“Cathy, we have to go!”
“I’m not Cathy,” I cry, fighting him harder.
“I have to get you out of here, now.”
“I’m not going without Ryan.”
“Forget him,” Heathcliff says, frowning.
“I’m not leaving without him. Either you help me get him or I’m getting him by myself.”
Heathcliff loosens his grip. “You know that anything you tell me to do, I’ll do.”
“Then help Ryan.”
Heathcliff frowns at me, but then he turns and runs up the stairs, his arm covering his mouth. Is it possible? Does Heathcliff do my bidding? No one does my bidding. Not even Lindsay. Or should I say, especially not Lindsay.
I’m starting to get light-headed from the smoke. Seconds later, Heathcliff appears, and he’s got Ryan slung over his shoulder.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing me by the arm and leading me forward.
Outside the chapel, Heathcliff carries Ryan over to a nearby tree and lays him down, scowling as he does so. Even good deeds don’t make Heathcliff happy.
“Miranda? Is that you? God, what happened?” Hana cries, running up to me. Samir isn’t far behind. I guess they were in the library, because that’s the direction from which they’re coming.
“Are you okay? And who’s this?” Samir asks, pointing at Heathcliff.
“I…” I am light-headed, is what I am. The smoke…and everything. My throat closes up and I start to cough, and then I can’t stop. It takes hold of my chest and shakes me so hard that I feel like someone has a vise grip on my bronchial tubes. Heathcliff’s head shoots up and I see him walk over to me, a concerned look on his face.
I double over, I’m coughing so hard, and I wonder when I’ll be able to stop. That’s the last thing I remember thinking before I pass out.
Twenty
I wake up on a stretcher in the infirmary. It’s a large room with several cots and at least three private exam rooms with doors. It’s the most brightly lit room at Bard, with fluorescent lights above me. It looks like a mini-emergency room. I can’t help but wonder why they have such a big infirmary.
The first thing I hear is Samir’s voice. “I’ve never seen anyone faint before,” he says.
“Ugh?” I grumble, meaning to form words, but my throat feels like someone took my tonsils out without any anesthetic. I guess it was the smoke I inhaled in the chapel.
“You fainted,” Hana says.
“Dropped like a stone,” Samir agrees. “By the way, you are heavier than you look.”
“You caught me?” I croak, sounding like either Patty or Selma from The Simpsons.
“No, your friend did. He carried you all the way here.” I look over and see that Heathcliff is staring at me, doing his strong-and-silent routine while sitting outside the infirmary on a bench in the hall, as Coach H and Ms. W attempt to interrogate him. He won’t look at them, just at me. Samir continues, “I’m just guessing you’re heavier than you look, based on, well, looks.”
“Shut up, Samir,” I say. “You are so like a little brother sometimes.”
“I know. It’s one of my most charming qualities.”
“What are they doing?” I ask Hana, looking over at Heathcliff.
“They’re trying to figure out what happened,” Hana says. “But he’s not being very helpful — big surprise.”
I cough a little, but recover. I feel totally crappy. My throat is burning and my head feels like I’m having the worst caffeine-withdrawal headache ever.
“What about Ryan?”
“He’s fine. He’s over there,” Hana says, pointing to one of the closed-door exam rooms. “He’s resting.”
I sit up, thinking I’ll go over and try to talk to him, but I’m stopped mid sit-up by a sharp, blinding headache.
“Ow,” I cry, holding my head and slowly laying back down on the cot.
“Coach H warned us that might happen,” Samir says. “You shouldn’t move too quickly.”
“Nice of you to tell me now,” I say, “when it does me absolutely no good. And what does he know about it?”
“He doubles as the school nurse,” Samir says, which causes me to laugh. Only the laugh turns into a cough, and then a wheeze.
“Oh, don’t make me laugh, it hurts,” I say, putting a hand to my chest, which feels like it’s on fire.
“I’m serious. He is the school nurse. He told us he drove an ambulance in the war.”
“War? What war? The Gulf War?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him,” Samir says.
“Never mind that,” Hana says. “I think you’ll want to know that we found out something else about your friend over there.” She nods her head in Heathcliff’s direction. “He’s not a student here.”
“What do you mean?”
“We overheard his conversation with Coach. Bard has no record of him.”
“Why is he here then?” I ask.
“Nobody knows,” Samir says. “He won’t even give his name, but Hana said you know him.”
“I don’t know him,” I say. “Not really.”
“Who just shows up out of nowhere at Bard?” Hana asks.
“And pretending to be a literary character from the 1800s, don’t forget,” I say.
“I’m missing something,” Samir says.
“I’ll fill you in later,” Hana says.
“In any case, he seriously digs you,” Samir adds, in case it wasn’t already obvious.
“What clued you into that?” Hana asks him sarcastically. “Him saving Miranda from a stack of burning backpacks, or just now when he pulled her and her date from the burning chapel?”
“I’m just saying, maybe Miranda didn’t notice. She did pass out. She could have memory loss.”
I noticed. I definitely noticed.
“Do you still think he’s the one setting fires?” Hana asks me.
“He’s what?” Samir exclaims. “Why doesn’t anyone tell me anything?”
“I don’t know. I’m beginning to think that the arsonist is a woman. Before the fire, I saw a crazy woman in a white nightgown. She was laughing. But it’s the same laugh I’ve been hearing near other fires.”
“Sounds like Mrs. Rochester,” Hana says.
“Who?” Samir asks.
“Mrs. Rochester. From Jane Eyre?” Hana explains. “It’s my favorite book.”
“Jane Eyre is your favorite book? You are such a nerd,” Samir says.
“That’s rich coming from you, Mr. I Collect Lord of the Rings Toys.”
“Can we get back to this Mrs. Rochester character?” I ask the two of them.
“Jane Eyre is a governess who goes to work in the house of Mr. Rochester,” Hana says. “The two of them fall in love, but what Jane Eyre doesn’t know is that Mr. Rochester has a crazy wife he locked in the attic. She’s insane, and she laughs all the time, and well, she…sets fires.”
“Nice love story,” I say.
“It is a weird coincidence,” Hana says. “Heathcliff trying to be Heathcliff, and then this woman trying to be Mrs. Rochester.”
“What is this? Some new psychological condition?” Samir says. “Like schizophrenia, only with literature — Shakespearenia?”
Suddenly, behind us, the conversation of Heathcliff and Coach H gets louder. It’s an argument.
“Tell us where she is,” Coach says, nearly at a shout. “Where is Emily? Where is she?”
Who’s Emily?
“I’ll not tell you anything, you milk-blooded coward,” Heathcliff says.
That’s when Coach H rears back and strikes Heathcliff. Actually hits him straight across the face. Headmaster B gasps.
I’m stunned, and Samir and Hana are speechless. That has got to violate some cardinal campus rule about teacher-student relations.
Heathcliff, for his part, doesn’t even flinch or even make a sound. He just spits at the feet of Coach H, as if to say, “That’s the best you can do?”
“I’ll tell you noth
ing,” Heathcliff says in low tones. Then he puts both hands on H’s shoulders and shoves him hard into the Guardians, who are supposed to be keeping watch. As the three stumble and fall, he runs the other way toward the exit. He pauses there before he leaves, looking straight at me. He doesn’t smile, he just meets my eye for a fraction of a second, and then he’s gone.
I definitely don’t want to get on that boy’s bad side, I think. He’s a force to be reckoned with.
“Your boyfriend is some kind of badass,” Samir says.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say, but even I’m not exactly sure if that’s true.
Headmaster B and Coach H draw closer together and speak in urgent whispers. They’re joined shortly in the hall by Ms. W, who seems pretty upset by Heathcliff’s disappearance. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but they seem worried. A bit frantic, even. They start to argue. They can’t seem to agree on what to do next. Headmaster B leaves.
“Something is definitely up,” Samir says. “They look worried.”
Coach and Ms. W finally take notice of us, and the fact that I’m sitting up and conscious.
“You,” Coach says, pointing. “You need to tell us everything.”
After I recount my version of the story, Coach says, “I told you it was her,” as if he knew about our Mrs. Rochester lookalike.
“We have a serious problem on our hands,” Ms. W says. “Has someone checked the vault? If any more books are out…” she trails off.
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 n
ot?”
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.
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