Wuthering high: a bard academy novel

by Cara Lockwood

  I strike out onto campus, still a little surprised that she let me go out at all, with the hope of finding Ryan Kent and apologizing. I can’t help but feel like he’s got the entirely wrong idea about Heathcliff and me, even though I can’t even explain to myself that particular relationship.

  I think about Ryan and the look on his face before the fire ruined the moment. Was he going to kiss me? Maybe I’d just been imagining it. Maybe he was just about to tell me I had something on my face — like Fritos crumbs. Then again, I’m pretty sure he was going to kiss me. He had that same look in his eyes that Tyler did when Tyler went in for the sloppy kill, except that Ryan wasn’t drunk or belligerent.

  But what about Heathcliff? Do I have feelings for him, too?

  Life is way too complicated at the moment. I have so much in my head, I don’t know what to think.

  Outside, the campus is nearly deserted. I guess everyone is inside trying to make phone calls. I guess that goes for Hana and Blade, too, although they weren’t in the dorm. It’s mid-October and the chill in the air is definite. The wind kicks up, rustling the leaves and making it sound like whispers. Birds settle on the tops of trees and flocks of them fly off in the distance, looking more like bats.

  Leaves rustle along the path in front of me, making an eerie sound like footsteps, but every time I turn I see nothing. The campus has the feel of the opening scene in 28 Days Later, where the guy wakes up in the hospital to a deserted London. I wouldn’t be surprised if fast-running, red-eyed zombies started sprinting across the commons.

  I find myself standing in front of the boys’ dorm, Macduff, wondering how I’m going to find out where Ryan Kent is. The girls aren’t allowed in the boys’ dorms, just like the boys aren’t allowed in the girls’. Not that I’d let that stop me. I try the front door of the dorm, but it’s locked.

  I peer into one of the windows and see the lounging room is full of boys waiting to use the phone. I don’t see Samir, but I do see Ryan. He makes eye contact with me. I wave at him, but he looks pointedly at me and then away. He doesn’t wave. He doesn’t even acknowledge me.

  My heart sinks.

  He’s mad at me. He’s mad about the whole Heathcliff scene in the cafeteria. I try once more. I tap on the glass, but Ryan just looks up at me again and then turns away, putting his back to me.

  Ouch. Rejected.

  I step back from the window and stick my hands in my blazer pockets for warmth, and my fingers touch the page of Wuthering Heights that I’d put there. With all the family drama, I forgot to give it to Ms. W. I pull it out to look at it and notice that the handwritten message is gone. Huh? How did that happen? It was there, I could’ve sworn the warning was there, and now it’s not.

  As I study the page, a gust of wind kicks up, whipping it out of my hands as if someone plucked it from my fingers.

  Crap! I lunge after it, but the wind has taken it. I chase it down the path as it rolls and tumbles like a leaf in the wind. Over and over. When I get closer to it, the wind picks up and blows it just out of my reach. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the page was leading me somewhere.

  The paper just keeps blowing forward, landing, finally on the steps of the library.

  As I’m standing there, the library door opens with a creak, like an invitation. “Kate?” I find myself whispering. “Is that you?”

  Is she opening the door? I realize she’s a fictional character, but maybe she is also a ghost. At Bard, I suppose anything is possible.

  The wind kicks up again and the piece of paper blows inside the library.

  I hesitate. I should not go inside. I should turn around right now and leave. There’s a point in all those horror movies when the girl or guy does something incredibly stupid (goes off separately from the group into the dark woods, for example), and you just want to shout at him to go back. The only reasonable course of action is to leave the haunted mental hospital/forest/mansion/town. But do they ever leave the haunted mental hospital/ forest/mansion/town? No, they don’t. They just stay there like a bunch of morons and get hacked to pieces.

  I should turn around, right now, and head back to my dorm.

  But I don’t.

  I need to get that page back.

  I walk inside the library and pick up the piece of paper, which is now lying still on the ground.

  That’s when I look up and see Heathcliff standing on the other side of the library.

  He looks at me — sadly almost? — and turns to walk down the aisle.

  “Wait…” I say, but he doesn’t listen to me. He just keeps walking.

  I pause. Should I go get a Guardian? But there isn’t time. I’m torn. Heathcliff is going to get away if I don’t follow. And besides, I think suddenly, maybe I can convince him to turn himself in. I stuff the page in my pocket and chase after him, down the aisle of the library and pause, keeping distance between us, as he reaches into a bookshelf and pulls down a book: Shakespeare’s Complete Works.

  The floor beneath his feet starts to glow, and slowly pieces of the floor start to slide open. It’s a door — a door to the vault. As I watch, Heathcliff starts walking down, through the door in the floor, down what must be stairs. He is bathed in an eerie blue glow.

  I hesitate. Should I go for help? I feel like there’s no time. What if he gets away?

  I make a decision to go after him, just as the door starts to close. I make it down part of the stone staircase just as the door closes above my head. The vault is dusty and cobwebbed, because naturally the answers to this mystery have to be in a creepy, dirty basement that smells like mothballs. All it lacks is some bloody handprints and it would be straight out of The Blair Witch Project. I mean, seriously. I’m going down here voluntarily?

  But it’s too late to change my mind now. I don’t know how to open the door above my head. I see Heathcliff’s shadow below me and decide to follow. I’m not sure if he knows I’ve followed him or not, but he isn’t letting on if he knows.

  The staircase is winding, so you can’t quite see what’s around the corner until you’re there.

  At the bottom, I see an underground library the size and scope of the library above me. The blue glow is coming from lights along the walls. They’re like torches, but with blue lights. It’s like they’re all gas burners or something, except that I smell no gas. This is like no library wing I’ve ever seen. It’s more like a dungeon.

  I notice for the first time the books on the shelves. They are old and unraveling just like the ones I saw in the greenhouse. This is definitely the vault. The one with the magic books.

  I don’t see Heathcliff anymore, though. Where did he go?

  There are so many aisles that he could’ve gone down any number of them. I start walking down the main one, looking down either side, down long rows of bookshelves, looking for him.

  Down at the far end of the library, there’s a sitting room, complete with a fireplace, with the flames going, and in front of it are Samir, Hana, and Blade. They’re all tied to chairs and gagged. I rush to them and take off their gags.

  “You’ve got to get out of here,” Hana says urgently as I kneel down and try to undo the knots on their wrists.

  “It’s a trap,” Blade adds.

  “You can untie us first, though, if you want,” Samir says.

  “Don’t listen to him, Miranda,” Hana says. “You need to get out of here. This is a trap. She wants…”

  The knots are too tight. I can’t get them undone. As I struggle with them, I see, out of the corner of my eye, a flash of movement. I struggle with the ropes even faster, trying to get them loose. On the other side of us there’s another flash. It’s a woman running.

  “She’s here,” Blade says.

  “Run,” Hana says urgently, but before I can, two ice-cold hands come around my arms. They’re like steel.

  That’s when I hear Emily Brontë’s voice in my ear.

  “Nice of you to come for a visit, my dear,” she says. “Why don’t you stay a while?” />
  Twenty-nine

  “Welcome, Miranda,” Emily says, as Heathcliff appears beside her. “Bind her,” she orders him.

  “Wait, what’s going on?” I cry, as Heathcliff puts his hands on my shoulders and sits me down in the chair. I send him a pleading look, but he doesn’t look me in the eye. He puts my hands behind my back and ties my wrists to the chair.

  “Told you it was a trap,” Hana says.

  “Silence!” Emily calls. Instantly, Hana stops talking.

  On the other side of Emily, I see Mrs. Rochester walking up. I squirm and fight the ropes, but it’s no use. I’m held fast. I shout as loud as I can, but no one seems fazed.

  “We’re deep underground and the walls are at least ten feet thick,” Hana says. “It’s useless.”

  All I can do is watch, helplessly, as Mrs. Rochester takes up her stance by the fire, staring into it, transfixed. I glance over at Heathcliff. I can’t believe I was so wrong about him and everyone else was so right. He lured me here. He was helping Emily Brontë all along.

  “The page?” Emily says then, and that’s when Heathcliff reaches into my pocket, pulls out the page of Wuthering Heights, and hands it over to Emily Brontë.

  “You realize that the book didn’t work without the missing page,” Hana says.

  “I was trying to save you guys,” I point out.

  “Yeah, nice rescue,” Samir says, struggling against the ropes. “Next time, you might want to think about bringing reinforcements. You know, just a thought.”

  “Heathcliff, what are you doing?” I cry. “She’s crazy. You can’t help her. She’s going to destroy everything.”

  Emily takes the page, studies it, and then looks at me. “You’re wasting your time,” she tells me, surprisingly clear for an insane woman. “I’m his creator, and he cannot stray from my will.”

  I look up at Heathcliff, but he looks away from me. Is this true? Is he just her pawn?

  “Heathcliff,” I say. “You can’t be helping her. She’s insane.”

  Heathcliff won’t look at me.

  “Ah, Miranda, you are so like my Cathy,” Emily says. “I can see the family resemblance.”

  “Family resemblance? What are you talking about?” I ask, fighting against the ropes that bind me to the chair.

  “Did my sister Charlotte not tell you? That is such a shame,” Emily says. “Did you think it was just a coincidence that you looked so much like my Cathy? Like Catherine Linton? The same Catherine that is my dear Heathcliff’s love? You are her great granddaughter, five times over.”

  “That’s not possible,” I sputter. “She’s a fictional character — she doesn’t exist.”

  “That’s where you are wrong, my dear,” Emily says. “Fifteen years ago was not the first time Cathy — Catherine — crossed over to this world. She’d done so several times before, as did her daughter, Elizabeth.”

  “But her daughter wasn’t named Elizabeth,” Hana says. “She was named Catherine. After her mother.” Leave it to Hana to know all the details of Wuthering Heights.

  “That is correct,” Emily says. “That was the name of her older daughter. But she had twins, you see. In my version, she had twins, Catherine and Elizabeth. Elizabeth escaped into this world, however, in 1848. She found her anchor in a boy she met at this school. That was Miranda’s great - great - great - great - grandfather.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I mean, I knew there was some Cherokee in my family, but now fictional characters? How is this possible?

  “Elizabeth Linton married and had three children, and then she became real in this world and disappeared forever from Wuthering Heights,” Emily says. “And now you, her descendant, are the key to making all my characters real.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say.

  “Your mixed blood gives you a power nobody else has over these books. Over the vault itself. Or didn’t my sister tell you that? I guess they didn’t want you to know,” Emily says. “You are the key to opening the door fully between these dimensions. You span them both, you see.”

  Hana, Samir, and Blade all look at me.

  “That is way cool,” Blade says.

  Emily takes out Wuthering Heights and replaces the missing page. As I watch, miraculously, it’s fused back to the original spot.

  “But what about the ghost? In my room?”

  “There was never a ghost in your room,” Emily says. “Unless you count me as that ghost. I was playing the part. Leading you around to clues. I wanted to draw you here, so that you could open the portal — permanently. No longer will there be a barrier between these worlds. And Heathcliff, of course, helped me. He’d do anything to be reunited again with his real Catherine.”

  Heathcliff glances up to Emily, and then his eyes rest briefly on me.

  “But you do understand that the world will end,” I say to Emily.

  “It may or may not,” she says, “but it’s a risk worth taking. Even if the world is destroyed, it means I’ll be free from this prison. Now, Miranda, it’s time for you to read to us.” Emily places the open book on my lap.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I won’t do it.”

  “Then your friends die now,” Emily says. She places her hands around Samir’s neck and squeezes. He struggles.

  “Don’t hurt him,” I shout. “I’ll do what you say.”

  I start to read, and suddenly the walls around us shake. It feels like there’s going to be an earthquake. Books fly off the shelves, thudding to the ground. Bits of dust and rock fall from the ceiling as the vault shakes.

  Beneath our feet, a giant crack appears in the ground, and a bright, white light shines through it. Our dimension. It’s falling apart.

  “End-of-the-world time,” Blade says.

  A hand pops out of the book — a girl’s hand. Catherine’s, I think, but I’m not sure how I know it’s her.

  That’s when Charlotte comes up through the floor of the room. Her ghost appears, holding her own copy of Jane Eyre.

  Ms. W and Coach H appear then, too, walking into the room through the vault walls.

  “You didn’t really think we’d just let Miranda wander around without some protection?” Ms. W says, and then she winks at me. I feel immensely relieved.

  Heathcliff stands up, looking from one teacher to another, trying to figure out where he should place his energies.

  “Emily, stop this at once,” she demands. “You will destroy everything.”

  “Oh, I hope I do,” she says. “I can think of no better way to be released from this prison. This world will be destroyed, yes, but my Moors will live on, with me in them.”

  “But the world, these students, you would risk killing them all?”

  “I would sooner save my dog than any one of these students,” Emily says, suddenly sounding bitter. “They’re all spoiled, every one of them. They don’t know what suffering is. My Heathcliff now is barely nineteen, and he’s known a lifetime of suffering.”

  I look at Heathcliff. Now that I know his current age, I realize he’s not that much older than me. Four years. It’s a lot, but not as much as I thought. In the firelight, he looks even younger. He looks at me.

  “I don’t understand,” Charlotte says.

  “I’ve found a way to live in my book, forever,” Emily says. “With Heathcliff and Catherine here, I can go inside the book. Live there. Forever.”

  With that, she puts her own hand into the book and as she does so, the girl’s hand changes. It starts to…wither. And, just as we watch, the flesh falls away, until nothing is left but the bones beneath.

  Heathcliff’s face falls.

  “What are you doing?” Heathcliff cries.

  “Catherine’s life for hers,” Charlotte says.

  Mrs. Rochester seems to come to life suddenly, her eyes fixed on Charlotte. She lunges suddenly for the fire, grabbing a flaming log without caring about its heat, and charges Charlotte. Taken off balance, she drops Jane Eyre and struggles with her own cha
racter, trying to restrain her. There’s an odd tug of war, where Charlotte tries to keep her from setting fire to the pile of books on the floor.

  “Get her or we’re all destroyed!” Charlotte cries. Ms. W goes to help Charlotte stop Mrs. Rochester, who seems to be intent on burning books, and Coach H approaches Emily, but Heathcliff springs into action, knocking him back. Then, in one swift motion, Heathcliff swipes the book from Emily’s hands. It’s still open and the skeleton hand is still sticking out of it.

  “Hand it here, Heathcliff,” commands Emily.

  Coach H circles carefully, ready to spring if necessary, but unsure of what Heathcliff plans to do.

  “No,” I say. “No, don’t. Look what she’s done already — Catherine is dead. She means to kill us all, so she can live.”

  Heathcliff looks at me and then at Emily.

  “You cannot disobey your creator. Your thoughts and actions have always been mine to control,” Emily says. “And this is your fate, Heathcliff. It has always been your fate. To mourn the loss of Catherine. It’s what I created you for. Not to love. To mourn.”

  Ever so gently, he touches the fingers of the skeleton hand. Heathcliff’s face settles into a scowl and he slams the book shut. The crack in the floor closes. The building stops shaking. He glares at the fire.

  It’s as if Emily knows his thoughts already, because she says, “If you destroy that book, you destroy yourself, as well as me. Remember that.”

  He looks at the book a little longer and then at the fire.

  “You are Catherine’s murderer,” he says. “And you would be still. You would kill her again and again. Why? For your amusement?”

  “No,” Emily says, shaking her head. “She dies to make your love great. And if you destroy this book, you’ll never see her again, not even for a brief time. You’ll be dead yourself. Trapped forever away from the things you love.”

  “I see her now,” Heathcliff says, looking at me.

  “That is not the true Cathy. She’s not your love. And she’ll betray you.”

  Emily moves to me, putting her cold hands around my neck. “Give the book over,” she commands.