Eternal (2 page)

Velvet flicked a snooty stare at me, as though I were some kind of servant. My heart sank. Normal y I was only too happy to help new students, but she was giving off such a hostile attitude, like she could read my thoughts and didn’t think much of them. If Miss Scratton wanted me to be friendly with Velvet Romaine, I would try my best, but I was desperate to see my real friends as soon as I could. I looked around uneasily. “Um . . . I was looking for—”

“For Evie and Helen?” Again there was a faint gleam of sympathy in Miss Scratton’s sharp black eyes. “They haven’t arrived yet. I believe they are traveling to Wyldcliffe together on the train. You’l see them soon enough. Come, both of you. Fol ow me!”

There was more clamor and flurry from the photographers as we fol owed Miss Scratton through the heavy door. She closed it firmly behind us, and I found myself in the familiar entrance hal . The somber black-and-white tiles, the grand marble staircase, and the stone hearth were exactly as they had always been, but then I gasped in surprise. For a moment I thought that Evie was staring at me across the hal way like a ghost. The face of a girl with starry gray eyes and long red hair seemed to float in front of my eyes in the gloomy light.

“I see you’re admiring the portrait of Lady Agnes, Sarah,” Miss Scratton said. “I had it moved here during the vacation. It looks very wel in the entrance hal , don’t you think?”

For a moment I couldn’t speak, but Velvet glanced at the painting and said insolently, “She looks as crazy as the rest of this place. Who is she anyway?”

“Lady Agnes was the daughter of Lord Charles Templeton, who built the present house in the nineteenth century,” Miss Scratton replied in calm, measured tones.

“She was an extraordinarily gifted young woman who sadly died young. I feel it is only right that we should remember her.” Then she swept across the hal way and down a window-less corridor, paneled in dark wood. Our feet echoed on the polished floor as we fol owed her. Velvet slouched along behind Miss Scratton, and I tried to look as though I hadn’t a care in the world. But seeing Agnes’s picture unexpectedly like that had unnerved me.

To me, she wasn’t just someone from history to remember and wonder about. To me, she was real. Agnes was Evie’s link with the past, but she was also our Mystic Sister of the fire element. And her sea-gray eyes had seemed to hold a clear warning for me that, despite the victories of the term before, our struggles weren’t yet over.

I didn’t want to come here. I’ve been expel ed from six schools, and you’l probably end up expel ing me too.”

Velvet looked bel igerent as she faced Miss Scratton over the mahogany desk in the High Mistress’s book-lined study. I wondered if her aggressive attitude was a cover for feeling lost and isolated, but she actual y seemed pretty at ease as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her long legs. Her voice was attractively low and husky, and sounded more American than English.

“Yes, your parents have explained about your interrupted schooling, Velvet,” replied Miss Scratton. “Let’s hope that the routine and traditions of Wyldcliffe wil provide you with some much-needed security. If you have any problems settling in, you can come to me or to Sarah.

She wil be in your dorm and has been at Wyldcliffe for nearly five years. Sarah’s mother was a pupil here, as was her grandmother, Lady Fitzalan, so she knows al the ways of the school.”

Velvet’s sulky face registered a flicker of interest and surprise as she heard my grandmother’s name. “Is everyone here, like, titled? It’s al a bit snobby, isn’t it?”

“We are fortunate to attract the daughters of some of our oldest families. But we believe that everyone is capable of developing the attributes of a lady: selflessness, loyalty, and honor. We are interested in each individual student, not in her pedigree.”

“Wel , mine sucks,” mocked Velvet. “Dad was brought up on the wrong side of the tracks, and Mom had me when she was sixteen. But they’ve got something your stuck-up ladies haven’t got—talent.”

“Then let’s hope you’ve inherited some of it. There are lots of opportunities for music at Wyldcliffe—”

“You don’t get it, do you? My dad’s Rick Romaine—the biggest rock star on the planet. I made a hit record with him when I was twelve years old. I’m not going to join some crappy school choir. I’m not going to do anything I don’t want to do, and you can’t make me.”

Miss Scratton held Velvet’s gaze for a moment, then sighed. “We are simply trying to help you and your parents, Velvet. No other reputable school would take you. This might be your last chance.”

“Yeah, whatever. Thanks a bunch and al that, but the sooner I’m out of this dump the better.”

“We shal see,” replied Miss Scratton calmly. “Sarah, would you please take Velvet and show her the school?

Then take her to the dorm. She wil need to change into the school uniform before the bel goes for dinner tonight.”

Velvet looked mutinous again, so I hurried her out of Miss Scratton’s study before she could launch into another argument. As soon as I had got her away from the High Mistress, Velvet dropped the attitude and turned to me with a smile ful of lazy charm, but I felt somehow that this was just another pose she was trying out.

“Sorry about dissing your beloved school,” she said with a laugh, “but I have to start as I intend to go on.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I behave badly enough, I reckon it’l be a month at most before they chuck me out. Then I can get back home to L.A. God, I don’t know how you can stand it here. It feels so dead,” she said, glancing around at the antique prints and paintings that hung on the wal s. As we walked along, I opened various doors to show her the magnificent formal library and the high-ceilinged classrooms. “Yeah, it’s al very fancy,” Velvet admitted. “But it doesn’t mean that I’l stay. I’ve been to loads of schools, and this is definitely the weirdest. No boys, no male teachers, no TV al owed, practical y no contact with the outside world, stuck in the middle of the hideous countryside. My parents must have chosen this particular hel hole as a joke.”

“Perhaps they thought it would help you.”

“Wel , I don’t need this kind of help.” For a moment her mouth trembled and she looked upset, but then she pul ed herself together and said, “Okay, what else have you got to show me? Cold showers? Dungeons?”

“Come outside and you’l see.” I led the way to the grounds. Most of the girls were up in the dorms, unpacking, but a few had escaped outside to the gardens.

It was a beautiful April afternoon, and everything looked green and fresh. Little groups of students were sitting under the trees or strol ing about on the lawns that swept down from the main buildings to a wide, glassy lake.

Mirrored in its depths were the famous ruins of the Abbey’s ancient chapel. Beyond the lake and the wooded grounds, the moors rose up to the distant horizon. It was an impressive sight. Even Velvet couldn’t play bored about this.

“Actual y, this is kind of cool,” she said, heading for the chapel. “It looks like Sleeping Beauty’s castle or something. What goes on in the ruins?”

“Nothing much, general y. But we have the Memorial Procession there every year on the anniversary of Lady Agnes’s death.”

“So this Lady Agnes real y is a big deal round here? I like that. I’m into ghosts.”

“She’s not a ghost,” I said shortly, but Velvet wasn’t listening. She had gone ahead to explore the ruins. The wal s of the Abbey’s chapel were only half-standing, and the remains of the great east window hung like a tattered cobweb against the sky. Broken pil ars indicated where a row of arched columns had once marked the chapel’s aisles. Now grass grew in between the weathered stones, and the roof was open to the sky. Velvet stood on the green mound where the chapel’s altar had been and flung her arms up to the sky in a dramatic pose. “This would be a great place for some fun. You know, a voodoo ritual, or some black magic stuff. My dad’s into al that.”

I vaguely remembered that there had been a scandal a few years back about her father’s stage shows and his socal ed occult performances, with some parents trying to ban them and get warnings put on his records. Velvet threw her head back and began to sway from side to side, dancing rhythmical y with no hint of self-consciousness.

Then she began to chant, in a low, wailing voice, as though appealing to unseen forces.

“Stop it!”

She broke off and stared at me. “Hey, I was only kidding around. What’s up, Sarah, are you scared of the dark side? I’m not. I’m not scared of anything. In fact, I quite fancy al that pagan stuff. I can see myself as a priestess, can’t you?”

I tried to speak lightly, to let the moment pass. “I can see you getting a demerit if you don’t get changed into your uniform before the bel goes for supper. Let’s go up to the dorm.”

“But I haven’t seen everything yet,” she complained.

“What other cool stuff is there? Miss Scratton said you had to show me everything.”

“I’m afraid the ruins are the highlight of the tour. There’s an open-air swimming pool behind the trees over there that we use in the summer term,” I said, pointing it out.

“Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“I wouldn’t get overexcited, the water’s usual y pretty cold. And the sports fields are down the path next to that big oak tree, you know, hockey and lacrosse. The stables are up near the main house.”

“Jesus, I loathe team games. Stables, please. But I haven’t finished with those ruins. They might come in useful one of these nights.”

“Useful for what?”

“Oh, I don’t know, some kind of pagan party,” Velvet replied carelessly. “That would be cool. Midnight magic—

what do you think? It would liven the place up.”

I led the way to the stables, feeling uncomfortable. It was so bizarre to hear Velvet joke around about rituals and magic when such things were real for me and my friends, and not only real but threatening and deadly. There were two Wyldcliffes. One was the world of the exclusive school with its exams and traditions, where people were concerned with academic success and preparing for col ege, getting onto the sports teams, and being invited to society parties during the holidays. But the other Wyldcliffe was a battleground between the dark and the light, where ancient forces and deeper powers were at work.

On that bright spring afternoon it was hard to believe that only a few weeks earlier we had released Sebastian’s soul into eternity, and seen Mrs. Hartle—the previous High Mistress and Helen’s mother—cross over into the shadows as a vengeful spirit. She had chosen to dedicate her warped existence to serving the corrupt king of the Unconquered lords, the terrible powers who had cheated death and found unholy immortality in the shadow world.

And now who knew whether she would leave us alone, or whether she was planning some fresh attack? And what had happened to the remains of Mrs. Hartle’s coven of Dark Sisters? Had they abandoned their pursuit of elemental power, or were they waiting to group together again, even stronger and more dangerous than before? As I walked with Velvet in the bright spring gardens, my heart sounded in my chest like a war drum, and I sensed eyes hidden in the hil s, watching me like carrion crows.

Drumming—there was drumming in my head and I felt afraid.

My Wyldcliffe, my real Wyldcliffe, was not just about the day-to-day dramas of being at boarding school, so Velvet’s self-indulgent nonsense was not what I needed to hear right then. I needed to see Helen and Evie and plan our next move. I decided I would show Velvet the stables, take her to the dorm, and then leave her to unpack so that I would be ready as soon as my friends arrived. I didn’t think that Velvet Romaine real y needed me to babysit her.

Arriving at the stables calmed me down. I have always loved horses; they are in my family’s blood. My father trains racehorses, sometimes for himself, sometimes for other wealthy owners. Now the earthy smel of the stables—a mix of straw and feed and the sharp, sweet tang of the horses’ coats—soothed me. It spoke to me of a time when the earth was greener and we lived in harmony with both horses and the land. I walked over to the loose box where my horse Starlight was waiting and kissed his soft muzzle.

A groom from home had driven him up to Wyldcliffe in the trailer the day before, together with my other pony—funny, fat, cheerful little Bonny. I was getting a bit too tal for Bonny real y, but I had brought her for Evie, who had learned to ride on Bonny’s broad back and was not comfortable with any of the other horses.

“Is he yours?” asked Velvet, patting Starlight’s arched neck. “Nice.”

“Yes. Do you ride?”

“You could say that. We lived in Argentina for a while and I hung out with the polo crowd. That was fun. Wow, who owns this beauty?” She walked over to the other side of the stable yard to admire a magnificent white mare that was tethered in a wide stal . Velvet whistled through her teeth and expertly made a fuss of the beautiful creature. I could see that she was used to being around horses. “Now you would be worth riding, sweetheart,” Velvet crooned.

She turned to me inquiringly. “Who does she belong to?”

“Seraph is Miss Scratton’s horse, and she doesn’t let anyone else ride her.”

“So what? I can always find a way round that.”

“Seriously, Velvet, you mustn’t do anything sil y.”

“Why not?” she demanded. “What can they do to me?

Expel me? That’s exactly what I want. Anyway, I’m a pretty good rider. I wouldn’t come to any harm.”

“I was thinking of the horse,” I replied cool y.

Velvet stared at me for a moment, then laughed. “I like you, Sarah. You’re different. You seem real y—I don’t know

—real y good, but I’m not so sure that you’re as angelic as you make out.”

I blushed. Evie had always cal ed me “good.” Sweet and good and wholesome, like the fruit of the harvest, she said.

But sometimes, being good was an effort. Being good meant putting others first, standing aside. Letting go of things you wanted for yourself. I shook my head and moved away, not wanting Velvet to see that her words had had an effect on me. I pushed open the door of the little tack room in the corner of the yard, talking about the first thing that came into my head. “If you want to sign up for riding lessons with Mrs. Parker, you write your name in the book in here—oh—”