Velvet Romaine, daughter of rock star Rick and supermodel Amber Romaine, has become a pupil at the country’s most exclusive and prestigious school. Wyldcliffe Abbey School for Young Ladies is notoriously strict. Will this prim and proper environment cure Velvet of the excesses that have landed her in trouble so often? Or will this “Wyld Child” prove to be too much of a handful for the school authorities?

There was a big photo of Velvet standing on the steps of the school the first day she arrived at Wyldcliffe. In the background a thin, upright figure was slightly out of focus; a woman turning her face from the camera. It was Miss Scratton.

I remembered something. I needed to get out of there.

“And the photographers are stil hanging round the vil age trying to get more pictures of me,” Velvet gloated. “I must think of something suitably outrageous to do for them.”

“I think you’ve done enough damage already,” I said coldly.

“Hey, what have I done now?”

“Ask Sophie,” I said, then turned to Evie. “I . . . um . . .

left my Latin dictionary in my dorm. Wil you come and get it with me?” She looked surprised but fol owed me out of the room.

“Did you see that photo of Miss Scratton?”

“Yeah, of course,” Evie replied. “But why is it important?”

“It reminded me of something. Come on, before Miss Clarke turns up and stops us.”

I hastily led the way past the library and down the dark passageways to the red corridor. Its wal s were covered in faded crimson damask, and had once led to a magnificent bal room, which was now closed up. Most of the rooms in that part of the school hadn’t been used for ages, not until Miss Scratton had three of them fitted up as common rooms for the lower, middle, and senior divisions of the school. At the end of the corridor there was the padlocked door of the old bal room, then another gloomy passage that was occasional y used as a shortcut to the locker rooms at the back of the building. The passage was hung with obscure paintings of dreary landscapes, interspersed here and there with old photographs. I walked along quickly, scanning the wal s.

“Here it is.” I stopped in front of a faded sepia photo, labeled Wyldcliffe School, Armistice Day 1918.

About forty girls dressed in identical soft-col ared tunics were lined up in rows, smiling for the camera. They were holding flags and a sign decorated with rosettes that said PEACE AND VICTORY. On the back row, half a dozen mistresses were looking out more gravely, their faces etched with the cost of war as wel as the relief of its ending. “Look—there!” I pointed to the teacher on the end of the row. She had turned her head as if trying to prevent the camera capturing her image.

“It’s Miss Scratton, I’m sure it is.”

“It’s a bit blurred,” said Evie doubtful y.

“But it’s just how she looked in that photo with Velvet, can’t you see?”

“I suppose so . . . it could be her, I guess.”

“It is her, I’m sure of it. And that means she might have known my great-grandmother Maria. She was here just after the war ended.”

“But how does that help us?” Evie asked.

“I’ve been thinking about Maria a lot lately, and I have this feeling that she is connected to al this. I think—I think I saw her up on the Ridge yesterday, near the standing stones. Don’t you think that’s strange, on the day that both Helen and Miss Scratton are injured?”

“Couldn’t that just be coincidence?”

“I’ve told you, I don’t believe in coincidence. And it wasn’t just a daydream or anything like that. I—wel , I hope you don’t mind, Evie, but I used the Talisman, and then I saw Maria, or a girl at least, and heard this drumming noise. And Helen heard drums when she had her vision of her mother. And that message on Agnes’s door: ‘Listen to the drums.’ I’ve been beating myself up for not working it out yet, but I just haven’t been able to see where it was leading. But Maria keeps coming back to me, and perhaps she’s the sign we need.”

Evie looked slightly doubtful.

“I know it’s not much,” I admitted, “but it’s al we’ve got.

Perhaps there’s a connection between the message on the door and the drums in Helen’s dream and in my vision of Maria. Perhaps they are Gypsy drums? If we tried to contact Maria again—if you used the Talisman—perhaps we could find out if she is real y behind the message and what it means.”

“So you heard drums when you saw Maria?”

“Yes. And I’m convinced that Maria knew something that would help us. Please, Evie, let’s just try to contact her.

We’ve got nothing to lose, and it might lead to something.”

“Of course. We’l do it tonight.” Evie’s face was set and hard, like a young soldier’s. “I’l try anything and do anything for you and Helen. I won’t let you down again, I promise.”

The day dragged past. Al I could think about was using the Talisman. But we had to wait until nightfal , when we could get away from the other students and the prying eyes of the mistresses. The only relief to the usual routine was that it happened to be the day that the local vil age kids were coming to use the school’s facilities. Some were going to play tennis, others would have music lessons, and some would be al owed to use the rather chil y outdoor pool. Evie had volunteered to help with the swimming, and I had agreed to go along with her. I had wondered whether the other teachers would use Miss Scratton’s absence as an excuse to cancel her plans to open Wyldcliffe’s doors to the local people, but apparently the event was going to take place as scheduled. And so after lunch, instead of going to the science lab for our normal afternoon classes, Evie and I went down to the pool. We found the sports mistress, Miss Schofield, looking even more bad-tempered than usual, glaring at an eager but slightly apprehensive group of about a dozen ten-year-olds.

“Wel , I suppose you’d better get changed. And no messing about! You’ve got two minutes exactly.”

The kids crowded into the old-fashioned wooden huts that had been built as locker rooms by the side of the pool.

I rather reluctantly found myself an empty cubicle and went inside to strip off my uniform and get into my bathing suit. It was a soft, warm day, but the water in the deep marble pool stil looked pretty cold. Evie was happy, though, temporarily distracted from our troubles by the lure of the water. She would have swum in any weather, but the pool was only fil ed in these warmer summer months. Eventual y we were al ready. Most of the children were giggling and shy, but some of the bigger boys were trying to show off, pushing and butting into one another and threatening to jump in.

“Stop that!” Miss Schofield barked as she lined them up. “You wil get in slowly and sensibly, and fol ow my instructions exactly. . . .” She obviously wasn’t in favor of the new Wyldcliffe-for-al scheme, which boosted my flagging enthusiasm. I had never liked this bul ying teacher, so anything she wasn’t happy with seemed good to me.

“Ooh, it’s cold,” said a thin little girl with untidy hair, as she put her toe into the water.

“You won’t feel it once you’re in,” I said encouragingly.

“It’s gorgeous, honestly.” Evie smiled. “And it’s lovely to have you here. We’re going to have great fun.”

Miss Schofield glowered as one by one we helped the children to get in the water. There was lots of shrieking and splashing, but soon they began to enjoy themselves. Miss Schofield, although she was a snob and a bul y, was an expert coach, and she took the stronger swimmers to the deep end and helped them with their technique. Evie and I stayed in the shal ow end with the more timid children, playing games and trying to build up their confidence. The time raced by, and soon it was time for them to get out.

“But we haven’t done any diving,” said a stocky little lad. “I can dive already.”

“Show me,” said Evie. He fearlessly threw himself headfirst into the pool and came up laughing and spluttering in a ring of bubbles. “Wel done,” Evie said, laughing. “Now watch me.”

She did the most beautiful dive into the deep end and glided along the bottom of the pool with her long red hair floating behind her like dark silk. As I watched her admiringly, the light around me seemed to fade. She wasn’t coming up—she’d been down there too long—her slim body seemed suspended in the greenish water, like a frozen statue. Everything around me was dim and silent, except for the sound of my own heart beating. I watched, immobilized with fear, as Evie’s body seemed to rol over lifelessly in the water. She floated toward the surface with her arms hanging awkwardly by her sides and her eyes gazing upward, seeing nothing, like Ophelia drifting to her doom. I felt the water choking my own mouth and breath, drowning my senses, and I gave a great gasp and cried out, Evie! The next moment the sun was shining again and the vision was over. The children were clapping as Evie surfaced graceful y at the far end of the pool, her diving display over.

“That was great fun, wasn’t it?” she enthused as we got dry. “The kids are so sweet.” Then she sighed. “If only everything could be, you know, normal like this.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “If only.” I couldn’t tel her what I had seen. I couldn’t tel my best friend that I had seen a vision of her death.

The children were given a tea of buttered toast and homemade cakes in the dining hal , and then they were ready to go home. We helped them find their cardigans and jackets and sports bags; then the whole party trooped down the corridor to the black-and-white-tiled entrance hal . “Ooh, look, it’s so big! Do you sleep here? Can we come again?” Their innocence touched me. It was good to hear laughing, unself-conscious voices in that place, although when we passed Celeste in the corridor, she shrank back theatrical y as though the children would infect her. “Miss Scratton, our High Mistress, says she wants you to come often,” I said, trying to compensate for Celeste’s rudeness. But the kids hadn’t noticed, and they jostled happily out of the hal way and onto the drive, where their teacher was waiting to col ect them. Evie and I walked with her, then waved good-bye to the children halfway down the lane, just beyond the school gates.

“Bye!”

“See you again!”

“Thank you!”

Their voices fil ed the air as they walked away toward the vil age. The spring sunshine had cooled, and the color had faded from the day. “Better get back inside,” I said.

“Let’s just watch them a minute longer,” said Evie. Her face was glowing, and she looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her. “I’d like to have ten children, wouldn’t you?”

“Wel , not al at once,” I joked feebly, feeling more and more anxious. “I real y think we should go. We can’t risk anything happening before we try to contact Maria tonight.”

“I suppose so.” She turned away from where the crowd of children had now disappeared, and we walked back up the lane to the school gates. The western sky was fil ed with harsh light. I didn’t know why I felt so nervous, but I pul ed at Evie’s arm and urged her to go more quickly. We reached the gates, where the old sign of the school’s name stil spel ed out its eerie message among the missing letters: BE COOL OR YOU DIE.

I heard the sound of hooves, as urgent as my heartbeat.

A black horse was gal oping toward us out of the light. Its rider was a tal young man wearing a heavy cloak and hood. He had long black hair and eyes the color of a summer sky and a smile ful of sorrow. Evie gave a little moan as though she had been hurt, then she stumbled forward.

“Sebastian! Sebastian—oh it is, it is you!”

He bent down from his horse and gathered Evie in his arms, and for a moment they clung together. Then Sebastian pul ed her onto the horse’s back. It reared up and shrieked, and Sebastian’s hood fel from his face. He no longer looked like a beautiful boy. This was not Sebastian Fairfax, neither in life nor in death. A ghastly, skeletal figure held Evie cruel y as she writhed in its grasp, trying to escape, but it was too late. The horse plunged and whinnied and gal oped away over the slope that led to the moors.

“Evie, Evie!” I shouted as I ran after them, but they had already vanished.

One by one, they had been taken: Helen, Miss Scratton, and now, dearest of al to me, Evie. What were they going to do to her? Where was she being taken? The image of Evie floating in the water came back and overwhelmed me with horror. I was alone. We had been divided and crushed by the Priestess and her plots, and there was nothing I could do. I sank to the ground and cried like a lost child.

Then a voice in my head spoke. A promise cannot be broken except with a curse. I had made a promise to cherish and care for my sisters, through good and bad, hope and despair, whatever happened. I was the only one left. S for Sarah. This was my time. I had to use it.

For once, I decided that I would try to trust the school authorities. Perhaps just this one time, if I told someone that I had seen Evie being abducted, the teachers in charge of our lives would behave as they were supposed to and cal the police. I wasn’t quite sure what the police could do, but it had to be worth trying.