I glance at the library ladder that sent me plunging into what I’m beginning to think is my fairy-tale world. “I suppose I should explain everything from the beginning.”
So I tell them everything that has happened to me so far. Chet whistles and shakes his head, but Bella shoots me a skeptical look.
“Okaaay.” She sets down her sketchbook. “Are you guys playing a game on me? Because if you are, you got me. Very funny. Ha-ha-ha.”
“But we’re not joking,” Chet says. “There really were ghosts, and Madame was one of them. And we really found a secret passageway. I just don’t know how to open it from this side.”
“Do you understand how ridiculous you sound?” she says.
“That’s not even the craziest part, though,” I say, and bury my head in my hands. “Remember when I wrote that fairy tale for the contest? Well, everything that has happened so far is just like my fairy tale. The castle is the same, there is a princess and an evil stepsister. And get this: My main character’s name is Gabrielle, just like the ghost.”
“The ghost has a name? You’ve talked to it?” Bella says. “Maybe your brain is just trying to imagine your story.”
“So what happens to Gabrielle in your story?” Chet asks.
“She vanishes,” I say. “On the night of the ball.”
“And we’re having a ball this Friday,” Chet says in a hushed voice. “La nuit de la mort.”
Sleuthing 101: The best way to tell if someone is
lying is to find changes in their story.
“You can’t be serious,” Bella says. “I’m so not falling for this story. Keira, you know I adore you, but this is going too far.”
“I am totally in,” Chet says. “This is the coolest adventure I’ve had maybe in my life.”
“Bella,” I say. “You have to believe me. I don’t know what’s going on, but maybe Madame is right. Maybe we shouldn’t have the ball on Friday. Or maybe we should just go home.”
“You know I can’t do that. Not after all the planning that I’ve put into this ball. It’s going to be the most magical night. Ms. Teppernat let me order whatever decorations I wanted. We can’t just cancel this because of you two and your games.”
“I’m not playing games, Bella,” I say. “Let’s try out the ladder again and see what happens. Maybe it will work this time and you’ll believe me.”
“Fine.” Bella stalks over to the ladder and steps onto it. “I will.”
I grip the sides of the desk, waiting for Bella to feel something. But she turns and shrugs her shoulders. Meanwhile, Chet begins pulling all the fireplace tools and pushing on the different bricks along the edges.
“I don’t feel anything, Keira,” Bella says. “Now will you please stop goofing off and try to not ruin this ball for me?”
“But I know it happened!” Now it’s my turn to touch the ladder, hoping for the spark to ignite this time. For it to glisten in a frost of white.
But it doesn’t.
I look to Chet for support. He clears his throat awkwardly and then pulls out a small rope from his pocket and starts twisting it into a knot.
“I know what I saw, Bells,” I say. “You have to believe me.”
“Why don’t you talk to Chet about it all since you two are such good friends now,” Bella says and storms out of the library.
* * *
I race into the hall, trying to catch up with her, just as the butler opens the front door for Ms. Teppernat. Her cell phone is pressed to her ear, an umbrella tucked under her arm.
“Everything is in place,” Ms. Teppernat is saying. “I put my foot down about Friday, too.”
A creaking from the stairwell catches my attention. A flash of white hair disappears behind the wall. Mrs. Jones caught spying again.
“Of course. Uh-huh,” Ms. Teppernat says into her cell.
It’s time to take matters into my own hands. I need to warn Ms. Teppernat of my fears about the ball being on Friday. I breathe in deeply and then march over to the yellow-dressed dragon.
“Ms. Teppernat,” I say.
Ms. Teppernat freezes in the hallway. “Well, that’s your choice, isn’t it?” Ms. Teppernat tells her caller. “Just a moment, the girl is here.”
Ms. Teppernat’s gaze focuses on me. “What?”
I jerk back, hesitating. All of Ms. Teppernat’s sugary words and smiles have vanished.
“I don’t have all day.” Ms. Teppernat taps her foot.
I lick my lips. “There’s something about the castle you should know.”
She cocks her head and narrows her eyes.
“I think the castle is haunted. There’s a ghost that comes out at night and I think the ghost is the one who took the maid and is planning on taking more people.”
Ms. Teppernat straightens and sighs. She brings her cell back to her ear and says, “She knows.”
Daily Fact-Seeker Fact of the Day: A common belief
for why ghosts exist is that the ghost has unfinished
business, which we have proclaimed as
complete nonsense.
“Excuse me?” I’m so shocked by her response that I’m at a loss for words.
Ms. Teppernat ends her call, and her eyes search the hallway. “Ah! Here’s my little darling! Can’t leave without it, now can I?” She snatches up her silver glitter purse lying on the hall table and slips her phone inside.
“I know this may be hard to swallow.” She puckers her red lips dramatically. “But Chenonceau has a long history of supposed ghost sightings. It’s completely normal in these parts, and despite what the locals say, the château is perfectly safe. This ball on Friday is going to prove to the world that Chenonceau is the most magical place on earth. Not some haunted ghost playground.”
“But what about the maid?”
“Oh, her?” Ms. Teppernat scoffs. “Apparently, she quit. Couldn’t stand Madame DuPont. Who could blame the poor girl? But never fear. We will make sure you get a new maid.”
“I don’t want a maid,” I say. “I want to make sure everyone is safe.”
“Don’t worry yourself over it,” Ms. Teppernat says gaily. “Just get rested for a big day of boating tomorrow! The schedule must continue!”
Ms. Teppernat snaps open her umbrella and waltzes out into the rain, not once looking back.
TUESDAY (MARDI), JUNE 15TH
It rains the next day as well, pattering against the windowpanes and filling the river Cher, so Ms. Teppernat reschedules the boating trip to Friday. As the evening draws in, the rain stops, leaving behind a mist that swirls through the forest and trickles across the castle lawn and gardens like a thick winter blanket.
Bella went to the local florist with Cheryl to choose the flower arrangements for the ball, leaving me alone to prowl the halls in search of Mom. Even though it isn’t a large château, there are plenty of nooks and crannies to hide away in. Finally, I find her strolling from portrait to portrait in the ballroom. I’ve been avoiding this long stretch of the castle ever since I saw the eyes move in the picture frame.
“Hey, Mom,” I say. “I have a question for you.”
“Why, of course. I was just making a genealogical list of the family history. It’s all so fascinating.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
“What? Of course not!” Her voice nearly screeches, and then her eyes narrow suspiciously. “There is no factual evidence that claims they are real. Why are you asking?”
“I know this sounds crazy, but I think this castle is haunted by ghosts.” I cringe, waiting for her to explode over the irrationality of my theory.
“Keira, you need to stop with the fairy tales and stories. It just isn’t healthy.”
“I’m serious, Mom! Even Ms. Teppernat says that this part of France is known for having ghosts. She acted like it was common knowledge.”
Mom gives me a hard look, tapping her pencil on the pad of paper. “Common knowledge, huh? Well, as long as it doesn’t affect us, then we shouldn’t have to worry.”
I swallow hard. A part of me is desperate to tell her that the ghost is affecting me, that I am being pulled into the ghost’s world, and that it is eerily connected to the very same fairy tale I wrote.
But if I do, Mom will completely flip out and then watch me like a hawk until the day I die. Besides, Mom does have a point. It isn’t like the ghost is affecting anyone. No one is getting hurt. According to Ms. Teppernat, the maid who we thought disappeared quit because of Madame, the Wicked Witch of the West.
“It looks like we have a reprieve from the rain,” Mom says. “How about we head to town for a little shopping and dinner? We’ll wait until Bella gets back, and the three of us will get out and see some of France while we’re here.”
“Getting out of here sounds great,” I say as I eye the portraits, half expecting one of them to move.
* * *
Bella chooses to stay behind to work with Cheryl on the arrangements for the ball, so Pierre drives Mom and me into the neighboring village of Chenonceaux. The narrow road is canopied with large oaks. Vineyards spread out on either side, their leaves a bright green in the fading light.
Pierre drops us off on the side of the cobblestone street in the center of the village. Ivy clings to the white stone buildings. Lanterns glow in the early evening, giving the rain-slick sidewalks a warm, welcoming feel. The air smells of flowers and freshly baked bread, which I decide is the most magical combination.
The tiny village is packed with gabled windows and cute doors. Music strikes up ahead in the square, and restaurant owners have opened their doors to lure shoppers with dinner scents.
Mom and I stroll down the street, taking in the quaintness and beauty until we find the shopper’s paradise. A boutique crammed with clothing, postcards, books on castles, and other castle knickknacks.
“So tell me a little about these ghosts,” Mom says as she inspects the long strands of necklaces by the counter. “What makes you think they’re real?”
I study her in surprise. Normally, she’s not receptive to chat about these kinds of topics, but tonight she actually sounds rational and calm. The pressure of this secret has been building up inside me. Maybe she can help me.
“I think I saw one.” I pick through the postcards on the rack until I find one Dad will like. But really all I can focus on is my magical pen tucked away in my suitcase. Tonight I need to try it out again. It’s helped me before, maybe it can help me again. “Remember that first night in the hallway?”
“That’s right. It was the night with all of the wind from the storm.” Mom abandons the necklaces, suddenly concentrating on me. I fidget under her intense gaze. “But you don’t believe it had anything to do with that storm, do you?”
“No. Well, maybe. And here’s the strangest part.” I take a deep breath because my throat pinches so tight. “The things I keep seeing remind me a lot of the fairy tale I wrote.”
“Keira.” She wrings her hands and sags into the chair by the changing room. “You—oh, never mind.”
“What?”
“It’s nothing. Just the past creeping up on me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you remember that empty box that I thought the burglars had taken something from?” I nod. “It had a pen in it. A very special pen.”
“Really?” I play with a sundress hanging on the rack so Mom won’t see my face. I’m sure I look guilty. Mom eyes me suspiciously.
“Oh, Keira! Tell me you didn’t use that pen to write your fairy tale.”
“No!” I say before I can stop the lie from slipping out.
The panic leaves her face as she tilts her head back and closes her eyes. Guilt pokes me that I lied to my mom again. Still, a thousand alarms ring in my head. Why did she suspect I used that pen to write the story? Was it a coincidence?
“Good. I’m glad.” She visibly shivers. “I have to admit that I was skeptical, considering you won a contest with such an amazing prize.”
“You don’t think I am a good enough writer to win this contest on my own?” I say. Suddenly, tears form in my eyes. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I just know that I’m on the most magical trip of my life and everything feels wrong. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s not that you don’t believe I’m talented, but you don’t want me to be successful.”
“It’s not that, sweetie. You are incredibly talented. I don’t think writing should be a part of your—”
I can’t listen to another word because I know this speech by heart. I race out the door and storm down the street. But then my steps slow as a new thought hits me. What if Mom is right? That I didn’t win because of my talent. That I won because of a magical pen.
What if that pen truly is magical? Then maybe all the ghosts and fairies and crazy things I have been seeing are actually connected to the pen in some way.
Which is either pretty cool or pretty horrible.
“Keira!” Panting, my mom is running down the sidewalk to catch up with me. She draws me into a big hug. “Don’t ever run away like that again! I didn’t know where you went.”
I wrap my arms around her. It has been a long time since we hugged like this. It’s annoying to have her be over-the-top protective and controlling, but at least I know she cares.
“Come on,” Mom says. “Let’s go have some dinner.”
We start down the sidewalk, when across the street in an Internet café, I spot Chet and his dad sitting at computers along the glass wall.
“Is that Chet and his dad?” I say.
“Well! I think you’re right.”
“Come on, let’s surprise them.”
But midway across the street, a car zooms around the corner, nearly running us over.
“Watch out, Mom!” I grab her arm and practically throw her onto the sidewalk. We tumble across the pavement as tires screech to a stop. The car bumper has missed my leg by inches.
“Gracious!” Mom brushes off the gravel from her pants. “You saved our lives! I never saw the car coming.”
“It nearly ran us over.”
I turn to study the car. The driver whips her long wavy light brown hair to lock eyes with me. I know those eyes! Sure, the hair color is different and her skin doesn’t look so powdery white or wrinkled, but I’d know that face anywhere.
Mrs. Jones.
The driver pushes on a pair of sunglasses, even though the sun has set, and slams on the gas, screeching down the street.
“I think that was Mrs. Jones.” I place my hand over my chest, still remembering the heat of the engine.
Mom laughs, a bit shaken. “That was definitely not Mrs. Jones, sweetie. But you do have an active imagination, I’ll give you that.”
* * *
We enter the Internet café to find Chet and his dad fighting.
“How could you do that, Dad?” I hear Chet saying. “They trust us. I was finally starting to make friends.”
“You’re making a bigger deal of it than it is,” Mr. Parker says.
Mom and I hover off to the side until Mr. Parker spots us and literally jumps out of his chair like he’s seen a ghost.
“Wow.” He chuckles nervously while running his hands over his hair as if he’s making sure the perfect swoop is still intact. “You two got me there. Didn’t even hear you sneak up.”
“Sorry, but Chet deserves payback for all the times he’s snuck up on me,” I say. Then I tell them how we were nearly run over by a woman who looked a lot like Mrs. Jones.
“That’s far out,” Chet says. “I’ve never had to dodge an out-of-control driver or save anyone’s life. I’m going to have to add it to my list of Cool Things to Do.”
“But isn’t Mrs. Jones elderly?” Mr. Parker says. “There’s no way she’d be racing around town, running people over.”
“That’s the thing,” I say. “I think Mrs. Jones is dressing up in disguise.”
“Sounds pretty far-fetched to me,” Mr. Parker says.
“Keira does have an active i
magination when it comes to people, but she just saved our lives, so I’m proud of my brave girl.” Mom gives me a side-squeeze and then launches into an account of interesting city facts to Mr. Parker. I tune them out and begin reading the email Mr. Parker had been writing on his screen. It isn’t my fault; I’d been training my whole life to be a detective.
The girl is the prime suspect. Ghosts have been cited. Still need—
Before I can read more, Mr. Parker turns and clicks SEND. The email vanishes into cyberspace.
But I’d seen enough to know that Chet’s dad may be holding a few secrets of his own.
Fact: A horse’s teeth take up more space in its head
than its brain does.
WEDNESDAY (MERCREDI), JUNE 16TH
By the time I finish dressing the next morning, I could pass for a true equestrian. Bella and I head to the stables, wearing crisp riding habits Cheryl has fitted us in, complete with tight tan breeches, a form-fitting black shirt, boots that pull up to the knees, and even a whip and hat.
“I’ve never ridden a horse before.” I fidget with my whip and wonder what I’m supposed to do with it.
“I have a couple of times at summer camp,” Bella says. “It’s super easy. I’m sure you’ll ace it.”
“I hope you’re right. You’ve got to admit that riding horses at a castle has got to be one of the most magical things ever.”
“Absolutely!” Bella say. “I wish we were here for two weeks instead of one.”
It’s also a bit of a relief to leave behind the ghosts and crazy hallucinations from the castle and focus on having fun with Bella. As we step into the stable area, my steps falter when I find Chet sitting on one of the posts, tying a knot, wearing jeans and a hockey shirt.
“Are you going riding, too?” I say.
“I’m hoping they’ll let me,” Chet says.
I’m not sure how I feel about Chet after seeing the email his dad wrote. Can I trust him? What did that email mean, anyway? Normally, I’d have told Bella about my suspicions, but every time I bring it up, I stop, remembering her reaction when she thought Chet and I were playing a joke on her with the castle being haunted. Besides, maybe that email wasn’t a big deal. Maybe it was my overactive brain making something out of nothing.
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