“That’s great, Mallory. But we need a party tune. Something that will make them return to their aquarium. I’ve set up a table with lovely fun things for them to celebrate with.”
Grant, who sat in front of me, pulled out his MP3 player and a portable speaker system and began playing a popular dance song with cha-chas and directions on which way to stomp. Mr. Darcy’s feet appeared and he motioned for Grant to come out.
“Lead them to the aquarium, Grant. Place your speaker against the glass. Those piskies are like metal concert goers–they love it loud.”
Grant moved to the aquarium, hunched over, as the piskies whirled and wheeled over his head, dipping closer to the cage. He set the music up at the glass, and the piskies began to descend into the large aquarium, where Mr. Darcy had set up a mini table with broken cookies and milk. It even looked like there were tiny party hats inside.
After a few more minutes, the last piskie landed inside, and Mr. Darcy slapped the lid on the aquarium. Grant reached for his music, but Mr. Darcy just shook his head. “Leave it for a bit longer. In the meantime, let’s get this place cleaned up.”
I blinked with everyone else and watched as the piskies continued to have a great time in their cage, while we were left with a classroom that looked like a war zone.
As we cleaned, Mr. Darcy quizzed us about the habits and habitats of piskies, brownies, pookas, and the like. I checked the hydroponics, removing several pencils from the small heads of butter lettuce.
I wanted to get back to that stuff. Looking around the room, I sighed. Only a few more weeks of magical creatures before we’d get to the alternative energy unit. Until then, I’d have to deal with piskies, gnomes, and the habits of tree sprites. I couldn’t wait for labs that didn’t have anything magical involved.
***
The whole day had been odd, but the strangest thing happened as we headed for the buses. Mr. Grouseman always stood outside the building while they loaded us on the cheese wagons, waving and being his usual cheerful self. Usually so perky I wanted to ralph. But today, he didn’t smile, his clothes were all black, and his eyes were sad. As we walked past, he raised a hand, waving at an eighth grader who called his name. When he lifted his hand, I noticed a strange mark on his wrist, a thick band of white scar tissue. Whatever happened, it was old, but it had hurt.
I lifted my eyes, and our gazes met. He smiled a little and tugged at the cuff of his shirtsleeve, then looked away.
As I boarded the bus, listening to Diana chattering about a fight in gym class, my mind focused on those marks. What would make a mark like that? I searched for an answer, but the only one I came up with disturbed me. Because all I could think of were long chains and shackles. Too much history class? Maybe. But I didn’t think so.
***
By the time Diana and her father appeared on the porch, I was ready to burst with anticipation. I followed Mom to the door, almost dancing with impatience. Pizza had been ordered and would be arriving any minute. I’d even gone to the trouble of renting a couple of movies. We could watch them on the small TV I’d put in my room while we discussed our plans for the evening.
Diana handed her sleeping bag and duffel to me, and then kissed her dad on the cheek. We didn’t stick around to see what he said to my mom. The entire way up the stairs we giggled, breathless with excitement. Tonight we would finally be able to figure out what was going on. At least, I hoped so.
I took Diana up to my room, and flew inside, digging out the letters and locket from their hiding place. When I turned around, she was still standing in the doorway, looking around my room, her brow puckered.
“Diana?”
She shook her head, then caught sight of what I had in my hand. Whatever bothered her, it wasn’t enough to distract her once she started reading. We were both anxious to get started with our search. I showed the gargoyle face to Diana, explaining how I’d found everything. She thought it was delightful and hideous, and was more than ready to get started finding whatever was left to find in the house. The problem was that my parents wouldn’t be in bed for hours yet. We had to wait, because there was no good explanation for us to be wandering the house searching the carvings for a specific face.
Instead, we sat and watched a movie and tried not to think about the mystery at all. Finally, a little after ten, my mom knocked on the door. “Good night, ladies. Remember, if you need anything, just come in and get us. And try not to eat too much junk food. I don’t want either of you with a belly ache in the morning.”
I smiled and rolled my eyes. “Yeah, Mom. We got it.”
She waved and closed the door behind her. We left the TV on, the sound low, to try and give us some cover. My parents would know something was up if it was too quiet. I got down and grabbed the flashlights I stashed under the bed earlier in the day, as well as two butter knives from the kitchen.
Diana held hers up and raised an eyebrow. “What’s this for?”
“Just in case something has to be pried open. But try not to destroy the walls. My parents might notice if we leave holes all over the house.”
Excitement electrified the air around us and we collapsed into a fit of giggles. I felt ten years old, like we were on our way to play hide-and-seek in the dark. The seriousness of our mission had been lost somewhere between the movies and butter knives.
After a little longer, we opened the door a crack, sliding out into the hallway. No light came from beneath my parents’ door. I was confident they were asleep. Even if they weren’t, they would expect us to be headed to the kitchen for snacks or something. I’d already pulled out a bag of popcorn earlier as cover. And we would need some sustenance later, of course.
We decided to start in the den with the ornate fireplace. It was covered in vines and leaves, with small faces peering out from the tangle of foliage and limbs. There was nothing there, though a few of the gargoyles looked similar. We continued to look around the doorframes, our flashlights casting eerie shadows in the dark.
This had seemed fun at first. Now it got a little creepy. I loved the house and all its quirks. But I remembered some of the things that happened and anxiety curled into a lump in my gut.
“Caroline, I think I found one.” Diana whispered.
She stood next to the window, staring at the wall next to it. She held her flashlight up and I inspected the face, which was an exact copy of the one in my room. Using my fingers, I felt around the edges for a gap or crack. It took two tries, but I finally felt it. Gently, I pried the face off the wall and a flurry of papers fell to the floor. Diana swept the light around the inside, but it was empty. I pressed the face back into place, as she knelt and picked up the papers. With Diana’s light gone, I could see outside the window, straight to the birch. The moonlight bathed the yard in blue-white light.
“Diana, turn off your flashlight,” I hissed.
She snapped the button and stood, the papers in her hands. “What?”
I pointed, and she looked outside. Standing in front of the birch, a figure in a long hooded cape stood, still as the tree itself.
“What the heck is going on?”
I shook my head, then realized she couldn’t see me. “I don’t know. Can you tell who it is?”
“No. What are they doing?” The figure knelt, putting something on the ground next to the roots of the tree. The head bent, as if they were praying. Or crying.
We pressed closer, both of us afraid to speak in case the figure could hear us. I could tell the person was tall, probably a man. Other than that, the hood and cape hid them well. I focused on the small bundle the person had laid in the tree roots. I couldn’t tell exactly what it was.
And then Diana grabbed my arm, her fingers like a vise. “There’s another one.”
Sure enough, another figure, definitely a man, wearing a cloak, but no hood, threw himself at the man kneeling on the ground. From here, all I could tell about the newcomer was they had short hair and were very thin.
We both backed away from the window as the hooded figure spun and ran in the opposite direction, much too fast for a human. The other took a few steps toward us, then turned and followed the other. Grabbing the flashlight, we both turned and ran back to my room. Inside, I closed and locked the door, feeling safer with the door locked and the light surrounding us.
Diana flopped onto the bed, breathing hard. “This is getting really scary, Caroline.”
I slid down the door, tossing the flashlight to the side. “I know.” We sat in silence. “Do you think one of them stole the paint?”
Diana sat up. “No. They weren’t interested in coming inside. They were interested in that tree and beating each other up. But it’s still weird. Your house has too much going on, Caroline.”
I snorted. “You think?” I got up, moving to sit next to her on the bed. “What did we get out of the wall?”
She spread the papers on the bed. “More diary pages and a photograph.” She turned it over and gasped. “This is the one I found in Dad’s archives.” She tapped a tall man standing at the edge of the page. “But he was missing from the original photo. I wonder who he is.”
I flipped the photo over, but there was nothing written on the back. I picked up one of the diary pages, skimming the contents. “What’s today’s date, Diana?”
“I think it’s the 16th.” She said. “Why?”
Goose pimples marched up my arms. “Because the woman that wrote this diary had a birthday on the 16th. And she lived in this house.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Diana said. But her voice wavered, and I knew she didn’t believe it. “What does it say?”
I cleared my throat, reading the page aloud. “September 16. Today is my twenty-third birthday. With all of the preparations for our first Founders Day celebration beginning, I hadn’t thought anyone would remember. But my darling William has surprised me, sent me a lovely card with a note to meet him this evening for a special birthday celebration. My heart leaps at the thought of a birthday picnic with just the two of us. I do love him, though these secret meetings and stolen kisses grow more and more treacherous.”
Diana sighed. “How romantic. But treacherous? What on earth was she afraid of?”
I shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Maybe she was in love with the wrong person. If she were wealthy and he was poor, that might do it.”
Diana nodded to the letter. “Keep going.”
“Edmund will find out soon, and I can only hope it is long after we are gone from here. I fear what he might do if we are discovered. Just last week he reminded me of his intentions for my future with–” I flipped it over, but the writing was smudged on the back. I grimaced, searching through the destroyed words until I saw a line at the bottom that made my pulse race. “The rest is damaged, but listen to the last line, ‘I can only pray that my name will soon change from Bennings to Grouseman.’”
Diana’s mouth hung open. “She’s your ancestor! And she wanted to marry Mr. Grouseman’s great-grandfather.”
I picked up the photo, and we both stared. Diana pointed with a finger, “That’s my dad, Leo’s parents, this woman looks too much like Ms. Widdershins not to be related. But look at her. That has to be your relative.”
I stared into the stiff face, worn around the edges by time. Now that I looked closer, I thought I recognized the straight nose and stubborn chin I saw in the mirror every day. My finger stroked the man she sat next to, his chiseled features nagged at me. “He looks so familiar. But I don’t know why. And this man, the one who was missing from the other photo, he looks a little like her.”
“Maybe that’s the brother, Edmund. And you’re right, the other does look … ” her voice trailed off and she snapped her fingers. “It has to be Mr. Grouseman’s great-grandfather!”
We both paused, staring at the picture. The resemblance was uncanny.
“They could be father and son,” I said, handing the picture to Diana. She brought it closer to her face.
“Freaky. I mean, if Mr. Grouseman were a little younger and grew a beard, I don’t think we could tell them apart.”
I picked at the comforter. “You don’t think that could be him, do you?”
Diana shook her head. “No. How could it? I mean, Mr. Grouseman is a shifter. They age slow, but not that slow. Right?”
“Yeah. I’m sure it isn’t the same person.” I forced a laugh and picked up the other papers. But I didn’t know for sure. Nothing seemed to be what I thought in this place. And if Mr. Grouseman and the man in the picture were the same, what did that mean?
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning I woke up tangled in the masses of comforters and blankets Diana and I threw on the floor. I expected to start the day with a new outlook. Things didn’t work out like I planned.
“Diana?” I sat up, looking around the room for my friend. No one answered, no body slept in the covers.
Thinking nothing of it, I got up, went to the bathroom, and came back. Still no Diana. Assuming she’d gone down to the kitchen, I headed downstairs. But when I opened the kitchen door, my parents smiled from the table. Alone.
Panic rose in my throat. I tried to calm myself. Last night was just making me jumpy. “Morning. Where’s Diana?”
Dad frowned. “What do you mean? She’s not asleep upstairs?”
Maybe I shouldn’t have freaked, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t even wait to hear what Mom said. I streaked back upstairs, throwing open my door, tossing pillows and blankets aside, and calling Diana’s name. I threatened her with Chinese water torture, the rack, and an entire day trapped with Kevin.
No answer.
When my parents appeared in the doorway, concern and confusion lining their faces, I located an envelope with “The Bennings” scrawled across the front in bold handwriting. Tears blurred the writing as I turned it over in my hands.
“Caroline, what is it?” Dad asked, picking his way through the fluffy obstacle course. He held out his hand and I put the letter in it, tears running down my face.
This was my fault. I knew something was wrong, and I continued, and I dragged her with me. If anything happened to her, it would be because of me. I buried my face in Mom’s shoulder when she wrapped her arms around me.
Dad opened the letter, his voice rolling around the room like a death knell. “You have ignored my warnings. As you seem unable to respond to subtle commands to cease your search for information, I have taken more drastic measures. Diana will be returned when a member of each of the founding families are gathered in the town hall at midnight on Founders Day. Should even one be absent, Diana will become the latest victim of the Harridan House curse.”
A sob ripped from my throat. I didn’t understand. We hadn’t found anything worth knowing. Not yet. What had we seen that made us such a risk?
“Caroline, I’m sorry. This is my fault,” Dad said. His eyes glistened as I turned to look at him.
“What are you talking about?”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the paper in his hands. “The research, the things I refuse to let you see, are about our family history. There are many hints about the Harridan House curse. I believed if I focused with some specific spells and involved a few friends, I could solve the mystery. I was wrong.”
“This isn’t about you, Dad.” I sniffed. Fresh tears burned my eyes. “Diana and I have been looking for information. We must have seen something we weren’t supposed to.”
But Dad wasn’t listening. Mom moved to pat him on the shoulder, and they didn’t seem to hear what I was saying. Maybe that was for the
best. Because as I looked at my parents, huddled together on the edge of the bed, something lit in my chest.
Magic had done this, and magic didn’t seem to be the answer to solving it. I could sense the solution hovering just out of my grasp, and it had nothing to do with the supernatural. Whoever it was had taken my best friend, and made my parents believe they were the cause. They ruined my first chance at a permanent home, and they were going to pay for it.
***
Making the promise to discover who had done it was easy. Looking Diana’s father in the face and telling him what happened was not. I expected some sort of huge angry demonstration of power, with fangs and red eyes and lots of cursing.
He crumpled in on himself like a broken man instead. My dad took all the blame, no one listened when I said Diana and I had found things. They just told me over and over it wasn’t my fault. Nothing I said could get their attention. Finally, I gave up. Diana was in trouble, and I knew if I just had all the pieces I could fit the puzzle together.
I slid into the foyer, away from the disaster in the kitchen. The police were going over the house, and they had already been through the study. If I wanted to get in, now was my chance. My footsteps faltered. Fear beat in my gut. With a deep breath, I turned the handle and slid inside, shutting and locking the door behind me.
The smell of old paper and leather could not calm me like it normally did. I moved to the desk, searching through stacks of books and papers for the small leather journal Dad read from the last time I saw him in here. I had just about given up hope when I opened the bottom drawer of the desk and found it, buried beneath a mound of old tax forms.
My hands shook as I flipped it open. The inside cover was marked with a name and a date in the same flowing handwriting that I found in the walls.
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